In a city synonymous with gloss and grandeur, it’s all too easy to overlook the quiet power of imperfection. For 17-year-old ceramic sculptor Samaira, however, imperfection is the essence of her work.
“People assume at my age, emotions can’t be this complex,” she remarks, her voice calm and self-assured. “But teenagers notice a lot. We’re constantly observing what people avoid saying.”
Samaira doesn’t just notice these emotions; she sculpts them. Her portfolio explores themes of grief, detachment, self-sabotage, and psychological tension. Her hand-built sculptures, often raw and cracked, command presence without demanding attention.
“Sculpture is different from drawing or painting because it’s physical. The clay won’t stay how you want it,” she explains. “It forces you to respond emotionally and intuitively. That’s what I love.”
Art with a Pulse
Raised in the vibrant city of Dubai, Samaira is all too aware of the relentless pursuit of perfection that surrounds her. Yet, this very drive is what she seeks to challenge.
“There isn’t always space here for people to openly talk about how they’re really feeling,” she notes. “That’s why I use art to explore the things people don’t say out loud.”
Her artistic process is deeply reflective, beginning with loose sketches, followed by hours of hand-shaping, carving, and staging. Each movement is deliberate yet intuitive. Unlike many artists her age, she does not chase traditional beauty; rather, she disrupts and redefines it.
One of her recent sculptures—a human head originally intended to feature horns as a symbol of self-sabotage—revealed a pronounced crack across the top after the horns broke mid-process. Instead of discarding the damaged piece, Samaira chose to embrace it.
“The piece became more powerful without the horns,” she explains. “The crack on the head felt like a wound caused from within. That shift made the story stronger.”
Texture in her work is intentional and meaningful. Smooth surfaces often symbolize emotional detachment, while raw patches and visible fingerprints convey tension and vulnerability. Samaira rarely uses color, believing that clay, in its natural state, does not require embellishment.
“Once I’ve captured what I need to emotionally, I stop. Especially with faces—overworking ruins the expression. Sometimes the emotion lies in the flaws,” she states, emphasizing the importance of authenticity in her art.
Animal imagery has also started to emerge in her recent pieces. With a fascination for psychology and symbolism, she experiments with combining human and animal forms—spiders, horns, tentacles—all serving as metaphors for internal struggles and feelings of entrapment.
“We assign human traits to animals all the time: aggression, fear, survival. Combining the two makes people pause and reflect,” she explains. “That discomfort is useful—it mirrors how we bury our darker emotions.”
Beyond the Studio
For Samaira, art transcends mere self-expression; it serves as a platform for change. One of her earlier sculptures addressed marine pollution through the lens of human vulnerability. In tandem with her artistic pursuits, she led a campaign at her school aimed at reducing plastic waste in the canteen.
“It wasn’t just a concept I sculpted; it was something I lived,” she shares. “I think young artists today have a responsibility to speak to what matters.”
This summer, Samaira is taking that responsibility further, moving beyond galleries and school corridors. She plans to travel to India, where she will host art workshops for children and young adults.
She is set to launch Abilasha, a program she founded to empower underprivileged students through clay art. Named “Abilasha,” meaning “ambition” in Punjabi, the initiative aims to provide students with something often out of reach in their environment: a sense of possibility.
“I’ve realized how many young people struggle to talk about their emotions. Art gives them a way in,” Samaira explains. “The goal is to introduce clay not just as a craft, but as a tool for emotional exploration.”
This endeavor represents a full-circle moment for her—taking something deeply personal and transforming it into a public, generative, and communal experience.
In Dubai, Samaira embodies a quiet countercurrent—one that seeks not attention through rebellion, but through radical honesty. “I’m not trying to shock people,” she asserts. “If someone feels something when they see the work—even if it’s discomfort—that’s the point. That means the emotion is real.”
Continuing to explore the intersections of mental health, symbolism, and form, Samaira’s sculptures offer a refreshing alternative to the curated perfection seen in social media feeds and the city’s skyline silhouettes. Her work invites reflection, allowing for stillness, and gives form to the feelings we often leave unspoken.
“Art can be more than something you look at,” she adds thoughtfully. “It can hold space for conversations we’re not having elsewhere.”
Husain Rizvi
Husain Rizvi is a Senior Features Writer who covers entertainment and lifestyle stories and has a passion for sharing the narratives of emerging artists like Samaira.
