I followed Moshtari after seeing someone display her work on Twitter. The first thing I thought to myself was that I’ve never seen anything as distinct as her work. The second thing, I thought, was how much ink she consumes per artwork. With themes tackling feminism, war, and politics, Moshtari Hilal conveys these themes quite effortlessly in her work.

Born in Kabul, Afghanistan, Moshtari’s drawings seem to be semi-autobiographical. She studied Middle Eastern Studies and politics, and focused on postcolonial theory and feminist intellectual history in Hamburg, Berlin, and London. Her works have been displayed among many countries, including Afghanistan, Germany, Iran, the UK, Spain, Sweden, and the United States.

Poster illustration for "What We Left Unfinished", a documentary about the Communist era in Afghanistan. Source: @monmoshtari.

JOOD ALTHUKAIR: Moshtari, your art has been profoundly appreciated by many audiences, please tell us how you started. Do you remember your first ever artwork? To what extent did your background affect you so that you had to pour it out on your art?
MOSHTARI HILAL: I grew up drawing every day, quite obsessively. So early on, drawing was a way to process life, dreams, problems and the people in my life. For instance, I remember drawing full body self-portraits as a young girl. I would draw my body as realistic as possible and pay special attention to my body hair and my nose, as a way to punish myself with the truth. Seeing the hairiness of my body, black on white, was supposed to confront me with the reality of my condition, so I could plan and organize my hair removal, so I would finally do something to change. But as you know, the opposite took place. The self-portrait and the depiction of black-haired bodies became my profession, my breakthrough moment in the visual arts. Drawing my nose, my hair, my family—everything I was ashamed of, while growing up in Germany, became the essential elements of my visual language that aims for narratives of beauty and dignity outside of Eurocentric and thus colonial frameworks.

You seem to have developed a distinct artistic style that settles into the viewers’ memory and immediately refers back to you whenever they see anything similar. How long did it take for you to craft this style and what message do you want to convey through it?
My visual language exists in direct reference to the black-haired body. Sometimes I feel I cannot or at least do not want to draw anyone else. This language is based on the black line, a symbol for black hair, as well as contrast, which I feel is a homage to distinctive features. The rawness of my drawings, sometimes compared to woodcuts, carries the attitude that is often negatively attributed to migrant, minority, and working-class culture—however I consider this rawness an aesthetic choice against a false sense of beauty in purity and perfection. In fact, I consider my work an alternative visual language to national, neoliberal, and binary, glossy, imageries of beauty and personhood. I aim to show tenderness where our societies learned to see the absence of.

We see a lot your work centered around women and themes that tackle their issues. Who are the women that you take inspiration from?
I identify as a woman and some of the most important people in my life are women: my mother, my sisters, and friends. So eventually, I am dedicated to portraying these faces and bodies—especially those who are not depicted by the male gaze in the arts, but also in fashion photography and pop culture in general. But I also learned about the queerness of my work, so it’s not simply about womanhood and male gaze. Many queer-identified people see themselves in my characters. This was not intended, but I welcome this reading of my work, knowing that even if I draw from a self-referential spot, my work can be bigger and more complex than my subjective truth. I also learned about the queerness of my work in its philosophical approach to beauty and personhood, beyond the visual resemblance to non-binary bodies. As I studied queer theory in my master’s, I learned that queerness goes beyond gender, as much as gender goes beyond sexuality and body politics. In fact, it is very much about power and the courage and strategies to not only not accept the norm set by the given power structures, but also to queer them—to break, mock, deconstruct and replace them with more inclusive versions.

When are you most inspired?
I don’t know. I feel the term inspiration disguises the fact that art is work. It’s really less magical than everyone thinks. I don’t know when I am most inspired, but I know when I am least: When I am struggling with my health, with money, or time.

Looking into your educational background, you’ve studied Middle Eastern Studies and politics, and focused on feminism and postcolonialism. What use did this bring to your art as well as your own character?
I think my studies made me politically, historically, and theoretically aware of the world that I navigate as an artist. My cultural and literary studies classes taught me to reflect on the role of the artist, intellectual, and the artwork, while critical academic approaches to power and culture. Decolonial and feminist theory, for example, gave me the mindset to eloquently challenge the given structures. I do not think that an artist has to have this kind of education to make relevant work, but it really helps to talk about one’s work to the public and to reflect on one’s references and reception.

Recommend us your favorite books.
I cannot tell. But maybe what I am reading currently: Susan Sontag’s “Regarding the Pain of Others”.

To conclude, what advice do you give to emerging artists and creatives?
Do not make the arts about your ego, especially when your art is personal. I see so many people who are more invested in being an artist than making art. However, art is labor. Know your rights and value in society, and do not allow to be exploited or disrespected, because that allows them to mistreat your fellow creatives, too. So basically, don’t take yourself seriously, but do be serious about your work. I found that very hard as someone who started her artistic practice on the sideline and on social media—complete distortion of reality! ◆

Jood is the founder of this site. Find her on her Instagram here.

I aim to show tenderness where our societies learned to see the absence of: A Conversation with Moshtari Hilal

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