Between Memories & Absence - Tasneem Elnayal’s Exploration of Sudan, Loss, and Faith
Photos by Shams Al-FekaikiTasneem Elnayal’s artistic world is one where memory and emotion intertwine, where the past is never really gone but lingers in layered compositions. Her work is deeply introspective, drawing from her own experiences and the collective consciousness of Sudanese identity. In her latest exhibition, 'Between Memories & Absence بين الذكريات و الغياب' Tasneem explores the spaces left behind, by people, by time, by history itself. Each piece is a conversation between presence and loss, between what is remembered and what fades.
Born and raised in London, the Sudanese artist has long explored themes of belonging and cultural memory in her work. But after the war erupted in Sudan on April 15, 2023, her perspective and art shifted.
“I think the story that I was trying to tell is a bit like life. You can never really control it,” she reflects. “As a Sudanese artist, I am always so proud of my heritage, my upbringing, and my culture. And so that naturally comes through in my work, but ever since the war happened, I had to tell different stories.”
What emerged was a collection of paintings that not only traced her personal memories but also spoke to the collective grief of a people navigating loss and forced separation. “I feel like people still don’t know. And it’s been more than a year since [the war] started. I worry that people choose not to know and choose not to listen.”
Your work explores cultural identity and belonging. Were these themes always central to your art, or did they develop over time?
Taseem: Yes, these themes have always been at the core of my work. I was born and raised in the UK, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt British, at least not in a deeper sense. I have the accent and the passport, and there are parts of British culture that I identify with, but at the same time, London’s diversity means that everyone is often defined by their ethnicity, and I’m proud to do that. For me, I’m always Sudanese before I’m British. Despite growing up here, it never really felt like home to me. But when I visit Sudan, something I’ve done every year since I was a child, it just feels right. The language, the customs, it’s all familiar and comforting. It feels like home.
The title Between Memories & Absence carries a deep emotional weight. How did you arrive at this name?
Taseem: Before the war, my work was focused mainly on my own personal memories, the things I went through, and how I perceived the world. Whether it was my experiences in Sudan or here in the UK. But after the war, I began to focus on something larger. The work now represents collective grief, loss, and the feeling of missing a place or people. Some of my more recent pieces speak to collective experiences. Between Memories & Absence came from this idea of holding on to memories but also dealing with the absence of things that I can no longer access, like Sudan. It’s not just my loss anymore, it’s a shared one. But after the war, I started telling stories that were no longer just mine. They became collective. Collective grief, collective loss, collective longing.
Can you walk me through some of the key pieces in the exhibition? Are there particular works that feel especially personal or significant?
Taseem: One of them is titled “If Their Intentions Are Pure, the Angareeb Can Carry a Hundred”. It’s a long title, but it comes from a Sudanese proverb: kaan taabat an-niiya al-‘angareeb bishiil miiya (كان طابت النية العنقريب بشيل مية). It speaks to solidarity and community, the idea that if people are good to each other, the angareeb (a traditional Sudanese bed) can hold many.
When I first painted it, I wanted to reflect the beauty of that proverb. The angareeb is a familiar presence in Sudanese homes, found in living rooms, courtyards, front yards, even on rooftops where people sleep under the sky because the weather is beautiful. It’s also a symbol of hospitality, used to welcome guests who traveled from far away. A decorated version is used in wedding ceremonies, during the Henna. I always understood its beauty and significance in those contexts.
But then, the war happened, and it shifted my understanding. I didn’t know the angareeb was also used to carry the dead to their graves. When the massacre happened, there was an image I couldn’t shake, bodies being carried in angareebs, hundreds of them. That completely changed how I saw the piece. Later, I created a second, larger version, ”Mass Massacre”. At first glance, it looks almost identical to the first, but it carries the weight of loss. It tells both stories—the one I first believed in and the one the war forced me to see. It’s deeply personal because that image is something I can’t get out of my head. And yet, you never hear about it in the news.
Mass Massacre, 2024Your work balances nostalgia and loss. How do you navigate that tension?
Taseem: To be honest, I don’t know if I navigate it well. Lately, I’ve struggled with expressing myself through art. I’m so grateful to have that outlet, but when there’s so much grief and loss, creating art can feel almost useless in the moment. Even though I don’t believe that, it’s a feeling that creeps in.
But I remind myself that art is powerful. It’s political. It serves a purpose. Even when it feels small, it matters. If my work can reflect what’s happening and help someone else feel seen, then it’s doing something
Do you see this shift in your work as something permanent?
Taseem: No, I don’t think anything in art is permanent. We’re always changing, always finding new ways to express and process things. I know for myself, whenever I start feeling too comfortable in something, I have this instinct to push beyond it.
Right now, I’m returning to creating, but I don’t know exactly where it’s leading. The works in the exhibition weren’t originally meant to be a collection, but they ended up telling a story. My next body of work might be different—it might focus on anything. I don’t want to restrict myself. Not that I was before.
How does faith find its way into your art?
Taseem: There’s a movement called the Hurufiyya movement, or the Huruf movement, that uses Arabic letters in art. And sometimes I will incorporate those Arabic letters, but not so that it’s visible—kind of hidden, just a few are referenced here and there. More broadly, faith helps me navigate difficult times. When you’re experiencing loss or grief, I think it’s just having the faith and the belief that things will eventually get better and things happen for a reason. And as cliché as it is, you kind of hold on to faith to keep you sane.
Beyond that, faith plays a role in how I process the world. When you’re experiencing grief, when your family is displaced, when you feel helpless, faith becomes a form of survival. As much as I struggle, I hold onto it to keep me grounded.
What do you hope people take away from your work and this exhibition?
Taseem: To remember Sudan. To keep their eyes on Sudan.
I want people to engage with art that exists outside the mainstream, to see a piece, read its title, and go home wanting to learn more. At the exhibition, there were moments where someone would walk in knowing nothing about Sudan, nothing about the war, and they’d leave looking it up on their phone. That, to me, is success. I also want people to reflect on their memories and experiences, to think about how similar or different it may be and to simply enjoy the work.
Freedom Will Come, 2023
Cradled by Porcelain Tears, 2023Tasneem’s work is more than an act of remembering; it is a way of making absence visible. Her paintings exist in the space between personal and collective memory, between what is mourned and what must be preserved. Through her art, she asks us to pay attention, to hold onto stories at risk of being forgotten. In a time where erasure feels imminent, her work stands as both testimony and resistance. And in that, there is a kind of hope.
The power of this exhibition lies not only in the art itself but in the conversations it sparks. By inviting viewers to confront difficult truths about Sudan and its ongoing struggles, Tasneem fosters a deeper awareness that extends beyond the gallery walls, urging us to engage with the world more critically and compassionately.
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