Breaking the Frame: The Quiet Philosophy of Kamal Obat

In the quiet intersections of logic and longing, Kamal Obat has carved a visual language that moves between introspection and observation. Once trained in the structured world of software engineering, he now approaches photography and art with the same instinct that once led him to dismantle childhood toys ; an urge to understand what lies beneath the surface. In this conversation with Haneefah Abdulrahman, Obat reflects on the origins of his creative curiosity, the evolution from anonymity under the pseudonym Someoneschild to artistic ownership, and the deeply human questions that animate bodies of work such as Melanchology and Nothingness. What unfolds is a meditation on attention, honesty, and the quiet power of images to make strangers feel less alone.

Haneefah Abdulrahman: You began your journey in software engineering, a discipline rooted in logic and structure. How has that technical way of thinking quietly shaped the way you compose, deconstruct, or reinterpret photographs today?

Kamal Obat: Honestly, it started way before university. As a kid I was always breaking my toys, not out of frustration, just curiosity. I needed to know what was inside and what made them work. That apparently earned me the nickname ‘engineer‘ growing up. The discipline that came with it was consistent. The lesson, less so. In a way I was destined to pursue it. I chose software engineering specifically because it had design in it, and that was always where my real strength was. That same instinct is how I approach photography and art today. I want to understand why a frame holds, why a particular light does something to a face. Just like with those toys, I’m not afraid to break things to find out.

Haneefah: What was your earliest memory of photography and art? What specific experience compelled you to put lens to motion and brush to canvas?

Kamal: My earliest memory of creating and designing goes back to 2009, back when hi5 was the social media platform. For those of you who are either too young or have conveniently blocked it from memory, hi5 was essentially Facebook but with personality. You could deck out your profile with GIFs, images, sounds, custom layouts. It was glorious chaos, and I was very serious about it. Perhaps a little too serious. I spent what I can only describe as an unhealthy amount of time obsessing over my profile, tweaking and redesigning it, all in the quiet mission of having the most interesting page among my peers. Retrospectively,  it was my first real design brief, and I didn’t even know it. That drive to make something visually compelling, something that felt mine, planted a seed I didn’t fully recognise until years later. Photography came much later and far more deliberately. After surviving my MSc in Cybersecurity, thesis and all, I finally came up for air. I had space, time, and absolutely no excuse not to pick up a hobby. So I chose photography. I set myself a simple but stubborn challenge, to take at least five photographs every single day. Not because I thought they’d all be good – they weren’t, but because I understood that the eye, like any muscle, needs training.

Haneefah: Would you say that your photographs and artworks are confessional? If so, why does confession feel necessary in your practice?

Kamal: I think it’s more honest than confessional. I don’t always make work to unburden myself, but I’d rather not make work that feels manufactured either. That’s actually why I never used to take commissions; the brief always felt like a ceiling on what the work could become. The one time I broke that rule, I was given full creative freedom for a pre-birthday shoot. I thought I made something special. The client (a high school friend) thought otherwise. I got a lengthy voice note that made it very clear she was dissatisfied with the results. That shoot ended up becoming my most recent artwork, She Simply Is. And though it turned out great in the end, it reminded me why I have to stick to my process. See an idea, execute. See potential, execute.

Haneefah: You once worked under the pseudonym Someoneschild. It sounds like both a hiding place and a confession. Who were you then, and who are you now?

Kamal: Someones child actually came from a name I grew up hearing “Omo Alhaji”. It means Alhaji’s child. My dad’s friends and some relatives called me that so often that my actual name almost became irrelevant to them. It probably should have bothered me more than it did, but being a shy kid, it was a blessing as it gave me a sense of anonymity. Being known only in relation to someone else, rather than as yourself, is a strange kind of freedom. I carried that into my work. I wasn’t ready to put my name on things yet, and the pseudonym gave me that same cover. No name attached, no ego on the line. I could post a photograph, think “what was I doing?” and just try again the next day. It also meant I wasn’t creating for an audience, not for the likes or the reposts or anyone’s validation. The work could just exist and find its feet without all of that noise around it. That changed in 2018. I had to come out of my shell a little. I had to step forward and let the art world know who was behind the work. Who am I now? I’m Kamal Obat. Or at least, that’s what people who know me through art know me as.

 Haneefah Abdulrahman:  How do you delve into the intricacies of human psychology and distill them into evocative bodies of work like the Melanchology collection where pieces such as Scarred and Ultramarine seem to hold space for relatability and introspection?

Kamal: I didn’t approach it academically. I just had a goal in mind, make something a stranger could stand in front of and feel a little less alone. If Scarred or Ultramarine did that for even one person, if someone looked at it and thought “oh, so it’s not just me” then the work did exactly what it was supposed to do. That’s really all I was going for.

Haneefah :Scarred began as a deeply personal expression and later found its way to the UN Headquarters. When a work so intimate enters a global space, does its meaning shift for you as the artist, or do you release it fully to the audience’s interpretation?

Kamal: I made Scarred with a very deliberate intention, to create something hard to walk past. Something you feel before you even try to understand it. When it reached the UN, the meaning didn’t shift for me. Not even slightly. It was always about mental health, and self-harm specifically. Albeit, what I love about creating is that my intention and someone else’s interpretation don’t have to match. A piece can mean something completely different to every individual who stands in front of it, and honestly that’s the part I find most interesting. The work leaves my hands and takes on a life of its own. I just point it in the right direction.

Haneefah: Your work consistently asks viewers to pause and look more closely. In a world shaped by speed, spectacle, and distraction, what do you believe we are collectively overlooking  and how does your lens intentionally interrupt that pace?

Kamal: I’m not trying to interrupt anything or make a grand statement. Some things just don’t need to be loud. Not every message is meant for everyone, and I’m okay with that. If you slow down and look closely enough, you may find what message I put there. If you don’t, that’s fine too, because then the art has a different interpretation to you.

Haneefah: The Nothingness series centers on people who have left marks without recognition. What draws you to the unseen and uncelebrated, and do you see yourself reflected in the stories you choose to tell?

Kamal: I’ve always been drawn to people who do quiet, important work without any recognition for it. Not because it makes for a noble artistic theme but because I genuinely find them fascinating. There’s a whole world of significance happening in the margins that most people just don’t talk about. The Nothingness series was my way of saying, “this person counts”.

Haneefah: Your photography moves fluidly between nature, portraiture, and documentary. Do you experience these as distinct visual languages, or as different dialects of a single voice?

Kamal: I’d say different dialects as the intent underneath is always the same: find the truth in a frame but I’d never put myself in a box by labeling myself strictly a documentary, portrait, wedding, or fashion photographer. That always felt too limiting.

Haneefah: If someone encounters your work years from now without knowing your name or story, what do you hope lingers with them after they’ve walked away?

Kamal: I’ll hope they thought “I need to start paying more attention and live in the moment.” That’s the first thing. And maybe that they leave with a quiet urge to ask themselves “what would I make, if I made something?” Everyone has that in them somewhere. Most people just never get around to finding out where it’s buried.

Haneefah: What part of you is still unfinished and how does your art make room for that?

Kamal: Most of me, honestly. Fatherhood, husbandhood, and all the other hoods that make me miss the simplicity of childhood sometimes. That feeling is actually the inspiration behind my Black is Gold II art. There are questions I keep returning to about identity and belonging, about who I am underneath all the roles I’m playing right now. My art doesn’t resolve those questions either but it gives those thoughts somewhere to live outside of my head. Sometimes the work ends up being a tribute to those feelings and thoughts.