Political messages lie at the heart of the Sculpture exhibition

Golden Gun by Farnaz Rabieijah. Courtesy of Salsali Private Museum

The 25 ceramic ­figurines of Moataz Nasr's El Shaab (The ­People) have been widely ­exhibited since the artist created them in 2012.

One is owned by Sharjah’s ­Barjeel Art Foundation and ­another by Ramin ­Salsali, ­founder of Salsali Private ­Museum, a non-profit entity that exhibits his collection in Dubai’s Alserkal Avenue.

It is one of several pieces on show in an exhibition dedicated to sculpture, the title of which alludes to a popular cry heard during the Arab Spring: “El Shaab yurid isqaat el nizam” (the people demand the fall of the ­regime).

Though diminutive in size, Nasr’s sculptures are highly emotive, representing ­different religions, ethnicities and ­generations and, therefore, ­offering a cross section of Egypt’s population.

On another shelf, a different scene plays out. This time it is a much-televised real-life incident in which a female protester was beaten and dragged along the road by the police, her clothes torn open and her blue bra ­exposed. This sculpture gives the other context, immortalising the moment and cementing its place in history.

However, as the figures are small and placed on a shelf, ­almost like ornaments, their ­power is somewhat diminished – a possible parallel with the ­aftermath of the Tahrir Square protesters in 2011.

These kind of political undertones echo throughout the main hall of the large exhibition space.

Ayman Yossri Daydban’s folded metal flag lies in the centre of it. Palestinian by origin, Jordanian by nationality and a resident of Saudi Arabia, Daydban uses a ­variety of materials to represent the flag’s design. Its fragility speaks to the state of his nation.

Two doves from Saudi artist Manal Dowayan's large ­i­nstallation, Suspended Together, are also on display.

The bird sculptures, covered in official stamps, are suspended as they have no hope of flying – representing Saudi women who, at the time of production, were not even allowed to travel without the permission of a male ­guardian.

On the floor, an intertwined series of heavy chains and locks is a quiet but forceful presence. This work, by another Saudi, Musead Al Hulis, is titled Bidaa, meaning innovation. It is a reference to the perception of heavy restrictions the Saudi religious authorities place on society, deeming certain activities a deviation from the true path.

The inspiration for the ­exhibition came from the numerous pieces of sculptural work by French-born American artist Arman that Salsali owns.

Arman’s evolution from ­abstract painting to his accumulation sculptures – which were influenced by the emergence of mass-production, and also came after Marcel Duchamp’s elevation of manufactured objects as art pieces – was the catalyst for Salsali to begin his sculptural collection.

The exhibition includes three of his works: a collection of small toy cars, a table made from ­Iranian daggers, or khanjars, and a deconstructed lute. They serve as a starting point for looking at sculpture as a genre, and its ­development as artists engage with newfound technologies.

Other key pieces in the ­exhibition draw from Arman’s obsession with accumulation or repetition.

Patricia Millns, a UAE-based artist, contributes a gently ­poetic work made from hundreds of used teabags strung ­together and coiled in a spiral shape. ­Titled I have no name for what ­circles so perfectly, the piece is delicate and very personal, as each teabag references a person who came to her house to drink tea with her.

Kambiz Sabri, an Iranian ­sculptor, also uses figurines in his work. They are either stuffed into old-fashioned TV sets or stitched into giant pillows.

Calligraphic artist Farnaz ­Rabieijah, meanwhile, uses ­Farsi letters to create shining sculptures, including one titled Golden Gun.

• Sculpture runs until August 31 at Salsali Private Museum