The cover artwork of our current print magazine, komPOST24, was created by Sudanese artist Hashim Nasr. It shows a hand wrapped in blue plastic, reaching out toward the sky, while colorful flowers are sprouting from the plastic-covered arm.

Hashim Nasr arrived in Cairo two years ago. What was initially meant to be a short visit turned into a long-term stay when war broke out in Sudan, preventing his return to his hometown, Khartoum. Now based in Alexandria with his family, Hashim participated in the NILE FLUX call, an initiative by komplex-KULTURMAGAZIN in collaboration with the Austrian Cultural Forum Cairo (ACF) and EUNIC Egypt. It was an open call for photographers and writers along the Nile, launched as part of the SABBART program, which explored environmental topics in culture and the arts. The selected works reflect on the ever-changing social, cultural, and ecological diversity of the river region, telling deeply personal yet globally relevant stories.

For the open call Hashim contributed photographs from his surreal series A Leap Into A Dream, which addresses both the concept of homeland and the pressing issue of water shortages in Khartoum. In an interview with Alina from the ACF, Hashim spoke about the bright sides and challenges of living and working as an artist in exile, as well as the evolution of his artistic practice.

Alina: Hashim, when did you come to Egypt, and how has your experience been so far?

Hashim: It has been two long years in Egypt, but we are managing to adapt to our new life in Alexandria. I came to Egypt with my family for a holiday in March 2023. However, when war broke out in Sudan shortly after, we couldn’t return to Khartoum, and our short visit turned into an indefinite stay. At first, adjusting was difficult—making friends, finding a creative community, and maintaining my artistic practice felt challenging. But over time, I connected with other artists and started exploring Alexandria and Egypt more deeply. Now, I actually enjoy discovering new places and drawing inspiration from my surroundings.

How has your artistic approach changed since moving to Egypt?

My focus has shifted significantly. Back in Sudan, my work was more open-ended, drawing from various themes and ideas. But after the war started, I felt a need to document the reality of displacement, loss, and resilience. My art became more personal—I wanted to express what I was feeling, what my family and friends were going through, and the broader impact of war on people’s lives.

Beyond that, the way I create has also changed. In Sudan, working with models and accessing certain materials was more difficult. Here in Egypt, collaboration is much easier. I’ve been able to connect with a larger artistic community, which has allowed me to experiment with new concepts and methods. My intention has evolved: I now see my work not just as self-expression but as a way to reflect on the reality of life during and after war. 

I imagine working with such heavy themes can be emotionally draining.

Yes, absolutely. By last year, constantly engaging with the war in my work began to weigh heavily on my heart and affect my mental well-being. The stories I encountered—of people losing their homes, families, and entire lives—were devastating. At some point, I realized I needed a break. I needed to create art just for the sake of art, without always addressing something political or painful.

Now, I try to find a balance. I still explore themes related to Sudan and displacement, but I also allow myself to create freely, without pressure.

Your work blends surrealism with reality. Can you tell me about that approach?

I’ve always been fascinated by merging surrealism with everyday life. My pieces feature imaginary characters in real-world settings—outdoor photography is particularly important to me. I love exploring visually striking landscapes and environments, then integrating surrealist elements to create a unique contrast.

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We can see that in your photos from the A Leap Into A Dream series, which you submitted for the Nile FLUX call. What was the idea behind it?

In the artworks featured in the magazine, I explore themes of childhood memories and the longing to reconnect with our roots and land. The series reflects my desire to imagine myself as someone searching for a reconnection with my origins and family. It blends my journey of rediscovering my roots with a reimagining of my childhood experiences.

In the whole series you are using blue cones. What do they symbolize?

The idea for the cones actually came by chance. I wanted a dark background and bought some blue paper from the library. As I played around with it, I noticed how it rolled around my arm, almost like a sculptural form. I placed it on my friend’s head, and that’s how the concept started.

Over time, the cone took on deeper meaning. I was captivated by its shape and blue color. It became a symbol of anonymity—hiding the identity of the person in the photo while still allowing viewers to connect with the essence of the image. The cone represents an imaginary character that doesn’t belong to our world but still feels familiar.

You mentioned surrealism has fascinated you since childhood. What were your early influences?

I was drawn to surrealist films and sci-fi movies. I loved art that felt dreamlike, detached from reality. Even the blue cone series is connected to a dream I had about my grandfather working on his farm, wearing a cone-shaped headpiece. That’s why I named the project A Leap Into A Dream—because so much of my work stems from dreams and subconscious ideas. This blend of dreams, cinema, and art has been a major source of inspiration for my surrealistic works.

That dreamlike series fits very well with the Nile FLUX call, as it also touches on Khartoum’s water crisis. What was your inspiration?

I took these photos in March 2023, just before the war began. That summer, Khartoum faced a severe water shortage, despite being located right next to the Nile. The affected areas were only meters away from the river, yet people had to endure months without reliable access to water. The issue wasn’t caused by climate change—it was due to government mismanagement and corruption. The situation was deeply frustrating, and I wanted to shed light on it through my work.

In the accompanied text to the photos you mentioned that there is a blue and a white Nile. So there are two Nile rivers in Khartoum?

Yes, Khartoum is situated between the Blue Nile and the White Nile, which come together to form the Nile. Most areas of Khartoum have access to water, but it is very expensive to install private water lines, so people depend on the government to supply water lines to their homes.

How is the water situation in Khartoum now?

It has only gotten worse. Many people still lack access to water, electricity, and basic necessities. Those who remain depend on buying water, which is transported by donkeys and cows. The infrastructure is collapsing.

Your work includes a series focused on hands, with some of the photos featured in komplex magazine. Where did that idea come from?

The concept emerged during the COVID lockdowns. I was stuck at home, unable to work with models, and I was too shy to photograph myself. So, I started using my hands as subjects for my photographs. Hands can be incredibly expressive, capable of conveying emotions and telling stories.

This led to my series Stories of Hands and Other Shadows, where I experimented with hands and the shadows they cast. It was challenging to express my emotions using just my hands and playing with objects I found at home—like fabrics, gloves, artificial flowers, and plain white backgrounds. At the same time, it was fun and pushed me to think more creatively with limited resources.

You’re also a dentist. How do you balance both worlds?

Dentistry was my family’s choice, not mine—I always wanted to be a filmmaker. As a child, I was into drawing and crafting, and as I grew older, my passion for photography and painting deepened. I also love fashion and design. Today, I find passion in both fields—dentistry and art. I live between two worlds—the world of dentistry and the world of art—and try to maintain a balance between them.

How does your family feel about your work now?

They were surprised at first! I never really shared my art with them before. But when they attended my first exhibition, they were amazed. Now, they’re incredibly supportive—sometimes even acting as my models!

And how about your audiences? Do people in Sudan and Egypt react differently to your work?

Yes, definitely. In Sudan, I wasn’t well-known—I had only participated in one group exhibition before I left. I was planning a solo exhibition, but then the war started.

In Egypt, I’ve had much more exposure. My work gained attention from local and regional media, galleries, and the art community, especially because I was addressing the Sudanese war. However, I also felt a certain pressure—people expected me to speak about Sudanese political issues. While I think it’s important to address these realities, I also want my work to be seen for its artistic value, not just its political context. 

I think I also managed to gain attention for other aspects of my work, such as my use of surrealism. It’s not something you typically find in our region—neither in Sudan, nor in Egypt, nor in the Middle East. People are more accustomed to still life photography, street photography, and so on. So, this aspect of my photography became something interesting for people to explore.

Many Sudanese artists are now in exile. How is the community in Egypt?

Most of my artist friends have left Sudan and are now scattered around the world. But here in Egypt, we’re forming a strong artistic network. We have a growing community of Sudanese photographers, visual artists, musicians, and designers. We’re even planning to establish a collective to collaborate and showcase our work. Despite the hardships, this sense of community has been invaluable. Coming to Egypt has definitely given me a greater opportunity to connect with other artists. 

Being kind of forced to leave your country and coming to Egypt seems to have brought new opportunities and experiences for you.

Yes, we managed to make lemonade out of lemons. I wasn’t forced to leave Sudan—I came here on holiday, but then couldn’t return. Still, living in Egypt has opened so many doors for me. I’ve had the chance to connect with other artists and collectives, gain new experiences, and explore new possibilities. I’ve also been fortunate to receive mentorship from both Egyptian and international artists. In many ways, I’ve been lucky to find opportunities to grow.

Life always brings challenges, but what truly matters is how you respond to them. Accepting reality is one thing, but actively shaping it is another. No matter how difficult the circumstances, we have the power to create something meaningful out of hardship.

Is it important to you to reach a wider audience beyond Sudan and Egypt, even outside the Arab world?

Yes. I believe in the power of storytelling and the impact it can have. Art allows us to bridge gaps between different worlds, to show people what they might not otherwise see. Many have no idea what’s happening in Sudan, and if I can provide even a glimpse into what’s happening to me, my family, and my entire country, I seize that opportunity.

Is there a recent project you’re working on?

Lately, I’ve been developing a workshop that explores personal emotional experiences, particularly connected to war and the pain of missing loved ones. It’s a deeply personal project for me. For this particular series, I’ve chosen to step away from my usual visual motifs, such as cones, and focus instead on raw emotions. The challenge is to strip away layers and express my feelings with minimal props. It’s pushing me out of my comfort zone, but I love exploring new dimensions in my photography.

Did you ever consider leaving photography to try something else?

Right now, photography is my main passion. But since I was a teenager, I’ve dreamed of making films. Cinematography fascinates me because it allows building new worlds—it’s an opportunity to craft entire visual narratives. I’ve been thinking about creating short films with the same blend of reality and surrealism that I explore in my photography. Maybe one day, I’ll take that step.

For sure you’ve already built strong connections in different creative fields.

That’s true! I actually have a connection with another director, and there’s a possibility that I could work as an artistic director for their videos. This year, I’m planning to take on a promising new project. Let’s see where it leads!

What are your dreams for the future when it comes to your art?

I want to continue creating meaningful artwork that resonates—something that reconnects me with myself while addressing both personal and community issues. When I started exploring the war in Sudan through my photography, I realized how powerful a single image in telling a story could be. That’s why I dream of creating an art book. There’s something special about having my photographs in a tangible form, something I can hold in my hands. Seeing my work published in komplex magazine and other outlets was an incredible experience, and I’d love to take that further. I’m always excited to share my work with the world. Thank you for this opportunity—it’s truly wonderful to see my art featured in the magazine. I appreciate you reaching out! 

| Alina Brandstätter