When we enter Ayesha bin Haider’s studio, her practice unfolds like a world in motion. Observation, memory, and play are inseparable from her process.

She talks about early gestures in her work, moments that remain alive in her memory.

My flower sculptural ceramics that I painted when I was four years old,” she says. “At SEAF, I’ve returned to it as a portal, a way to access emotion directly.”

As we look around the studio space, this ceramic flower finds its way into every corner, every medium and color.

Her work doesn’t start with a fixed idea. It moves through color, form, and texture as if discovering itself.

“Most of my practice is based on observing nature and people,” she explains. “At different points in life, I’m drawn to certain colors or hues—they speak a truth about how I feel.”

There are rituals that anchor her, small acts that prepare her for the work ahead.

“Writing anchors me deeply,” she tells us. “I don’t usually share my notes or sketches. They’re sacred. A pen, a notebook, a playlist—these are all essential to how I begin.”

We notice how her worlds take shape, full of whimsy, imagination, and sometimes chaos.

“There’s something about surrendering to the messiness of life,” she reflects. “Existing fully within it feels like a kind of perfection. I see world-building happening, from whimsical to messy playgrounds.”

When we ask what she hopes someone feels when they walk into her studio, she smiles.

“Excited,” she says. “Like entering a playground where the rules are defined by them. Overstimulated, maybe, like a sugar rush.”

Her work doesn’t demand understanding. It asks only to be experienced, to linger.

“It’s a space to feel, not to explain,” she tells us.

We leave the studio with that feeling in mind, a playful, immersive energy that stays with us quietly, inviting curiosity, wonder, and a return to the freedom of observation.