Upcycled Devotion: weaving faith, fabric, and belonging

Tika Sufyan is a multidisciplinary designer and creative strategist working across photography, branding, and community engagement. Her project Upcycled Sajada began as a personal response to a spiritual and spatial absence she felt when she first came in London to study. “It’s not that I was lost in Islam,” she says, “but I felt a disconnect in how to express my faith through space.” While studying in the UK, her university encouraged her to explore a subject she deeply cared about and that was the beginning of Upcycled Sajada.

Back in Indonesia, mosques were seamlessly integrated into the rhythms of daily life. In London, that sense of spatial ease and spiritual familiarity felt harder to come by. This contrast shaped her desire to create prayer mats that were not only functional but also spiritually resonant and culturally grounded.

What does belonging feel like? For Tika, it is material and metaphoric. It's stitched into reclaimed fabric, carried in geometric shapes from Mecca, Medina, and Al-Aqsa, and brought to life through community-led workshops. Belonging is not just found in the mosque. It can be cultivated through the act of making as a collective, for the collective.

The art of making seeps into Tika’s favourite space, the kitchen. She breaks down the process of cooking and emphasises it more than cooking to her. The kitchen becomes her playground, the act of chopping and cutting the ingredients becomes her sensory play. The process of stirring and frying creates a nostalgic feeling of being back in Indonesia. Plating is where Tika relishes her creative mode, depending on the day and her mood. The kitchen gives her a space to connect her memories, family, culture and creativity.

Design as Devotion

Tika’s design principle is simple: never strain the eyes. She believes in “less is more,” aiming to have a balance between simplicity and subtle complexity to create prayer mats that enhance focus during prayers.

Spaces and Beyond

The Upcycled Sajada workshops centre around creating personal prayer mats from reclaimed fabrics. The designs are inspired by sacred geometries, but participants are invited to shape their own layouts. “I pre-cut the shapes,” she explains, “but everyone creates their own composition.” The only guiding principle is that it should support, not distract from, prayer. That means avoiding shiny fabrics, animal shapes, or any elements that draw attention away from worship.

“I knew it was working,” she says, “when participants told me they felt connected not just to the object, but to the intention behind it.” One participant, who hadn’t prayed in a long time, said that stitching the mat made him want to return to prayer. It was more than a design project; it was a spiritual tool. A powerful tool of art to facilitate reconnection with the human psyche, balancing our equilibrium, allowing self awareness, and processing emotions.

While the prayer mats are rooted in Islamic practice, non-Muslims have also found meaning in them. Some have used them as wall hangings or decorative rugs, opening up quiet dialogues about faith, form, and beauty.

Designing for Stillness and Gathering

Tika’s workshops are intentionally collective. “I wanted an activity that everyone could do together,” she shares. Through stitching, people slow down. They reconnect with their hands, their heritage, and one another. The geometry used in the mats references three of Islam’s most sacred mosques: Masjidil Haram, Masjid Nabawi and Masjidil Aqsa, but it also becomes a shared language of form.

An ayah from Surah Al-A’raf about consumption in moderation inspires her approach. “We can respond to that verse through creative practice,” she reflects. “It’s about making with what we have, and doing it with beauty.”

Practices

Tika’s mornings begin with stillness after Fajr, where she writes in her notebook with a warm tea or sometimes a cold Matcha drink beside her. This quiet ritual sets the tone for her creative process, filling her notebooks with sketches, strategies, du’as, and reminders of why she began. When she feels stuck, she returns to them. “They’re like a grounding force,” she says. “Even reading my old notes can remind me of my purpose and spark creativity.”

She believes designers should break out of their echo chambers. “Don’t just talk to your target audience,” she advises. “Talk to people outside the brief. Strangers even. Their perspectives might be the ones that shift your whole project.”

Materials and Methods

For Tika, the material matters. The ideal prayer mat fabric is neither too thin nor too thick. In line with prophetic tradition, it needs to be enough to feel the ground beneath you. She avoids shiny or slippery materials that could distract from prayer.

She only uses reclaimed or unused materials; offcuts, old garments or donated fabrics. “When people bring their own material, it becomes even more personal,” she notes. That intention carries through the whole process, especially when designing for campaigns like Palestine appeal. “I remind myself who this is for, and why it matters,” she says. It recentres her focus and attention to stitch with care.

Principles

Tika’s design is guided by three values: care, gentleness, and clarity. Each informs not just the final product, but how she works with others, whether co-designing with friends or facilitating a workshop.

Her prayer mat designs follow Islamic guidelines, cleanliness, avoiding distracting imagery, and remaining spiritually appropriate. But within those boundaries, there's space to play; she anchors her creative freedom in the geometric language of sacred mosques.

Her university was supportive, but she often found herself explaining the basics. Why Muslims pray five times a day, or what a prayer mat means. “You have to design for understanding,” she says. “Especially when your audience includes people outside your tradition.”

Signals

The message Tika hopes to send is that Islamic spirituality is creative, joyful, and deeply intentional. She also wants to challenge the idea that Muslim spaces are inflexible or unimaginative. “People think Islam is all rules and no expression. But that’s not true. There’s so much creativity within the boundaries.”

She remembers selling prayer mats during a Palestine fundraiser. Two non-Muslim buyers asked if they could hang them on their walls. “If the design sparks curiosity, then it’s doing its job.”

On the Horizon

Tika dreams of mosques that include creative spaces where children can explore, draw, and build. “Mosques should be places of comfort and imagination,” she says. “They’re our spiritual homes and should feel like home.”

She believes imagination plays a vital role in Islamic continuity. “Without imagination, we wouldn’t have calligraphy or apps like Quranly. Imagination helps us make Islam relevant, not just in practice, but in presence.”

For Tika, Upcycled Sajada is not just about making prayer mats but restoring sacred presence in everyday life with one stitch at a time.