Saudi Arabia leaned in to its role as custodian of the Islamic world in its second edition of the Islamic Arts Biennale, an ambitious event even by Gulf standards. The four-month-long exhibition, titled And All That Is In Between (until 25 May), brings together some of the world’s greatest Islamic objects in Jeddah in a museum-level presentation.
The Diriyah Biennale Foundation, which oversees the biennial as a subsidiary of the ministry of culture, is hoping to attract one million visitors to the event this year—up from 600,000 from the last edition. (Most biennials receive anywhere from less than 100,000 to around 700,000 visitors.) In a barometer of early interest, the press trip itself accommodated 100 local journalists and 120 international ones.
The Kiswah on display at the Islamic Arts Biennale Photo by Marco Cappelletti, courtesy of the Diriyah Biennale Foundation
The exhibition comprises contemporary and historical artefacts, housed in the windy microclimate of a disused airport terminal for receiving pilgrims to Mecca and Medina. Beauty is underlined throughout: vitrines extend towards the ceiling in two-storey-high white drapes; works are lit by spotlights as if on stage. More historically focused than the 2023 edition, the artistic directors brought work from over 30 major Islamic collections and drew also on Saudi’s own store of Islamic artefacts, such as the panels called the Kiswah that cover the Ka’aba, each in black damask embroidered in gold. The Kiswah has never before been displayed outside of Mecca—and therefore, never before seen in total by those outside the Muslim faith. (A new Kiswah is made each year, and the old one cut up and dispersed, often as diplomatic gifts.)
“It’s difficult to imagine anything more sacred to Muslims than the Kiswah that dresses the House of God,” says the Islamic art scholar Julian Raby, who returned as one of the artistic directors for the event, alongside Abdul Rahman Azzam and Amin Jaffer. “It is embroidered with the holy Word of God, from the House of God. Encountering the Kiswah in this way is more than unprecedented. It is for many visitors a moment of emotional intensity, as many non-Muslims have also confirmed. What they take from this moment can last a lifetime.”
The loans from the different collections reunite artefacts after centuries apart. Two hand-drawn maps from the 17th century, one charting the course of the Nile (owned by the Vatican) and the other following the Tigris and the Euphrates (owned by Qatar), are seen together again—the maker’s rounded, careful handwriting and neat, hand-drawn landmarks perceptibly shared across each. A 16th-century scroll depicting the recursive architectural feature of muqarnas, held in Uzbekistan, was shown with an arithmetical treatise on muqarnas that the architect might have drawn from, which normally sits 3,000 kilometres away in Turkey.
Such partnerships will lay the ground for future loans and collaborations as Saudi develops its museum sector. (Acquisitions are likely as well to be on the ministry of culture’s agenda, though the organisation denies this.) The loans also function as cultural diplomacy. Saudis in floor-length thobes mingled with Catholic priests in their white cassocks, striped by flashy pink sashes, who were accompanying artefacts from the Vatican Apostolic Library at the opening night. Apart from the visual spectacle it was rich with political import. The Vatican and Saudi Arabia still do not have diplomatic relations, as Saudi Arabia does not officially recognise any religion besides Islam. But the overtures here show this, and other of the country’s religious restrictions, are now softening.
Indeed the rehabilitation of face of Islam is a clear aim, both in terms of signalling Saudi’s shift domestically and in broadcasting the religion’s cultural accomplishments internationally. Despite some fuzziness over what constitutes “Islamic” art, particularly in the contemporary section, the framing of the faith itself is clear: one of refinement, intellectual achievement, and spiritual multiplicity.
“Religion growing up here was very inspiring,” says the artist Muhannad Shono, who curated the contemporary section. “It helped shape who we are. It gave us focus, and that’s what happens in societies across the world. They go through these different narrative shifts, but the narrative remains part of one big story.”
An installation view of the AlMadar component of the 2025 Islamic Arts Biennale. Centre: Timo Nasseri, Echoes of the Skies (2025). Photo by Marco Cappelletti, courtesy of the Diriyah Biennale Foundation
Shono’s curation brought in international artists (most but not all from the Islamic world) and young Saudi ones, who all approached the question of faith from multiple angles. In his video What I heard in the valley (2025), Bilal Allaf, from Riyadh, reperforms the search for water of Hajar, the wife of Abraham, in the mountains around Mecca and Medina. Dancing over a 24-hour-period, he transforms her story into a lexicon of gestures and an effort of sheer endurance. Imran Qureshi, from Lahore, took the same origin tale—that of the Zamzam well—but elaborated it as a richly coloured, woven floor piece that invites visitors to rest as if they were tired and thirsty pilgrims themselves (Between Sacred Cities (Zubaydah Trail), 2025).
Saudi Arabia’s much vaunted makeover of its contemporary art scene continues, though the pace has slowed somewhat due to funds moving towards Expo 2030 and the 2034 football World Cup, both of which the country will host.
Even so, a new announcement was made during the biennial: Art Week Riyadh, an initiative of the ministry of culture’s Visual Arts Commission, which is also responsible for the country's Venice Biennale presentation. The capital will host exhibitions over the course of the art week in April, as well as a line-up of talks, workshops and performances. The plans for the annual programme echo the erstwhile Jeddah Art Week and 21, 39 events, which were staples of the Saudi art scene before Riyadh became the centre of artistic activity.
Jeddah still retains the traces of that time in its more diverse art landscape: in conjunction with the biennial, the independent art space Hayy Jameel opened shows on the urban landscape and Palestinian embroidery, while ATHR Gallery staged three solo exhibitions—including a thoughtful codicil of sorts to the biennial by the Dubai artist Rami Farook, who laced his exploration of what it means to be a Muslim man with levity and ambiguity.
