​​​​
​Unapologetic; March to Bauhaus; Sweet Indifference
​
"Instead of following the global March to Gaza — a wave of international protests against the assault on Palestinians — I made a solitary decision to travel to Tel Aviv from 12 to 23 June 2025. The 13th of June marked the first day of the 12-day war with Iran. I was able to remain in Tel Aviv until the 17th, after which the Greek embassy escorted us to Egypt, where we boarded a Greek C-130 military aircraft and flew safely back to Athens the 18th."

"In the face of global collapse, I found myself questioning what it means to bear witness with a camera - I cultivate a raw sight aesthetic to clarify reality. The photographic essay Unapologetic; March to Bauhaus; Sweet Indifference came to life not as a project, but as a necessity — a way to participate in global events. It was born in silence, shaped by the daily online images of innocent people being killed, by the disorientation of political decisions, and by the emotional contradiction I felt between the morality of peace and the survival instinct to fight fire with fire. I didn’t ask myself for explanation to observe the eerie reality which appeared beyond the limits of the normal mind."

“Throughout this process, I found guidance in the voices of Amos Oz and Ilan Pappé. Their willingness to confront painful truths without demonising the other. I see it as a crucial point that art, when entering politics, must strive to move the psyche to unite rather than divide, to expand rather than contract the human gaze. Oz once wrote that ‘the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a tragedy, not a war between good and evil,’ and that distinction became an early compass; I had more to see in depth afterwards. Ilan Pappé describes that, ‘as Jews, we know what happens when dehumanisation and violence against a group of people become normalised. We know what genocide looks like'. My intention aims for expressive precision, to fight back not with more hatred. Is that possible, humanity to inevitably follow the direction of peace;”

“While traveling from Greece to Tel Aviv, I carried with me a lifelong fascination with the Bauhaus — its belief in order, clarity, the fusion of design with human need, and nature with architecture. But what I saw on the ground complicated that legacy. In Tel Aviv, surrounded by Bauhaus buildings, I felt a strange absence of vividness. What was once meant to heal now felt sterile. In the shadow of war, clarity became a kind of blindness. The march to Bauhaus became, for me, a march toward abstraction—toward an aesthetic that, while beautiful, no longer saw the human. I documented buildings as I would document traces of a viewer passing by neighbourhoods carefully, because the bombs could fall around at any time.”
​
An artificial void covered the architectural lines the repetition of the flag everywhere, the message BRING THEM HOME, posters with portraits of the missing kidnapped or killed during the October 7 attack — began to speak not just of function, but of the difficulty in speaking the fact about becoming used to the violence of war. My lens remained a tool to uncover a historical, existential trap — like brothers falling into it, though rooted in the same motherland. But in that case, what does it mean to be a nation forged through trauma and return?  There are crucial historical facts that support the view of Zionism as a constructed, hybrid project — one shaped not only by religious narratives of superiority but also by expansionist political actions in colonial contexts, rather than by purely organic historical continuity. This calls for deeper exploration of how identity, land, and national identity are politically defined — and how the morality of an artificial society is maintained.

“At the same time, the war with Iran had started. A woman told me, "Iran is no longer the country of the 1970s; there is no place for women there. This war is clearly a war of political options." But I asked, What about Gaza? — "We know. We close our eyes." — But how is this possible for your civilisation? "Fighting a war for so long, with no end. Maybe that end is near." I wondered if cynicism is a hidden depressor, ironically escaping ethics as a mind condition trying to balance in survival mode, fighting existentially.”

Sweet Indifference
“I’ve always been haunted by how easily perception shifts depending on where one stands, but mostly I research the thin line between realities. The escalation of the conflict broke out after October 7th, Gaza’s total extermination began without restraint, filling daily news as horror attempted to become normality. Meanwhile, wars has existed in the region since antiquity, across many epochs. As I understand it, Jewish history is not a history of domination, but one of resistance, reinvention, and a longing for safety. Palestinian history is not one of warfare either — it is one of steadfastness (sumud), memory, and the will to belong. Amos Oz once said that they are like two brothers who have been similarly oppressed and who strike each other in the same way they themselves were once driven out. The difficulty of his opinion has to do with the fact of occupation, can we speak then of the right of brotherhood? Is this the fault of an ideology, or is there a hidden political element that we have yet to discover?”

“Sweet Indifference emerged from that realisation — not as an accusation, but as a confession of philosophical irony. It's the ease with which empathy slips away in an age of information overload. It's the numbness that protects and isolates. I embraced that numbness to expose it, was that possible? Reality confused my senses. Living in the war zone I did not feel fear; rather, I felt that my life needed support to survive. I could have been part of this war, simply by being born on either side. What a mess, when a peaceful approach is demolished by the instinct for war.”

“To stay safe, I relied on trusting pure instinct and staying inwardly focused in such an environment. It became a challenge, a responsibility to be among those who try to build a safer world, where people can move through life without constant fear. An optimism appeared. One day, life will no longer need war. The time will come when the earth will be enlightened enough to resolve every story of the human condition through peace — because, in spiritual terms, across all religions, love unites all as one. But this requires the strength of those who learn to survive through love rather than hate. Our epoch is indeed a turning point — a timeline to choose such a direction. May all beings be liberated in peace by knowing themselves.”

Unapologetic;
“I was in Tel Aviv in June 2025. The city was alive. The war with Iran had just escalated. On the streets, life moved on. Cafés were open. Beaches were full of activity under the sun. Sirens came and went. After bombing from Iranian missiles, everyone did what they were supposed to do, and then everything returned to normality. On the other side, Gaza was being bombarded to the edge of destruction. Hamas is the armed enemy / resistance, but every one of its Palestinians civilians could be identified as such — a tragic tactic for the innocents. I was both there and on the other side simultaneously — watching, absorbing, feeling displaced in my own skin."

"To be Unapologetic in such a world is to investigate honesty. I couldn’t pretend to understand, to resolve, or to soften. I could only observe reality as it is. I didn’t want to manipulate sentiment; I wanted to leave it intact. This photo essay is a map, drawn from fragments, forming a broader portrait of the human condition in Israel — confronting wars while being accused of genocide. It’s a refusal to pretend that things don’t make sense. The sides of any wars manipulate every possible cell of the human body to keep the fire of division burning. But inevitably, it confirms that all humans as brothers must learn to share life, rather than kill in death — unapologetically.”

“There comes a point when I take responsibility for making things clear. I see mainly Europe’s fault — those who once practiced colonialism across the world, who created new states by eliminating Indigenous civilisations, who crusaded in the name of the Lord. Those who now hold the historical knowledge of how peace is possible, having fought back against the Holocaust — yet still insist on fuelling an economy of war and hesitate to act in democracy. It is a historical fact that Europe uniquely carries the privilege of having inherited a mixed cultural legacy from all of humanity. As Amos Oz described, it was the Jews who had a Pan-European identity long before Europe became a union building communities and sharing safe places in which to grow up strong and secure. This legacy was violently interrupted during the Second World War, just as Palestinian culture has been disrupted in the decades that followed.”

"What we searched leads to an undeniable bridge between that legacy and the current structure of violence. Zionism, once an hypothetical desperate call for refuge and return, took shape within the frameworks of European colonial thought — backed by British imperialism, shaped in European capitals, and carried out through a settler logic of displacement and control. Critics, historians, and even some early Zionists acknowledged this. In God’s superiority that was meant to liberate; became under Western support, an instrument to reassert power in the East. Today’s Gaza is not an isolated consequence but a culmination of systemic arrangements: colonial legacies, military supremacy, legal inequality, and the normalisation of dehumanisation. The genocide applies not as an accusation, but as a sober recognition of how history repeats when unchallenged."

“Zionism was called a return home, yet it arrived as a stranger to a land already inhabited. It was hailed as a liberation movement, yet it followed the routes and logic of European colonial conquest. It was born from trauma, but inflicted new traumas in return. To some, it meant the revival of an ancient people; to others, the erasure of a living culture. Herzl wrote of civilization against barbarism, while Pappé described it as a colonial engine masked in modern rhetoric. Jabotinsky admitted force was required, while Oz pleaded for mutual recognition. One narrative insists on safety through separation; another dreams of justice through coexistence. This is not merely a clash of identities — it is a mirror reflecting our collective inability to resolve pain without reproducing it.”

"That legacy — of both trauma and knowledge — is it possible to inspire the vision of a more advanced, peaceful society? Can Israel think wisely about the future it contributes to world history for its choices now shaping the paradigm of human evolution in our era? So let it be said: As humanity we have to try all for peace as intelligently and persistently as we’ve tried for war. Europe, primarily, should urge in Israel - Palestine conflict to honour and protect the humanistic values we claim to uphold. And if we don't act accordingly, history remains ever-present for the law of Nemesis allows no exceptions. I stand in solidarity with the people in Palestine and their struggle for liberation. I stand in solidarity with the people in Israel and their struggle to break free from generational trauma — to ensure that Never Again means Never Again for Humanity."

"I attempt to express, as an option, viewing such a difficult theme without pointing a finger — a question to the sociology of art, for people to think twice about what they see and what it might be about. The project could be described as a peaceful march into the heart of what matters most in our world right now — bringing forth the paradox of clear communication between politicians and the citizens all around the world. We all need to establish an accurate voice, where meanings carry a pure sense of describing our actions in life. When we speak about genocide, we must recognise that something deeply troubling is occurring — something that challenges the very morality of humanity. It is not an excuse; it is a meaningful call to examine the actions of all participants in a long and deeply rooted war. We are all witnessing — we can't deny our eyes’ wisdom."
​
​
​