I still remember the first time I wandered into the Al Fahidi Historical Neighbourhood in old Dubai. It wasn’t planned—just one of those wrong turns that turn out so right. I’d been aiming for the waterfront but ended up smack in the middle of a maze of coral-stone alleyways, quiet but somehow humming with memory. It didn’t feel like the Dubai I thought I knew—the one with skyscrapers that look like they’re about to take flight or malls that contain ski slopes (yep, that’s real). This was something older, dustier, and much more alive in a different way.
And that’s the thing
about Dubai that most folks miss. Beneath the shine and spectacle, there's this
heartbeat of ancient creativity that’s still very much alive, even if it
doesn't scream for your attention like the Burj Khalifa does. You’ve just got
to know where to look—or stumble into it like I did.
So, What Exactly Is “Ancient Artz”?
Okay, let me back up a
little. “Ancient Artz” isn’t some formalized category with rigid definitions.
It’s more of a vibe—an energy. I use it to describe the way traditional Emirati
culture, craftsmanship, and storytelling still find their way into modern Dubai
life. It’s the old spice routes whispering through new art galleries. It’s
desert traditions stitched into haute couture abayas. It’s calligraphy painted
on shipping containers downtown.
You see it in the
hand-woven Al Sadu textiles—those geometric patterns that seem simple at
first but carry generations of meaning. I once spent nearly an hour talking
with a woman at a heritage festival in Hatta who explained how different
patterns and colors could represent a tribe, a region, even a mood. I’m no
expert, but I’ve learned to recognize the distinctive reds and blacks that
often show up in Sadu work. Funny how threads can tell stories better than some
books.
And then there’s Al
Taghrooda, a form of poetic chant once used by Bedouins during camel treks.
It’s like call-and-response but more… haunting. I heard it performed once at a
cultural event—just two men taking turns, their voices rising and fading like
the dunes themselves. I didn’t understand every word (my Arabic is patchy at
best), but you don’t have to. It’s the rhythm, the tone. You feel it in
your chest.
Where Culture Hangs Out These Days
If you’re in Dubai and
you want to feel that undercurrent of creativity and tradition, don’t
just head for the museums (though, to be fair, the Dubai Museum in the Al
Fahidi Fort is a good starting point). Go where the locals go. Or even better,
where the artists go.
Alserkal Avenue is one of those places. Tucked away in an
industrial district, this arts hub is like a living, breathing rebuttal to
anyone who thinks Dubai is all about luxury hotels and fast cars. It’s full of
galleries, design studios, indie cinemas, even a chocolate lab—because why not?
But more importantly, it’s where contemporary art meets heritage head-on. I’ve
seen exhibitions that reimagine ancient Emirati pottery forms using 3D
printing. Others where graffiti artists reinterpret old pearl diving legends.
It’s messy, vibrant, and very real.
Oh, and speaking of
pearl diving, let me tell you about a little trip I took to Ras Al Khaimah,
a few hours from Dubai. We met a retired diver who showed us the weights they
used to strap to their legs to sink faster (hard pass from me), and the nose clips
they’d make from turtle shell. His stories weren’t polished, but they were
gold—much like the tiny pearls he still kept in a little tin box. Said he
couldn’t bear to sell them all.
Creativity in the Everyday
One thing I’ve come to
appreciate is how ingrained creativity is in Emirati life. It’s not
always framed as “art” in the Western sense. Sometimes, it’s just about doing
something beautifully because… well, why wouldn’t you?
Take coffee,
for example. You haven’t really had Arabic coffee until you’ve had it
poured for you from a golden dallah pot, scented with cardamom, served in tiny
handle-less cups, and followed by a sticky date. It’s an art form, start to
finish. And it’s about hospitality as much as flavor. There’s this whole
unwritten choreography to it—three sips, right hand only, shake the cup
slightly if you’re done. I messed it up my first few times and got politely
re-poured. No complaints though.
Even Henna art—which
many dismiss as just temporary skin decoration—is rooted in deep tradition. I
once had mine done at the Global Village (a kitschy, chaotic but weirdly
wonderful cultural theme park). The artist explained how certain patterns were
passed down through generations, sometimes only drawn on special occasions.
It’s temporary, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful.
When Modern Meets Ancient Artz—and It Works
Now, to be fair, not
every attempt to blend the old and the new lands gracefully. I’ve seen some
installations that felt more like gimmicks than homage. But when it does
work? Magic.
A few years back, I
saw a digital artist project animated Arabic calligraphy onto sand dunes just
outside the city. It swirled and shifted with the wind, like the dunes were
breathing poetry. Stuff like that sticks with you. It makes you think about how
the past isn’t something we leave behind—it’s something we remix.
A Few Honest Tips,
If You’re Curious about
Alright, if any of
this has piqued your interest, here are a few things I’ve learned along the
way:
- Go off-script. Skip one mall and spend that time
wandering an older neighborhood or a local souk. Chat with vendors. Ask
questions. You'll be surprised how generous people are with their stories.
- Attend a cultural festival. The Sheikh Mohammed Centre for
Cultural Understanding hosts meals and Q&A sessions with locals in
Al Fahidi. It’s touristy, yes, but also deeply informative—especially if
you're like me and need cultural context to really get a place.
- Support local artists. Buy that weird ceramic piece or hand-painted
tray. Even if it doesn’t “match your decor.” You'll remember the story
more than the item.
So, Why Does It
Matter?
Honestly? Because it
reminds us that identity isn’t static. Dubai’s heritage isn’t trapped in a
museum—it’s dancing with drones, getting poured in coffee cups, sketched in
henna, and woven into fabrics that might end up on a Paris runway.
And that’s the real
art of it, isn’t it? The way the ancient and the now keep chatting—sometimes
arguing, sometimes laughing, sometimes hugging it out. I don’t know, maybe I’m
being sentimental. Or maybe I’ve just had one too many cups of spiced tea.
But next time you hear someone say Dubai is all surface and no soul, send them my way. I’ve got a few stories they ought to hear. Maybe even over coffee—served the old way.
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