(bird squawks) (tranquil music) - For me, liminal space is the space between.

Liminal space is not solid.

(water babbling) I'm trying to get that feeling of in between shimmering light and pattern.

I'm interested in the space between objects more than the object itself.

(tranquil music continues) (water babbling) (bird squawking) My name is Amirra Malak.

I'm half Egyptian, half American.

I'm also a twin.

(mysterious tranquil music) I feel like I've always existed in like the space between.

The space between binaries is actually to me really sacred.

There's been sort of a thread through my work from painting till now, and that has been like wanting to communicate sacredness.

One of the places that I've experienced the sacred the most is in the natural world.

(wind sighing) (rain pattering) (water lapping) (tranquil contemplative music) When I was painting, I would do imagery like shimmering trees, shimmering water.

I would embed Arabic text to show sacredness.

Sometimes the word barakah, which is like that which is imbued with sacredness, would be written over and over again as a meditation and a pattern over the water.

I've done tree paintings with Egyptian belly dancing beat written into it with dum-dum, teki-tek, dum-dum, teki-tek, like over and over again to kind of show that dissolving sound and light and liminal space.

(tranquil music) And often I would put khayamiya patterns into my paintings.

Khayamiya is an ancient art form in Egypt, a very delicate like hand-stitched applique.

(tranquil upbeat music) Khayamiya was used as tent panels inside of tent decorations.

And then when I was growing up, there were prints of khayamiya hung at like weddings and funerals.

So to me, they always signify celebration or something sacred.

So I was blessed to be able to finally visit the Street of the Tentmakers in Cairo, one of the oldest covered markets.

Khayamiya has been sewn there for many generations.

I received an Oregon Arts Commission and Ford Foundation grant to be able to study with a master khayamiya artist named Mostafa Ellassy.

Here's Mostafa's store.

(marketgoers chattering) He's been sewing khayamiya for 45 years, and he's part of a multi-generational family that has sewn khayamiya.

He's one of the last of seven families that are sewing this at the tentmaker's street.

None of their kids are choosing to carry on the tradition.

Oh, both sides.

(speaks in foreign language) You do both.

- Do you know looking here?

- Yeah.

- [Amirra] Before you sew, this and this are tucked.

- Yes.

- Okay, okay.

- That's the cuff.

- What about the corner?

Did you anchor the corner?

- The corner, I too want to, but I quickly put for you.

- Yeah, you're too quick.

- [Observer] Yes, yes.

- Learning the traditional craft in Egypt and bringing it here is really honoring my true identity.

(gentle expectant music) (door handle clicking) (windshield wipers swishing) I feel so connected to the land here from living here so long on the Columbia River, but I'm also connected to the Nile River.

(mellow piano music) I was working on some paintings of water and the sacredness of water.

(water babbling) I would go out and film and photograph water, and I felt like it communicated what I was trying to say more than like pushing materials around on a painting.

(switch clicking) (projector clicking) And then I started playing with like projecting the video on just pieces of fabric.

So the fact that video can go on and through was like totally my jam.

I take a roll of paper, and I put an iron-on adhesive on the back, and then I will draw out the design and then hand-cut every tiny little hole.

It's quite neurotic, but it's really fun.

(laughs) It's kind of meditative.

And then I'll lay that on transparent silk.

(iron hissing) So you've got translucent video happening and then opaque lines on the wall.

Khayamiya is a very slow process even for a master artist, so it can take six months to make a really large panel.

My mother always sews everything by hand, and so I grew up seeing that.

She would sew me dolls.

She would embroider my shirts.

And I would see how long it took her.

If you wanted to really honor somebody, you did something slow and by hand.

You know, all of this is not cut to scale yet.

So when you get to a corner, you've got to do two stitches.

This is actually one of the most difficult kinds of turns right here.

If I can eventually hand stitch these panels in the traditional khayamiya style, like, it'll be an honoring act of love.

(mysterious flute music) (mysterious flute music continues) I chose to swim away assuming I could always return, but the river has changed, and the wall is so tall.

(mellow music) I was so connected to my twin.

After he passed, the first time I ever made one of these panels, I just felt like he was with me in like every cut.

(mellow music continues) When it first went up, I felt like I was honoring his memory.

(exhales) He brought so much beauty to the world, and so he's gone, but like I can honor him by continuing to make beauty.

(gentle music) My twin is on the other side, so now I'm in the space between life and death.

(traffic humming) When you're an installation artist, you're always on the hunt for like, "Where can I show this?"

Hi.

- Hi, Amirra.

Hello.

- And so I approached Ryan Huntington, who I knew from a previous event, and asked if I could set up my work.

So it's going to be nine feet wide.

- [Ryan] Okay, yeah, we should probably be able to.

- Okay.

(rod clicking) - So this is going to be the... - [Amirra] Okay, oh, I see.

It hooks in.

- I'm Ryan Huntington, and I am the general manager and co-owner of The Ruins.

The Ruins is an event space.

We do all kinds of events.

We really focus on community events and art events.

I love how without any previous knowledge of context, you can walk up to her installations and then have a moment and get some feels.

(mellow guitar music) And then when you learn the context, it just adds like so many layers on top of that.

You know, it's a deep experience.

- So for me, sometimes I get so busy creating the work that I forget to experience the work.

And just, for example, today, I was quite frenetic and like trying to get the projector to work.

I'm not even centered at this point.

And it just freaked out.

It was a little stressful, and I was definitely not in this like zen liminal space.

And then I walked through the space.

I stood there for a while and really felt it.

(tranquil music) I've been regulated by my own work, if that makes sense.

I would love to have an interactive component with people's heartbeats (heart thumping) and to have the video itself like pulse with the viewer.

And I call it "altared space," like A-L-T-A-R, so creating an altar for people to step into and have a sacred experience.

(gentle upbeat music) Visual stimulation is a spiritual experience, and I want to share that feeling with people.

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