Rumi argues that to love is to enter the unknown: to love is to empty the self of all self-knowledge entirely. He believes that emptiness is a paradoxical state of infinite fullness, allowing for the purest form of love and union with the divine.
Ali Sbeity painted vibrant portraits and landscapes of his rural hometown in Southern Lebanon, often sharing his works on his Facebook. He participated in numerous local arts exhibitions and created murals for schools in Beirut.
Two hundred and fifty-six Quran memorisers—Palestinians who have committed the entire holy book to memory—sat in the place while companions beside them listened attentively, following each word carefully to ensure the recitation remained flawless. The gathering, titled Safwat Al-Huffaz—The Elite of Quran Memorisers, has become a special collective way of observing Ramadan in Gaza.
Textiles are a window into the communities that created them, with every motif and line signalling a different memory, tradition or identity. Often seen as folk art, these pieces of embroidery and weaving bring together dozens of narrative threads, from Japan to South America. But nowhere is it more fraught with meaning than in Palestine.
Writing was created in response to the need to communicate over long distances in trade and, initially, was focused on the purely practical aspects of record-keeping. Scribes in ancient Mesopotamia recorded what commercial goods had been shipped to which destination, their quantity, purpose, and cost.
Distance does not soften the terror. It only deepens my helplessness. In moments like this, I realize that geography is not measured in miles, but in attachment. War rearranges distance. These days I find myself returning to "The Conference of the Birds," the 12th-century poem by Attar of Nishapur, seeking meaning through ancient wisdom about spiritual journeys and transformation.
There is a scene in "Morgenkreis | Morning Circle" (2025), a 16-mm film by Berlin-based Palestinian artist Basma al-Sharif, that unfolds at the threshold of a daycare center. A young boy clings to his father, his fists locked into the fabric of his coat, his arms wrapped tightly around him. The father gently tries to pry himself free while a daycare worker crouches nearby, attempting to distract the child and coax him inside. It is an ordinary moment, one that anyone who has ever been a child - or cared for one - recognizes instantly, as well as the gut-wrenching feeling it provokes.
Two or three weeks ago, I would've thought that Iran might be free by the time I was 90, and I could die there. I had this vision of me walking through the airport with a cane. Now, at age 48, I can see myself making a trip back to Iran within the next year, and potentially living there permanently within the next five.
I think there's a deep loneliness to her life that cohabiting with her brother kept at bay-and, now that he's gone, she is forced to face it. As more of Kim's letters are delivered, Helen becomes invested in the narrative they form, as if she were piecing together a puzzle, one that, in some ways, echoes her own past. Kim's family is Muslim, from Pakistan.
"The show is about giving the pen back to the writer, giving the paintbrush back to the artist, during this time of genocide," the Ridikkuluz told Hyperallergic in an interview at the gallery. "And when there's been so much censorship, these are artists that might not have been able to do this anywhere else."
Because, let's face it, creative work does require some form of faith. It is a tumultuous thing to launch an idea into a vast nothingness and hope that it makes a light bright enough to be found by others. Luckily, these luminaries were my light, and I hope they may become yours as well, and - more so - that these snippets lead you to more of their work.