This summer, Ayyam Gallery is pleased to present Tangerine Dreams, a collective exhibition centered on the color orange. Occupying a unique space between intensity and comfort, orange embodies both vitality and reflection. Associated with sunlight, fire, ripened fruit, and shifting horizons, the color carries a rich spectrum of meanings that traverse cultures, histories, and emotional states.
About the exhibition
At times radiant and celebratory, at others contemplative or nostalgic, orange becomes a vehicle through which artists explore memory, landscape, identity, and transformation. Throughout the exhibition, the color appears in varied forms, guiding viewers through moments of energy and stillness while revealing its ability to shape perception and mood.
Tangerine Dreams highlights how a single hue can forge unexpected connections across artistic practices, generations, and geographies, transforming the gallery into a space of warmth, resonance, and discovery.
Accompanying the exhibition is the poem Oranges by Roisin Kelly, which we felt closely aligned with the works on display. In it, the act of carefully choosing an orange at a fruit stall becomes a metaphor for choosing a lover. The poem frames love as something physical and intuitive, rooted in touch, smell, and instinct, while also suggesting that intimacy is both reverent and consuming, leaving behind a lingering emotional trace.
Oranges
By Roisin Kelly
I’ll choose for myself next time
who I’ll reach out and take
as mine, in the way
I might stand at a fruit stall
having decided
to ignore the apples
the mangoes and the kiwis
but hold my hands above
a pile of oranges
as if to warm my skin
before a fire.
Not only have I chosen
oranges, but I’ll also choose
which orange — I’ll test
a few for firmness
scrape some rind off
with my fingernail
so that a citrus scent
will linger there all day.
I won’t be happy
with the first one I pick
but will try different ones
until I know you. How
will I know you?
You’ll feel warm
between my palms
and I’ll cup you like
a handful of holy water.
A vision will come to me
of your exotic land: the sun
you swelled under
the tree you grew from.
A drift of white blossoms
from the orange tree
will settle in my hair
and I’ll know.
This is how I will choose
you: by feeling you
smelling you, by slipping
you into my coat.
Maybe then I’ll climb
the hill, look down
on the town we live in
with sunlight on my face
and a miniature sun
burning a hole in my pocket.
Thirsty, I’ll suck the juice
from it. From you.
When I walk away
I’ll leave behind a trail
of lamp-bright rind.
