Alisia Akbar Noorali

Growing up in Dar es Salaam, which memories or cultural elements most strongly shaped your early artistic vision?

Dar es Salaam shaped me long before I ever picked up a brush. I grew up in a world of colorful khangas drying in the sun, markets overflowing with patterns, and the Indian Ocean catching light in a way no paint can fully capture. Those colors became my first language.

The city itself was a constant influence: the carved wooden doors of Zanzibar-style architecture, the chaos and rhythm of Kariakoo markets, and the conversations spilling out of homes and street corners. I remember watching Makonde sculptors carve entire stories from a single piece of wood. From them, I learned that materials have memory, and that art can hold both history and imagination at the same time.

My early artistic vision grew from these small, ordinary moments: my mother’s khanga tied around her waist, the quiet strength with which women carried themselves, and the way stories and proverbs lived in fabric, objects, and gestures. Growing up in Tanzania taught me that art comes from life, from memory, and from the desire to hold onto what might otherwise disappear.

When starting a new piece, what usually comes first for you — a specific memory, an emotion, or a visual concept?

For me, it almost always starts with an emotion or a feeling I can’t quite let go of, something like curiosity, loss, hope, or even frustration. That initial spark usually comes from a personal experience or a memory that’s stuck in my mind. Once I have that emotional core, I start thinking about how to give it form visually: the colors, textures, and materials that could best express it.

For example, in Uhuru, I knew I wanted to convey freedom and empowerment, something deeply personal about being a girl navigating social expectations. From that feeling, the visual idea of the khanga and the overflowing colors emerged naturally. Similarly, in The Void Within, the feeling of absence and loss came first, and it guided how I broke apart the table and let the shards and voids shape the piece.

So really, it’s a back-and-forth: the feeling comes first, then I let it inform the visual concept, and often the materials themselves inspire new directions. It’s less about planning every detail and more about letting the emotion lead the way.

Alisia Akbar Noorali | A New And Old Fusion | 2024

Could you describe the materials and techniques you find most essential in transforming personal experiences into visual forms?

The materials I choose are often deeply connected to the story or emotion I want to explore. For me, the texture, weight, and history of an object or medium can add layers of meaning to a piece. In painting, acrylics allow me to play with bold colors and layering, which is perfect for expressing emotions that feel vibrant and alive, like in Uhuru or Upendo. In sculpture, working with found objects or wood lets me engage physically with form, breaking and reshaping materials in ways that mirror the emotional process behind the work, as in The Void Within.

I am drawn to techniques that allow experimentation and transformation. Whether it’s layering paint, carving into wood, or scratching into a surface, I like methods that let me explore both control and unpredictability. For example, in A New and Old Fusion, using scratchboard and a knife allowed me to capture intricate architectural details while also embracing the raw, tactile quality of the material. That tension between precision and spontaneity mirrors the balance I aim for in my artistic expression, between emotion and form, memory and imagination.

I also find inspiration in the traditions of Tanzanian art. Observing Makonde sculptures, Zanzibar carvings, and Tinga Tinga paintings taught me how materials themselves can tell stories, from the grain of wood to the vibrancy of color. Even small elements, like the patterns in a khanga, can carry symbolism and cultural weight. Incorporating these ideas into my own work helps me connect personal experiences to a broader cultural context.

Another important aspect is letting the materials guide the work. Often, as I manipulate paint, wood, or other media, unexpected textures or forms emerge that change the direction of the piece. I embrace these moments as part of the creative conversation, allowing the medium to contribute its own voice to the final work.

Ultimately, the materials and techniques I choose are inseparable from the emotional and conceptual core of my work. They allow me to transform feelings, memories, and cultural influences into visual forms that carry depth, texture, and resonance for both me and the audience.

Alisia Akbar Noorali | Upendo | 2024

Your statement speaks of contrasts such as strength and tenderness, tradition and change. How do these opposites appear in your recent works?

I’m really drawn to contrasts because they feel like life itself, complicated, messy, full of tension. In my work, strength and tenderness often appear together, like in Upendo, where the lions are both powerful and protective but also gentle. That balance between the two is something I try to capture a lot, because I think it reflects real human experience.

Tradition and change show up a lot too. In A New and Old Fusion, for example, I combined Zanzibar’s carved historical windows with modern buildings from Dar es Salaam. The juxtaposition reflects how I move between worlds, holding onto my roots while navigating new ideas and spaces. Even in pieces like Uhuru or The Void Within, there’s this tension between structure and freedom, control and chaos, which comes from exploring how personal and cultural expectations shape us, and how breaking or bending them can lead to growth.

I like leaving these contrasts visible in the work because they invite the viewer to sit with them, to see how different forces coexist, and maybe reflect on the tensions in their own lives.

Alisia Akbar Noorali | Tides Of Resolve | 2023

How has studying in California and exhibiting across Europe and North America broadened or challenged your understanding of your own culture?

Studying in California and exhibiting internationally has given me a new perspective on my own culture. Being immersed in different environments, surrounded by artists from diverse backgrounds, has made me reflect more consciously on what it means to be Tanzanian and how my upbringing shapes my work. It made me realize that the cultural symbols and traditions I grew up with, khangas, carvings, and local storytelling, carry meanings that are both personal and universal.

Exhibiting across Europe and North America has also shown me how audiences interpret these symbols in ways I might not have expected. People respond to the colors, patterns, and narratives differently depending on their own cultural context, which has challenged me to think about how to communicate the essence of my experiences while respecting the viewer’s perspective. At the same time, it has reinforced how powerful these cultural markers are in telling a story, because they resonate even across great distances.

Being away from home has also expanded my artistic vocabulary. Learning new techniques, experimenting with different materials, and seeing approaches to composition and narrative that I hadn’t encountered in Tanzania has encouraged me to push my own practice further. I’ve been able to combine these new skills with the traditions I grew up with, creating work that reflects both my roots and the broader world I now navigate.

Ultimately, these experiences have broadened my understanding of cultural identity as something dynamic rather than fixed. My work becomes a dialogue between my roots and the new contexts I encounter, allowing me to explore my heritage while experimenting with form, medium, and narrative. Exhibiting internationally has shown me that culture is both deeply personal and universally communicative, and that balance continues to shape how I approach each piece.

Are there particular conversations with audiences abroad that have surprised or inspired you?

One of the most inspiring aspects of exhibiting internationally has been the conversations I’ve had with women and young people about identity, culture, and equality. People often approach my work and share their own experiences, the challenges they face, the expectations placed on them, or the ways they’ve had to navigate societal norms. Those conversations have been powerful reminders of why I create the work I do.

I’ve been struck by how universal some of these experiences are. Even in contexts very different from my own, women have shared stories about feeling limited by expectations, underrepresented in opportunities, or overlooked in spaces like research, leadership, or creative fields. Seeing how my work can spark dialogue around these issues, and make people reflect on their own experiences, has been both humbling and motivating.

What inspires me most in these interactions is the courage, resilience, and creativity people bring to their own lives. Hearing women and young people talk about how they challenge societal norms, pursue their passions, or reclaim their voice reminds me why art can be such a powerful tool for expression and empowerment. These stories fuel my own practice, pushing me to create work that not only reflects my experiences but also encourages others to embrace theirs.

Some of the most meaningful moments have been when young people connect with my art on a personal level. They talk about feeling seen or encouraged to embrace their own voice and ideas. Hearing them express how my work resonates with their own journey is incredibly inspiring, and it reinforces my belief that art can be a tool for empowerment and reflection.

These interactions have also shaped the way I think about my work. They remind me that art isn’t just about aesthetics.  It is  about opening space for dialogue, empathy, and understanding. Meeting people from different cultures and hearing their perspectives has strengthened my commitment to creating pieces that are deeply personal but also resonate on a broader, human level.

Alisia Akbar Noorali | Umoja | 2023

What impact or dialogue do you hope your art will spark in the coming years?

I hope my art sparks conversations about freedom, identity, and resilience. A lot of my work begins with my own experiences, but I want it to open up space for viewers to bring in their own stories too. When someone connects with a piece not just because of what I put into it, but because it reflects something in their own life, that’s when the dialogue really begins.

For me, it’s especially important that women and young people feel seen in my work. It’s striking to me that, even in our time, something as basic as gender equality is still not a reality. We’ve made progress in many ways, but equality remains unfinished work, unevenly lived across different parts of the world. From unequal pay to restrictive societal expectations, and even the lack of representation in fields like research, women continue to face disadvantages that cut across different areas of life, and that reality shapes the way I think about my art. I don’t want to just reflect those imbalances, but I want to create work that challenges them, that shows femininity and identity as sources of strength rather than limits.

I also want my work to speak to young people, because I believe we are the future. The voices of our generation are powerful, and the stories we carry deserve space. If my work can remind someone, whether it’s a young person finding their place in the world, or a woman navigating expectations, that their voice matters and their experiences carry value, then I feel like it’s doing what it’s meant to do.

At the same time, I want my art to bridge cultures. Symbols like khangas or the carvings found in Zanzibar are deeply Tanzanian, but I’ve learned that they can also resonate universally, sparking recognition in someone who has never set foot in East Africa. Those unexpected connections remind me that while art is rooted in place, its emotions can cross borders.

In the years ahead, my hope is to keep creating work that is both personal and collective, art that doesn’t just tell my story, but also becomes a way for others to see themselves, to feel, and to reflect on the worlds they come from.