Foreword: In a moment when Palestinian culture is too often flattened into symbols or confined to what feels familiar and “acceptable,” The Cultural Salon insists on something fuller, messier, and more alive. Working quietly and deliberately in the West Bank, it supports cultural workers across generations and disciplines — from librarians and poets to filmmakers, embroiderers, and 3D designers — not by asking them to fit into predefined boxes, but by helping them deepen, sharpen, and sustain the work they are already driven to make.
At its core, The Cultural Salon is about creating space: space for ideas to mature, for artists to stay rooted while imagining boldly, and for creativity to remain part of everyday life rather than something frozen in time or exported for approval elsewhere. In this conversation, Mina the founder of TCS, reflects on solidarity, patience, excellence, and what it means to support cultural work that grows from lived experience.
What follows is a candid look into how The Cultural Salon came to be, how it works, and why, for those involved, culture is not an accessory to life, but one of its essential forces.
Images provided by The Cultural Salon
Featured Image: The Educational Bookshop in Jerusalem
Barakat Antiquarian, Jerusalem
What inspired the creation of The Cultural Salon? Was there a moment when you realised something like this needed to exist?
Working with The Cultural Salon is the honor of my life. As artists, our professional goal is to produce creative work that’s relevant to the times we are living in and create a cultural space that inspires other artists to express their highest visions.
What inspired me to create this project? The question that comes to mind for me, often, is why other international artists didn’t show up at this time in history and lend a hand to Palestinian artists. For me, it was a no-brainer to create something in solidarity, and that thing would not be a casual disposable offering, under the gravity of the circumstances.
It was extremely challenging to make The Cultural Salon happen, ilhamdulillah, so it’s impossible for it to have arisen from an ‘aha’ moment. It was a slow, deeply considered development process that involved volunteering for existing culture organizations in the West Bank, while listening and learning to identify with total accuracy the unique role we can play at this time in history. It was imperative to avoid duplication or step on any toes in terms of trying to do something that existed already within the cultural sphere. But we wanted to avoid offering something redundant, equally.
When you’re planning to create impact in a place like Palestine, coming with respect for what already exists is essential. Equally, waiting to figure out your own role is the basis of any solidarity work—but is often lacking, as internationals come in without humility or the necessary dedication to figure out their role. It takes a quiet mind and consideration. Any process that’s more invasive than this is a kind of cultural domination, at best.
One of the services we offer is supporting international cultural workers to do this deep ideation:their role will be a unique combination of what they’ve learned, who they know, and what’s actually lacking here, as opposed to imposing a potentially ill-considered but well-meaning idea on a vulnerable population, which is what happens when people don’t do this basic groundwork before offering to help out.
But to circle back to your question, what inspires everything we do is Palestinian cultural workers. We found along the way that we have an additional unique role to play, to help other international artists do their thing with elevated precision and integrity.
You’ve said cultural stagnation is a kind of cultural erasure. How do you keep creativity alive and moving forward, while still staying connected to heritage?
One way is to ignore Western-facing art funds and organizations. They’re working for a Western audience, i.e. their donors. That’s actually not a criticism—the people who pay for these institutions to exist in all honesty should benefit from their tax money. That’s why European funds generally focus on more dependable and familiar cultural work— tatreez in a traditional format, maybe a little twist to make it more digestible.
Definitely not bringing out the more radical undertones of ‘land back’ or the history of resistance attached to a thobe from the Arab Women’s Union, or radical reimagination either.
Culture is based on creative ideas. So when we talk about cultural stagnation, it’s not a comparison of mediums. We’re not saying that tatreez as a medium is stagnant, or that a blockchain-based digital artwork is more alive necessarily.
If your reality is immersed in your own culture, and less interested in what’s being served online in terms of advocacy or other Western-facing distribution systems, the creativity will be an organic response to local heritage. It’s likely to have a fresh vibe if the artist is working with curiosity and courage, whatever their medium.
In this way, stagnation is avoided, without sacrificing anything on the altar of universal blandness. The work won’t mimic homogeneous trends, but instead, will set new ones potentially, if the artist is sincere and in touch with the vibe on the ground in their scene.
Haifa Amer’s Tatreez, Jenin
From embroidery to AI art, how do you see these worlds coexisting in Palestine’s cultural scene today?
At its root, cultural expression is about expressing ideas. Marshall McLuhan was wrong, the medium is not the message—the message is the heart of all serious creativity, other than the purely decorative. Palestine has a huge opportunity to lead cultural expression for this reason. We have a big, next-level message.
While artists living with stability and stronger wifi, for example, in Amman or Tokyo, may have stronger means and access to commercial markets, they aren’t forced to question everything like artists inside the West Bank. The Occupation crushes creative ideas, yet paradoxically, the rigorous examination of our reality can lead to elevated inspiration, in a place that’s obviously a construct. AI art can provide additional tools to explore these pockets of insight, for example, laying out alternative futures for Palestinians rebuilding their own cities, under their own leaders, with their own ancient architectural blueprints alongside freshly imagined structures, all designed and led by Palestinians.
An embroiderer might sit inside these futuristic Gazan structures with needle and thread puncturing gauze, or the actual AI structure might become a canvas for the embroidery, whether as a permanent mural, or the floor-plan a giant reflection of a traditional tatreez motif. Maybe there’s an architectural surface with aida-like holes for poking a revolving design that can be changed to reflect the seasons, or used to relieve trauma for a kid in this house who survived, somehow, but has severe behavioral issues.
There are countless ways to reflect and combine traditional mediums if the philosophy is rigorously developed and defined, and likewise, new mediums, including AI. We need to know why we’re doing what we’re doing, and not simply roll forward with something that’s decorative but lacks a message, rhyme, or reason at its core. No more add-ons. It takes time, commitment, and the kind of focus that arises from adversity, unfortunately.
That’s why we’re here, also. The Cultural Salon elevates cultural workers working under adverse conditions in the West Bank, because we believe it’s also a furnace that fuels a potential for the most exceptional creative work imaginable anywhere in the world.
This potential is pushed down and unintentionally obscured by the relentless focus on the more general culture of arts and crafts, which is ubiquitously centered in Palestine, and also on political advocacy—which, of course, centers a Western gaze.
The most famous piece of Palestinian AI art came out of this desperate appeal to the Western gaze, under threat of annihilation—the ‘All Eyes on Rafah’ image that was shared billions of times, and did nothing. In actuality, the Western eyes on Rafah did nothing to spare the reality in Rafah, and arguably did very little to instill memory or conscience in the AI artist’s intended audience, because they lack basic foundational understanding of why eyes should have been fixated on Rafah, and the role of their own Western societies.
The Cultural Salon does the opposite: we love, acknowledge, and respect community arts engagement work, of course, including the ‘All Eyes on Rafah’ artwork. There would be no creative work here if these initiatives didn’t exist, and we always encourage people to support existing arts infrastructure as a priority, and artists working here in any way.
But for us, we encourage deep ideation. The expression of ideas can be in any medium. Embroidery or AI art, it’s about a strong philosophy at the core. The idea. The message. The lived experience. The memory. Rigorous ideation, possibly informed by ancient and superlative conceptualization, for example, via Quranic sources, or other ancient, local philosophical threads, of which there are many.
In Palestine, these raw materials exist in great abundance. The heritage here is a living, unbroken inheritance over millennia. Palestinian artists draw on this by immersion from birth, their first breath inhaling the olive oil that was smeared on their tiny bodies.
You work with everyone from librarians to 3D designers. What kind of energy or curiosity do you look for in the artists you support?
Many of the people we work with are kind, generous, wonderful people full of curiosity and fabulous energy! And… many are grumpy, difficult, and annoying. You know why? We’re artists, and we work with other artists. Sometimes our energy sucks, and that’s a part of the sensitivity that makes artists artists. We suck at being fake. We’re authentic and this means, honestly, we’re not always good at parties. But when we are, we’re the life and soul of it, and we are breaking chairs on the bar and staying up until dawn with an oud, making your Dad sing along, while your 14-year-old nephew smokes narghile.
We don’t really care about their energy honestly, many artists are difficult to work with, and this is true globally, but perhaps nowhere more so than in Palestine where we have many things to be grumpy about. They’re sometimes depressed.
Actually, it’s more accurate to say they’re oppressed, and feeling oppressed doesn’t encourage niceness. I’d suggest it’s actually unhealthy not to feel oppressed regularly, living in the West Bank. If someone’s a jerk, we’re still going to work with them if what they’re doing is worth it.
This isn’t a new approach. On the contrary, we are artists supporting other artists, as a peer-to peer network, so we know what it’s like to be artists ourselves. The most successful A-list creatives are often demanding, deranged, and damaged, here, or anywhere else.
Do you think Beyoncé has good energy and a curious mind when she’s on world tour? Was Picasso well-balanced while painting his sunflowers? Commercial artists are generally easy to work with and fun, too – but a true innovator is often complicated. Sometimes their minds can seem blinkered, as they hyper-focus on their projects.This inward reflection is the bread of ideation that can result in the finest musakhan you’ve ever tasted. While a commercial artist makes a consistent dish with consistent results, exceptional cultural workers are sometimes not able to make anything. Sometimes, they’re stuck in bed, unable to cope, and other times, they rise and shine in the brightest kaleidoscopic rays, and make it all worth it.
There’s an intensity to most of our roster. A refusal to buckle. A necessity to create, or to break the system of control. It varies, some are happy and nice, others are grumpy and obnoxious, and we don’t really care, although clearly it’s easier to develop strategies and network on behalf of our clients when they display basic courtesies.
Whatever. We’re a grassroots boutique creative agency working during a genocide. We’re not seeking out the easiest of options, simply the most exceptional ones.
The Cultural Salon is highly selective, and unashamedly so. Ultimately, our clients know that they are not the beneficiaries of this initiative. The client is Palestine. We work with people who are working for the benefit of Palestine. Individuals whose work we elevate get shiny personal benefits, but we make no secret that the greater good and the pursuit of justice is why we are doing thiswork.
That is a warm fuzzy feeling, for sure. But we’re not here for kicks and giggles. We’re here for liberation.
Shalalda Luthier, Ramallah
Tell us about the cultural salons you host. What kinds of conversations or exchanges have surprised you the most?
Okay, the main activities The Cultural Salon does is developing creative strategy, doing targeted networking, and figuring out how Palestinian cultural workers can sustainably do their thing while remaining inside the West Bank. The name of this boutique creative agency social art project is conceptual – we gather exceptional cultural workers under our invisible umbrella, and do things to elevate the work they’re doing, and try to help them pay their own rent from the dignity of their own creative labor. That’s really difficult to do if you’re a cultural worker born in, say, Barcelona, but it’s nearly impossible if you’re trying to live your best life here, in the ever-challenging West Bank. Which is why so many artists leave, but that means a greater ‘brain drain’ and fewer cultural workers HERE, and as the name of the game is ethnic cleansing, that’s bad. Really bad.
So we made The Cultural Salon to address this problem. However, clearly we love hosting actual, live cultural salons also, as well as virtual ones, and you’re asking for an anecdote from one of our salons, so here goes:
We hosted a launch event for a beautiful, poignant music video that was made in Aida Camp in Bethlehem, directed by Ahmed Abusrour with a full team. The concept of the event was a mutually inspiring salon, bringing together Ahmed and his film crew in Aida Camp with two filmmakers who were at an in-person screening salon in the States.
One of the US-based filmmakers was a North American indigenous person. He reflected his tribe’s experience of settler colony erasure, which was poignant. Ahmed and all his Aida Camp creative colleagues had a powerful exchange about creating under settler colonial structures, and the necessity this brings to their filmmaking.
The other filmmaker was a single mother making children’s films in her back garden, her own home made special effects without a budget sprinkling stars (quite literally) over all her imagination. She shared practical skills for magical realism on a budget.
It was emotive to host these exchanges between three inspiring, fabulous filmmakers in different realities with shared sumud and dignity, working in diversely difficult realities across the world from each other, but deeply connected and able to mutually appreciate and empathize with each other for a truly considered exchange, where no one party is in a position to dominate any other. Mostly, we do local gatherings, such as our regular support for Al Mubtada’s poetry salons in Nablus.
How do you hope The Cultural Salon changes the way people think about Palestinian creativity – both inside and outside the region?
If we expand the external perspective on Palestinian creativity beyond the tired cliches, and into even a fraction of the expansive reality on the ground, we would have benefited kind outsiders and expanded their minds. But we don’t really care much about what people think outside the West Bank, without being rude. We clearly care a bit, but our laser-focused priority is audiences inside the West Bank being exposed to the most exceptional cultural expression right here, on our own doorstep. A great sense of pride and showing it to ‘the man’ whenever folks, both inside and outside the region, engage with the fabulous creativity inside The Cultural Salon.
We honestly kinda wanna make y’all feel jealous that you’re not here – instead of the pity party that’s often playing outside our walls. You’re missing out, what can I say. The price is high, but the vibe is the most punk, Palestinian creative nourishment on Planet Earth. Want a piece of the action? Be a member of this community from afar – please click the dropdown menu on our website that says ‘Hello’ and then click the page called ‘You’. We try to make it easy for you to say hello or to donate to further our efforts – looking forward to hearing from you!
If you could dream big, what’s next for The Cultural Salon?
We always dream big! One problem we’re currently considering is moving 300 Kilos of valuable, leather-bound Arabic books from a generous donor in Canada, to an independent literary hub in the Old City of Nablus. It’s not easy, because a massive haul of valuable books entering a port around here would most likely be seized. Also, 300 kilos of anything costs around $6000 to move so we are launching a crowdfunding campaign in January, as a way to get this problem solved before Ramadan, so the local community can read the books!
This grassroots community initiative will benefit from this powerful, extraordinary addition to their readers, who come from every socio-economic group. Will you share this crowdfund campaign with your friends,Al-Rawiya? Grateful for your consideration, anyone reading this, please reach out – mina@theculturalsalon.org
Al-Mubtada, Nablus.
Stephani Moukhaiber
Stephani Moukhaiber is the founder and CEO of Al Rawiya, a media company amplifying voices from the Levant and its diaspora. She also leads Al Rawiya Studio, the creative and strategic arm of the company, providing branding, content, and media services to clients. In addition, she serves as the Director of Programs and Operations at the 2048 Foundation, overseeing program strategy, communications, grants management, and operational excellence. Originally, Stephani worked as an organizational development consultant specializing in workplace strategy, including roles at global tech and consulting firms.
- Stephani Moukhaiber
- Stephani Moukhaiber
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