The rupture of the sacred, the fragmentation of the archive. Doom Scroll Djinn Tapestry emerges from the interstice where the digital phantasmagoria meets the material ruins
of devotion. I was trying to make sense of the estimated 10 million Muslims killed by Western Imperialism since World War 2, the remnants of their livelihoods flickering on our screens daily. Here, prayer rugs collected on markets in Cairo—once stable coordinates in a spiritual geography— are cut, spliced, and re-stitched into patchworks; assembled as a palimpsest of displacement, their fractured surfaces bearing witness to the violence of circulation: the algorithmic, the colonial, the market-driven.

The stitching, the thread binding torn surfaces, becomes a gesture of counter-memory, of refusal, also an act of repair. To sew is to insist on continuity, to refuse erasure. It is an act of care—not one that pretends to restore what has been lost but one that insists on new forms of relation. These sutures do not mask the wounds; they trace them, honor them, make them visible. In this way, the tapestry does not simply mourn—it proposes. It does not only archive rupture—it gestures toward healing, toward a future where the fragmented is not discarded but reassembled.