TenTen with Nita: On Art, Ants, and All That Lingers
From childhood memories of painted ants to the quiet ambitions of founding a future museum, Nita Qahili reflects on art as inheritance, imagination, and the architecture of becoming.
Here at Suzanne, we frequently cover the work of Qahili Gallery in our Monday Marks section of weekly events. So we were curious to talk with Nita who runs this family-owned gallery. From childhood afternoons spent retracing father’s paintings to her current passion for curating exhibitions, Nita Qahili seems to have always inhabited a world shaped by images, textures, and questions. She’s a Prishtina girl but also, a multidisciplinary artist, curator - a true cultural producer whose practice spans graphic design, art history, education, and publishing.
Nita’s work reflects deep care toward people, process, and place. We love how she moves fluently between running an art space and dreaming of future museums. In this TenTen conversation, Nita speaks to us about growing up among sculptures and shadows, her own vision for Galeria Qahili, her hope for speculative exhibitions that “remember the future”, and what keeps her awake at night!
What was your favorite art piece in the early childhood? What emotion did it all bring to you as a toddler?
I grew up surrounded by art. Every corner of our apartment was filled with my dad’s paintings and those of his artist friends. Alongside them were sculptures, made of marble, plaster, or wood, so we always had to be careful not to bump into them and get hurt.
I clearly remember a series of my dad’s paintings that featured ants. I used to sit and try to count them, fascinated by what they were doing, as if they had their own secret world. We also had a lot of art books at home, and we loved looking through them. I remember one time when our parents gave us paper, paints, and pencils and asked us to try recreating one of the paintings from the books. It felt like a challenge, but also like play, an invitation to enter the world of the artwork with our own hands.
There’s one artwork from one of those books that has stayed with me. I tried to copy it, unsuccessfully, I might add. It was a large, abstract face, very vivid and expressive. To me, it looked like a man’s head filled with different compartments, each painted in a different colour. I still have the version I drew as a child, and now, when I look at it, it actually seems quite nice.
Recently, my dad showed me the original piece I had tried to copy. Strangely, it didn’t hold the same power over me as it did back then. It seemed less alive, more distant. It made me realise how much of art’s magic comes from the way we experience it, especially as children.
Galeria Qahili has been active for over a decade now. How has your own vision for the space evolved from the beginning to today?
It all started as a hobby, a passion project rooted in a deep love for art and community. My parents bought the land and built the building from the ground up. In the beginning, the space that is now the gallery was my father’s atelier, filled with canvases, tools, and the quiet chaos of creation. But over time, we saw the potential for it to become something more. We decided to transform it into a gallery, not only to showcase my father’s work, but to create a space for other artists and voices.
At first, things were relatively simple: we organised exhibitions, invited artists, and built a space where art lovers could gather and connect. But as we became more involved, we realised the depth and complexity of what it really means to manage a cultural space. There was much more behind the scenes, continuous research, networking, and learning. We started visiting other galleries, meeting with curators and gallerists, and discussing the broader factors that shape the success and sustainability of such a space.
What profoundly changed my perspective was my postgraduate studies in Arts, Culture and Society at Erasmus University. It was during this time that I began to recognise that the processes we were instinctively applying, our ways of thinking, organising, and critically reflecting, were not random or improvised. They were, in fact, grounded in dominant, well-established concepts in the contemporary art world. That realisation gave me both confidence and clarity. It affirmed that we were not only capable but aligned with global discourses and that we truly could do this.
Reflecting on these twelve years, I see how much our gallery has transformed. The vision has grown, the space has evolved, and people’s behaviour and engagement with art have shifted. Especially over the last six years, the gallery has become more than just a venue for exhibitions. It’s now a space for learning, dialogue, experimentation, and cultural exchange.
Looking ahead, I see a natural progression: to transform the gallery into a private museum. One that not only exhibits but also preserves, educates, publishes, and pushes boundaries, offering the same richness and relevance as the great cultural institutions around the world. It’s a big vision, but one we’re passionately committed to pursuing.
What keeps you awake at night?
Ideas. Sometimes they’re exhilarating, other times overwhelming. What keeps me awake at night is the future, art, a potential truth, in a world that’s becoming increasingly synthetic and fragmented. I wonder what it means to create meaning in such a landscape. But on a more personal level, I also think about the people I love, unfinished projects, or even a single sentence I want to get just right.
When I’m starting something new and find myself mentally blocked, I often try to trace connections, linking memories, past experiences, and fragments of inspiration to form a path forward. I search for an anchor, a thread that ties it all together. Often, this process of conceptual mapping, figuring out how to approach the work, takes far longer than the actual execution. But once it clicks, it flows. It becomes a matter of trust: trusting the process, the instinct, and the layers that brought me there.
You’ve teached as a professor, you work in design and marketing, you have also co-founded a publishing house dedicated to fantasy books. Are all these professions like writing, design, marketing, even teaching humanities, going to die in few years, as a result of AI?
No, I don’t believe these professions will die. What I feel, deeply, is that they will transform, and in some ways, quite radically. Yes, AI will take over many processes, especially the repetitive and technical ones. But what it can’t replicate is the irrational, poetic, emotional core of human creativity. That spark of unpredictability. The ability to feel, to doubt, to dream.
This isn’t the end of writing, or design, or teaching. It’s a shift in how we approach them. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Just like when new technologies emerged in the past, when electricity first entered our homes, or when computers became part of everyday life, many things were made easier, more accessible. These tools didn’t erase human effort; they enhanced it. They allowed us to focus more on meaning and less on mechanics.
AI is just another tool. A powerful one, yes, but still a tool. What really matters is how we use it, how we stay grounded in our values, and how we carry forward the human touch: empathy, curiosity, contradiction, vulnerability. Those who adapt with integrity and imagination will continue to create work that resonates, work that makes people feel seen, challenged, or comforted. Creativity is just learning a new language.
What’s your favorite fantasy or science fiction book/film character and why?
In a sea of fantasy novels, it’s hard to choose just one, but I always return to The Lord of the Rings. It’s a classic, and knowing the depth of its history and world-building, there’s always something new to discover each time. That said, I have to admit, every time I rewatch the films, I rarely make it through in one sitting. I almost always fall asleep halfway through! :)
Recently, though, I’ve been drawn to something much closer to home. Faton Flow Loshi just published his novel, and I’ve been involved in the process from the very beginning, ever since he started putting the first ideas to paper. I truly love it. What’s fascinating is how each character is swept into a kind of marathon of events, one that has the structure of a classic quest, like in The Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, but with something different at its core. There’s a unique spirit in this story, something deeply original that sets it apart. It feels familiar and fresh all at once. There is power, but also vulnerability, a journey of confronting one’s shadow, both literally and metaphorically. That duality, that quiet reckoning with the self, feels deeply human to me. It’s in the tension between strength and fragility that we often discover who we truly are.
Which work of art, book, or film has shocked you the most in your life, something that completely changed your perspective?
Reading The Lord of the Flies by William Golding truly shocked me. It exposed the raw instincts of human nature, the hunger for power, the urge to lead, and the terrifying fragility of civilisation. The way Golding captures all these facets of human behaviour in such an extreme setting is astonishing. It made me realise how quickly social structures can unravel, and how deep these impulses run beneath the surface.
When it comes to visual art, it’s incredibly difficult to choose just one piece. There are so many that have left a lasting impression on me. One that stands out is Louise Bourgeois’ Spider sculpture. I saw it at the city museum in The Hague. Although the space wasn’t entirely suited for it, the sculpture still felt incredibly alive, looming, maternal, and eerie. It held its own presence, as if it were breathing.
I also find Edvard Munch’s work incredibly expressive. While most people know him for The Scream, he created so many powerful pieces that deserve just as much attention. Once you start analysing his use of colour, especially the muted greens and dark tones, you notice a haunting atmosphere in his figures. They almost look ill, emotionally and physically. There’s a quiet intensity in his work that’s hard to shake.
Of course, my father's artwork has had the most personal influence on me. I especially admire the large-scale pieces he created in recent years, part of his Golden Darkness cycle, works like The Meal, Football, and Radio. They carry an emotional and symbolic weight that feels both intimate and universal.
When you do graphic design, do you think of creative side or user experience first?
This is a tricky one. I usually start with the creative side, often driven by intuition and symbolism. For me, the creative and functional aspects aren’t separate. Creative expression is the soul of the design, but user experience is the body, it has to function, to move, to respond.
My process often begins with emotion and instinct, then gradually moves toward structure and clarity. The most powerful designs are those that speak in both directions: from the artist to the user, and from the user back to the artist. It becomes a dialogue, not just a one-way message.
It really depends on the context, what the design is for, how it will be used, and who it’s meant to reach. Some projects call for more freedom and experimentation; others require precision and restraint. Balancing those needs is where the real design work begins.
What’s the last song you remember having on repeat all the time?
It’s difficult for me to listen to the same song on repeat, I tend to crave variety depending on where I am and what I’m doing. When I’m driving, I like to have the radio on. I enjoy the randomness of it, the unexpected discovery of songs I wouldn’t choose myself. At Shigi Studio, there’s usually a mix of different music playing in the background, something that fuels the creative atmosphere.
But at the gallery, it’s a completely different energy. It often becomes this quiet, almost sacred space. You get so immersed in the artworks, the lighting, the silence, that you actually forget to play music. And somehow, that silence feels fitting. It creates room for reflection, like a pause between thoughts.My process often begins with emotion and instinct, then gradually moves toward structure and clarity. The most powerful designs are those that speak in both directions: from the artist to the user, and from the user back to the artist. It becomes a dialogue, not just a one-way message.
It really depends on the context, what the design is for, how it will be used, and who it’s meant to reach. Some projects call for more freedom and experimentation; others require precision and restraint. Balancing those needs is where the real design work begins.
If you could curate an exhibition anywhere in the world, with no budget constraints, where would it be, and what would it be about?
I’d love to curate an immersive exhibition in a museum or a gallery, featuring sound art, speculative fiction, holographic storytelling, and participatory installations, and have a space where visitors could experience what it means to remember the future.
What’s your favorite summer moment?
Lying on the beach, listening to the sound of the waves, and the soft murmur of people chattering around me; there’s something grounding in those simple conversations, surrounded by the rhythm of the sea. And then comes that quiet, golden hour when everything slows down, when the air smells like earth and wildflowers, and the world feels temporarily suspended in time. It’s peaceful, weightless, like a moment you wish you could stretch out forever.
