This article appeared in Being Muhannad Shono Issue #70 which delves into the world of Saudi artist Muhannad Shono, exploring his creative journey, artistic process, and global impact. Through visuals and an in-depth interview, it highlights Shono’s works that connect personal memory with universal themes. The issue traces his evolution from early creations to monumental installations, revealing a progression driven by curiosity and innovation. This issue celebrates Shono’s global success and his curatorial role in the 2025 Islamic Arts Biennale.
Issue #70 ‘Being Muhannad Shono’
Growing up in Saudi Arabia, Shono’s world was ignited by comic books. As a child, he found inspiration in the figure of Al-Khidr, the Green Man of world mythology, whose story fueled his creative spark and instilled a sense of resilience in a society that often felt creatively stifling. Despite his yearning for a more artistic professional journey, financial constraints kept him from studying abroad. Undeterred, he channeled his passion into self-publishing and showcasing his work at Comic-Cons, navigating the industry’s often rigid categorisation of artists. His journey took him from Saudi Arabia to Dubai and then to Sydney, where he worked in advertising. Still, years later, he made his way back home, where he immersed himself in the local art scene. This culminated in his solo exhibition, Children of Yam. Shono invites us into his early memories of illustration, his resistance to the status quo in pre-social media Saudi Arabia, and the beginnings of a remarkable series of exhibitions that would follow.
You are a self-taught artist. Can you tell us about your background, how you grew up and how you came about being who you are today?
I started off creating comics. I was really fascinated by the comic book and visual narrative formats, where I could reimagine reality—a kind of reclaiming. Growing up in Saudi Arabia, I realised early on that there was a fear of what was happening in people’s minds. What I thought was a safe haven—the imagination—was under assault from ideology. There was concern, and rightly so, about the power of the imagination to reshape reality, ask questions, and challenge the status quo. This fear stemmed from the fact that imagination can lead to questioning the rigid, uncompromising narratives that we were expected to follow, narratives that allowed no flexibility or fluidity and demanded absolute obedience.
As a young kid, I was faced with choices. I was told I needed to draw a line through the neck of my characters because “only God can create”, as if to make me feel guilty for the space I had carved out for myself. But I chose not to be made to feel guilty.
I ended up studying architecture—though I never practiced. I wanted to pursue something creative, but my family couldn’t afford to send me abroad to study art. Architecture was a creative field I could access locally. I found the creative problem-solving and the idea of manifesting spaces where stories and ideas could unfold very interesting, but ultimately, I think of architecture as linked to the realisation of the imagination, so for me architectural work is also conceptual work.
Who were these characters or what were these stories that you were depicting?
It all started with my fascination for a character called Al-Khidr, the Green Figure. Al-Khidr is a figure from Islamic culture and world mythology, mentioned in the Quran as someone who has adventures and is immortal. What intrigued me about him was that, at a time when I was being told to sever the neck of the characters I was trying to bring to life, this character was the opposite. His role is to be immortal, connected to nature, and when he’s cut down, he returns to life. He embodies resilience. He appears in world mythology, often depicted as a head with plants growing from his nose, mouth, and ears—a symbol of nature, rebirth, regeneration, and the creative spirit. For me, he became a messenger, offering a different way of thinking, urging me to be resilient in the face of those who sought to stifle imagination.
I used to rent tables at Comic-Cons, selling my prints and self-publishing my work. I even republished a book in Riyadh before I left Saudi Arabia, between 2000 and 2004. I was working at a local publishing house, but the book got censored because one of the characters performed magic—and magic was forbidden. Ironically, the first Harry Potter book was on the shelves at the time. As a local trying to change the narrative, there was more scrutiny on what I was doing, and it felt like there were constant efforts to hold me back. Before 2015, I focused on highly illustrative comics—ink on paper, no penciling.
I created a character called Kamin, who was my addition to the legacy of Al-Khidr. Kamin is reincarnated into a new story. The more he dies, the more stories he tells, and from his mouth, ears, and eyes, lines grow. I would take these books to comic shops, and they’d say, “It’s more of an art book.” Then I’d take them to galleries, and they’d say, “It’s more of a comic book.” This was a recurring issue for me: the constant categorisation of identity and the type of work I was doing. Where does it belong? On which shelf? Rejecting this rigid categorisation—whether in terms of identity, work, or meaning—has been a significant part of how I approach my art.
When did you leave Saudi Arabia, and what path did you take?
I left Saudi in 2004 and moved to Dubai, where I started working in advertising. Being self-taught, I wanted to surround myself with people who were more classically or professionally trained in creative fields. Back then, there was no social media—no real way to connect with other self-taught creatives in Saudi. There weren’t any underground shows, exhibitions, or concerts that I knew of, so creatively, I felt isolated, like I was on an island. I left to experience the broader creative world, and advertising seemed like a space that could harness creative output, though I would later realise it was more about taking advantage of it. However, I understood that it was a vehicle—I could work as a creative in advertising anywhere in the world because the language of advertising was universal. There were formats and formulas.
The more I did it, the more I grew to hate it, but it did allow me to spend three years in Dubai, and later, eight years in Sydney, where I worked for a small agency. During that time, I learned how to focus an idea into a singular point.
When I returned to Saudi in 2015, it was still the pre-transformation era of the country, but now there was social media. I quickly found out that I was already quite well-known for my comic book work, as people had seen what I was posting online. Once they realised I was back in Riyadh, I started connecting with the local creative scene, which eventually led to my first solo exhibition at Athr Gallery in 2016, where I showcased Children of Yam.
Was that your first show upon returning to Saudi Arabia? How did your work evolve?
It was my first show in a contemporary art space, and that’s when I realised something interesting about the contemporary art space—it’s much more forgiving when it comes to categorisation. There’s no pressure for the outcome to be anything specific. You’re not creating products that need to serve a particular function. You’re free to mix genres, ideas, and materials in ways that don’t need to lead to a defined result. The process is more playful, more experimental, both in terms of the materials used and the ideas explored. That’s where I found my place at the time, though I’m now transitioning out of that space. The solo show did really well, but I felt like I sold myself.
What do you feel is the biggest challenge as an artist?
To not lose sight of your inner guiding light, that spark of imagination that inspired you when you were younger. What you held onto in those early years has value and power. The challenge is to keep that light shining, making it even brighter despite attempts to diminish, dim, or extinguish it. The art world can distort, refract, and deflect that light, but you need to safeguard it, value it, and let it shine true within you.
