In this wide-ranging and layered conversation, Anastasia Nysten (AN) speaks with Amanda Abi Khalil (AAK), an independent curator and founder of TAP (Temporary Art Platform). Abi Khalil’s curatorial practice unfolds across geographies and disciplines, carving out new methodologies to engage with public space, institutions, and social urgencies. From curating hospital soundscapes to reviving urban playgrounds, Amanda discusses how TAP “curates the conditions” rather than simply producing exhibitions – embracing the political, infrastructural, and deeply human dimensions of contemporary art in the Mediterranean and beyond.
AN: Amanda, you’re currently involved in several projects in Beirut through TAP, including Breath is Tide and your long-term work with AUBMC. Could you give us a general overview of what you’re working on right now?
AAK: Yes, absolutely. In Beirut, we’re preparing a four-day program titled Breath is Tide, which is part of an ongoing project format we’ve been developing through TAP. TAP is a para-institution with an experimental curatorial approach. We don’t adhere to a fixed format, we adapt the method, the site, the duration with every iteration, depending on context and partners.
We’re also collaborating with the Art Explora Foundation, a French initiative traveling the Mediterranean with a museum boat. TAP (Danielle Makhoul and myself) curated ‘’Undertow’’ an exhibition addressing exile and the socio-political realities of the Mediterranean – acknowledging it as both a space of rich cultural exchange and the largest cemetery of our time. The Beirut stop was postponed from 2025 to 2027 due to the war, but we decided to proceed with a smaller programme this year as a kind of prelude.
AN: And Breath is Tide coincides with TAP’s 10-year anniversary?
AAK: Yes, technically the 11th year, but we didn’t celebrate last year. For this, we’re commissioning new artworks and, for the first time, working within existing cultural institutions in Beirut. The idea was to highlight “breathing spaces” in the city: public gardens, forests, informal areas. So this edition explores the spatial and metaphorical conditions of breath.
AN: Can we transition into your work at AUBMC? How did that project begin?
AAK: The hospital approached us while still under construction, asking for advice on acquiring artworks. I told them we don’t work with the art market – we don’t purchase existing pieces to decorate walls. Instead, we proposed a site-specific pilot project with commissioned works that trigger both artistic and medical research.
It began in 2018 and was delayed multiple times due to Lebanon’s upheavals: the 2019 uprising, the 2020 port explosion, and economic collapse. Some of the commissioned works were even damaged in the blast. We chose not to repair them, leaving the scars visible. They now exist in a hospital space that has also become a site of trauma and healing.
AN: How did you guide the artists in this process?
AAK: All the artists were involved from the construction phase. They spent months, some up to a year, embedded in the hospital, collaborating with doctors, engineers, researchers. This residency-like process led to deeply participatory commissions. It created a different kind of ownership. For instance, Lara Tabet, who’s also a trained doctor, didn’t produce photographs but instead extracted DNA samples from key hospital figures. The final work consists of DNA light boxes: portraits through genetic material.
AN: That’s incredibly intimate and layered. Could you tell us about another commission?
AAK: Yes, we also invited Nadim Mishlawi and Sharif Sehnaoui to explore hospital soundscapes. They worked with technicians to record MRIs, surgical pumps, and other medical machines. These became the basis for musical compositions. The sound pieces now play in elevators, waiting areas, and, hopefully soon, as the on-hold music when you call the hospital. We even created downloadable ringtones from these sounds.
AN: You’ve activated the five senses in a medical context, especially breath, which ties beautifully into Breath is Tide. How do you frame TAP’s methodology?
AAK: We often say we “curate the conditions.” Especially in the Global South and crisis contexts like Lebanon, it’s not just about curating artworks but building the entire ecosystem that allows art to happen. This includes lobbying ministries, reopening parks, or collaborating with activists. For example, one of our recent efforts reopened the Karantina playground for a performance, and we’re working to keep it open long-term.
AN: That’s a powerful form of artivism. What has a decade of such curatorial work taught you?
AAK: Over 10 years, we’ve done 40–50 projects. The key learning is that contemporary art has to adapt to its context. Mimicking institutional exhibition models from elsewhere can be totally out of touch. Our projects don’t always draw large audiences, but they align deeply with the political, social, and spatial questions of the site. Our audience isn’t just viewers, it’s the land, the people, the systems we’re trying to shift.
AN: And TAP is a collective curatorial platform, right?
AAK: Yes, I initiated it, but we work with many curators. For the AUBMC project, Nour Osseiran has been the associate curator from the beginning. Others have contributed at different stages too. It’s collaborative, always.
AN: Amanda, thank you for this rich and vital conversation. Your work extends far beyond the art world’s usual circuits. You’re curating possibilities.
AAK: Thank you, Anastasia. That’s exactly the aim.