Plastic artist Salman Al-Amir: How is architecture reflected in vibrant paintings of art? | culture

Where the rigor of engineering meets the freedom of spirit on the surface of the painting, stands the Saudi artist Salman Al-Amir, who has a unique artistic vision that is formed at the intersection of two worlds: architecture and plastic photography. An architect by training, a painter by passion, the prince not only depicts the world as he sees it, but rather reconstructs it visually, imbuing its characters and spaces with a structural depth derived from his dual perspective.

But how does architectural awareness, with its precise language of lines, perspectives and load calculations, translate into a vibrant visual language on canvas? How does the engineer’s disciplined eye coexist with the artist’s free hand? Do geometric lines restrict him or give him a broader horizon for innovation, to create a space for contemplation in a time when images are accelerating and symbols are being consumed?

In this dialogue, Salman Al-Amir reveals the precise plans of his creative process, speaking about the anatomy of figures as an architectural space, his responsibility as an artist in the face of consumer noise, and the dream as a field in which space and time blend. He also delves into the internal conflict he faced in his search for an artistic identity that dialogues with the Islamic and Arab heritage honestly and freely, and imagines a surreal architectural space to display his works, leading to the reflection of the Saudi environment with its light and rhythm in the fabric of his impressionistic paintings. It is a dialogue that moves gracefully between discipline and freedom, between function and visual pleasure, between reality and dream, to reveal an artist who thinks as he designs, and paints as he contemplates.

Prince Salman is a Saudi artist who combined his passion for art and his study of architecture. He began his career at King Faisal University in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, then obtained a Master of Fine Arts in Interior Design from Syracuse University in New York. Despite his preoccupation with architecture and interior design, drawing and photography remained his means of communication and creativity.

He sought to learn realism in the Renaissance style, so he received academic training in Florence and Rome, then taught drawing in Saudi institutes, and participated in local and international exhibitions. After about 25 years of success in architecture and design, he began devoting his time to teaching drawing, photography, and design.

His philosophical vision is reflected in his art, as he ensures that every work carries meaning and believes that highlighting light as an essential element replaces unnecessary details. His works may seem incomplete at first glance, but they push the recipient to contemplate and search for deeper answers. For him, a work of art is never complete, it only ends when it is abandoned, because truth is never exhausted. He currently lectures at many universities in the departments of architecture and graphic design.

• How does your architectural awareness translate into a visual language within your paintings?

Visual perspective has accompanied me since I studied architecture, and it is present in every painting I work on. It may not appear directly, but it is evident in the anatomy of the characters, in the construction of the head and body as if they were an architectural space with its own internal laws. Perspective, with objects grading and changing depending on the angle of view, shaped my awareness of how the elements of a painting are organized.

For me, architecture is not only a technique, but a way of thinking that organizes space and regulates relationships, and this is what I translate visually. My paintings are not a flat surface, but rather a vibrant space with rhythm and depth, just as in architectural design.

• Do you think that the geometric lines that appear in your works limit you as an artist or give you a broader horizon for innovation?

In engineering there is rigor and firmness. Architecture is an art that was created to protect the lives of those living beneath it, and from here comes the sharpness of the lines and the accuracy of the load calculations. But despite this, I did not allow that strictness to become a restriction that deterred me from the freedom of art.

I always remind myself that I deal with the painting as a work of art, so I free myself from those restrictions and thin the lines, break them and bend them if necessary, recalling the primitive man when he painted his first prey. He did not seek to completely match reality, but rather conveyed the essence of the moment honestly and spontaneously.

Geometry for me is not a restriction, but a language. A straight line or curve opens doors for me to contemplate order and chaos together. When I break the strictness of lines with a color rhythm or a free touch, innovation is born from the paradox between discipline and freedom.

• How do you see the responsibility of the artist in a time when images and symbols are accelerating? Should he slow down the rhythm or follow it?

Schopenhauer says, “Isolation is the fate of all great souls.” Then Nietzsche adds, “He who does not find his greatness in himself searches for it in solitude.” In our time of consumerism, many artists have lost their compass, and have been swept away by the major digital platforms until they have become, without realizing it, a propaganda and marketing machine. Artistic production has often become colored by consumerism. Amid this noise, the differences between cultural backgrounds faded, and the specificity of each artist’s identity was lost.

As for me, I do not see that the artist’s task is to chase speed, but rather to create a space for contemplation. Today we are drowning in quickly consumed images, and true art reminds us of the deep slowness, of the moment that transcends the surface of meaning. Therefore, I sometimes choose to place the viewer in front of a painting that calls for silence more than emotion, and I maintain my distance from the consumerist movement led by purely commercial policies.

• In architecture there is function, and in art there is freedom.. How do you manage this contradiction in your practice?

Your question is very important. It has become the norm that everything has a function, and that is why they say that architecture is “the most expensive type of art,” because if it forgets its basic function and goes overboard with aesthetic details at the expense of practical needs, it will lose its meaning.

In plastic art, the situation is different. In my opinion, its function is pure visual pleasure, devoid of any other purpose. I am not a supporter of “occasion art” or preaching through the painting. Rather, I see that the vacuum of freedom here is broader and more welcoming.

However, I do not see it as a contradiction as much as it is a complementarity. Architecture taught me discipline and the search for feasibility, while art gave me freedom and the ability to dream. In my practice, I mix the two: I benefit from the rigor of architecture in organizing the painting, and I leave art the freedom of the spirit to escape from standards.

• In your opinion, where does “place” as an architectural space intersect with “time” as a human feeling in your paintings?

The dream is the field in which space and time blend, so you find the spirit of dream and surrealism present in my works. The human being is the basic element, the one who dances within space, governed by the geometric and visual laws imposed by architecture, in a delicate balance between strictness and unruliness.

This human presence is not limited to the general composition, but is embodied even in the brush and knife strokes, in the clear protrusions on the surface of the painting, as if they were a trace of texture that restores the place’s spirit and its feeling to the time.

For me, place is not just a wall or a window, but rather a memory, and time is not the hands of a clock, but rather an internal feeling. When I draw an architectural space, I make sure that it bears the trace of time in cracks, changing light, and nostalgia. Thus, physical space meets human time, creating a visual space closer to a dream than to physical reality.

• What is the most difficult painting you have worked on, not only from a technical standpoint but also in terms of the internal conflict of the idea?

My most difficult paintings are those that confront me with personal questions about identity and belonging. The technique can be mastered with practice, but confronting oneself within the painting is more difficult. One of the most prominent of these experiences was the painting “Ideas on a Flat Carpet,” as it was my first serious attempt to think about how to employ the foundations of Islamic miniatures and manuscripts to create my own artistic identity as an artist belonging to Arab and Islamic culture.

As you know, this art is practiced more in the Persian, Mongolian, Indian and Chinese East than in the Arab regions, so I found myself confused: How do I highlight the Arab identity within an art that has been historically linked to Persia and India? How did he convince the Arab recipient of the presence of the Arab spirit in him without the need for oral explanation, in line with the saying that the work explains itself?

For this reason, I resorted to a visual trick that showed the elements in a way that contradicts the characteristic of flatness known in Islamic miniatures. I introduced depth and perspective, especially in the human element, but I stripped it of the familiar turban in Islamic manuscripts so as not to fall into the dilemma of sects or religious conflicts.

In the end, the experience was more an internal struggle with oneself than a technical challenge. I was trying to show my identity as an Arab without slipping into conflicts of narrow affiliations, and to search for an artistic space that bore my own features and dialogued with my heritage honestly and freely.

• If you were allowed to display your work in an architectural space of your design, how would you build the relationship between the physical space and the painting?

The first thing I will think of is the idea of ​​optical illusion, where things appear to be different from their natural dimensions. I will employ the phenomenon of visual perspective, but distorted towards what is known as isometric perspective, which is an unrealistic geometric perspective that clearly and distinctly characterizes Islamic manuscripts. Where the elements do not shrink, the size of the far does not change from the near, and things appear at unusual viewing angles. In this way, I want the viewer to live inside a surreal space, as if he were in a daydream, half asleep and the other half awake.

I will think of the exhibition as a large painting, not as a neutral space. The wall will not just be a support, but part of the experience. Lighting, corridors, ceiling heights…all of these are elements that I will deal with to redefine the relationship between the recipient and the artwork. I aspire for the visitor to live the experience as if he were inside an “architectural painting” in which the walls interact with colors and other elements such as furniture, and in which the place itself turns into an extension of the visual vision.

• How is the Saudi environment – light, urbanism, social rhythm – reflected in your work?

It is nice to ask about the environment, because it is not just a background for works, but the core of their formation. What gives objects their identity first is natural light. The dim light in the west is not the same as it is in the east, and the color of the red robe here is not the same shade as there, even though it is the same robe. This is a point that many local artists overlook, while for me it is a basic starting point, as my colors and other elements emerge automatically from it.

I am an artist who lives in my time and draws lessons from history without imitating it. Therefore, I draw the palm tree not because it is a recognized Saudi symbol, but because it is present in my daily life. At home, on the street, and in the park. I draw people with Arabic features that do not distinguish between Bahraini, Qatari, and Kuwaiti, because we live in the same geography, while the small details dissolve in the impressionistic style that I chose, where the minute details disappear in favor of the spirit of the scene. For example, I dealt with the topic of henna in an impressionistic way that does not specify the geographical region, but reflects the spirit of the Gulf. Sometimes I borrow from traditional dress, as I did in my work “Istiqa al-Kalima,” where a woman wears an old Hijazi outfit from Medina, which may only be recognized by those who lived in Hijaz, but nevertheless it carries the spirit of the East as a living work of art.

For me, the Saudi environment is present in the strong light that creates sharp contrasts, in the urbanism that develops rapidly but does not abandon its roots, and in the social rhythm that combines authenticity and change. All of these appear in my paintings, sometimes directly, and sometimes as color and formal suggestions that reflect the identity of the place.