At the beginning of the latest war, fear overwhelmed everyone, and it was difficult to think or plan anything. So I first started working at home with my own children; I painted with them and gave them space to express themselves through colors. Later, I extended this initiative to the children in the neighbourhood and organized group activities, such as painting walls. Eventually, several organizations offered me some financial support, which allowed me to expand the work into broader artistic and community activities.

Internally, I am deeply wounded and carry much sadness and exhaustion. Yet art gives me a small window to breathe. We adults can endure and cope with difficulties somehow, but how can a small child overcome such pain without support? This is exactly where I want to help, and it is what keeps me committed to my work with the children.

I strive, amidst the war, to create safe spaces for children where they can express themselves, play, and smile – whether in shelters or among the rubble. I work with them using the simplest materials, such as pencils, paper, or recycled objects, transforming them into art. These moments not only give the children a chance to breathe and find joy, but they also give me a sense of healing from my own inner grief and pain as I watch their laughter and spontaneity. Art becomes a bridge between pain and hope – between harsh reality and the moments of joy we create together. I believe that every picture carries our message to the world and tells our story with a voice that goes beyond words.

I want the world to know that the children of Gaza are not just numbers in the news, but souls full of creativity and dreams. All they need is someone to give them space to express themselves. For them, art is not a hobby – it is a way to find moments of joy and hope amid harsh reality; it is a means of survival.

Murad Al-Assar