Art practice grounded in community and collaboration: Interview with Gillian Kayrooz

Tell us about the professional development program you’ve undertaken as part of the fellowship. 

As part of the Fellowship, my program was structured in three parts. The first involved international travel, which began in February 2024 with a research trip to the opening of the 16th Sharjah Biennial in the UAE. 

I spent two and a half weeks in Sharjah attending the Biennial’s opening programs, which featured over 650 artworks by more than 200 participants across 17 venues, spanning Sharjah City, Al Hamriyah, Al Dhaid, and Kalba. 

I also had the opportunity to visit leading institutions in the region, including the Maraya Art Center, Jameel Art Center, and the Louvre Abu Dhabi, where I encountered an expansive collection of ancient artifacts alongside modern and contemporary artworks, with a particular focus on artists and histories from the South West Asia and North Africa region, many of which I had never encountered before, particularly within Australian or Western education contexts. 

This edition of the Biennial felt especially significant. It was curated collaboratively by a curatorium of five curators, Megan Tamati-Quennell, Zeynep Öz, Natasha Ginwala, Amal Khalaf, and Alia Swastika, under the collective curatorial title To Carry. 

What made it powerful was the way each curator brought forward their own conceptual frameworks while still contributing to a unified whole. 

I was particularly moved by Megan Tamati-Quennell’s curatorial concept titled ihi, which brought together extraordinary artists from Aotearoa and Australia. Her work and leadership offered a powerful example of how curating can hold space for cultural strength, nuance, and sovereignty. 

During the Biennial, I had the opportunity to connect with curators and artists from around the world, particularly from Aotearoa and Australia. Several works left a lasting impression on me. Yhonnie Scarce’s Operation Buffalo (2024) was especially powerful, an installation that probes the untold narratives of nuclear tests carried out in the Maralinga Desert in South Australia.  I was shocked to realise how little I knew about this devastating event as well as Australia's nuclear history. 

Stephanie Comilang’s Search for Life II (2025), a video work exploring migration and diaspora through the lens of the pearl industry across the Philippines, China, and the Middle East, also resonated deeply as the historical and cultural parallels with Australia were incredibly striking. 

I was profoundly moved by Wael Shawky’s I Am Hymns of the New Temples (2023), which showcased his extraordinary ability to reframe historical narratives through multiple mediums and layered storytelling. Another standout was Joe Namy’s Dub Plants (2024), an immersive sound installation in the courtyard of Al Mureijah Square, which interrogated the socio-political structures that shape our experience and perception of sound. 

The second part of my Fellowship focused on two significant mentorships: one with Lebanese-Australian artist Khaled Sabsabi, who is based in Western Sydney, and another with Lebanese-Australian artist Joanne Saad, who is currently based in Beirut. 

These mentorships have been deeply formative to my practice. While each relationship has been developed individually, there is also a collaborative dynamic that brings the three of us together in meaningful ways. As someone with Lebanese heritage and strong ties to Western Sydney, working with Khaled and Joanne, both of whom share similar cultural backgrounds and connections to place, has been incredibly powerful. We each work with image-based media and share a commitment to community-driven and socially engaged practices. Learning from their approaches, ethics, and processes over an extended period has been both expansive and grounding. 

The third part of the program is a collaborative project I am currently developing in partnership with Campbelltown Arts Centre. It involves working with four young female artists of colour from Western Sydney on a process-led, image and archive-focused program. With support from my mentors, this initiative is being shaped through dialogue and experimentation and will grow into a space of collective making and learning. 

Did you always want to pursue a career as an artist? Where did this ambition come from? 

I’ve wanted to be an artist for as long as I can remember. Being creative and working in the visual arts always felt intuitive. It was something I naturally gravitated toward. 

As a child, making art was how I spent my spare time, both as a form of escape and joy. Growing up, it never really occurred to me to pursue anything else. Even though I didn’t yet understand what a career in the arts looked like or how much work it might take to build one, I knew deep down that this was what I was meant to do. 

My passion has always been rooted in doing something I love. I was especially drawn to the way art opens up new ways of thinking, the chance to explore different perspectives and uncover alternative histories through both theory and material practice. In high school, I was fortunate to have an incredibly supportive visual arts teacher who introduced me to influential Australian female artists. 

One who had a lasting impact on me was Tracey Moffatt. Her video work Night Cries - A Rural Tragedy (1990) was the first time I encountered screen-based art that truly shifted something in me. It was unlike anything I had seen before, bold, experimental, emotionally charged, and knowing it was made by a living female artist completely changed how I understood the possibilities of contemporary art. That experience sparked something in me. It made me want to create work that could move people in the same way. 

As for my ambition, that definitely comes from my parents and grandparents. They’ve always been hardworking, dedicated, and committed to achieving whatever they set their minds to. 

I come from a long line of strong-willed women, and even though no one in my family had pursued a career in the arts, they gave me the tools to take that risk. Their support gave me the foundation I needed to build a practice and a life around what I love. I think it’s that combination of passion, inspiration, and inherited resilience that has brought me to where I am today. 

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Your community in Western Sydney and connection to place is reflected in your practice. What is it about local stories, people and places that inspires your art practice? How has your community shaped you as an artist? 

Before I had any real understanding of what a career in the arts could look like, I was already making. I drew and painted at every opportunity, constantly documenting my surroundings and experimenting with whatever materials I could find. I’d collect gumnuts from the backyard to use in collages. My parents saved up to give me my first digital camera, I took it with me everywhere. It quickly became an extension of how I saw and engaged with my neighbourhood and the world around me. 

"Western Sydney shaped who I am, not just as an artist but as a person. It taught me how to create work that moves beyond the personal, that centres and uplifts underrepresented communities and places. And I can’t talk about my practice without acknowledging the incredible support of my community."

My practice was rooted in the everyday, shaped by life growing up on Dharug land, in the suburb of Guildford in Western Sydney. That was my world. For a long time, I didn’t realise how rich and layered it was until I went to university and began to see it through a different lens. 

It was then that I understood the stories I wanted to share weren’t just mine. They were stories of many lives, many lineages, and intersecting migratory paths woven into a shared place and experience. That realisation gave me clarity and direction in my work. 

There’s definitely a fire that fuels my practice, a drive to challenge harmful stereotypes and respond to the ongoing underfunding and underrepresentation of creative communities in Western Sydney. At the same time, I feel deeply energised by the opportunity to champion this place and be part of the building change, especially for the next generation of young artists and creatives. I want them to know that a creative career is not only possible, but expansive, powerful, and full of possibility. 

Western Sydney shaped who I am, not just as an artist but as a person. It taught me how to create work that moves beyond the personal, that centres and uplifts underrepresented communities and places. And I can’t talk about my practice without acknowledging the incredible support of my community. Whether it’s the small to medium art sector, trailblazing artists who came before me, or my family and friends who have always stood beside me, that care and encouragement are embedded in my DNA. It’s what keeps me grounded, and it’s what keeps me going. 

You use a range of materials and multimedia in your work. Tell us how your creative process has developed across so many techniques. 

I’ve always been open to working across a range of mediums, but I’m particularly drawn to image making, especially through photography as well as screen-based work. There’s something exciting about staying open to whatever medium is calling me at a given time and then taking creative risks within that space. That’s really become a core part of how I approach making new work. 

Sometimes I joke that it makes me a ‘jack of all trades and master of none’, but I actually enjoy that feeling. There’s a certain thrill in facing a medium head on, even if it’s unfamiliar. I don’t believe there’s a medium I can’t work with because each one is an opportunity to learn and grow. That sense of risk-taking feels essential to a practice that’s constantly evolving. 

I’ve never seen myself as an artist who could stick to one material or technique and repeat it endlessly. I’m always curious about new tools and new methods. I want my work to stay expansive and flexible so it can meet the scale of whatever idea or concept I’m chasing at the time. 

What’s the most exciting thing about being an emerging artist? 

One of the most exciting parts of being an emerging artist is having the freedom to define my own path. At this early stage in my career, there’s a strong sense of experimentation and creative risk that I find energising. While I hope that spirit continues throughout my practice, it feels especially powerful right now. I’m particularly drawn to creating space for historically underrepresented communities and places, and to building more collaborative approaches to art that allow for unauthorised or undocumented stories to be shared. 

What I enjoy most is shaping my own way of working. I’m becoming more confident in trusting that my process doesn’t need to follow anyone else’s path. I don’t need to meet a fixed definition of what a “professional” artist looks like. What matters most is staying true to what feels authentic to me. 

I'm also deeply committed to uplifting my community, especially young women of colour in the arts, and to supporting Western Sydney communities. For me, this moment feels like a beginning, not a destination. It’s the opening of a much larger world, and I want to bring others with me as I continue to grow and explore. 

It’s also incredibly exciting to now be in a position where I not only get to meet and engage with artists whose practices I’ve long admired, but to have had the opportunity in recent years to exhibit alongside them in group shows. Artists like Marikit Santiago, Eddie Abd, Abdul Abdullah, Rainbow Chan, Jazz Money, James Nguyen, L-Fresh the Lion and Hayley Millar Baker have each shaped the creative landscape in their own way, and to be in conversation with them through shared exhibitions and programs has been both humbling and inspiring. 

What has been the most important skill you’ve developed or learned from your mentors? 

One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learnt from my artistic mentors and the artists I look up to, is that there’s no single ‘right’ way to make art. They’ve encouraged me to embrace experimentation and to trust that my process should be unique to me and my work. Especially in mediums like screen arts, and photography, where traditional methods can sometimes feel rigid or overbearing, I’ve come to really enjoy finding my own path. Testing different techniques, exploring new tools, and constantly pushing the boundaries of my process is what makes my work feel most alive and distinctive. 

Part of that journey has been learning to trust myself, not just as an individual artist, but as someone shaped by many. Who I am is a reflection of the people and histories that have held, guided, and challenged me. I carry the strength and knowledge of my ancestors, the resilience of my family, the encouragement of my partner Harry and my friends, the wisdom of my community, and the generosity of my mentors. 

The skill set I draw on, the instincts I follow, and the decisions I make are not mine alone. They are informed by a collective toolkit that lives within me. That understanding has been a grounding force in how I approach my practice. 

Beyond the art industry, my parents have also been major mentors in my life. While they didn’t necessarily teach me fine art skills, they instilled in me a strong work ethic, persistence and the courage to take risks. Their dedication to their own careers showed me what it means to commit to something fully and they’ve always supported my passion even when it led me down a path unfamiliar to them. That kind of support has been foundational and I’m endlessly grateful for it. 

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