(Artmejo) Hunna Art Gallery: Representing Women Artists

We are curious to get to know you. Can you tell us a little bit about yourself and how you found your way into the art world?

I'm Océane Sailly, Founder and Director of Hunna Art, Director of FIKAR, and an independent researcher. My path into the art world wasn't a straightforward one. I didn't grow up in an environment filled with art, but my passion for literature from an early age became a gateway to knowledge, sparking my curiosity for history, culture, and civilizations. I remember being completely absorbed by books, often diving obsessively into any subject. This was before the internet was widely available, so books were my lifeline to the world. 

When it came time to choose a university, I chose cultural mediation at the Sorbonne, which allowed me to study all forms of art while also delving into the wider art ecosystem-museums, cultural policy, the economics of art, and more. During this time, I worked in various roles-collaborating with artists, working with grassroots organizations, guiding tours in museums, and interning at different institutions. I eventually pursued an additional international relations degree alongside art, which brought me to interrogate the intersection between arts and politics. These experiences ultimately laid the foundation for Hunna Art, and here we are today. 

You were born and raised in France, yet found yourself across the continent, championing artistic female talent created in a context far from home. How did that come about? 

The creation of Hunna Art really grew from a mix of friendships, chance encounters, and a deep passion for art. It all began during my final year at university where I was working at the French Ministry of Culture, involved in a cultural program between the UAE and France, which had me traveling frequently and connecting with art professionals. One of the key figures I met was Alia Zaal, a curator and artist who would later play a big role in shaping Hunna Art. Our discussions about art, globalization, and the UAE's evolving art scene were pivotal. 

In 2017, I started a PhD at La Sorbonne, focused on French cultural diplomacy in the GCC, while also launching my first gallery, Hors-Cadre, with my sister Manona. Then in 2018, I received a scholarship to work in Kuwait, which allowed me to travel across the GCC, meeting artists, attending exhibitions, and building what would become Hunna Art. One key moment was meeting artist Aidha Badr in 2019, who casually suggested I open a gallery in Kuwait-it was the spark I needed. 

Having worked in the region the past three years, what can you deduce has changed in the Arab art world during that period? 

Over the past few years, the Arabian Peninsula's art world has undergone seismic shifts, as well as quieter, but equally important, developments. I've been working in the region for seven years, and each country has evolved at its own pace. In the UAE, the art scene has matured significantly, with a deeper engagement in discussions around social topics, such as migration, identity, and global culture-topics that mirror the country's diverse demographics, especially in

places like Dubai. Alongside this, we've seen a rise of new initiatives, such as Bayt Al Mamzar and Aisha Alabbar Gallery, and a commitment to increase the visibility and support local and GCC-based artists, like with Firetti Contemporary and Tabari Artspace. There's also been a shift in the art itself, with more artists tackling previously taboo subjects like the body and social norms. Overall, it's a dynamic, 'glocal' art ecosystem that is mature and continuously growing through new well-structured initiatives. 

Saudi Arabia is obviously where the most dramatic change has taken place in the past few years. When I first visited in 2019, there were already many Saudi artists, some with a global recognition, while some art galleries had been operating for years. What was striking at the time was the sense of excitement, it was clear that the art world there was on the edge of a pivotal change. Post-COVID, that wave fully arrived. JAX is now an entire arts district, and large-scale initiatives like Noor Riyadh and the Islamic Biennale have put Saudi Arabia on the global art map, attracting international artists, curators, and visitors alike, while many younger Saudi artists now have more opportunities to produce and showcase their work both locally and internationally, gaining recognition on a broader scale. 

In short, the region has become a significant hub in the global art world, with increasing international interest further boosting its influence and shaping the art being produced. 

Are there any industry-specific shifts or trends you have noticed regarding female representation in various roles such as artists, curators, academics? 

There's a noticeable difference between the West and the Arab world when it comes to female representation in the art industry. In the West, there's a growing awareness of the underrepresentation of women, not just in art but across various sectors, academia included. While women often outnumber men in many fields, they remain underrepresented in higher positions of power, with fewer responsibilities and lower salaries, perpetuating a system of inequality. 

In the Arab world, I've observed a different landscape in the art world. When I began working in the region, I was struck by the large number of women artists, as well as women holding top positions in galleries, collections, museums, and institutions. Some of the most prominent art patrons are also women, and they've played a crucial role in shaping the art scene here. This is well-recognized locally, and increasingly confirmed by research focusing on the structure of the art world in the region. This doesn't mean there aren't influential male artists or that men haven't contributed significantly, but the gender balance in terms of power and influence feels far more equitable.

What do you feel still needs to change, and how do you think that change can be brought about? 

It really depends on the perspective. In the West, we still need a fundamental shift. It's rare for a woman to head a major museum, and many recent moves toward gender parity in exhibitions feel more performative than authentic. When galleries or biennales achieve gender balance, it's treated as extraordinary, almost political True change will come when institutions stop seeing women artists or directors as a statement and just see them as integral. 

That said, the private sector is pushing the needle forward. A new generation of gallerists and curators is genuinely committed to intersectionality, providing platforms-offering real support: production, exhibition opportunities, mentorship. This is crucial because institutions move slowly, weighed down by long-established structures, while those of us working directly with artists are more agile, more in tune with the pulse of the present. 

In the Arabian Peninsula, one of the biggest gaps is in art education. Many artists either study abroad-often in LA, NYC, or London-or pursue adjacent fields like graphic design or architecture locally because fine art programs are limited. This creates a divide: some return from top universities equipped with networks and critical thinking but can feel alienated or constrained back home, while others, often self-taught, lack the tools to navigate the art world professionally. Talent isn't the issue-what's missing is access to solid, localized art education that focuses not just on global art history but on the art history of the region itself. While mentorship programs and workshops help, a strong curriculum centered on both regional and global perspectives would make a significant impact. 

Finally, art production can still be hindered by censorship or self-censorship but artists should be free to experiment and create without restrictions. 

As a gallerist and art curator, what does your day-to-day look like, and is it what you expected it to be when you first started this journey? 

Honestly, the only constant in my day is starting it off with a cup of coffee and some reading, first a book then the news. Beyond that, no two days are the same. It really depends on where we are in the gallery's cycle. From October to May, things are full-on: exhibitions, art fairs, special projects. While summer tips into a quieter, more reflective mode. My typical day involves 9 to 10 hours of work, as I also serve as Director of the Failaka Institute for Knowledge and Arts Research (FIKAR), a residency program for artists and academic researchers whose work celebrates and protects the ancient island of Failaka in Kuwait. My role there includes selecting future residents, supporting them throughout their residency, coordinating with the team, organizing events, and building a network.

So, my working day usually kicks off with sifting through emails and messages, checking the calendar for meetings, and then mapping out my tasks. After that, the real work begins: it's a mix of connecting with artists, collectors, and curators, managing the team, diving into research or writing, handling admin and financials, and prepping for whatever event is on the horizon. Whether it's an exhibition or an art fair, there's always a million moving parts-curation, logistics, communication- the rhythm completely shifts. It's all about being present, interacting with visitors, collectors, and the press. It's intense, but this is where the magic happens. Meeting people face-to-face, talking about the work, hearing their thoughts and questions-I live for those moments. And after months, sometimes over a year, of working on a project, seeing it finally come to life is pure adrenaline. It never gets old, no matter how many shows I've done. 

This month is particularly thrilling because on October 23rd, Hunna Art opens its first physical space in Kuwait with Gentle Porosities, a solo exhibition by Mashael Alsaie. I couldn't be more excited-and, naturally, a bit anxious-and the past few weeks have been all about preparing for this milestone. Transitioning from an online platform to a brick-and-mortar gallery will undoubtedly bring new dynamics, but my focus remains the same: working closely with artists, researching, engaging with the art world, building relationships with collectors, curating exhibitions, and balancing it all with the business of running a gallery.

What are some challenges you face within your role? And more importantly, what are the moments that make it all worthwhile? 

Being a gallerist is not always as glamorous as it may seem. From launching a gallery to keeping it afloat-there are challenges everywhere, all the time. And I think it's important to be real about that because galleries are often misunderstood. To succeed in this role, you need a sharp eye and a strong artistic vision, but also be business-savvy, tech-literate, resourceful, and incredibly detail-oriented. You've got to be comfortable with social media, public speaking, managing press, and running a business with all the legal, administrative, and financial responsibilities that come with it. Oh, and don't forget, you're also curating exhibitions from A to Z. When things go wrong (because they will), you need to think creatively, have your feet on ground and adapt quickly. 

Even if you manage all that, your success still depends on visibility, the trust of collectors, market trends, and larger economic and political forces. Without sales, you can't pay your artists, your team, or even yourself-if you're lucky enough to take a salary in the first few years. It's a delicate balance, and a lot of galleries don't make it past a few years. 

Now that I've laid out all the gritty details, let's talk about what makes it all so worth it. First and foremost: the artists. Working with artists daily is a dream. I get to watch their practices evolve, have deep conversations about their creative processes, and see firsthand what goes into making their work. It's an incredible privilege. I'm lucky to work with women who inspire me, challenge my thinking, and stimulate me intellectually. Their work is something I deeply admire, and over time, they've become like family. For that alone, all the struggles are worth it. 

But there's more-the thrill of seeing exhibitions and projects come to life, the satisfaction of placing an artwork in the perfect home, giving artists the recognition they deserve, and, yes, the freedom of running my own company and setting the rules.

The focus of a gallerist is the artist relationship-a dynamic built on trust, mutual respect, and a shared vision. You're working with people who pour their entire soul, mind, and body into their work. There's no cookie-cutter approach, and that level of commitment takes years to build. Some galleries do it differently, but that's how I see my role. It's a job that demands endless hours and plenty of uncertainty, but it's also one that's thrilling, exhilarating, and deeply rewarding. 

From your own creative and curatorial perspective, what are some highlights from the works that Hunna's artists have produced so far?

It's challenging to highlight specific works because each artist's journey is unique-but reflecting on the past three years, several highlights stand out, particularly exhibitions that marked new milestones for both the artists and Hunna Art. 

Among these significant moments, there were some remarkable solo exhibitions - in 2022, 'I Saw Time Passing (I)' by Alia Zaal at Foundry and 'When I Desire You, A Part of Me Is Gone' by Aidha Badr at Jossa, both in Dubai; in 2023, 'Earth can be as dead as it can be alive' by Alymamah Rashed at FIKAR, in Kuwait and we are eagerly anticipating 'Gentle Porosities' by Mashael Alsaie at Hunna Art gallery in Kuwait, 'The Earth Would Die If The Sun Stopped Kissing Her' by Eman Ali at RPS (Tokyo) and many more to be announced soon. 

And finally! I wanted to finish off with this one because I felt that there's something interesting to shed light on here: How did you arrive at naming your gallery نَّ هُ?  

Credit for the name goes to Alia Zaal-it was a true "eureka" moment. After weeks of brainstorming and going back and forth on ideas, Alia suggested "Hunna," which means "them" in the feminine form in Arabic. It clicked immediately. The name captures everything the gallery stands for: created by women, dedicated to supporting and amplifying the voices of female artists. 

Supported by Abdul Hameed Shoman Foundation