Sara Domingos Investigates the Threads of Portugal’s Multilayered Heritage

Sometimes it shows up in subtle ways, like when she subconsciously paints with color schemes that match the walls of her dramatically lit workspace. 

It also can be as profound as when she sews designs that are inspired by Muslim rule over the Iberian Peninsula. This period began when the Arab Umayyads conquered Portugal in the eighth century CE and lasted until the Moors were ousted from their last stronghold in 1249.

“History is close to my art because my studio is in the middle of the city center,” Domingos says. However, she laments that the historical district of Baixa de Lisboa is giving way to a monoculture of commercial tourist traps.  

Yet just beneath the surface are the remnants of its Roman, Moorish and European predecessors. Last year, in the touristic suburb of Sintra, archeologists excavated the ruins of a ribat (hostel or retreat) mosque, the second of its kind in the area, which shared space with a Roman sanctuary. Municipal authorities and academics believe the discovery indicates that numerous mosques and Muslim dwellings have yet to be unearthed.

For Domingos, artistic expression can work in a similar vein: Her textiles sewn with Islamic-inspired designs pay tribute to layers of Portugal’s modern cultural fabric that are often overlooked.

It’s partially why her creations are in demand from museums in Lisbon, to private exhibition spaces outside the capital, to showings in Spain, Italy and France.

“What's important about Sara's work is it moves beyond looking at the historical background of the past to make it something that is very present and contemporary,” says Jessica Hallett, deputy director of Lisbon’s Calouste Gulbenkian Museum, where she has overseen its Islamic art collection.  

“When we explore Islamic culture in Portugal,” says Hallett, “we realize that actually it's for centuries and centuries that things of the past have been maintained through present-day culture. … and her work, in some ways, puts an ear on that.”

You may also be interested in: “Pieces of the Past: Mértola, Portugal Rediscovers Its Islamic Roots”

Giving voice to a texture of sound

For someone who doesn't speak Arabic, one of the most striking aspects of Domingos’ artistic portfolio is her almost poetic exploration of the language’s consonantal alphabet (abjad) and the similarities between it and Portuguese. 

In her studio, Domingos walks to a stack of framed canvases, selecting one with an interpretation of the Arabic letter “ن” (noon). “It’s a meditative process where I say the letter over and over again, and based on how that makes me feel, I am moved to create this abstraction,” she says.  

With a palette knife and various sponges and plastics, she scrapes and presses layers of paint to create what she calls “Texture of Sound”—her visual representation of the inherent musicality of the Arabic language.

However, she cautions that this is not a reinterpretation of the Arabic alphabet or even an attempt at a new form of calligraphy. Instead, Domingos maintains that it’s how she, someone of Portuguese descent, reacts when she hears these sounds come out of her own mouth—and how those sounds are familiar to her native tongue.

In fact, while the finished pieces are abstract, when seen together their foundation becomes apparent. “I show this work in a lot of places, and during a showing in Paris, a girl from Morocco was passing by, stopped, turned around, and said, ‘Wow, this is Arabic.’”

Investigating what lies beneath the acanthus 

At the Museum of Lisbon’s Roman Theater, two running planes of translucent fabric hang over a set of ancient columns. Each piece of material is adorned with a popular decorative motif—the acanthus leaf. 

In O Sorriso do Acanto (The Acanthus Smile), the juxtaposition of the Roman artifacts and Domingos’ version of the acanthus could imply a subtext that is rife with commentary—especially since it’s produced by an artist who revels in exposing all the buried threads in her culture.

Her representation of the plant harks back to the fifth century BCE when, with its pointy and jagged edges, the shape first appeared in Corinthian columns and temples. The ornamental symbol then became massively popular in architecture, sculpture and other forms of Islamic art throughout Anatolia, Egypt and Spain.

But Domingos argues that it’s the Roman adaptation of the symbol, with its characteristically rounded edges, that has become the definitive example of the acanthus in Portugal—despite the fact that this version of the plant, she claims, doesn’t really exist.  

She says the notion made her obsessed with digging into the historical reality of the acanthus versus its representation in classical art. 

It’s why her installation of embroidery, which brandishes acanthus plants with those sharp and pointy leaves, could easily be construed as a repudiation of cultural appropriation by the Romans as it hovers above the two antique columns. 

But Domingos insists she’s not pushing for such an interpretation. “I don't see my art as a provocation,” she says. “I see it as a legitimate investigation” of how this shape has been influenced—and a reminder to the viewer that such an evolution has taken place. 

Highlighting the overlooked in Portuguese homes

For many in Portugal, Domingos' work acts as a spotlight on their own multicultural heritage. 

In the small city of Setúbal, within the Lisbon metropolitan area, soft light spills through the windows of Maria João Frade’s family home, filling the second floor in sepia tones. The retired professor of linguistics and Portuguese literature turned the residence into a private event space after her mother died. 

Domingos hangs her embroidery in a room on the second floor, preparing for the latest edition of her Bordar o Sereno (Embroidering the Evening Dew), a traveling exhibition devised during the COVID-19 pandemic, which focuses on the “Mediterranean and eastern tradition of protective arts.” 

The room is filled with Islamic talismans and Domingos’ acanthus leaves. 

However, Frade says, these pieces aren’t just a mixture of two different cultures but a reminder of her childhood summering in the southern region of the Algarve where her father grew up.

“There are many aspects of Islamic culture that were familiar to me,” she says, noting an Islamic bathhouse recently renovated in the city of Loulé. “There are many things that we have received from the Islamic culture that are forgotten, such as words in [Portuguese], the way we cook our food, how we build our homes.”

Still, Domingos’ art is not only meant for those who’ve called Portugal home for generations but for newcomers as well. 

In Setúbal, the exhibition boasts a series of graphic pieces that combine paint and cotton stitches with threads that drape down off the paper. There’s also a large piece of fabric, called Rede, which runs across the room like a fragile hammock. They’re made via a method, Domingos says, inspired by her interactions with Syrian and Afghan women she met through the Portuguese Refugee Council.

The pieces were also displayed at the Islamic Art Museum in the Portuguese city of Mértola and were part of a weaving workshop that involved groups of schoolchildren. It aimed to raise awareness of how the culture of Portugal, including its modern society, is made up of many multicultural components. 

This may be what for many is at the crux of Domingos’ artistic expression; her pieces are not just something to hang on a wall but rather provide people with a reason to come together, look inward and take stock of their own intercultural journeys.

This focus on Arab-Portuguese culture won Domingos the 2020/2021 Barzakh Prize – Ibn ’Arabi, awarded by the Muhyiddin Ibn ’Arabi Society Latina. The society promotes a greater understanding of Ibn Arabi and awarded her for using Arabic and Islamic references in her artwork. 

But ask Domingos, and she plays down any sort of advocacy on her part. Instead, she maintains that she’s merely an artist investigating the threads that hold everything around her together.