In the heart of the darkness that blankets Gaza, and within the walls of a school transformed into a crowded shelter for displaced people, shy colors emerge from the rubble, making their way toward the light. Here, on weary walls, hang the drawings of children and women, like silent gasps searching for another life. These small sheets carry more than mere lines and colors; they carry something beyond language and explanation—souls exhausted by pain, and stories hidden behind weary eyes that resist breaking.

These drawings are not just artistic expressions, but narrow windows opening onto a dream still clinging to life. In every painting, we see the features of a lost home, a sky that was once blue but no longer is, and a mother trying to embrace the whole world out of fear for her children. Amid hunger and sorrow, colors become a means of survival, a breath of relief from a life that has become too narrow to contain them. It is as if they are telling the world: “We are still here… we have not yet been erased.”

As for the women, they surround these drawings with hope, like rays of sunlight piercing through clouds. They know better than anyone what it means to live with a broken spirit and a weary body, yet they draw flowers growing among barbed wires, and children running toward an invisible light. In their artwork, tears intersect with courage, and memory meets determination, as if art itself becomes a confession that a human being can defend life even with ink and color.

The children, however, are the most honest. They drew what they could not say. They depicted the sounds of planes that terrified them, the scene of rooms that no longer exist, and the dolls they left behind without a goodbye. Yet their drawings were never without the sun and white doves. This very contrast is enough to tell the world that the Palestinian child, even in the harshest conditions, insists on leaving a trace of life on the page, not a mark of death.

In the end, every drawing here is more than just a painting; it is a testimony of a people who shaped their lives through struggle. A people who have tasted the bitterness of loss but still cling to hope as one clings to a lifeline in a stormy sea. Each drawing tells a story that words cannot capture, because it is drawn with pulse, not hand, and with pain, not brush. Here, in this small exhibition, we see that art is not a luxury… but the last remaining ability to breathe.