They are not dying all at once.
They are disappearing slowly.
They are disappearing slowly.
One by one.
Name by name.
Voice by voice.
Name by name.
Voice by voice.
Faces appear, then dissolve.
You watch them try to stay visible.
You watch them fail.
And you keep walking.
You watch them try to stay visible.
You watch them fail.
And you keep walking.
This work is not dramatic.
It is quiet.
Pain here does not shout.
It fades.
It is quiet.
Pain here does not shout.
It fades.
Transparent layers.
Disappearing images.
The light doesn’t hold them.
Memory doesn’t hold them.
Disappearing images.
The light doesn’t hold them.
Memory doesn’t hold them.
This is not a history lesson.
This is a funeral stretched over years.
This is how people become ghosts while still alive.
This is war without spectacle.
Just absence. Repetition. Silence.
This is a funeral stretched over years.
This is how people become ghosts while still alive.
This is war without spectacle.
Just absence. Repetition. Silence.
2022 | Aleppo | Fading Continuously
Each screen is a year.
Twelve years of departure.
Twelve years of being somewhere else.
Twelve years of becoming someone else.
Twelve years of departure.
Twelve years of being somewhere else.
Twelve years of becoming someone else.
By the end, there is almost nothing left.
Just light. Just silence. Just the faint outline of what used to be.
Just light. Just silence. Just the faint outline of what used to be.
This is not a documentary.
This is what it feels like to vanish.
This is what it feels like to vanish.