Samara Couri and the Art of Reflection: Between Ecology, Myth, and Relationship
From Hawaiian deities to site-specific interventions, her research transforms mirror painting into a continuous dialogue
“My relationship with the mirror began long before I ever used it as a surface to paint on. I’ve always been drawn to the way a mirror holds both presence and absence, how it captures a moment but never keeps it”.
With these words, artist Samara Couri reveals the origins of a language that, in recent years, has led her to expand her research beyond the image, towards the realm of ritual and relationship. Her projects dedicated to the Akua (the Hawaiian deities who embody the forces and rhythms of nature), collaborations with kumu and cultural practitioners, and support for local communities such as Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i, mark an artistic journey that intertwines spirituality, ecology, and memory.
In her mirror paintings, the reflection becomes a living organism, a shared breath between viewer, light, and landscape, where the work is always in motion and experience becomes revelation.
Following her words, one senses the presence of a thin thread that unites what appears and what escapes, a silent dialogue between light, matter, and spirit. From this suspended space, where each image breathes with the world around it, the ensuing conversation takes shape: a journey through identity, nature, and profound listening.
Your art is imbued with introspection and a strong sense of empathy. Do you believe that the mirror, in your visual language, is also a way to explore awareness and the connection between humans and nature?
Yes, absolutely. The mirror naturally creates a dialogue between the viewer and the world around them, and that dialogue is at the heart of what I’m trying to explore.
Because the mirror includes everything reflected in it—the sky, plants, people, shifting light—it becomes a space where human and natural presence coexist. I’m interested in how we see ourselves within the environment, not separate from it.
Painting on mirrors allows me to gesture toward that interconnectedness. The viewer becomes aware not only of themselves but of the larger rhythms they’re part of. That awareness is a form of empathy, recognising that our inner landscape is inseparable from the outer one.
Your biography reveals a journey through multiple cultures. How has this geographical shift influenced your artistic and spiritual vision?
Living between cultures has shaped me in ways I’m still discovering. Growing up in London exposed me to a wide spectrum of art, ideas, and communities, but moving to Hawai‘i shifted my sense of place entirely.
Hawai‘i is a place where the land has a voice, where the environment, the stories, and the ancestral lineages are alive in everyday life. Being welcomed into that space has deepened my understanding of what it means to belong, to listen, and to create with intention.
Spiritually, it grounded me. Artistically, it pushed me to work with materials and methods that reflect impermanence, reflection, and relationship. The mirror, in many ways, became a response to living in a place where nature and the sacred are inseparable.
In the project “Akua – Hawaiian Deities”, you explore Hawaiian mythology and spirituality. How did you come into contact with this world, and what inspired you to transform it into art?
My entry point into this world has always been through relationships with people who generously share their knowledge, their stories, and their cultural context with me.
Working closely with kumu (teachers) and cultural practitioners helped me understand that the Akua are not distant mythological figures; they are embodiments of natural forces, cycles, and relationships.
What inspired me to transform this into art was the profound beauty of seeing the sacred expressed through nature itself and all the elements that the Akua represent, such as the rain, ocean, and forest.
The mirror allowed me to honour that idea of reflection. The Akua are present in the environment, and the environment is reflected in the work. It felt like the right language to use.
You collaborate with Kumu A‘ia‘i Bello and support groups like “Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i”, committed to promoting indigenous practices and voices. How important is it for you that art also be a bridge of respect and cultural authenticity?
It’s essential. Working within Indigenous contexts requires deep respect, humility, and accountability. I see my role not as someone who is interpreting a culture, but as someone creating in relationship with people who carry that knowledge.
Collaborations with Kumu A‘ia‘i Bello and supporting groups like Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i have shaped the way I work. They ensure that my process honours lineage, accuracy, and community.
For me, art should never extract; it should contribute. If my work can serve as a bridge—encouraging understanding, amplifying Indigenous voices, or inviting people to engage with Hawai‘i beyond the surface—then I feel I’m doing something meaningful.
In your project descriptions, you refer to the “Akua” as “reflections of nature and its rhythms”. Is there a deity, or a natural principle, that you feel particularly close to your artistic sensibility?
All of the Akua and natural principles are equally important, and they rely on each other, just as humans rely on these elements for life. For example, I feel especially connected to the rhythms of water: its movement, adaptability, and ability to hold memory. In Hawaiian tradition, water is deeply tied to life, genealogy, and spiritual cleansing.
That sense of continuity and flow mirrors my own relationship with the mirror surface. Water, like the mirror, reflects but also transforms. It reveals what’s beneath, but never in the same way twice. I am drawn to the movement between clarity and distortion, stillness and change.
Painting on mirrors presents unique technical and conceptual challenges. How do you navigate this balance between material, light, and reflected image?
Mirrors demand constant negotiation. Light behaves differently hour by hour, and colours shift depending on what the mirror is reflecting. Instead of fighting that instability, I embrace it.
Technically, I work in layers, allowing the mirror to remain exposed in certain areas so the reflection becomes part of the composition. Conceptually, I let the materials lead. I’m not trying to fix an image in time; I’m creating a framework that interacts with whatever (or whoever) completes it in the moment.
That tension between control and surrender is what I love about working with mirrors.
Looking back on your career, is there a moment or work that you feel represents a threshold, a transformation in your artistic practice?
One turning point was when I realised that the work didn’t need to be self-contained—that the environment and the viewer could be active participants. The first time I exhibited a mirror piece outdoors and watched the landscape shift inside it, something clicked.
It changed the way I understood authorship, presence, and composition. From that point on, my practice became less about creating a fixed image and more about opening a space for reflection in every sense of the word.
Working in a natural context like Hawaii also requires a profound attention to the environment. Do you think art can contribute to a new form of spiritual and cultural ecology?
Yes, I do. Art can invite people to pay attention—truly pay attention—to the places they inhabit. In Hawai‘i, where land and culture are deeply interwoven, that attention becomes a form of stewardship.
If art can reconnect people to the rhythms of nature, to ancestral knowledge, or to the sacredness of place, then it participates in a cultural ecology rooted in respect. I see my work as a small part of that conversation, a way to remind viewers that they are not separate from the land, but in continuous relationship with it.
Interview by Fabio Pariante: X • Instagram • Website