Mai Almoataz

Mai Almoataz
Mai Al Moataz is an artist, dead rose collector, and space and fashion designer.


For the past decade, she has used black and white film to produce photographs and photograms through a meticulous analog darkroom process, a deeply cathartic ritual. Her images are romantically solitary and ethereal, as they present emblems of loneliness, longing, nostalgia and femininity. With hints of isolation and speckles of imagination, she explores the subjects of her portraits as a paradox of the internal versus the external, and where they meet, using time, space, light and chemistry to deconstruct her experiential universe.

Her series Proof of Presence won first place in the Art Jameel Photography Award in 2016.


Proof of Presence III

How did I get so lost along the way?
Denying my soul a space to preside, maybe?
It’s all about allowing, isn’t it?
That’s what they kept saying.

Enter into my window: the stage for a series of backlit self portraits.
The space that shines light on my interior monologue: a visual vocabulary of my feelings, peppered with a cable release. Held together by the film rebate border.

A vertical light table if you will, as the stage for exploring opacity, translucence, and transparence of Self.

The coat hanger appears. A solitary suspension, a sense of solace, perhaps?

Little squares of silent seconds, softly suspended in the window of my dreams.
Negatives sandwiched together, in standard fashion — a game of exposures, in multiples of ninety-nine.

Has anyone thought to question the body as a home?
Are the squares figments of my imagination, or fragments of my dreamscape?

Delicately suspended, veiled before the light. She hangs.
An introspective investigation into my interior-exterior, a muted monochromatic melancholy — the only place I can really call my home.

MM 2019


I have always used the space I live in, the place I call home, as a stage for my work. Metaphorically, as the house of my soul, and physically, where I appear in my images. As an explorer of the introspective space and the internal monologue, I realize over and over that the nature of my thoughts are a natural byproduct of the isolation.