For Sandra Rizk, fashion isn’t just about clothes. It’s about confrontation, reclamation, and care. It’s a tool for reimagining Arab identity on Arab terms, punk, poetic, political. As the founder and creative director of SCULPTOR FOUNDATION (Instagram), Rizk has cultivated far more than a label. What began as a feeling, born of tension, transition, and tenderness, has evolved into a cross-disciplinary platform for Arab creatives rooted between Beirut and Rome.
SCULPTOR FOUNDATION was shaped by Rizk’s own geography. Raised between Abu Dhabi and Lebanon, she grew up balancing innovation with resilience. “Abu Dhabi taught me about bold ideas. Lebanon rooted me in raw expression,” she says. It was in Milan, however, during her crash course in fashion design and art history, that the base was laid. “That’s really where the idea for SCULPTOR FOUNDATION started, not as a brand, but as a feeling. This urge to carve out a space where Arab identity could be re-imagined, loud, punk, proud, and global.” Rome, where Rizk now lives and works, offers her a kind of grounding stillness. Here, she’s able to slow down, build infrastructure, and expand SCULPTOR FOUNDATION into a full-fledged cultural movement.
At the heart of Rizk’s work is the question of Arab identity, messy, evolving, and expansive. “Arab identity today feels like a mix of pride, chaos, beauty, and constant evolution,” she says. It’s not about one narrative, but a refusal to be reduced to any. This philosophy fuels TSHARRAFNA, SCULPTOR FOUNDATION’s docuseries spotlighting Arab artists across the globe. The series, like the brand itself, doesn’t chase digestible portrayals, instead, it insists on complexity. “There’s no one way to be Arab, and that’s exactly the point.”
Described as an “Arab oasis” in Rome, SCULPTOR FOUNDATION functions as both sanctuary and stage. The space hosts exhibitions, screenings, and community events, forming a rare meeting point for Arabs in diaspora. “You walk in and hear Arabic, see references to our cultures, smell home, feel the energy of people who get you.” It’s a refuge and a refusal, soft and loud at the same time.
That duality extends to SCULPTOR FOUNDATION’s design language. Fashion, for Rizk, is inherently political, especially when you’re Arab and unafraid to take up space. “We’re not here to romanticize heritage or package it for the West. We’re here to preserve it, remix it, and push it forward.” Every piece from the label bears layers of symbolism, from Arabic affirmations stitched into garments to traditional bridal tarhas shown through subversive contexts. Collections like WWW unfold like three-act plays: from oppression to revolution to healing. “Those stages were things I had lived through. They weren’t just themes, they were personal,” she says.
To translate heavy themes into wearable form, Rizk developed ART HAKE, a subversive visual code embedded into the collection. It’s a way to speak truth indirectly, circumventing censorship while demanding engagement, she says, “ART HAKE channels that everyday hustle. It forces people to pause, think, and engage, which is exactly what we need in today’s fast-scrolling world.”
Her material choices are equally intentional. Sustainability, for Rizk, is inseparable from Arab futurism. She favours hemp, Egyptian cotton, and deadstock fabrics, not only for their environmental benefit, but their cultural resonance, saying, “If we want to build a future that’s truly ours, we have to rethink how we consume, create, and live.”
Her approach to craft is similarly rooted. Rather than traditional embroidery, she carves lino stamps by hand, using botanical dyes like henna and coffee to create rich, earthy hues. “It’s about connecting to the land and culture through materials and methods, while also pushing boundaries and making something fresh and modern.”
Rizk’s manifesto rejects both the Western gaze and internalized dogma. Her call to Arab designers? Reject imitation. Trust the rawness. “What’s new is actually you, your perspective, your experience,” she points out. For Arab creatives to reclaim authenticity, they must build their own systems, archives, ateliers, safe spaces. “It’s about creating something fresh that reflects who we are right now.”
Still, for all its sharp critique, SCULPTOR FOUNDATION pulses with radical hope. Pieces like The Fighter and The Object name generational trauma, but also envision healing. “Hope isn’t naive, it’s radical,” she insists. “The work isn’t just about pointing out what’s broken, it’s about imagining new futures and planting seeds for change.”
The future of SCULPTOR FOUNDATION is as ambitious as its founder. The brand just opened its atelier in Beirut, and a new space in Rome is underway. A new collection is set for September. “We’re just getting started,” she says. For Arab fashion more broadly, Rizk envisions a shift toward boldness and authenticity, less stereotype, more contradiction. “The future of Arab fashion is bold, honest, and unapologetically itself.”
What would a fully healed Arab creative community look like? “UTOPIA,” Rizk answers without hesitation. “Full creative freedom without fear, without censorship, without compromise.” A world where Arab artists can be loud, weird, spiritual, political, without being reduced. A world that creates not just from trauma, but from joy.
Navigating these themes isn’t easy. “These aren’t just abstract ideas, they’re lived experiences,” Rizk admits. But community keeps her grounded, as does the act of creating itself. “Even though the themes are heavy, the act of creating is joyful. It’s my way of turning pain into power.”
And if she could speak to her younger self, the girl who felt too loud, too sensitive, too much, she’d say: breathe. “All the things that felt ‘too much’ are exactly what make you powerful. The right rhythm, the right collaborators, they’ll come. And it’s okay to rest. The work will still be there, but so will you,” she reflects.
In that breath lies the essence of SCULPTOR FOUNDATION: raw truth, deep feeling, bold creation, a movement shaped by contradiction, held by community, and committed to liberation.
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