Sahra Hersi is an artist and spatial designer based in east London whose work is built on the belief that people and the places they occupy are inseparable. Her practice spans scales, from intimate, research-driven pieces to large-scale public commissions, with a consistent interest in materiality and the question of what a given place or moment calls for. Her work operates on two registers: design as an act of care, and art as a means of asking larger questions and provoking conversation. She has been commissioned by institutions including the Design Museum's Future Observatory, V&A East and UP Projects, and teaches on the BA Design programme at Goldsmiths, University of London.
After her participation in last year's edition, during which she invited participants to imagine their own community garden, Hersi will return this year to Concéntrico festival, which will take place in Logroño on 18 to 23 June, to lead lead the continuation of last year's workshop. On this occasion, she will take it from concept to reality and bring some of the ideas that came up last year to life, incorporating them into a real community garden. We spoke to her to get to know more about her work and the project's new phase.
For anyone discovering your work for the first time, how would you explain what you do and what drew you to become an artist and spatial designer?
I'm an artist and spatial designer working primarily in the public realm, and I'm also a lecturer at Goldsmiths University on the BA Design programme. My practice is multidisciplinary, and process driven. I work across sculpture, public artworks, installations, drawings, ceramics, textiles, print, and spatial interventions. The medium and scale change depending on what the context and community need, but my methodology and philosophy remain constant. My practice centres on people and places, understanding communities through deep engagement and conversation. I'm drawn to uncovering and connecting stories and histories within spaces, and thinking about how design can enrich people's lives in tangible and meaningful ways. Coming from a working-class background, I'm deeply invested in social issues and making the public realm a home for everyone. I'm particularly interested in expanding that feeling of home, that sense of care and belonging into shared spaces. For me, becoming an artist has always been a way of connecting with people, of expressing myself and channelling conversations and interactions with others into creative work. What drew me to this practice is a need to make beauty, to draw and create, but more importantly, to express not just myself but the voices and experiences of the communities I work with. The work doesn't end with the outcome; it's a continuation of the conversation. Because it's so public, it becomes an ongoing way to engage with people. Fundamentally, it's art for life.
You often describe your work as “caring about people, places, art & architecture” in that specific order. How do you feel this hierarchy plays out in practice? Have there been instances in which this order has been challenged or reversed?
This hierarchy has fundamentally held true in my practice, but it's evolved and expanded rather than been challenged or reversed. When I say "people," I'm increasingly understanding that to mean all living things: flora, fauna, human beings, the environment itself. Care for living things in all their forms is what comes first for me, and that extends to the materials and systems we use to sustain life. Places, then, are the contexts where this care manifests, they're alive and interconnected. Art and architecture become the tools through which we express and embed that care into the world.
Rather than being disrupted, this hierarchy has deepened. I'm now thinking more expansively about what "living" means, about choosing materials that are long-lasting and natural stone, for example that age gracefully and respect both human and non-human life. It's been less about the order being reversed and more about understanding that people, places, and the living world are inseparable. The care extends outward in all directions.
The idea of evoking a sense of home is a recurring goal in your work when creating public spaces. How do you manage this aim when working with communities for shorter periods of time such as during festivals, especially considering the level of trust that it can require to achieve it?
I manage this by creating conditions of safety and ease fundamentally –home is about feeling safe. I'm quite structured in my approach. I start with icebreakers because I want to know who's in the room as individuals, not as a blob of people. I try to make genuine connections with each person. I create nice moments, good snacks, creative activities, and I make space for people to share and be heard and seen. That's how trust builds in a compressed timeframe. I want people to have fun, to feel safe and creative without judgment, to connect with each other and with me, and for me to genuinely learn from them.
Home isn't just about permanence, we carry it with us in different ways, as feelings and memories. So I try to create genuine connection through structure, care, and generosity. I also try to leave things behind: publications, prints, or gifts from our engagement. But at its heart, it's about the quality of that engagement and creating safety and ease, however long or short the timeframe.
Last year, you participated in Concéntrico by leading a workshop in which participants were invited to imagine, draw, and design their own community garden on-site. This year, you will lead the continuation of this workshop, moving from concept to reality and bringing some of their ideas to life. How do you translate conversations with the community into spatial decisions?
I only had one workshop last year, so I needed to use that time wisely. I asked people specific questions: What do community gardens need? What kinds of plants interest you? What animals matter to you? I listened carefully for the stories, symbols, and narratives that emerged from those conversations and drawings.
From that workshop, imagery came up around birds, lavender, flowers, fish in ponds, and bees as pollinators. I drew out these symbols and I'm now working to weave them into the spatial design. The garden will be based at a library in Logroño, gifted to a local gardening association. I'm hoping to work with them to think about what plants could be planted in the garden. The stories and symbols people shared become part of how we shape the garden, even as we navigate practical constraints.
Community gardens often intersect with issues like sustainability, access, and urban life. How do you view design as a tool for change when it comes to a project like this?
Design is a tool for change when it's rooted in genuine care for people and places. I'm designing a community garden with a shelter and gathering space inspired by the English potting shed but reimagined for the Logroño context, and drawing from narratives and ideas that came out of the workshop I carried out there last year. It's not just about growing plants; it's about creating access and belonging in the community. People, places, and sustainability aren't separate, they're intertwined. We need clean and safe environments in order to live. What's been fortunate is working with Concéntrico, which has been aligned with this thinking from the start. They've been instrumental in finding partnerships with the library and thinking long-term about the project. The gardening association and library have generously offered to adopt the garden and shelter, creating a real home for it beyond the festival. I've designed it to be flexible, paving stones have been taken up to make space for planting, but I want the garden to evolve based on what the community needs. It requires care and maintenance, so it's also a testing ground. I'm genuinely curious to see what it becomes, how it changes, whether it survives. The festival itself acts as a laboratory for testing ideas in public space.
You’ve previously spoken about the importance of leaving a lasting impact through your work. What do you hope the garden will become for Logroño’s community in the long term?
I hope the garden becomes a living, evolving space that belongs to the community. A place where people can gather, connect with nature, and with each other. I hope it becomes a library garden in the truest sense: a site for learning, exchange, and discovery, where people can come to slow down and find respite in their everyday lives. Beyond the physical space, I hope the garden carries forward the stories, symbols, and narratives that came from last year's workshop: the birds, lavender, flowers, fish, and bees that people drew and talked about. These become embedded in the space itself, a way of honouring the voices that shaped it. I also hope it becomes a testing ground for thinking about sustainability and care –how we create clean, safe environments that nourish both people and the living world. The shelter and gathering space can be a hub for the library gardening group's work, a place where they continue to build community and share knowledge. Most importantly, I hope it survives because people invest in it and care for it. I hope it changes and evolves as the community's needs change. I don't want to impose a fixed vision. I want it to be flexible enough to become something new if that serves the community better. That's the real lasting impact: a space that belongs to people and grows with them.