Artist's statement: Sarah Khan

About the Written Piece

The 800-lettered piece, ‘د روح د اناټومې ته د سپوږمئ شاهدې’ (transliterated as ‘Da rooh da anatomy ta da spogmay shahidee’; translated as ‘An astral witness to the anatomy of a soul’) is the artist’s emotions surfaced as rhetorical sarcasm. Grounded in the futuristic facts learned from the religious scripts and written in Pashto—her mother tongue, already the fourth language spoken in space since 1988, will now make its mark on the Moon for the first time.

The literary work was first directed at herself; it wasn’t meant to lampoon the public but to create space for rethinking—to invite deep and powerful reflection. Artist by nature, but trained as a biologist, she switched from programming bacteria for sensing applications and delving into the prospects of lab-grown spacesuits which relied on engineered biomaterials, 3D-bioprinting and Cubesat technology. In her own way, she attempted to uncover cosmic secrets by initiating foundational research in her country—where meteoritic studies have
been overlooked, through investigations on lunar meteorites.

Embracing the challenge of addressing pivotal, long-established scientific puzzles and offering theoretical as well as experimental answers to questions such as, are we alone in the universe? What’s the origin of life on Earth? She still often found herself frozen in silence (wrestling with the frustration of being only human) pondering religion-based scientific concepts that remained beyond her grasp. Ideas such as: everything illuminated like the sun and stars, is made from the light of God, or the notion of ‘eternity’, something we somehow know, yet can never fully experience in this life.

The question posed by the Moon Gallery Foundation finally gave her a chance to render the Moon’s thoughts, the continuously watching, yet non-participating celestial body. It opened the door to holistic questions, such as: why does the Moon exist in the first place? What is its presence pointing us toward? Is it a mirror of our consciousness, or a keeper of something older than memory? If everything illuminated comes from divine light, what then is the Moon reflecting back to us—only luminescence and calendar, or serious reminders, or the divinity itself?

Can the newly evolved Homo sapiens, late in their arrival to the story of the universe, grasp a truth older than time itself? Can observation, from the core of the scientific method, advancing as we are—building equations, maps and technologies—be enough for species still figuring out its place in the universe(s)? Can imagination, the vast realm of artists, no matter how far-reaching, reach the fundamental nature of reality?

If we have established useful theories and shared stories, then why the biggest questions have still remained unresolved. Why do we continue to circle around the same ancient questions; why are we here, what’s our purpose? Where did we come from? What happens after death? Is there more to the world than what we can see and measure? What is soul? In what way are the body and soul united, but also able to part?

Perhaps, only perhaps, answers are not meant to be discovered by the intellect alone because the observations of scientists and imaginations of artists are but limited tools. Perhaps fundamental knowledge isn’t discovered or evolved but, rather, is revealed.

For the artist, there is a timeless living book, overflowing with wisdom, layered with meaning and radiant with guidance; the Holy Quran. She finds it especially compelling for its conceptually cohesive, spiritually nourishing, and mentally invigorating nature. The knowledge offered is not only housed in the richest linguistic vessel; the Arabic, but the information itself is part of a rich source, from God.

[“Say, O Muhammad: If the sea were ink for writing the words, wisdom, and signs of Allah, the sea would be exhausted before His words were finished—even if We brought another sea to replenish it, and another after that, and more still.”]

She is more inclined to the knowledge-realms of ghaib—a term in Arabic, mentioned 63 times in the Holy Quran, referring to something beyond the reach of our senses and the limits of human intellect. Hidden, but not unknown. Its counterpart, the visible and witnessed reality, is known as shahadah.

[“With Him are the keys of the unseen—no one knows them except Him.” “He is Allah—there is no god ˹worthy of worship˺ except Him: Knower of the seen and unseen. He is the Most Compassionate, Most Merciful.”]

Through her interactions, she realized that the knowledge of it is not constructed, and the truths are not simply uncovered, rather revealed and (to the gifted ones) bestowed. What we call science is simply us uncovering what has always been. What we label as a miracle is not a violation of nature nor us drifting away from logic, but brief moments of God-signs overriding (to give glimpses of disrupting) the patterns we assume to be fixed.

However, the Quran is also labeled a book of pride; it does not unveil its wisdom to the casual onlooker. Rather, it opens only to the seeking heart—possessing a unique awareness of its reader.

As part of her ongoing exploration into knowledge of the hereafter—and in a critical engagement with what she calls the ‘illusive (essence of) science’ in this world—the artist thoughtfully considers the idea of a ‘science of the hereafter’. Seeking to understand what we are all collectively searching for, with our limited intellect and sensory capacities, she holds three interwoven reflections—not as rigid arguments, but as guiding thoughts.

First: Science of this life is illusive.

[“Every being on earth is bound to perish. Only your Lord Himself, full of Majesty and Honour, will remain forever”]

Everything we know is perishable. That’s what makes it relative—and temporary. And it is through this very impermanence that illusion operates. So, if all of this life is perishable and relative, then the science we know is also an illusion. It is not false, but it is temporary. And what follows is not simply an upgrade, it is a rupture into what is real and will persist. The laws we cling to here will not follow us. For the hereafter has its own science: unseen, absolute, eternal.

[”Watch for˺ the Day ˹when˺ the earth will be changed into a different earth and the heavens as well, and all will appear before Allah—the One, the Supreme.” “And when the stars fall, scattering, and when the seas will be burst forth, and when the graves will be overturned, A soul will [then] know what it has put forth and kept back. O mankind! What has deceived you about your Gracious Lord?” ]

Second: Science of this life is paired.

[“And We created pairs of all things so perhaps you would be mindful.”]

If everything in creation is made in pairs—light and dark, seen and unseen, then perhaps knowledge/nature/science itself is paired. One kind of knowledge belongs to this world: fleeting, measurable, filtered. The other kind belongs to the hereafter: unprecedented, eternal, and unbound by the logic of time.

It is explicitly stated in the Quran that the world was made for mankind. So, we were meant to experience both the physical and the spiritual. Once we are born, we never truly die; we move from one state of being to another. This pairing beautifully reflects our purpose. Our actions are not just temporary movements. They are investments, products destined to become the assets of our afterlife. In this life, we pulse with both forms of knowledge: the laws that govern the transient things, and the whispers that point to the infinite.

Third: The co-existing sciences, the living cosmos

If there are two forms of knowledge (one rooted in this world, the other in the unseen), then what we are currently experiencing is probably filtered. What we perceive is only one side of truth, shaped by the limits of our senses and understanding.

[“The sky will be ˹split˺ open, becoming ˹many˺ gates, through which angels will descend”]

What if the cosmos is more alive than it appears? What if the universe is not a cold, mechanical system, but a conscious creation—responding, feeling, and awaiting divine instruction? Like Heaven and Hell—habitats of the hereafter not described just as destinations, but cognizant as entities in direct relationship with their Creator.

[“Beware of the Day We will ask Hell, “Are you full yet?” And it will respond, “Are there any more?” ”]

In that regard, the entire universe(s) can be epitomized as giant being(s) where superclusters behave as community analogues, within which galaxies act like individuals with solar systems as cellular systems, holding emotional capacities and speaking capabilities.

The artist finds herself repeatedly returning to one source. Not just for comfort, but for clarity. Taking the paradoxes and untangling them, even when dealing with dimensions beyond human comprehension. Naturally, after contemplating all this, she wrote about the limited and filtered nature of empirical knowledge, about galaxies that remain silent, and about the illusion of permanence that often defines our perception of reality. She wrote, to make room for the fundamental reality to be felt, not just spoken.

Because sometimes, when you’re bound for the Moon and beyond, it’s only fitting to write from the gravity of somewhere else.

While many think of sending art to space as a way to outlast humanity, a kind of cultural time capsule, I see it not-so-slightly differently. For me, it’s not about preservation, for the works do stay longer than humans’ existence on Earth with its effects in the hereafter. But broadly imagining, it’s about outcasting humanity: making space for connection beyond our species, acknowledging that we may not be the only conscious creation in the universe. If there are other forms of life—as particles or energy, seen or unseen—then I believe they, too, carry consciousness that is aware of its origin and purpose. They too, have their own forms of worship, their own languages of recognition.

Thinking near-term, if the lunar visitors or inhabitants come across such works, I hope they prompt them to reflect on the questions that tug at every soul: Who made us? Why are we here? And what part of our creativity points back to something greater than ourselves? In this sense, for me, sending art to the Moon is a gesture of submission and sincerity—a humble expression of curiosity and creativity.