Of Faith & Fractures – Hamza Ashraf and Ayesha Ali’s Exploration of Faith, Identity, and the Ruptures That Shape Us
Faith is not a static force. It shifts, bends, and, at times, fractures. Moving with us, through us, and often, challenging us. Of Faith and Fractures (عن الإيمان والتشظيات) was born from this very tension. A curatorial program that invites us to question: What does it mean to carry faith in a fractured world? To wrestle with devotion and doubt, longing and loss? Curated by Hamza Ashraf and Ayesha Ali, the exhibition blends film, audio, photography, installation, and textiles, creating a space that isn’t merely for observing faith, but for experiencing it.
For Hamza and Ayesha, curating this body of work was not just a process of selecting pieces but of building an emotionally resonant landscape. Each piece is a layer that speaks to the complexities of belonging and alienation, ritual and rupture. In conversation with the two of them, we explore the intentions behind their curation, the creative labor involved, and the lingering questions they’ve raised along the way.
‘When love retreats, do we set it on fire?’, 2025 - Maryam Saira AliHow did this curatorial program come to be? What was the starting point for you both?
Hamza: Last year, I found my uncle's diary entries from 2005. He was writing about his struggles with faith. From the version I knew of him, I never knew that was a part of him, and that's something I haven't really seen a lot in my family. And I think whenever I've openly talked about struggling with faith, I always got shot down. It felt distant. There wasn’t a nuanced perspective. That’s where my frustration came from. So, as I was researching and playing around with it in some of my new works, I talked to Ayesha about it, and the exhibition grew from there. It felt natural, as if everything came together effortlessly. We reached out to certain people who we felt would be a perfect fit, and even though our works were all different, they all said the same thing. We all touched on family, loss, and how Islam is always present in our lives. It was a very personal exploration of how we all individually bridge that gap.
Ayesha: Hamza brought the idea to me, and like he said, we just bounced off each other. We were in sync the whole time. We had a very clear vision of what we wanted to do, and it came out beautifully — the exhibition, the screening, the entire week.
How did you select the artists to feature in the exhibition?
Ayesha: We did a callout, but I also remembered artists I had seen in exhibitions or online. You make a mental note of artists whose work resonates with you. Then, it’s about bringing those diverse works together. Once they were all placed in the same space, they just worked so well together on their own. It feels like the pieces do the work themselves.
Hamza: A lot of the artists were selected through Ayesha’s network. She’s tapped into a different scene in Manchester. Then I brought in some of my friends whose work I’ve always admired and wanted to collaborate with. It was less about the mediums and more about the intention behind their work—the feelings they were trying to convey.
One of the artists, Hafifa, for example, created a painting about partition. She was one of the first to read my journals, and when we talked about Islam, she shared stories of her father, who lived through the partition. That conversation inspired me to reach out to her to create something around that experience. A lot of artists created new works in just two months before the exhibition.
Partition, 2025 - Hafifa Ahmed Was there any commonality or recurring themes across all the works?
Hamza: Family, definitely.
Ayesha: It's not always overt, but if you sit with the works, there’s a feeling that this is a familial space. One of the visitors yesterday said the exhibition felt like home, like being in her parents’ house. That’s a perfect example of how family is an underlying theme, even if not directly stated in every piece.
This exhibition was an exploration of devotion, doubt, and fracture. How do you both navigate that tension in your creative practices?
Hamza: For me, writing has always been the starting point. Pen and paper are where I work through my feelings. For my piece in the exhibition, I set up a prayer mat with two journal entries—one from me this year and one from my uncle in 2005. The intention was for viewers to sit in prayer, then turn right to read mine and left to read his. I like to sit with my doubts, to let them simmer instead of rushing to resolve them. Writing helps me reconcile the conflict between my heart and my mind. When others engage with it, it reassures me but also makes me question more, realizing I’m not alone in these feelings.
Ayesha: I’m a bit different. I don’t approach it as intentionally as Hamza. I just feel a lot, and then I channel that emotion into my work. It’s less about a plan and more about seeing where the process takes me. I think that’s how I approach life, just throwing myself into it, making mistakes, and learning as I go. That’s how I navigate those fractures in my creative practice.
Tashkeel (Figuration), 2025 - Hamza Ashraf
Faith is often seen as a deeply personal experience, but so many of our identities are shaped by community. How do the works in the exhibition reflect both the individual and collective aspects of faith and fractures?
Ayesha: Every piece is deeply personal to the artist, but anyone can walk into the exhibition and see themselves reflected in the work. Despite the individual stories, there’s a shared experience that binds them together. Especially for Muslims in the diaspora, particularly in the UK, we have such a similar experience, and the community naturally forms through that shared understanding.
Hamza: It’s amazing how each person could resonate with different works in their own way. The collective aspect comes from embracing the imperfection of our journeys. No one has it all figured out. Some days you feel close to your faith, and other days, far apart. That’s the beauty of the process—we all share in that uncertainty and growth.
Ayesha: I also think it’s generational. In Pakistani culture, older generations often avoid confronting the difficult parts of faith. We created a space to talk about these taboo subjects, which brought people together for deeper, meaningful conversations.
Hamza: And I think that generational aspect really comes through in the work. Many of us, especially from Pakistani backgrounds, can relate to the rigidness that came with religion. One artist shared that painful experience: “It had to be one way, and I had to disappear.” That feeling is something many people can relate to, only growing older gives you the chance to find your own voice and make your own decisions about faith.
The Masjid Uncles of the Front Row, 2025 - PEIM La Bayk, 2022 - Ray Solace How do you think art helps us negotiate that inheritance? Does it allow us to accept it, reclaim it, reshape it, or resist it?
Hamza: I actually asked that question to some of the artists last night because so many of us explored stories from our families and lineage to inform the pieces we created. I asked them, "Do you think your work is an extension of your family archive, continuing the story, or more of a documentation of it?" A lot of them said both. For us, our art is a way of marking our lives here, making our experiences tangible in a way that allows people to see, feel, reclaim, and almost have proof of our existence. Art is a medium that allows these things to be felt and interpreted. So, I definitely see it as a way to reclaim.
Ayesha: Yes, and I think for a lot of the artists, it’s a way to understand their emotions and come to terms with them. I think understanding is the first step in the process of informing where the art will lead, whether that’s towards acceptance or resistance.
For God’s Sake, 2024 - Basit Khan How do you hope this exhibition contributes to the conversation around healing, both personally and within the broader communities it speaks to?
Ayesha: I hope it makes us more comfortable having these conversations so we don’t shy away from them. When we bury emotions deep, they often resurface in more destructive ways later on. I hope this exhibition inspires people to check in with each other and open up difficult conversations that we often avoid but are so important to have.
Hamza: I hope that hosting an event like this helps people see that we’re more than just a sensational topic or spectacle. Right now, there's a huge rise in Islamophobia in the UK, and we're being targeted in many ways. This show allows us to be seen as human beings, with our stories, emotions, and quiet resilience. It’s important to show that we are more than just what the media portrays. We are a community that values love and connection. I also hope this exhibition sparks more conversations and inspires others to continue pushing this dialogue forward, perhaps even in different cities.
Ayesha: I think what Hamza said about showing the human side is so important. We’re often portrayed in a very specific way, and many of the people who came to the exhibition weren’t Muslim. It was so important for us to show that we’re just people, despite how we’re often depicted.
Hamza: And the beauty of it was how every artist incorporated an Islamic concept or theme into their work, explaining it to the audience. It was a chance to share something personal that might remind others of their own experiences. It was so beautiful to see how those connections were made throughout the week.
What does it mean for each of you to be creative at the intersection of art and spirituality?
Ayesha: For me, it’s about signaling to others that they’re not alone. When we feel low in faith, we often place blame on ourselves, but reaching out to others can make things easier. I think it’s so important to let people know they’re seen, that there’s a community here for them.
Hamza: I agree with Ayesha. For me, my art is almost like my backbone. I’m not always confident, and I can be quite anxious. But art gives me a shield, a way to express my truth and be honest about my experiences. It’s a practice of authenticity, and I’ve always felt like someone in the room could connect with it. Meeting others like Ayesha, who share this journey, has helped me grow in confidence and creativity.
Ayesha: Something one of the women at the closing night said really resonated with me. She mentioned how we know representation is important, but you don’t fully realize its impact until you see it for the first time. It’s such a real feeling, and in seeing it, you also feel its absence. That’s when you realize how crucial it is to have more of these spaces where conversations can take place.
Were there any moments or details from the exhibition’s opening night that felt especially meaningful to you?
Ayesha: One thing I wanted to mention is the importance of having non-Muslims experience this as well. During the opening night, we had a communal iftar and a prayer space. Some non-Muslim attendees said it was the first time they’d seen prayer or heard the Athan. I think it was important for people to see the beauty and peacefulness of those moments. Even if they didn’t fully understand the words, they found it meditative and calming. The communal iftar, where we sat at tables like you would in a masjid, was also a special way to showcase the sense of community within Islam. It was beautiful to share that with people who hadn’t experienced it before.
Hamza: I agree. The way the exhibition was set up, with everything hung low and people asked to take their shoes off before entering, created a certain atmosphere. I wanted people to step into a space that felt mindful, like a moment of reflection. The shoe rack being filled on opening night reminded me of a masjid, where you leave the world behind and focus on what’s in front of you. It was a beautiful moment.
Ayesha: The act of taking off your shoes also had a physical and mental effect. It prepared you to step into the space, making it a more mindful experience for the viewers. It was a small but significant touch that helped set the tone for the exhibition.
Hamza: Seeing that in real life was indescribable. It was beautiful.
Hamza and Ayesha’s curation invited a reflection on the intersection of faith, creativity, and identity. Their approach did not demand attention but resonated deeply, calling for introspection in the spaces between what is seen and what is felt. Through their personal narratives and the artists they chose to highlight, they created a dialogue that spoke not just to the eye but to the heart, reminding us that the most powerful stories often lie in the fractures, where growth and understanding exist.
