One sunny afternoon this June, the artist Betye Saar was surveying a table piled with twigs and branches and strips of bark. In a large shed on the grounds of the Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens in San Marino, California, curators bustled around the 97-year-old Los Angeles artist, offering for inspection materials they had gathered from the Huntington’s 207-acre estate: pieces of eucalyptus, dogwood, kiwi, palm.

Saar was creating a new sculptural installation for the Huntington, which opened to the public on November 11 and will remain on show in the museum’s Virginia Steele Scott Galleries of American Art for two years. “How does it look to you, Betye?” enquired Robert Hori, the Huntington Gardens cultural curator and programme director.

Her white hair pushed up into a lilac baseball cap, clutching a stout walking cane, Saar peered at the display. “It looks like a lot of branches on a table!” she shot back, to laughter. “But we’ll work our magic on it.”

The centrepiece of Saar’s installation, “Drifting Toward Twilight”, is a vintage wooden canoe, 17 feet long, which appears to float a few inches from the ground in the middle of a dimly blue-lit space. Inside the canoe, three bird cages contain antlers; at either end, standing like guards, are heavy carved wooden finials (purchased by Saar from an LA garden store), also adorned with antlers.

Fixed under the canoe’s hull, strips of blue and green neon illuminate the bark and brushwood beneath, arranged by Saar to resemble flowing water. Subtly shifting lighting in the blue-painted gallery mimics the progression of dawn to dusk to night. The atmospheric effect of this immersive environment, as Saar intends it, is of being “at the bottom of the ocean”.

Saar has included ships and boats in her work before. To many, she is best known for her assemblage sculpture and collages, made from found objects and images, which comment on the history of African-American slavery and subjugation. In Saar’s sculpture “The Liberation of Aunt Jemima” (1972), a figurine of a “mammy” — a racist stereotype of a head-scarfed black servant, the enduring mascot of Aunt Jemima-brand pancakes — clutches a rifle in one hand, and is foregrounded by a fist in a Black Power salute.

That work captures the themes running through Saar’s life and work: domesticity and political activism; feminism and racial politics. In a later installation, “I’ll Bend But I Will Not Break” (1998), she printed a copy of the infamous diagram of the British slave ship the Brookes, which depicts African bodies stacked like cordwood, on to a wooden ironing board. A white sheet, embroidered with the initials “KKK”, hangs on a washing line.

A few weeks after her visit to the Huntington, I am speaking with Saar at her hillside home in Los Angeles’ Laurel Canyon, a leafy dell of winding lanes known in the 1960s as a countercultural redoubt. She has lived there since 1962 — before such colourful neighbours as Frank Zappa, Jim Morrison and Joni Mitchell moved in — and raised three daughters there. Her garage and a basement level serve as her studio, and are packed high with half-made sculptures and salvaged materials for possible future works.

I press her on interpretations of “Drifting Toward Twilight”, suggesting a narrative connection between the vessel, the caged antlers and the non-native plants now growing on the former estate of a railway magnate. Is this boat riding the waves of colonial history?

“It’s not that political,” Saar says. “That’s the easiest thing to think of — the ships that brought slaves over. But it’s pre-slavery.” With this installation, she is thinking of timescales grander than the relatively brief history of the US. “I suppose at one time the Huntington was covered with water,” Saar adds. “Most of the world was covered with water.” 

She explained that her abiding fascination with canoes began in the 1980s, when she lived beside a lake while teaching at the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in Maine. Her interest relates, she says, to Indigenous and first peoples’ use of this simple form of transport, which was often carved from a single tree trunk.

Natural materials have always played a role in Saar’s work, alongside human-made found objects. The canoe in “Drifting Toward Twilight” is a wooden sporting model, built in Maine in the 1940s and shipped to the artist from a seller in Florida. Saar has customised it with two gnarled cypress “knees” (lumps that sometimes grow from the tree’s roots) which suggest the profile of a Viking longship, or a galleon with a carved figurehead on its prow.

The commission has additional personal resonance for her: as a girl, she lived in Pasadena, not far from the Huntington, and she remembers visiting the mansion and the gardens with her mother when she was about 13. Today, Saar’s granddaughter Sóla Saar Agustsson works at the institution; she was instrumental in bringing this project to fruition, serving as co-curator with Yinshi Lerman-Tan, the Huntington’s associate curator of American art.

Aside from dugout canoes and slave ships, the other kind of boat that “Drifting Toward Twilight” unavoidably suggests is the ferry that transfers souls between the realm of the living and the afterlife. At 97, Saar has remarkable reserves of energy and mental acuity, but she concedes that she will probably not tackle another installation of this scale and ambition.

For now, though, she is already planning her next projects. Shortly before my visit, she had been beachcombing on the California coast, north of Santa Barbara, and brought home several twisted pieces of driftwood that she was thinking of transforming into snakes: “I just love the idea of finding something and turning it around and making it into art.”

To November 2025, huntington.org

BN Goswamy at the Jaipur Literature Fest (Photo via X / @DalrympleWill)

One of India’s greatest art historians and critics, BN Goswamy, passed away on Friday morning in Chandigarh. Author of over 25 books on art, history and culture, Goswamy, 90, was considered the world’s foremost scholar of Indian miniature paintings. His notable works include Nainsukh of Guler: A Great Indian Painter from a Small Hill-State (1999), Essence of Indian Art (1986), The Spirit of Indian Painting: Close Encounters with 100 Great Works 1100-1900 (2014) and most recently, The Indian Cat: Stories, Paintings, Poetry, and Proverbs (2023).

The most important strand of his work involves the Pahari paintings of the early-17th to mid-19th centuries. These are largely miniature paintings from the lower Himalayan hill kingdoms and the plains of Punjab, covering kingdoms like Nurpur, Kangra, Guler and so on. In his 1968 essay, “Pahar Painting: The Family as the Basis of Style”, Goswamy demonstrated how the Pahari artists differed from the Mughal court artists in one very important aspect—even though the Mughal court would sometimes have both father and son working for the same benefactor, the style would not be guided or decided by the family. However, in the case of Pahari art, as Goswamy demonstrated, one can clearly trace the elements of a ‘familial’ style among painters from various centres.

Tracing these artistic genealogies, Goswamy was also able to highlight mini-patterns and divergences. For example, let’s say you have a family or a clan of artists from Guler, led by one master artist (like Nainsukh). But as the clan grows, there are cousins and nephews and entire branches of the family tree that decide to try their luck elsewhere. Perhaps their own kingdom had an insufficient number of economic opportunities. Perhaps they heard that the king of a neighbouring kingdom was extremely generous when it came to rewarding artists. These economy-led migrations result in different familial styles interacting with each other, with the resulting changes seen in artworks across the next 5-6 decades, across generations.

Goswamy’s research becomes even more impressive when you consider that very little of medieval Pahari art survives in situ. Unlike, say, Rajasthani miniature paintings, there are no palaces or havelis today where Pahari art survives in its intended venue and is displayed in a manner befitting its stature. As Goswamy said in an interview with Ananya Vajpeyi once, Pahari art isn’t a “living tradition” in that sense and therefore presented a greater challenge for the scholar and the archivist.

Goswamy’s scholarship was every bit as thorough and enlightening about other Indian artistic traditions as well. In his 2006 book I See No Stranger: Early Sikh Art and Devotion, he outlined how core Sikh beliefs — accepting a singular, indivisible God, rejecting excessive rituals, superstition, inequality and societal oppression — are manifested in Sikh devotional art from the 16th through to the 19th century, whether it’s in paintings, textile work, or metal sculptures. That Goswamy was able to be so versatile and all-encompassing in his practice was down to his solid grasp of Indian philosophy, especially the concept of the rasa which he believed was crucial to a holistic understanding of this country and its cultural/artistic traditions.

In his book The Essence of Indian Art (1968), Goswamy wrote about rasa and what the term meant to him in great detail. Apart from the word’s primary and secondary meanings (the juice/sap of a plant, the essence or most important part of something), Goswamy said that for the philosopher, these two meanings led up to what he called the term’s “tertiary meaning”; which is to say a sense of heightened delight.

“In its final and subtlest sense, however (…) rasa comes to signify a state of heightened delight, in the sense of ananda, the kind of bliss that can be experienced only by the spirit. As later writers such as Vishwanatha, fourteenth century author of the Sahitya Darpana, a celebrated work on poetics, say: rasa is an experience akin to ultimate reality, ‘twin brother to the tasting of Brahma’. In Vishwanatha, the very definition of poetry involves invoking the word rasa. His dictum is often quoted: ‘Poetry is a sentence the soul of which is rasa.’”

Last month, Aleph had published his latest work, a whimsical and delightful book called The Indian Cat: Stories, Paintings, Poetry and Proverbs. A wide-ranging, multidisciplinary work that involved both art scholarship and literary criticism, this book traced instances of feline symbolism in Indian art, literature and culture-at-large. Goswamy wrote, “Great poets like Mir and Ghalib loved their cats to distraction; the poet Jibanananda Das saw himself in a cat that went here and there, following the Sun; Vikram Seth saw her as full of mischief and cleverness but no evil. In fact, on a daily basis, the feline is ‘addressed’ almost with affection.”

A regular at the Jaipur Literature Festival down the years, Goswamy had an unusually sweet and gentle voice, and an unhurried, dignified manner of public speaking. Those of us who had the good fortune of interacting with him at these gatherings remember his wit and wisdom, as well as his remarkable patience and generosity with his time. May he rest in peace.

The state of Arizona is not among those that recognises Indigenous Peoples Day as a public holiday but this year, for the first time, the sprawling city of Phoenix is. An open-air market in a downtown park has been set up to celebrate all things Native American – jewellery, food, clothing – bringing their creators from all across the south-west.

At one end of the park is a low stage, and throughout the late summer day, musicians from Indigenous communities far across the US have been performing. Now, after dark, in the Arizona heat, Ed Kabotie is dangling his legs off the tailgate of a battered pickup, beer in hand.

Kabotie has driven down from the Hopi reservation 200 miles north of here to play with his reggae-rock band, the Yoties. And he is keen to tell his story, one that weaves in and out of his identity as Native American, as it does for most musicians here gathered together under the banner of Native Guitars Tour, a collective of Indigenous artists promoting Native music, art and fashion that advocates for greater cultural and economic representation.

Kabotie, who is Hopi, emphasises that the vision of Indigenous life that is presented online or in films is frequently generalised, crudely drawn or misleading.

“It’s important that people recognise that a Hopi is not a Havasupai, and a Havasupai is not an Apache,” he says. “We don’t all have casinos, and some of our governments hate that shit. We’re not all pow-wow people, and the pow-wow culture that you see isn’t necessarily an internal tribal culture. For some it is, for others it’s not.”

Where Kabotie is from, “a lot of people don’t have running water and electricity … we don’t have stores and it’s two hours to get to a hospital. All that being said, I like it. It’s not representative of every Native culture, it’s just one, whatever that is.”

Soon after we speak, Wavelengths, a Navajo-Zuni powerpop band from Shiprock, New Mexico, come on. “We’re trying to inspire ordinary Native Americans that you can do more than stay at home,” says their singer-guitarist Cody Waybenais. “I feel we are reaching a point where all of us, all Indigenous people, are collectively worldwide, all directions; all tribes are finally reaching a world platform.”

Notwithstanding the thinning crowd in Phoenix as the event winds down, the platform for Native voices is definitely expanding. On TV, hit shows such as Reservation Dogs are bringing Native actors and directors to the forefront; in others areas, too, there are signs of representational improvement, whether that’s in the form of the Navajo (by geography) model and activist Quannah Chasinghorse; the Santa Clara pueblo ceramicist Rose B Simpson; or Mashpee Wampanoag tribal citizen (and owner of the Sly Fox Den Too restaurant in Rhode Island), Sherry Pocknett, who has been named best chef in the north-east US by the James Beard awards for two years in a row.

“It’s time for us to express ourselves as we’re supposed to, because the oppression, genocide and everything affected us mentally and spiritually,” says Waŋbdí Wašté, drummer with Black Owl Society, a White Stripes-esque brother-and-sister rock act from the Yankton Sioux reservation in South Dakota.

The duo, whose parents were inducted into the Christian missionary school system which aimed to assimilate or “westernise” Native American children, are overtly political, focusing on water rights, minerals rights, and the issues of violence and the disappearance of Native people. “There has been a lot of healing throughout the past few generations and that for us is expressed in music,” says Wašté.

Her brother, who records as Buffalo Man, points out that when he started playing, people still seemed to think his family lived in tipis: “Anything that has to do with our reality is what we talk about. It’s not politics, religion, it’s our reality. We try to keep it real.”

But how real is real, and who gets to channel that reality, remains contentious. Devery Jacobs, a Canadian First Nations actor who stars in Reservation Dogs, recently critiqued Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon, calling it “painful, gruelling, unrelenting and unnecessarily graphic” in its depiction of a series of murders of members of the Osage Nation tribe in 1920s Oklahoma.

The bands in Arizona are not – and may never be – competing with the giants of the music business, but the point is clear: Native American arts and cultural expression that were once limited to their localities are gaining a wider reach. The social and economic filters that once isolated and constrained Indigenous voices are lifting.

The Native Guitars Tours is the brainchild of Jir Anderson, a Cochiti pueblo guitarist who fashioned his first guitar from a piece of a table and became a touring musician after getting a knock on the door from the Jamaican singer Fuzzy Bush. “In the 60s and 70s it was hard for Natives to make a living,” he says. “My parents were silversmiths, and I grew up right by the plaza, so I heard the thundery drums and my path became music,” Anderson recalls, referring to the large open space used for gatherings at the heart of pueblo villages in New Mexico.

His partner is Alicia Ortega, formerly the director of the All Pueblo Council of Governors and co-founder of Native Women Lead, a group that promotes the role of Native women in the pueblos. She is close with Deb Haaland, the US interior secretary and 35th generation New Mexican from the Laguna and San Felipe pueblos, not far from her own Pojoaque and Santa Clara.

“Everything was hidden, so at a certain point in time we weren’t able to go out and express ourselves without feeling judged,” says Ortega. “What we’re doing, in the present day, is celebrating very talented artists and musicians, and the amazing things Natives are doing right now, telling our own stories and advocating for the issues that we’re fighting for.

“We’re less than 3% of the US population struggling with invisibility and also with a romanticised, false narrative or struggling with poverty porn – other people’s idea of what Native people are, what we’re doing or where we come from,” Ortega continues, pointing out that it is only four decades since the American Indian Religious Freedom Act, guaranteeing freedom to worship through ceremonials and traditional rites, was passed. “Some people say it’s like walking in two worlds, but it’s not: it’s one multifaceted world. For us it’s just a way of life – our responsibilities to the communities we come from and the capitalistic, colonised world.”

Last month, at the international film festival in Santa Fe, the film and TV aspects of Native American cultural production came into view. Curated by Gary Farmer, the Cayuga nation and Haudenosaunee-Iroquois actor best known for his role in Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man, the festival gave its top award to Sterlin Harjo, a Seminole from Oklahoma who co-created Reservation Dogs, which traces the exploits of four rebellious teens in a small town in Oklahoma’s Muscogee Nation.

The success of the show, which offered up-and-coming Native American film-makers episodes to direct, is not singular. There is also Dark Winds, a hit Navajo crime drama directed by Cheyenne-Arapaho Chris Eyre, who also made Smoke Signals; plus the comedy Rutherford Falls, which survived only two seasons, but gave Muskeg Lake Cree Nation actor Michael Greyeyes a leading turn.

“We’re seeing a lot of hot young film-makers coming out of the Santa Fe Institute for American Indian Arts and the University of New Mexico arts programme,” says festival director Jacques Paisner. The success of Rez Dogs and Dark Winds, he adds, “is creating more and more opportunities for Indigenous people to tell their stories on the screen”.

Despite the criticism of Killers of the Flower Moon, the production did at least consult with the Osage nation and feature many Native American actors. “While we’re happy that light is being shed on the history of Native people, it was told from a non-Native perspective.” says Ortega. “It was nice to see the Osage people involved, but it would have been better to see more focus on Native actors and the community. But it’s a step forward, right? I think we can be grateful for that. In the past, in movies, they would have had non-Natives acting as Natives and wouldn’t have consulted or had any connection with the tribal communities.”

Back in Phoenix, it is past midnight and still refusing to cool down. Ortega and Anderson are packing up for the six-hour drive back to Albuquerque, while Kabotie is gathering petrol money for the trek back home. He judges the night’s work to have been worth the trip, and a chance to bring “all that shit up but in a positive happy way. Someone once gave me a great compliment,” Kabotie recalls. “He said: so you guys are basically saying ‘fuck you’. But it’s fuck you creatively.”

Reservation Dogs is streaming on Disney+ now.

For its 2023-2024 season, The Symphonia picks up where it left off in its last series of concerts.

Last season saw the Boca Raton orchestra’s Inspired Naturally series — which had a climate change theme.

This year, The Symphonia’s performances will celebrate the natural world. The first concert, titled Native Wonders, will include Chokfi, a piece written by Native American classical composer Jerod Impichchaachaaha’ Tate.

Tate’s middle name pays tribute to his Chickasaw heritage. “Chickasaw families have house names and clan names,” he explains. “My house name, Impichchaachaaha,’ means ‘high corn crib.’ “

READ MORE: Florida Grand Opera coming to some unexpected places this season

Chofki is the Chickasaw word for rabbit, which Tate says is an important trickster legend within Southeast American Indian cultures. The piece was originally commissioned by the Oklahoma Youth Orchestra for young string players between the ages of 12 and 16.

“I had a blast writing this music,” he says.

Tate’s exposure to the arts began at birth. His Chickasaw father worked as an attorney in Native law, but was also a classically trained pianist and baritone. Tate’s mother came from an Irish background and was a dancer and choreographer. Tate says he decided at the age of nine that he wanted to be a classical pianist.

Growing up playing old masters like Chopin, Tchaikovsky and Debussy deepened Tate’s appreciation for composers who paid tribute to their people through their music.

“When I’m composing, I have a very high expectation of myself that what I do has long-lasting value,” says Tate. “And is hopefully inspiring to other generations of American Indian artists.”

Tate views themed concerts like the ones produced by The Symphonia as an opportunity for audiences to really get inside the heads of composers and explore the creative process.

And during this time of political division within the U.S, where heated debates over what it means to be American dominate so many conversations, Tate regards his music-making as a beacon of hope and optimism.

“When I hear difficult discussions, I remind myself that I’ve been hearing these difficult discussions since I was born,” he says.

“In my own composition, what I do is make sure that I stay the course. I love to be very dramatic and lead with love in my music. And that will never change — no matter what is happening around me.”

If you go:

The Symphonia

Concert I: Native Wonders
Sunday, November 19  |  3:00 PM
Pre-Concert Conversation 2:00 – 2:30 p.m.
Roberts Theater at Saint Andrew’s School
3900 Jog Road
Boca Raton, FL 33434

Program:

Handel: Water Music Suite No. 2
Tchaikovsky: Souvenir D’un Lieu Cher
Tate: (Jerod Impichchaachaaha’) Chokfi
Copland: Appalachian Spring

Danish Siddiqui, a two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist, served as the Chief Photographer for the Reuters multimedia team in India. Initially a television correspondent, he later covered major stories globally, including conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq, the COVID-19 pandemic in India, citizenship law protests, Rohingya refugee crises, and more. Tragically, on July 16, 2021, while documenting the Afghan Special Forces mission, he was killed. Siddiqui’s courage and dedication to capturing the human experience in challenging locations left a mark on journalism, emphasizing the importance of journalist safety in conflict zones.

Image: Danish Siddiqui Foundation

Shaikh Rashid bin Khalifa Al Khalifa, a member of the Bahraini royal family, is a man of many parts. An artist, art collector, chairman of the National Council of the Arts and the honorary chairman of the Bahrain Arts Society, he juggles his multifarious roles with aplomb, combining them with a love for family and travel.

Recognised as one of the Arab world’s foremost artists, the septuagenarian’s creative journey began nearly five decades ago. Surrounded by beauty and elegance around his home, it was a peripatetic life spent across the world that fuelled his artistic journey. After graduating with a scholarship from the Hastings College of Art and Design, Sussex, England, he began landscape painting, capturing the stark scenery of his beloved Bahrain on his canvas.

The beginnings and journey

“I loved dabbling in colours, drawing and painting more than studying any of my other subjects at school”, he says. However, while studying in the UK, the young artist also leveraged the opportunity to immerse himself in topnotch art across the country’s historic museums and art galleries while interacting with other artists.

“I’m basically inspired by my surroundings,” Shaikh Rashid explains. “The light, colours and atmosphere specific to Bahrain’s landscape largely drive the content of my art. I like to transform these elements into paintings, wall sculptures and installations merging traditional and contemporary architecture with my natural environment.”

Gradually, the figurative, ephemeral oil paintings from the 80s paved way for abstract forms in the 90s. This also led to the artist’s experimentation with myriad materials and surfaces. Aluminium became a favoured medium which involved applying glossy lacquer paint on its façade first and then working on enamel, a painstaking process requiring extraordinary patience and perseverance.

Shaikh Rashid says that he feels fortunate to be a part of prestigious group displays, fairs, and biennials all over the world. The artist has exhibited in numerous international exhibitions, art fairs and biennales, including ‘First Light’ at Heydar Aliyev Centre, Baku, Azerbaijan (2023), ‘Tesselate’, Mario Mauroner Gallery, Vienna, Austria (2021); ‘Rashid Al Khalifa’, Opera Gallery, Dubai, UAE (2021); T’ransverse Wave’, me Collectors Room, Berlin, Germany (2019), ‘Penumbra’, Saatchi Gallery, London (2018); Moscow Biennale, Moscow, Russia (2019); ‘Contemporary Istanbul’, Istanbul, Turkey (2019, 2021); ‘SCOPE’, Miami Beach, Miami, USA (2021); Art Brussels (2022); Art Geneve (2023); to name a few.

Art initiatives in Bahrain

Encouragement from friends and family led Shaikh Rashid to launch an arts club in Bahrain with a few other artist friends. Thus was born the Bahrain Arts Society that is currently powering a thriving ecosystem for nurturing art in the Gulf nation. Exhibitions are organised to support talented local artists as well as those from outside Bahrain for the viewing public. Stimulating discussions, State patronage and global exposure for artists have created a vibrant bedrock for the creative arts in Bahrain.

Art Bahrain, born in 2010, has sponsored a repertoire of cultural initiatives, art exhibitions, and educational projects, locally, regionally, and internationally. Shaikh Rashid’s vision has had a significant impact on Bahrain’s contemporary art scene and its integration with the rest of the world. He says he once dreamt of becoming an architect. Though he never pursued his interest professionally, today he is actively contributing to the Gulf island’s architecture and design scenes. In 2020, he launched the Rashid Al Khalifa (RAK) Art Foundation, opening up his historic family home and private art collection to the public and the world at large. “The idea at the foundation,” he explains, “is to offer a platform where people are inspired and encouraged to pursue their interests in art and architecture while contributing to society in a meaningful way.”

RAK Foundation is housed in a converted, traditional Bahraini home built in the 1930s. This vanishing breed of traditional gypsum-crafted homes was in fact where Shaikh Rashid was raised and lived with his mother. Its formidable international collection now boasts of works by artists from all over the Middle East, America, and Europe such as Farhad Moshiri, Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, Frank Stella, and Yves Klein.

‘First Light’ in solo spotlight

Currently, however, Shaikh Rashid is most excited about his solo show, ‘First Light’, being held at the Zurab Tsereteli Museum of Modern Art in Tbilisi, Georgia from September to November. It features a selection of the artist’s most recent installations. “I am thrilled to be exhibiting First Light in Tbilisi, Georgia, at the Zurab Tsereteli Museum of Modern Art, a vibrant, dynamic and important museum. To have had this opportunity to present my work in a country with such a unique and ancient culture and heritage is a privilege”, he says.

Much like his native country Bahrain itself a melting pot of cultures, Shaikh Rashid’s work brings seemingly divergent attributes together, resulting in compelling formations that possess a distinct identity. First Light was previously on display at the Heydar Aliyev Center in Baku, Azerbaijan which opened in March 2023. “The sculptures intersect tradition and the future; heritage and contemporary design; the environment and industry,” Shaikh Rashid elaborates.

Interestingly, the exhibition also showcases three carpets handwoven by carpet weavers in Azerbaijan. Each of these was inspired by a work exhibited in ‘First Light’ that pay tribute to Azerbaijani heritage by thoughtfully interweaving Shaikh Rashid’s designs. In a world fraught with geopolitical tensions, Rashid’s thought-provoking art is bringing people and cultures together.

Shaikh Rashid’s eldest daughter, Shaikha Noor, is taking her father’s artistic legacy forward in her own individualistic way. She is the co-founder of luxury fashion brand Noon by Noor. Clearly, creativity runs in the family and is nurtured.

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