Despite everything, the historic homes stood their ground and remained untouched by the invasion of blue. They stayed there like stars in total darkness, radiating memory, art and literature, lectures, stories and forgotten tales.
The image that prevails over all others is the missing picture of my father. The picture of my father who would prepare black tea for us each morning, the picture of my father who would collect the crumbles off the table to feed the birds. This is the picture whose features the occupation changed completely, just as it altered Palestine’s geography.
Lebanon’s protest movement in late 2019 brought a sea of women and men from all walks of life down into the streets, becoming a sort of catharsis after years of compounding crises. What was it like to photograph it all?