Mane Yengibaryan
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Nov 11
- 4 min read
Mane Yengibaryan is a graphic designer and visual artist based in Yerevan. Her work comes from her experiences in the city, influenced by its rich histories and changing urban rhythms. With a background in architecture and design, she often starts with photographs taken in markets and public spaces. She then transforms these images into organized visual compositions. Her project “Bangladesh” is named after a district she visited as a child with her mother, before shopping malls became part of the city. Now, as an artist, she captures everyday scenes, showcasing how personal and urban histories meet.
Q: You spent a lot of time in the district people call “Bangladesh.” When did it start to feel like more than just a place you passed through?
A: I spent a lot of time in “Bangladesh” as a child — it was the only kind of “shopping mall” we had back then. Whenever I needed winter boots, a warm jacket, or anything else, I was there with my mom. It was just part of everyday life.
Later, as I grew up, I began to look at my surroundings differently. I started to distance myself from the familiar and observe it as if from the outside. In my teenage years, I realized that something was shifting in the country — that the realities I saw around me carried deeper meanings. I began to notice the multilayered identities embedded in every corner and the striking contrast between the city center and its peripheries, like “Bangladesh.”
That’s when this place stopped being just a memory of my childhood and became a lens through which I could explore the complexity of my environment.
Q: In “Bangladesh,” you turn streets and markets into patterns. What first made you notice them that way?
A: I was doing my usual Sunday bike ride, exploring Armenian forgotten places by photographing them. That day, I took a photo of an underwear vendor who was so charismatic that I couldn’t just leave it as a photo. I started experimenting with it and eventually came up with the idea of turning it into a pattern. Later, I used other images I had taken and discovered how much beauty and rhythm there is in everyday scenes when they become patterns. This approach has since become a direction I’m still exploring — I see many lines for development in it and continue to experiment with how photography and pattern can merge into one visual language.
Q: You studied architecture and design. How do those experiences still shape how you see things now?
A: My architectural background still shapes the way I see things — I naturally notice geometry, rhythm, and structure in everyday life. That mindset stays with me in everything I do. Design, on the other hand, gave me more space for creativity and experimentation, which felt much closer to my heart. Over time, I slowly shifted my focus from architecture to design and art, where I feel completely myself. This mix of structure and freedom defines how I approach my work today — grounded in logic, yet open to intuition and visual emotion.
Q: Your work moves between old traditions and new forms. How do you decide what to keep and what to change?
A: The elements I choose to keep are often the ones that feel the most unusual or unexpected to me. I’m drawn to what stands apart from the everyday life and environment I know, the details that feel distant from my own experiences. In my work, I pay attention to the contrasts between the city center and its edges, between familiar routines and overlooked corners. These differences reveal layers of identity, rhythm, and character that are easy to miss at first glance.
By highlighting the strange and unusual, I try to capture a sense of the city that is both personal and observant, transforming the everyday into something that invites a closer, more thoughtful look.
Q: You call Yerevan a layered city. What part of it draws you in the most these days?
A: Yes, Yerevan is a layered city, influenced by many historical patterns that create an unusual view of a city. I’ve long been focused on the post-Soviet era, which has shaped the people and their everyday lives. I often notice subtle traits, like Arabic-inspired gestures or habits among people, which stand out to me because they feel different from my own environment.
I’m drawn to these contrasts — the way various cultural influences coexist within the post-Soviet context. Observing these layers allows me to understand the city not just as a physical space, but as a living, evolving network of identities, memories, and rhythms.
Q: You work across design, photography, and your own brand. How do you keep it interesting without burning out?
A: I’ve never really thought of my work as just a job — it’s a big part of my life and who I am. I don’t see myself as anything other than an artist and a designer, because that’s the space where I feel completely myself. The work I do is not only a way to create, but also a way to give meaning to what I love, to explore ideas, and to express what I feel. In return, it gives me energy instead of taking it away.
Over time, I’ve learned to structure my life so that all the things I do — whether it’s photography, design, or building my own brand — feed me and keep me inspired. This way, I stay curious, motivated, and excited about my practice, rather than feeling drained or burned out. For me, work and life are intertwined, and that balance allows me to continue exploring without losing the joy that brought me here in the first place.
