Rada Akbar is one of the most distinguished figures in contemporary art. The prominent Afghan visual artist, photographer, and cultural activist turns art into a tool for storytelling, awareness, and resistance for Afghan women. She is best known for her groundbreaking project and exhibitions such as Abarzanan, an innovative collection that blends embroidery, calligraphy, and fashion design to re-examine the hidden history, achievements, and struggles of prominent women throughout the ancient and contemporary history of Afghanistan and the world.
Beyond their aesthetic dimensions, Rada Akbar’s works offer a transformative narrative of the lives of Afghan women — one that challenges the stereotypical image of the woman as a victim and instead redefines her as a hero. Though Rada Akbar was forced into exile following the political shifts and the fall of Kabul, she continues her work abroad, giving a powerful voice to women deprived of their basic rights through new collections, such as Endless Power.
In this interview with Zan Times, Rada Akbar talks about the evolution of her artistic perspective, the initial idea and challenges of organizing the Abarzanan exhibition, the story of rescuing these artworks from Kabul to Paris, the influential role of her family in nurturing her critical worldview, and her message of resilience for the young generation and girls of Afghanistan.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Zan Times: Thank you for speaking with us. I have followed your work for years, especially the Abarzanan exhibition, which stood out to me because visual art has received relatively little attention in Afghanistan. When we think of an artist, we often think of a singer rather than a visual artist. What drew you to visual art, and why did you choose it as your medium?
Rada Akbar: We live in the contemporary world, and contemporary art — particularly visual art or fine art — gives artists freedom. There are no restrictions on the techniques or materials they can choose. I have always believed that the fewer limitations an artist faces, the more their creativity can flourish.
In 2018, my sister, Shahrzad, learned through one of her friends that the U.S. embassy in Kabul was planning to organize a fashion showcase in Islamabad. The aim was to highlight the cultural similarities between Afghanistan and Pakistan despite the deep political differences between the two countries.
Shahrzad’s friend knew that I was very interested in fashion and hand embroidery. At the time, we did not really have established fashion brands of this kind in Afghanistan, so she assumed that I was a fashion designer. When Shahrzad told me about it, I said that I was not a fashion designer and had no interest in becoming one.
But I had always been interested in fashion, and I designed clothes for myself and my family members. One thing that had always inspired me in our society was how creative women were in choosing their clothing, regardless of the resources available to them. Everyone had their own taste.
During this period, something happened that changed the course of my life: my apartment was robbed. My laptop and hard drives were stolen. They contained nearly 10 years of work and projects. The incident was devastating for me. I felt as though my world had come to an end.
When I went to the police to seek help, I realized that there was no real way to pursue the case. That injustice deeply troubled me.
About a month before the robbery, I had told the organizers of the fashion showcase that I was not interested in participating. But at the last minute, the only fashion designer who had been expected to attend from Afghanistan withdrew, and the organizers said they no longer had anyone to represent the country.
Shahrzad, who was worried about me, asked me to participate. In the end, I said to myself that I had lost everything many times in my life and found my way back again. Perhaps this, too, was another opportunity.
My mother and I travelled to Islamabad. I did not have a collection, so I took with me the clothes I had designed for myself and my family. After the event, two or three Pakistani designers asked me to collaborate with them.
But even then, I felt that something was missing. The beauty and elegance of clothing alone were not enough. Fashion needed to have meaning. There had to be a story behind every garment; otherwise, the work felt lifeless.
ZT: So, was attending that fashion showcase the beginning of the idea for Abarzanan?
Akbar: Yes. At the time, the peace negotiations had begun, and we often discussed the future of women’s rights in Afghanistan at home. On the journey back to Kabul, I had the idea: instead of creating a sculpture, why not design a garment for each woman — one that would tell the story of her character, achievements, and social and historical contributions through clothing? In this way, each piece could reflect the woman’s story, preserve a part of history, and elevate embroidery into a work of art.
That same night, when we arrived in Kabul, Shahrzad came over. I told her that I had an idea, although I did not know how serious or feasible it was. Shahrzad, who has always been one of my greatest supporters, embraced the idea and said that this was the best possible time to bring it to life.
It was late September. She suggested opening the exhibition on March 8, which is International Women’s Day. We had only a few months. After consulting with Shahrzad, we agreed that I would prepare eight pieces for the first exhibition.
Eventually, we decided to select women from two periods: ancient history and contemporary history. We both believed that the women living and striving in society today should be recognized because they have a greater influence on younger generations, particularly young Afghan women and girls.
For the historical section, we selected, among others, Queen Gawhar Shad Begum from the Timurid era, spanning the 14th and 15th centuries; Rabia Balkhi; Queen Soraya; and Kubra Noorzai.
For the contemporary section, we selected women such as Shukrea Erfani, a poet who remains largely unknown despite her prominent place in Persian poetry. Her own life story, particularly her experience as a woman living in a closed society,is reflected in her poetry.
We also chose the country’s first female orchestra conductor, whose journey into music involved a remarkable break from both family and social expectations; Shakila, who survived child marriage and domestic violence and now lives in Canada — I first met her on a flight in 2014, and from then on, I came to see her as a sister; and Hanifa Yousafzai, who climbed one of the world’s highest peaks.
I personally believe that, regardless of her position in society, every woman who has struggled and deserves to have her work recognized and recorded. In a patriarchal society, even women from elite families or those who held positions of power, were never considered equal to the men in their families. For this reason, we tried to select women from every social class, profession, and period.
After selecting the women, I began creating the initial designs. Through Maryam Omar, the director of the Firozkoh Design Centre, I was introduced to Ali Baba Orung, a master calligrapher. I explained the project to him, and he was very enthusiastic about the idea. I learned a great deal from him about Nastaliq calligraphy, which I used in this collection.
Before Abarzanan, I had only a limited knowledge of women’s history. I could say that I was one of the first people to benefit from the project. There was very little information available on Google, so we had to search for the sources ourselves and prepare concise biographies to accompany each garment. A visitor to an exhibition does not have time to read two or three pages of text.
One of the things I learned was that Gawhar Shad could not officially be recognized as a queen though she had political power. She therefore expanded her influence by supporting art and literature. Much of the architecture of the Timurid period across Afghanistan, Iran, and Samarkand was created under her direct patronage. The Gawhar Shad Mosque and madrasa in Herat — once home to 21 minarets, of which only four remain today — are among these works.
For each garment, I drew inspiration from a particular part of the woman’s story or history and incorporated it into the design through patterns and symbols. For Gawhar Shad’s garment, I was inspired by the lapis lazuli and turquoise tiles on her mausoleum, a structure that is deteriorating and where only the upper section still retains its original tiles. Accordingly, the design followed a pattern in which the tiles became increasingly dense from the top down.
For Rabia Balkhi, we used her final poem, which, according to legend, she wrote on the wall of a bathhouse with her own blood.
ZT: What other challenges did you face in launching the exhibition?
Akbar: In addition to the limited timeframe — we had only three months — one of our biggest challenges was funding. With the help of close friends, we carried out a small fundraising campaign. Shahrzad was the first person to contribute.
As a freelance photographer, I supported myself through my work, and my goal with this project was never to make a financial profit. I tried to carry it out with the fewest possible resources. I designed the garments myself. With the help of Master Orung and a graphic designer friend, we created the logo. Most of my work involved directly overseeing the process with each individual artist and the women who carried out the embroidery for the collection, as well as managing communication and coordination.
The exhibition opened at the Queen’s Palace in Babur’s Garden, with the venue costs covered by the Aga Khan cultural foundation.
ZT: What kind of response did the exhibition receive?
Akbar: The response was overwhelmingly positive, far beyond what I had expected. I had anticipated that the exhibition might face criticism or negative reactions.
International friends who attended the exhibition told me that it was no less impressive than exhibitions in Paris or New York. Most of the funding was always spent on the garments themselves rather than on the exhibition, because the facilities and resources needed to stage such an exhibition simply did not exist in Afghanistan.
From an annual exhibition to the idea of a women’s history museum
ZT: When we spoke previously, you mentioned your efforts to establish a women’s history museum. How did it take shape?
Akbar: After the first exhibition ended, Shahrzad and I began discussing a second list.
Each year, we added eight new biographies. Beginning in the second year, we also decided to include women from across the region and around the world, alongside Afghan women, to highlight women’s shared suffering and struggles globally.
In the second year, we included Asma Jahangir, the Pakistani human rights activist, and Forugh Farrokhzad. In the third year, we included others, such as an environmental activist from Honduras who had been killed to stop her work.
The second-year exhibition was held at Chihilsitoon Palace, and the third at Darul Aman Palace in 2021. But the political situation was gradually changing. In the third year, the security official told me that we could not hold the exhibition publicly because its safety could not be guaranteed. We therefore held it by invitation only.
That same year, I created a performance in memory of the victims of terrorist attacks, including young people and children who had been killed in suicide bombings, because no one seemed to be hearing the voices of those living through this horrific reality.
I had always said that eight biographies a year were not enough and that the work needed to continue in a more systematic way, through an institution or educational institute — one with both a research department, working with historians and regional experts, and an artistic department.
After the third exhibition, the work continued. The final planning meeting with members of the Women’s History Museum team took place two weeks before the fall of Kabul.
ZT: I want to know how you moved the artworks when everyone was trying to flee Afghanistan. What happened to them?
Akbar: From the third exhibition onward, Shahrzad, several friends, and I had been deeply concerned about what would happen to the artworks. We had nowhere safe to store them in Afghanistan.
One day, I spoke with a French friend. She said that she was travelling and offered to take a few pieces with her, provided they could fit into a bag. She said it was not the ideal solution, but it was the only one available.
We prepared several small bags and entrusted them to foreign friends who were leaving Afghanistan at the time. One bag went to Paris, another to Istanbul, another to Switzerland, and another to Italy. Each person carried only one small bag. In the end, 15 pieces were saved through this effort.
A large bronze work featuring calligraphy by Master Ali Baba Orung, with engraving completed by a team at Firozkoh, remained in Kabul.
It took nearly two years to bring all of them back together. The collection was eventually reunited in Paris, and the process was completed by the end of 2022.
ZT: In Afghanistan, the home is often the first place where women experience oppression and learn that they should not raise their voices. But your family, particularly your father, is well known in Afghanistan’s literary and cultural circles. How did your family influence your development as an artist with a critical perspective on the situation in Afghanistan?
Akbar: I think I have been one of the fortunate women who has always received support from her family. Even today, in exile, I receive my greatest support from my family and from Shahrzad.
There were times when, exhausted, I would say that perhaps I had no choice but to give up this work. But Shahrzad would always discourage me from making that decision.
Although my father understood how difficult a career in the arts could be, he always told me that art was worth pursuing. He said that even in Western societies, it often takes several generations for people to understand the value of a work of art, and that artists should not expect society to appreciate their work immediately.
He always emphasized that I needed to be practical. He would say that the results of what we create today may not become visible for another 50 or even 100 years.
My father always bought me books about art and spoke with me about the history of Western art, different artistic movements, and the role of women during the Renaissance. It was this safe space for discussion at home that gave me the confidence to use art as a tool for social activism.
That support did not come without a cost. My father stood up to criticism from those around him about the freedom he gave his daughters. He said that this kind of pressure was part of the price of building a more equal future for women and girls. He always said that struggle is impossible without sacrifice.
ZT: After leaving Afghanistan and arriving in France, how did you rebuild your life? What are you working on now?
Akbar: After the fall of Kabul, we had no predetermined plan to leave. The worst-case scenario we had anticipated was a civil war. Events unfolded so quickly that I felt my mind was unable to process what was happening.
After spending two weeks in a hotel in France, the formal immigration process began. Through direct contact with an organization that provided fellowships to artists and scholars, I learned about a program designed for scholars and artists at risk. Through this programme, I received a one-year artistic fellowship at the Cité internationale des arts, an international residency where nearly 350 artists from around the world are based.
The first year was extremely difficult. For a long time, I lived with anger and a sense of waiting for the Taliban to be overthrown so that we could return. That anger and anticipation completely blocked my creativity.
Eventually, I accepted that I had to take responsibility for my own psychological well-being. I had to accept that my former life was not coming back and that I needed to build a new life even if it required different techniques and new tools.
Another challenge was that, in exile, I had lost the resources, team, and support structure behind Abarzanan.
I accepted that the only thing I could do was continue the work by raising awareness.
That was how I began a new collection called Endless Power. In this collection, rather than focusing on one specific individual, each work represents millions of women. I drew on the symbols and imagery of 15th- and 16th-century Timurid miniature painting and the artistic tradition associated with Kamaleddin Behzad. To speak about the situation of women in Afghanistan today, I combined them with contemporary symbols, such as boxing gloves and barbed wire, as well as contemporary poetry by women poets..
Part of the collection was created on a surface resembling a carpet, both to highlight women’s historical role in the development of the carpet industry and to tell the stories of women who were barred from working in other professions and were forced to turn to carpet weaving.
Because of the lack of resources and suitable workspace in exile, I created works using a wide range of materials, from paper and foam to plaster. After experimenting with different materials and techniques, I found ways to continue Abarzanan without a large team.
ZT: Tell us about the exhibition you will have in Belgium from September to February. What works will be displayed?
Akbar: This exhibition will include the Abarzanan collection that was able to leave Afghanistan, along with the works I have created since arriving in France, as well as pieces I am currently working on.
One thing I have noticed in these countries is the relatively recent presence of women in leadership positions within museums and art institutions. Most of the exhibitions I have held since 2021 have been curated primarily by women. Some of these curators independently research Afghanistan’s history and current situation and show a deep interest in the details of the lives and struggles of the women represented in the collection.
Art, politics, and the social responsibility of the artist
ZT: What message do you want Abarzanan to convey?
Akbar: From the very beginning, the main purpose of Abarzanan was to challenge the narrative that portrays Afghan women solely as victims.
If a woman sees herself only as a victim, she can never survive in an oppressive society. An Afghan woman has to be a hero in order to attend school, work, and make choices for herself in such a society.
During the presence of international forces in Afghanistan, the international community often preferred a narrative of Afghan women as victims, which helped justify their 20-year presence. But the central message of Abarzanan is that Afghan women are heroes, not victims.
In France, many visitors were surprised to learn that Afghanistan had women who were mountain-climbing champions and women who had achieved extraordinary things. During one exhibition, an educational programme was organized for school students. They were asked, after reading the biographies of the women represented in the collection, to write a landay — a traditional Pashto folk poem — for one of them. A four-year-old child, after learning that girls in Afghanistan were not allowed to attend school, told his mother that he wanted to become Superman so that he could save them.
In my view, the reason I can be an artist today is because there were women before me who painted in secret and endured all forms of physical and psychological violence to create a place for themselves in the art world, a world that was for a long time controlled by men.
To artists who say, “My work is not political,” I respect their right to choose. But I think that, in reality, they do not want to accept their responsibility toward a society where oppression and injustice are taking place.
I proudly call myself a feminist. I believe there is no middle ground between being a feminist and being neutral for, in practice, neutrality in the face of oppression means supporting the other side.
One memory I share with my mother is watching a documentary about the story of Einstein’s wife, a highly intelligent woman whose ideas were taken from her and whose contributions were denied in the name of love. That story led me to ask this question: If the history of the world’s greatest philosophers, mystics, poets, and scientists had belonged to women, what would the world look like today?
ZT: What is your message to the younger generation, especially girls growing up in Afghanistan today, when many of the structures and opportunities that existed before are no longer available to them?
Akbar: I no longer use the word “struggle” to describe my own situation, because today I live in one of the freest countries in the world and benefit from support and freedom, even though my work in Afghanistan placed me at serious risk and exposed me to threats.
So I think that, today, my role and the role of my art is primarily to raise awareness and document a particular historical period.
To be honest, I feel a sense of hesitation, even shame, in giving a message to those women and girls who are trying to keep their hopes and dreams alive in a deeply misogynistic and unequal country like Afghanistan.
If I were to share one thing from my own personal experience, it would be this: never give up on your imagination and your ability to dream. The power of imagination is extraordinary.
Our dreams are the only things that no one can access, destroy, or exploit. It is our imagination that gives us the power to shape the future. I believe this is the one thing that no one can take away from the girls of Afghanistan.
I hope that one day, their imagination and dreams will become a reality of freedom for all of them.
ZT: Thank you, Rada jan. I think I have taken a great deal of your time, but this conversation has been incredibly insightful.
