Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Shasha Dothan. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Shasha, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. Can you talk to us about a project that’s meant a lot to you?

Every project I work on feels like the most meaningful one at the time. My most recent installation, Suspended Dreams and Nightmares, created during my time at the Peleh Family Residency was on view at the Working Assumption Gallery in Berkeley. The installation combines painting, video, and kinetic sculptural mobiles to reflect on the fraught realities of parenthood and childhood in a world rife with violence—particularly in Israel and Palestine. As both a mother and an artist, I wanted to explore how militarization and inherited trauma shape our personal and collective experiences.
Suspended from the ceiling, the mobiles feature dangling soft sculptures that have been cut out, painted, stuffed and stitched by hand. These sculptural elements are complemented by a series of paintings drawn from pages of a child’s Hebrew dictionary I encountered during the residency. In this book, the Hebrew letters are illustrated with images of words they begin with. For the letter “R,” for instance, a pomegranate (rimon) and a grenade (rimon) appear side by side—two vastly different symbols that share the same name.
The installation also incorporates video drawn from personal reflections and my experience of motherhood: questions of belonging, the weight of inherited trauma, and the dissonance and tension in coming from a place that perpetuates harm.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

I’m Shasha Dothan, a Brooklyn-based artist originally from Tel Aviv. I work across video, painting, drawing, and installation. My practice is rooted in personal experience— whatever surrounds me, whatever I’m going through, becomes part of the work. I create immersive environments that explore identity, memory, and belonging, always asking how the personal and political are intertwined.
Every project starts with a pile of drawings— dozens, sometimes hundreds. They aren’t just studies, they’re a way of thinking, of building a visual vocabulary. The images that emerge become the foundation of my installations, almost like letters in a language I’ve developed over time. Being surrounded by them feels both powerful and vulnerable— like exposing something and shielding myself at once.
Much of my work is autobiographical. I use my life, my family, my body, my memories as material. I often ask questions that don’t have easy answers: What does it mean to raise a child in a place marked by harm? How do we carry inherited trauma? Can we belong to a place we also feel critical of? My work doesn’t try to resolve these tensions—instead, it invites others to sit with them, to reflect, and to respond.
Over the years, I’ve exhibited in museums and galleries in the U.S., Israel, and abroad. I’m also a founding member of the Anti Mehikon collective, which resists cultural erasure through art and collaboration. I hold an MFA from UCLA and a BFA from Shenkar College.
At the heart of my work is conversation. I make art to open something up— emotionally, politically, interpersonally. I want people to feel invited into the questions I’m asking, and maybe ask their own in return. Whether it’s through a drawing, a video, or a stitched sculpture, everything I make is meant to hold space for dialogue.

What’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative in your experience?

For me, the most rewarding part of being an artist is that I get to process life through art making. Art allows me to sit with things that are difficult to talk about—grief, fear, death,war, identity, trauma, and give them form. These are the kinds of conversations that are often avoided or silenced in everyday life, and through my work, I try to create a space where they can be felt, seen, and shared.
It’s not easy to talk about hard things. Especially when they’re personal or politically charged, but I think that’s exactly why we need to try. My art isn’t about offering answers; it’s about holding the discomfort, asking questions, and inviting others into that space with care. When a viewer connects with a piece and it leads to a conversation, even a quiet internal one, that’s the most meaningful thing. That’s why I make art: to process, to open dialogue, and to possibly make change.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

We need artists and creatives to imagine and build a better world. Art has the power to open people up, to shift perspectives, to create empathy, and yet so often, artists are expected to do that work with very little support. If society really values creativity, then we need to show it by funding it. That means more grants, more residencies, more structural support that allows artists to make work without constantly struggling just to survive.
I also think it’s important that both art-making and art-watching become more accessible. I wish art spaces felt more open and welcoming to everyone—not just those with money, time, or a certain kind of education. If we support artists, we support a culture where more people can participate, where different voices can be heard and where art can actually be a tool for change.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://shashadothan.com
• Instagram: @shashadothan
• Facebook: Shasha Dothan

Image Credits

1-3 David Hill