Sheikh Mohammed Bin Rashid Boulevard

This boulevard has an unusual kind of memory. There are hardly any old walls darkened by time here, but the place knows how to remember events that lasted only a few weeks. Colored ribbons, glowing alleys, swings among towers—all these disappeared, yet each time they changed the familiar rhythm of the street. A space created for movement briefly turned into a huge painting, then into an Emirati residential quarter.

In spring 2018, an installation by French architect and artist Emmanuel Muro stretched along the boulevard. It was called "One Hundred Flowers" and covered a whole kilometer. Hundreds of vertical ribbons formed a long rainbow corridor. They swayed in the air, overlapped each other, blended shades, and broke the strict urban perspective into colorful layers.

This artistic language emerged for Muro after her first visit to Tokyo in 1995. The city struck her not with individual buildings, but with its overall density of impressions. Signs, wires, facades, transport, and small pieces of blue sky existed simultaneously, as if the space were assembled from many bright planes.

Muro coined a word for her method: "shikiri"—in Japanese, it means dividing space. But instead of walls and partitions, the artist uses color. One shade marks a boundary, another reveals the next layer, a third makes distance appear deeper. The space doesn't become tighter, but within it appears a special order.

In Dubai, this principle worked almost literally. The colored strip was already wider than the sidewalk, so no one had to walk through it. Yet people voluntarily turned inward. The usual straight path gave way to a small journey among the ribbons. The artist noticed that passersby perceived the work not just with their eyes. Color came close to faces, clothes, hands, moved in the wind, and surrounded people on all sides. Before returning to Tokyo, Muro said that here people seemed to feel color with their whole bodies, even when not looking at it.

A few years later, the boulevard changed again. In winter 2021, seven young local creators developed a project called "Al Hay"—meaning "the quarter." Rouda Al Sayegh, Yara Manla, Raghad Al Ali, Fatima Al Awadi, Iman Al Rahma, Ahmed Geisa, and Abdalla Khoury brought elements of old Emirati residential neighborhoods into the modern center of Dubai.

Thus, next to the towers arose a memory of another urban environment—low-rise, tight, and homely. It included sikkas (narrow passages between houses), majlis (guest rooms), bakalas (small shops near homes), and al hawi (inner courtyards). These spaces are familiar not from grand facades but from daily life: short meetings with neighbors, conversations at entrances, children's games, and shopping that requires no long travel.

The authors did not try to build an exact copy of the old quarter. They translated its details into the language of light. Where alleys once stood, glowing poles with birds appeared. The bakala became shelves made of lamps, with bottles assembled from twisted light panels. Swings hung in the courtyard. The work "Al Sahah"—meaning "the square"—was composed of glowing squares for playing hopscotch.

The result was a quarter without heavy walls but with a recognizable character. Light defined not only the shape of houses and objects but also relationships between people. The majlis evoked hospitality, the courtyard suggested family life together, the alley implied neighborly closeness, and the small shop recalled everyday communication. Amidst the large modern city, a miniature map of memory emerged.

Even the material of this installation linked different times. The lights were not bought specially; they were assembled from parts left over from previous Dubai Shopping Festivals. Holiday decorations, usually disappearing after events ended, took on a new role. Old light depicted an even older urban way of life.

This ability to connect unlike things is also visible in the boulevard's permanent street collection. Here stands the sculpture "Together" by Syrian master Lutfi Romhein. Two human figures stand side by side: a man made of white marble and a woman of black granite. Both are dressed in traditional clothing.

Romhein chose not just different colors but stones from different parts of Europe. Italian white marble was used for the male figure, Swedish black granite for the female one. The light stone easily catches sun glints, while the dark one seems like a solid shadow. Their difference is immediately striking, yet the title speaks not of opposition but of unity.

There is no complex action in the figures. They do not act out a scene or explain relationships through gestures. The most important thing has already happened: these two are together. White and black, male and female, two different stones combine into one calm composition. On the boulevard, where people and routes constantly cross paths, such restraint sounds especially clear.

Lutfi Romhein was born in the Syrian countryside in 1954. Working with stone became for him a conversation through form, texture, and weight of material. Here, heavy figures seem almost silent witnesses to the rapidly changing city. Light installations may appear and disappear around them, but white marble and black granite continue holding their quiet pause.

Nearby, this street collection is complemented by a group of camels by South African sculptor Donald Greig. The master, fascinated by wildlife, worked on it for eight months. The composition features three animals: an adult camel, a calf, and a lying figure. This is no longer a human pair but a small scene from caravan life—calm, almost familial.

The camels link the urban landscape with desert nature, while "Together" connects the modern street with traditional clothing and ancient material. Muro's colored ribbons spoke of space through shades. "Al Hay" told about memory through light. Romhein's stone figures express closeness through contrast, and Greig's animals return the image of a desert path amid architecture.

Thus, the boulevard turns out to be not just a road between skyscrapers. It functions as an open gallery where artworks are not separated from the city by museum walls. Some remain for a long time, others live only seasonally. But all change the movement around them. Here, color once made passersby turn off their straight path, light brought back old alleys, and stone turned simple proximity of two figures into a conversation about what it means to be together.