Meet Khadija bint Ahmed Al-Maamari, a conceptual Omani artist whose relationship with art was born from simple childhood moments by the sea. The fish — once a fleeting memory — has transformed into a profound symbol in her work, evoking strength, fragility, freedom, and belonging. Through oil painting, conceptual photography, and installation art, Khadija searches for a language that reflects the human struggle with the self, society, and time. Rooted in Oman’s mountains and light, and expanded by her experiences abroad, she creates art that opens questions extending beyond form into feeling and idea.

My relationship with art was born from simple moments stuck in memory: sitting near my mother as she was slicing the fish under a tree in our yard, with the scent of the sea filling my childhood. That is where the first spark came, and from there the features of the symbol that has accompanied me began to take shape: the fish. It was not just an ordinary creature passing by, but a key to questions far greater than I was at the time — questions about fragility and strength, about freedom and constraint, about the meaning of survival in the face of endless disappearance.

I began with oil colors, conversing with the canvas and the possibilities of color and texture. But soon, I found myself searching for a broader language — one that could hold the accumulation of questions within me. Conceptual photography and installation art became a vast space where I could shape what words could not express. There, the fish became more than an image; it became a metaphor for the human being in their struggle with themselves, their society, and their time. Each work I create is an attempt to discover a missing balance: between the desire to break free from the constraints that surround us, and the inevitability of belonging to a community that reshapes us. Each time, the fish returns to remind me of the continuity that leads toward disappearance, and of the life that gains meaning in moments of transformation and erasure.

Oman gives me my roots: the mountains, the light, and the details of life that inhabit me. The outside world gives me the distance to see those roots with new eyes, as well as the breadth of exposure that strengthens my tools and vision. Between the inside and the outside, my artistic balance takes shape, meaning is renewed, and the question grows.

What I wish is for the viewer not to pass by the work quickly, but to stand before it for a long time, searching for what lies beyond the image  what transcends form into feeling and idea. I believe emotions always reach the viewer when the work is honest, and that the deepest impact of art is not in what we see, but in what it awakens within us of hidden questions.

And to young artists I say: do not rush. Art is not a race but a long journey shaped as much by failures as by successes. Experiment without fear, and give yourselves enough time to search for your own voices   because only the authentic voice endures.

Between the simple beginnings under the tree at home and the endless attempts to form new questions, I continue to believe that, for me, art is not an end, but a means to reread humanity, and to reread myself, in a mirror that constantly changes — yet never ceases to reveal what is deeper.