Saba Niknam
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Nov 11
- 4 min read
Saba Niknam is an Iranian artist based in Strasbourg. She works with stories, rituals, and crafts from different places, often looking for where cultures meet. Since moving from Iran at 19, she has lived between countries, and that sense of being in-between shapes her work. In projects like Goddesses of Faridabad, she photographed women selling flowers in a busy street market in India, presenting them alongside the objects they offer, as everyday figures. She learns techniques directly from craftswomen she spends time with—embroidery, weaving, puppetry, and textile dyeing. Her work grows from spending time in these places and getting to know the people there.
Q: You work with stories and traditions from many places. How do you choose which one to spend time with?
A: I usually work with stories and traditions from different places, but I’m especially drawn to those that have some kind of shared history with Iran, my home country. It’s fascinating for me to find where our paths have crossed in the past, to see how we’ve influenced each other. When I go to a residency in a place that doesn’t have a direct historical link with Iran, I focus more on finding similarities—things that feel familiar between my culture and theirs, in stories, rituals, or myths. It’s like tracing invisible connections between worlds.
Q: Migration and identity show up a lot in your work. Why are these themes important to you?
A: I came to France when I was 19 to study art, and since then I’ve been living between places. I go back to Iran sometimes, but I never really settled there again. So I don’t feel completely rooted anywhere. In Iran, I’m not fully Iranian anymore, and in France, I’ll never be completely French. That’s why I often create an imaginary home in my work—a place that feels safe, where I can belong through my stories and materials.
Q: In Faridabad, you focused on the women selling flowers in the street. What made you see them as “goddesses”?
A: Faridabad is a suburban city near Delhi, and I was there for a residency with Villa Swagatam. Every day I used to walk about thirty minutes from my place to the metro to go to Delhi, and on my way there was a big street market—it covered the whole road. In that market, there were women selling flowers, clay pots, bangles, and many other things. The place was very noisy, full of traffic, honking, and heat. These women were sitting there under the hot sun from early morning until midnight, sometimes even sleeping there.
In a country like India, where there are so many gods and goddesses, I felt these women were like local deities sitting quietly, almost like statues, surrounded by chaos, still smiling at people passing by. There was something sacred and powerful in their presence, and to me, they became the goddesses of that place.
Q: In "Goddesses of Faridabad", the photographs are shown together with objects. Why was it important for you to include the objects?
A: The objects in "Goddesses of Faridabad" are the things I bought from the women I photographed. From each woman, I took a small object—something they were selling, like flowers, clay pots, or bangles. It was important for me because in many traditional Indian paintings of goddesses, they always hold symbolic objects in their hands—each one representing something sacred or powerful. I wanted to create something similar, where the photographs are surrounded by these objects, almost like a small temple.
Q: You often work with folk crafts, puppetry and handmade techniques. What draws you to these forms?
A: My base is actually in drawing—I draw and paint. But the more I work, the more I feel drawn to folk and traditional crafts. I think street culture, old crafts, and folk stories carry a kind of wisdom—everything has a story, a belief, a meaning behind it. These handmade techniques come directly from people’s lives and beliefs, and because I’m very interested in ethnology and anthropology, I love to understand where these symbols come from and what rituals or stories are behind them. There’s also something universal in folk crafts and puppetry—people from any culture can relate to them. I love that connection between tradition and modernity, and I try to create works that everyone can somehow recognize and feel close to. It’s like finding a simple, human language through these forms—a way to communicate across different worlds.
Q: In Oaxaca, you’re researching carpet motifs. What are you learning there that you didn’t expect?
A: I came to Oaxaca to compare and find similarities between the motifs in Mexican carpets and the ones in Iranian carpets. But what surprised me here is how many different kinds of crafts exist around textiles—weaving, embroidery, dyeing—and how each of them is deeply connected to daily life. I started wanting to learn all of them and to bring them together in my final project, not just focus on carpets. Another thing that really touched me is the social side of these crafts—there are so many workshops and cafés where women gather to embroider, weave, and tell stories to each other. There’s a kind of rhythm, a ritual in that act of making together—the repetition of hands, the conversations—it creates a sense of community. For me, that’s very beautiful and very inspiring.
