Amir Taba, a Swedish-Iranian artist, was born in Tehran, where art and design were not just a pursuit, but embedded in the rhythm of daily life. Raised in the vibrant atmosphere of his mother’s atelier, Amir was embraced by the textures and subtleties of costume design from a young age—a quiet nurturing that guided him away from the study of mathematics and toward a creative calling at the University of Arts and Architecture in Tehran.
His journey through Sweden, Morocco, Germany, and the UAE has not only deepened his practice across illustration and design, but also enriched the emotional and conceptual foundation of his work. Now based in Dubai, Amir’s art explores themes of transformation, identity, and the contradictions people shoulder in silence. His paintings are layered, resonant, and marked by the tension between light and darkness, always searching for what it truly means to be human.
Below, is our interview with this thoughtful and compelling artist.
1. Your artistic journey began in Tehran, surrounded by creativity from a young age. In what ways did your family’s influence and early environment shape your artistic voice today?
I was born and grew up in Tehran, where creativity was always part of the environment. My mother worked as a decorator and costume designer, and I spent a lot of time in her atelier or walking with her through fabric shops as she looked for specific textures, colors, or materials. As a child, I didn’t always understand what she was searching for, but I could sense the care behind every decision, not to impress, but to stay honest to what she was trying to create.
That quiet persistence and dedication shaped me more than I realized at the time. It taught me to pay attention, to work with patience, and to stay with an idea even when it isn’t clear where it’s going. I think that way of seeing, patient, nuanced, and quietly observant, still runs through my work today.
2. Living through contrast and adversity—such as growing up during times of war and experiencing censorship at university—how have these intense experiences manifested in the themes and emotions of your artwork?
Living through contrast became a kind of baseline. As a child during the war, there was always a friction between fear and normality, between what was happening outside and the life we tried to hold together inside. Later, during my university years, restrictions were something we learned to navigate quietly. You couldn’t say everything directly, so you found other ways through symbols, form, and even silence.
Those experiences didn’t turn into specific and obvious images in my work, but they shaped its atmosphere in lasting ways. There is often a quiet undercurrent, something unfolding just beyond what is immediately seen. I’m interested in what people carry, the weight they adapt to, the parts they hide, and the forms they take on just to keep going. That comes, I think, from growing up in environments where expression was necessary, but never simple.
There is often a quiet undercurrent, something unfolding just beyond what is immediately seen. I’m interested in what people carry, the weight they adapt to, the parts they hide, and the forms they take on just to keep going.
Amir taba – Portrait – In the Studio
3. You’ve lived and worked in countries as diverse as Sweden, Morocco, and Germany. How have these different cultures and artistic communities influenced your creative process and subject matter?
Each place has left a different kind of impression. In Sweden, I learned to value space and stillness, both in life and in composition. Morocco offered a deep sense of ornament, rhythm, and textured storytelling that stayed with me long after I left. In Germany, I found a strong sense of structure, dedication, and clarity, along with a quiet, goal-oriented intensity that often runs beneath the surface.
Moving between cultures made me more alert to contrasts and broadened my way of seeing, not just in terms of subject matter, but also in how I observe, listen, and respond to subtlety and the ways people express emotion without always using words.
Since last year, I’ve been based in Dubai, a place of movement, diversity, and quiet complexity. Working here has reshaped how I approach my practice. These recent works are shaped in the UAE and should be seen as part of its growing cultural fabric, not as imports, but as something formed here, with the potential to be shared with the broader art world.
4. Your work is known for being both emotionally charged and at times unsettling or dark. What draws you to explore these aspects of the human experience, and how do you hope viewers respond to these elements in your art?
I don’t set out to make something dark, but I also don’t try to avoid it. Certain emotions, discomfort, uncertainty and vulnerability have always felt closer to the truth than more polished or resolved expressions. I think that’s because I’ve often experienced life as something layered and contradictory, where joy and unease can exist in the same moment.
What draws me in is that edge, where something familiar becomes strange, or where something quiet suddenly feels charged. I’m not trying to guide the viewer to one conclusion. If the work feels unsettling at times, I hope it opens up space for reflection rather than resistance. For me, art isn’t about comfort — it’s about honesty, and sometimes honesty isn’t easy to look at. But the reality doesn’t disappear just because you turn your head. If anything, you have to face it in order to move through it.
For me, art isn’t about comfort — it’s about honesty, and sometimes honesty isn’t easy to look at. But the reality doesn’t disappear just because you turn your head. If anything, you have to face it in order to move through it.
The Sudden Resurrection – 2025
5. You mention that your sketchbook is a constant companion. Can you share insights into your creative process—how ideas start, evolve, and eventually become the complex and detailed pieces you’re known for?
The sketchbook is where things start, but it’s not always a matter of intention. It’s occasionally a face I saw in passing, or a shape that is known to me, or a sentence I heard and could not let go. It’s a place to observe and reflect not with planful intent, but with a gentle attention. I don’t sit down with a message in mind; I’m not even sure if I believe in that sort of role. I don’t know whether I could teach or explain anything.
What I do is try to follow the process, stay with something long enough that it starts to shift or reveal a different dimension. Usually, that requires sifting through multiple versions and letting the work change its course, sometimes even contradicting itself. Eventually some figures or certain tensions start to take shape and then comes storytelling — not always story in the sense of narrative but in the sense of how the character holds weight or memory or emotion.
The finished piece is never about a resolution. It’s more like arriving at a place where the image feels honest and holds something I didn’t know how to say in words.
In speaking to Amir Taba, we gain a compelling glimpse into the mind of an artist whose experience of adversity, migration, and cultural layering fuels art that is as resonant as it is reflective. His work invites us to sit with discomfort and nuance, seeking not a neat resolution, but a deeper honesty about ourselves and the lives around us.
(c) ARTGULF.AE 2025
