If you’ve ever scrolled through the perfectly-curated rows of media on Pinterest or even the Instagram Explore page, you definitely have come across the work of Sarah Bahbah, a Palestinian-Jordanian photographer and creative director whose photographs transport audiences into a world of her imagination.
Via @sarahbahbah on Instagram
In an era where everything on social media is dictated by the Almighty algorithm, it can be discouraging for artists to put their work out there and see genuine responses from audiences. Despite that, Sarah shattered the glass ceiling with her photo series Sex & Takeout in 2015 which was an intimate look into indulgence without restraint.
Since then, Sarah’s photographs, which are sometimes mistaken for stills from films because of their attention to detail and ability to tell a story like no other’s can, have reached a level of fame we can only describe as sensational. Her most recent project is a fine-art book titled Dear Love containing photographs shot over the last decade.
In this exclusive chat, Sarah Bahbah talks about her introduction to the art world, reclaiming and exploring her identity as an Arab woman, experiencing catharsis from practicing photography, and so much more. Dive in.
Read our exclusive interview with photographer Sarah Bahbah
Cosmo ME: We’ve recently seen the behind-the-scenes video of your Macy’s commercial. Tell us a little bit more about it.
Sarah Bahbah: Macy’s commercial was a fun one, it was the biggest budget I’ve ever worked with, and also my best American TV commercial because I’ve done other commercials in the past. But yeah, that’s insane. Especially because it premiered at the Oscars. It’s absolutely crazy.
Via @sarahbahbah on Instagram
C: How did you get into the creative space?
S: I entered the art space at an early age. Growing up in an Arab household, it feels very loud, and I was quite an introverted kid. I really liked to be alone. So, to escape some of my reality, I would create these playgrounds in my brain. It was me imagining my life away from my circumstances. I didn’t know that I was consciously doing this until I started therapy, because it was normal to me. I used to sit alone, staring at the ceiling, and imagining this romanticized world of where I’d rather be or what I’d rather be doing.
And then I started going to these music festivals with my camera and shooting Western kids just being free and getting drunk and having the time of their lives. They’d be doing things that I was told were haram. So, I disguised it to my family as work. I was like, “Mom, I’m going to be working all day, I have to go to this event”, and so, work became my access to freedom and I’d be off the hook. I had my freedom every weekend somewhere.
After a point, I challenged myself to limit the photos I take. Instead of taking thousands of photos, I wanted to take just one to encapsulate the energy and feeling of being at these festivals. And that’s when I started to refine my craft, I was shooting with more intention. It was no longer about being a fly on the wall and observing these people, but it was about being a part of the experience and actually claiming my freedom through my art.
And so, my first-ever art series Wild Ones was born. And the following year, it was another series that very much embodies me trying to rebel against my culture where I own my identity, femininity, and sexuality. That went viral. It basically put me on a trajectory of being wrapped in galleries, going to art fairs, and selling my prints. Every single artwork that I’ve ever done, the roots of it come from me, trying to reclaim my identity away from everything I’ve known.
Via @sarahbahbah on Instagram
Interestingly, it was when I broke free from the cultural restraints that were imposed on me I got closer to my roots as an Arab woman.
C: Speaking of being an Arab woman, did you face any repercussions for your work, considering it goes against a lot of cultural beliefs?
S: I was very smart about it. I knew social media like the back of my hand. And my parents weren’t on it yet. But my cousins were, you know, little nosy spies telling their moms about me. And then their moms were telling my mom about me. I had everyone blocked and no one was allowed access to my social media. And it stayed that way up until now.
I do my best. I feel like everyone who caused me conflict as a teenager or a young adult in my life has come to their own conclusion about it, like, “Oh, that wasn’t wrong. You weren’t doing anything just by wanting to be a part of the culture you grew up in.”
it’s no longer a problem for me. But, yeah, my parents are still unaware of the full extent of my work. And we do argue about it often, especially with my mother. I keep having to tell her, “We will never come to agree on it, so why don’t we just not talk about it ever? Because I love you, you love me. We have different opinions on life. Let’s just leave it at that.”
C: That’s interesting, considering how many women you’ve impacted with your work. Do you wish things were different?
S: I mean, I wish it wasn’t the case. I wish my mom would celebrate the work that I’m doing and be proud of me knowing that I’m helping so many women liberate themselves from the shame and guilt that we were constantly made to feel. But she was a huge part of it, making us feel that shame and putting the fear of God in our heads. So, it’s just an interesting scenario. And I do wish it was different. Unfortunately, they’re always going to be stuck in their ways and you can’t blame them for it. You can only honour and respect that they have their beliefs and you have your own.
Via @sarahbahbah on Instagram
C: How long did it take for you to produce Fool Me Twice? Tell us a bit about the creative process around it.
S: Fool Me Twice happened over a matter of months. I created this series when I was processing the grief of losing someone I had to let go of because I knew they couldn’t meet me where I was at. I was very much obsessing over every single detail of the relationship, I couldn’t understand our dynamic — how could someone be so committed to me, but be so afraid to call me their girlfriend? Later, I read this book called Attached by Amir Levine and it told me about attachment theory in a way that I hadn’t processed before, and it blew my mind. So, I knew I had to center my series Fool Me Twice around the anxious-avoidant trap.
Up until that point, I didn’t realize I was an anxious individual, only dating avoidant and being in this continuous cycle of push and pull and heartbreak. I knew the series needed to be captured in a way that I think the world hadn’t seen yet. I wanted to focus on sharing my experiences as an anxious person in the avoidant trap and not to villainize the avoidant either, but to show them as someone who experiences intimacy in a different way, which doesn’t necessarily make them a bad person.
C: Are all your art series inspired from your own heartbreaks?
S: Yeah, I only ever write from authentic emotion. I’m not the type of person who can fabricate experiences and create worlds that I don’t connect to. I can only ever write from my truth. And so, when I’m creating, it’s usually because I’m trying to process pain, and I’ve really leaned into my art to help me process trauma, grief, heartbreak, and apathy. When I’m in those spaces, it’s very healing for me to be able to create the series and release it. Not just release it emotionally, but give it to the world.
C: You have blown up on social media and a lot of your followers dub your art as a form of therapy for them. How does that make you feel?
S: It’s an affirmation for me, it means that I’m doing the right thing. I feel like I’ve been given this gift like I’m being used as a portal to help other people. And it was never my intention, it literally just happened. By honouring my truth, doing the healing, going through the ebbs and flows of life, and allowing myself to experience the darkness as much as the light, the universe was rewarding me in a way. It was almost like, “I’ll give you the audience, but I need you to do the work.”
C: Speaking of audiences, you shared a post last year asking your followers to not call your work “content”. Can you tell us a little bit more about it?
S: I wrote that post because the younger generation started commenting that they love my “content”. I shoot once a year, the series takes months and months of work, don’t call it “content”, because it’s not, it’s art. I use social media as my platform to release my art.
To me, content is assets to depict your life and the things you believe in, but my art isn’t something that you can just put together in three hours, it comes from so much more grief, pain, and emotion. It’s not just recording a selfie video. My art is the core of my identity. Content is fast-produced, and then there’s art. There’s a difference.
C: How do translate your emotions into your work?
S: My creative process has definitely evolved over the years. But it would start with me going into obsessive anxious spirals because my anxiety was activated through a partner. I’d start to obsess over the details and try and create these playgrounds in my mind where I wish I had said something else to them to change the scenario. These obsessive spirals would sometimes span across one week or even six months. And when I’d be in these situations, I would just write these witty one-liners of what I wish I’d said to them. Once I had enough of like 60 to 100 one-liners, I’d be ready to release them.
When I’d accept that I wasn’t going to get the closure that I want from this person, I’d orchestrate a shoot. I would find talent who would understand my story, and then usually, we would turn that around within a few days. And within a matter of days, I’ve printed my shot list, I’ve printed all my subtitles, and I do all of this manually. I have all the one-liners and the photos on little pieces of paper, and then I’d move things around, put them on Photoshop, do my grade, edit, and release it. That’s how it goes.
C: How do you create the sets for these?
S: The sets are usually a romanticized version of what I was experiencing at the time. So, if my bedroom is chaotic, instead of it being ugly with takeaway boxes scrunched up, I’d replace it with bottles of wine and cigarettes. In the bathtub scene in Fool Me Twice, for instance, I replicated photos of my partner at the time. I recreated these memories and just made them more glamorous.
C: You have a very distinct style of work – the colours and props you use. Is this the signature style you want to be known for?
S: I think I have affirmed that pretty solidly over the years. It’s just the things I find attractive, the indulgent sets, the sets that have abundance, it all reflects a lot of my culture as well. If you’ve been to an Arab’s house for dinner, you know there’s just going to be a buffet of food. There’s literally not even space to put a bowl of olives because the table is so packed. I want to always bring that essence of my identity into my work.
C: Tell us a little bit about the ‘pay-what-you-can’ initiative.
S: I’ve had some really horrible experiences in the traditional art world. I feel like galleries don’t have the artist’s best interests at heart. They often make decisions behind your back to make the sale and it didn’t feel authentic to me. It felt very elitist and it didn’t prioritize the art. During the pandemic, I felt like it was a necessity to democratize my art and make it more accessible. So, instead of it being worth thousands, or tens of thousands of dollars, it was $300 (Dhs1,100) a print.
I wanted to let people decide what they should pay because in the art world, the top 1%, decide what your art is worth. And that can make or break an artist. A painting could be $500 one day or $5,000 another, and then one white art collector buys it and suddenly, it’s a million dollars. Simply because of that one person deciding whether they liked your art or not. And I didn’t like that, it didn’t work for me, I don’t want that life. I didn’t create art to impress these white people. I create because I want everyone to have the luxury of feeling. So, why can’t everyone have the luxury of affording art?