𓆝𓆟𓆜𓆞

His love for Gaza shone through in his photographs, seen in his steadfast portrayals of joy and beauty. Whimsical compositions by the sea depict young boys jumping and playing. In a series of works focused on his grandmother, a survivor of the 1948 Nakba who was displaced from her native village of Isdud, Arandas portrays her as a symbol of strength and perseverance in Gaza, zooming in on her weathered hands harvesting olives against deep fertile earth. Traces of personal and cultural histories can be seen in the crisp light of ripe olives and the details of intricate embroidery adorning her hanging dress.

“Where can I begin talking about Gaza and Palestine, and how can I begin when I know that I am the living dead? Everyone who writes about Palestine has prepared himself to be among the dead, but despite our prior knowledge of our fate when we write and write about this land, we do not stop or for a moment hesitate to inhale her love,” he reflected.

Here—an image of homeland. The word colonization, a photo of a fruit so bloodied. I hold a beam of light to a wall, make shadows of Palestine I try to catch. Olive tree, Israeli soldier, a metaphor of Palestine as a woman.

In workshop, a white classmate says some of us celebrate diversity. Someone wants to talk about hummus and falafel (pronounces them both wrong, then asks me for the labor of forgiveness).

I’m supposed to be feeding them whatever is the opposite of guilt. I want to move beyond. Where?

There are bodies. And then there are fewer bodies. This is the formula.

the sun & moon sharing a moment