The week after Iran first sent missiles and drones in Dubai's direction, I barely left my house. It seemed sensible to stay put: to follow the alerts, shelter when the sirens came, and wait. But after six days of not stepping beyond my doorstep, the walls started closing in. I needed to go somewhere that felt, if not normal, then at least functional.
So, I went to Alserkal Avenue.
My husband and I have just opened a shop there, which gave me both a reason and a destination. What I didn't expect was how much the place itself would offer. Despite everything, this strip of converted warehouses in Al Quoz has become a safe haven, a welcoming community that holds its own in the midst of crisis.
At any time of day, whether I arrive in the morning or locking up at 10pm, there are people milling around. They sit on benches outside with coffee. They move through galleries, standing in front of works for longer than they might usually. They spend money in the shops. For businesses trying to stay afloat during a conflict that has upended the global economy, that footfall matters enormously.
"Ishara Art Foundation has remained open since the onset of the current crisis," says Sasha Altaf, the foundation's director. "We have continued to welcome a steady, if understandably reduced, number of visitors. Many spend extended periods with the works, engaging with them quietly and thoughtfully."
The way people move through Ishara right now is slower and more deliberate than usual. It speaks to what people are looking for when they come here, whether it’s distraction from the news or a place to be for a while that’s not their home. Naturally, parallels to the pandemic have been drawn, but it’s different, more defiant, with a sense of solidarity underpinning it all.
Perhaps ironically, Ishara's current exhibition is especially well-suited to the moment. Urdu Worlds is a group show that explores questions of communication, language, belonging and co-habitation – the very things that conflict forces us to think about, says Altaf. The resonance has not been lost on her or her visitors.
"At moments such as these, art often assumes a role that extends beyond the exhibition alone," she says. "Cultural spaces can offer a rare pause within the intensity of the present, creating environments where reflection, emotional respite, and a sense of shared humanity may still be found."
Shared humanity is exactly it. It might sound abstract until you’re actually sitting on a bench in Alserkal on a weekday afternoon watching a couple share takeaway coffee, a family trail through a gallery doorway or a group of friends head to the skate park. Or during the weekend, while the farmers' market is on. An alert sounds or a jet flies overhead – there might be sideways glances, but people carry on. The city isn’t at war, but it’s not at peace, either, and in Alserkal, people have found somewhere to exhale.
Not that I’m saying it’s business as usual. Of course, footfall is down and conversations touch, sooner or later, on the news – and when things might improve. Indie film house Cinema Akil is also offering a limited number of "pay what you can" seats right now. Every business owner here, including us, is calculating how much we can absorb, and for how long. That uncertainty doesn’t go away just because you leave the house.
But there is a resilience to this place that I had not fully appreciated before this week. Alserkal Avenue was built around the idea that culture and community are worth investing in. Right now, it turns out, that investment is paying dividends – not just for the people who run the businesses, but also for the people who need somewhere to come.
