In response to our request for an update on the situation in Gaza at the start of 2026, we received the following message from Tasneem Shatat, one of the coordinators of the Gaza Biennale, which we are sharing

LETTER FROM GAZA

January 2026

As Mahmoud Darwish said:

“We love life whenever we are able to reach it.”

From the heart of besieged, bombarded Gaza, suspended in the memory of its people and stained with blood…

When breaking news sighs—news that does not describe the tragic reality in all its details, yet never stops.

It returns from time to time, bringing back to memory, to the soul, and to the body what they tried to survive.

With all the love and humanity we possess, we try—for ourselves, for Gaza, for humanity, for freedom, and for all peoples who believe in justice, liberty, and human dignity.

With every rainfall, with every flood, with every collapse, with the blows of wind, the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning, between waves of cold and waves of heat, we try to rise—as if creating a small miracle.

We search for light in this darkness, for continuity amid rubble and tents.

We try to rebuild ourselves and our details.

We cling to love, to life, to survival: to a child’s laughter, to the scent of rain, to a gas cylinder, to an artwork painted on the wall of our tents.

We rise from the midst of blackness and the unknown.

We shake off the dust of the pains of time.

We rest our heads on our arms, burned by the flames of hunger.

We carve life with our small fingers, send a cloud to the sky, and draw rays for the sun.

Life in Gaza now is not easy.

The interruption of news from Gaza, away from the daily behind-the-scenes reality, is not insignificant.

Life is extremely harsh, colored with all shades of pain, and still open to every door of conflict and loss at every moment.

Displacement has not ended.

Loss has not ended.

The cold has not stopped devouring skin.

Homes have not returned.

Memory has not stopped replaying its reels.

Hunger has not forgotten, nor the home, nor hope, nor pain, nor destruction.

And the fake, colored tapes that separate memory from its roots have not ended.

But staying is possible.

Rising is possible.

Staying is an act of beauty and an act of faith—that beauty is born from the worst circumstances, and that when a human being clings to dignity, love, and art, they become stronger than war.

From this fragility and tenderness are born the strongest lessons of art, creativity, and humanity.

We draw because reality is unbearable.

Deep within us is our beloved city, waiting for us to leave the land of displacement and return to its buildings.

We write because silence is heavier than can be spoken.

We try because reality is too helpless for us to remain with folded hands.

We dream because imagination is the only thing left without barriers, without bombing or destruction.

We practice art because chaos is greater than surrender.

We make history.

We teach love, humanity, and dignity.

We produce, work, think, and build forms of life.

Everything we do in Gaza is a declaration that we are capable of creation and creativity despite all attempts at erasure.

To create in Gaza is to practice life—not as you wish it to be, but as it is—and to give it a voice, an image, a testimony, and a memory.

In the name of everyone displaced in Gaza.

In the name of everyone surviving in Gaza.

In the name of everyone trying to survive and remain.

In the name of everyone trying to rise once again.

In the name of everyone who sends a voice from Gaza to the world.

In the name of everyone who sends love, humanity, and art from Gaza to the world.

From Gaza, we send you love and gratitude—from Gaza, from displaced hearts soaked by rain in open land, by cold, heat, and fire.

We believe our hearts are connected and close.

We know that between us are bridges of love, humanity, and faith that no airplane or artillery can destroy.

We are grateful to everyone who believed in us, believed in our humanity, our justice, and our cause.

We express our deep gratitude to everyone who hears us and shares our belief in human dignity, humanity, and freedom—and that no matter how fierce the storms grow and how dark the days become, a human being is capable of rising again.

We live on hope and on love—hope that we can create change together, hope of attaining freedom and soaring high in the sky of life.

And in the hope that one day we will meet in a place open to the sky and the horizon, without fear, recounting these days that memory refuses to forget even a single one of.

Until then, we will continue to create life from ashes, and send our messages to the world through the brush and colors, through the painting, through art, through the word, through insistence on remaining and being.