Gaza’s people create miracles with their patience and will. The dreams of Gazans are an extension of their uncompromising struggle.

On a pier overlooking a sea as weary as its people, a young woman from Gaza sits holding her brush as if it were her last lifeline. In front of her lies a blank sheet of paper, and behind her are years of pain, fear, and loss.

She did not come to the harbor to paint an ordinary view. She came to pour out what words could no longer carry, and to grant her heart a small space to breathe—away from the sounds of war and the weight of memories.

In Gaza, paintings are not created for decoration, but to ease an ache that has accumulated in countless hearts. Every color on the paper carries the story of a home that was destroyed, a friend who disappeared, or a dream that was postponed. The girls who gathered to paint are not searching only for beauty in the scene, but for a rare moment of safety—minutes in which they feel they are still able to live, despite everything that has been taken from them.

Pain is present in their eyes, but patience is stronger. Gazans draw their sorrows with a calm that resembles defiance, transforming their grief into lines and colors. In every brushstroke, there is a silent message: tired hearts are still capable of beating, and no matter how cruel the trauma is, it cannot extinguish the will to survive.

Here, at the edge of the sea, they do not escape reality—they face it in another way. They face it with art, with color, and with insistence that sorrow is not the end. Even amid the rubble, there are still those who believe that painting can be a small window toward healing, and a way to embrace the self after everything it has endured.

In Gaza, dreams are drawn on paper with the colors of steadfastness. Simple dreams… homes without fear, mornings without sirens, and a childhood that is not reduced to painful memory. Between pain and sorrow, Gazans continue to redraw their lives—because patience here is not weakness, but the way an entire people says: We are still here.