7
Richard Serra's tallest public work — seven steel plates honouring the spiritual weight of the number in Islamic culture.
7 stands at the end of Museum of Islamic Art Park, where seven steel plates rise in a heptagonal arrangement. Unveiled in 2011, it is both the tallest public artwork in Qatar and the tallest piece Serra has ever made. The number seven echoes the days of the week, the colours of the rainbow and layered spiritual symbolism in Islamic culture, translated into mass and shadow rather than ornament.
I. M. Pei, architect of the Museum of Islamic Art, personally recommended Serra to Qatar Museums for the commission, linking the park's architectural rigour with sculptural equivalent.
Exhibo editorial
Serra's trick is to make steel feel like it is leaning on you. 7 does that with Gulf sky as the ceiling and the museum's limestone as a neighbour.
Visit at low sun when the plates throw long shadows across the grass, then walk the park's other commissions before heading into MIA itself.
How to find it
At the southern end of MIA Park on the Doha Corniche, outside the Museum of Islamic Art. The park is open to the public; combine with the museum and Corniche promenade.
Similar places
All placesRelated stories
Why Doha Is Full of Roundabouts
An old circle at a crossroads, sharpened by British road engineering, became the way an Arabian city found its way and remembered itself — and it took the bulldozers to reveal it.
In a city where a landmark was more useful than an address, Doha's roundabouts became its navigation, its landscaping and its national image all at once. Now they're being torn out for signalled junctions — and the affection for them arrived, as one scholar put it, only posthumously.
The Animal We Drew Everywhere Once It Was Gone
From Neolithic rock to airline tailfin — how the Arabian oryx vanished from the desert, came back from nine animals, and multiplied everywhere as a symbol in the very decades it was gone.
The last wild Arabian oryx was shot in 1972. By then it was already a picture — carved on Bronze Age tombs, mistaken by the ancients for a unicorn, praised by poets as the eyes of the beloved. This is the story of an animal that went extinct in the wild and was brought back from nine survivors, and of the strange gap between the creature and the emblem it became: fast, sharp and ascendant on a nation's tailfin, while the animal itself survives by standing still in the shade.
Seventy Thousand Solomons: The Empire That Performed a Legend
A demon catalogue in the conqueror's library, a sixteenth-century text where kingship is an office held seventy thousand times, and the columns a sultan dragged across three provinces to prove he held it.
Mehmed II kept a Greek catalogue of demons in his library at Topkapı. Seventy years later a sultan named for a prophet was rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem and hauling Roman columns out of Egypt and the Lebanon into a mosque above the Golden Horn. In between, Ottoman writers turned Solomon from a warning into a job — and the empire applied for it in stone.