Rana Begum is a London-based artist whose sculptures, paintings, and installations—as well as her contribution to Maharam Digital Projects, No.1391—speak in the abstract language of light, color, and form.
It was a pleasure, then, to talk with Begum more directly—albeit over video—after an eventful Eid weekend. The artist sat in her home office, and a textile sample she’d designed for Bristol Beacon hung in the background. A geometric pattern, the rich but subtle variegation of its cool hues was evident even through the screen. I soon learned that the tapestry marked a threshold. “Do you think you can keep it down with your singing?” the artist requested when sounds of her teenage son floated in from the kitchen behind. Begum later stood to pull back the curtain, pointing toward the dense green of neighboring Abney Park Cemetery as if to gesture at the light, the color, and the natural beauty that had been there all along.
Should we start by speaking a bit about process?
Yes. I’m working on something at the moment—a proposal for a public artwork. Even when thinking about large-scale works, I’ve found it essential to be able to physically touch a material and test out how light plays with the surface. We have natural light coming into the studio, and it’s wonderful when it activates a work, or interacts with the material.
I am also exploring painting, and an idea I had about layering. What happens, for example, when you add layers, then shift the position of these layers, while also increasing transparency and introducing a gradient. I’m excited by the process and possibilities – there is an element of surprise when you take the masking tape off, revealing the edge and its relationship with the neighboring color. At the same time, I’m thinking about scale and how this can affect geometry. I find the painting process meditative. It focuses my attention and filters out surrounding activity and distractions.
Do you typically start with an idea for a piece, or do you initially engage with the material and let the idea come from that exchange?
It really depends. I am always struggling with time—there are not enough hours in the day. So, I’ll have an idea, and I’ll either sketch it out or let it develop in my mind over a period of time. Then, I’ll start physically experimenting, either by myself or I’ll ask my colleague to try something out, so I can start to see how it might work or what might happen. Sometimes, we might end up leaving it for a while, knowing that we’ve started the conversation.
Other times, something new emerges in the process of creating another series of works. For instance, my series of spot paintings developed from the process of testing spray cans. Before each use, the paint is tested for consistency and flow, resulting in a myriad of spray-painted patches that are built up over several weeks. The more I looked, the more I thought, “There’s something there.”
This body of work—which I developed through almost accident—led me on to the mesh cloud works.
Could you speak a bit more about those?
My more formal work addresses color, light, and form in a way that’s very minimal. You can see that there is an underlying system—although I don’t like to call it a system.
The more fluid and organic works, such as the spot paintings and the clouds, are much freer and looser, which is something that I felt I needed. I love the formal approach, and I find it really calming, but there are moments when you need to introduce something unpredictable.
You seem to think a lot about calm, and I wonder why. It’s a humble way to think about your work—to aim for that effect.
I think I’ve always craved a sense of calm. However, I’m also drawn to vibrancy, color, and movement. So, for me, it’s about achieving a balance between moments of calm and moments of exhilaration—and thinking about how both these feelings can coexist.
Someone once described my work as having a dual experience. With the aluminium box works, for example, the experience shifts as you move across the work. From one side, you encounter vibrant colors that create bold, defined forms. However, as you move to the other side, the colors interact to form a gradient, offering a more muted palette and a softer experience.
This duality is most clearly dramatized in this series, but I’m aiming for a similar effect across my practice. I use color transitions and rhythmic composition to temper brighter tones and bold forms, creating an experience that is both uplifting and contemplative.
I didn’t realise at first that this was happening naturally. I grew up reading the Quran and praying five times a day, and I think that experience helped me appreciate rhythm and instinctively gravitate towards it. I associate this repetition and regularity with both calmness and energy—creating momentum that builds towards something greater.
I think I crave this duality in life, too. I find it hard to stop, and I’m drawn to intensity and busyness, but at the same time, I long for the chance to slow down and be more contemplative.
Like a meditative structure?
Yes, I think. Rhythm. Repetition. Does that naturally create calmness?
That’s interesting in contrast to your palette. You’re often working with neon hues—
Which is unexpected.
Yes. Why is that?
With a lot of the colors, whether it’s a muted palette or more vibrant, I like to have an element of positivity. There’s rhythm and movement within the work, and I think color helps to reinforce this momentum whilst also creating a sense of balance.
Part of what interested me about the neon is that it’s, almost literally, injected with light. Very active color.
It does feel very active.
I think that’s why it’s really interesting working with color—it can have such a powerful impact. Even the tiniest sliver of color can change the mood of the work. It’s not that certain colors are more active. It’s how you place them together that activates things.
How do you maintain that level of curiosity, in general, and specifically about color, the further you get in your career?
Each new work is answering a question that a previous work has posed. When that cycle happens, it doesn’t stop. At no point do I feel like I’ve resolved something in its entirety. Instead, I am always left with the question, “What’s going to happen if I do this instead?”
No.1391 by Rana Begum is available through Maharam Digital Projects, an assemblage of large-scale wall installations created by esteemed artists, designers, illustrators, and photographers.
Noor Qasim is a Communications Associate at Maharam.
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