Colored Air
Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while, a great wind carries me across the sky.
I came across this quote while trying to make sense of the darkness I was in. It stayed with me ever since.
This project didn't begin with an idea. It began with a heaviness I couldn't explain, a silence inside me. On August 4, 2020, the ignition of 2,750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate at Beirut's port caused a blast equal to 1.1 kilotons of TNT. Over 200 people died. Thousands were injured. 300,000 were displaced. Entire neighborhoods disappeared. I lost my home, my studio, everything I knew. I fell into depression.
That moment cracked something open in me. Without realizing it, I began looking for what still felt alive. And slowly, life started revealing itself again. Or maybe it was always there, waiting for me to be still enough to see it. I used to pass things by. Now, they're in the air.
The air feels colored.
Young girls playing in a neighbourhood in the town of Joun, Lebanon.
A scene from Sidon during Eid El Fitr celebrations.
A kid peeking from behind the wall of his house entrance in the town of Joun, Lebanon, 2024.
A Landscape of pine trees at sunset in the town of Joun, Lebanon.
A candid shot of my little cousin on the balcony of our home in the town of Joun, Lebanon.
A candid photo of a young boy happily running in one of Sidon’s old streets.
A portrait of an elderly woman in front of her home in the town of Joun, Lebanon.
A tree blossoming during spring season in the town of Joun, Lebanon, 2024
Kids playing in one of Joun's streets.
A candid shot of an elderly woman reaching out to hold a child's hand in Sidon city, Lebanon.
A candid shot of my father's uncle and my cousin kissing him on the cheek. The town of Joun, Lebanon, 2025.
A photo from a family visit during Eid El Fitr to my father's aunt house in the town of Joun, Lebanon, 2024.
A man receives a haircut from a local barber in the courtyard garden of a modest home at dusk. Rows of potted plants line the perimeter. In the background, two children, distant relatives of the barber, embrace near the entrance, looking toward the camera. The town of Joun, Lebanon.
A candid photo of two friends holding a flower in the town of Joun, Lebanon.
A candid photo of friends at sunset in one of Joun's neighbourhoods.
Olive trees standing in a sea of wildflowers and grass. The town of Joun, Lebanon 2025.
My uncle's wife holding a bunch of orange blossom in her palms during orange blossom season in the town of Joun, Lebanon.
Twins in Sidon city, Lebanon, 2024.
A candid shot of a group of kids playing football in Ancient Sidon, Lebanon.
A photo taken from the rooftop of my home in Joun, Lebanon on a foggy sunset.
This is a tribute to existence, and to those still here, especially in the Middle East, where we carry so much: grief, uncertainty, noise. Still, there's beauty in our small worlds. We grow used to the mundane and forget how strange life is. But in quiet, subtle moments, life is full of mystery. That mystery lives in the things we overlook. I don't chase those moments anymore. They come to me. They're everywhere.
This isn't a statement or a project in the traditional sense. It's a way of stepping outside myself. A way of being present. Some might call it meditation. I don't. It's simply being alive, and seeing how strange that is. This work is a trace of that strangeness. Bittersweet. Still. And breathing.
Produced under the guidance of Ali Arkady as part of the Level 1 Visual Journalism Workshop organized by the VII Foundation, 2025.