There are ways of seeing a city that come softly, and others that arrive through rupture.
Here, Beirut is held through a break in the surface, the Mohammad Al-Amin Mosque appearing through a field of bullet-marked concrete, its domes intact, its presence steady. To the right, a church stands in quiet proximity, not as contrast but as continuation. A flat cypress tree stretches along the left edge, its form almost deliberate, as if placed to hold the composition in balance. The scene is both interrupted and composed, fractured and whole.The details gather slowly; a Lebanese flag moves across the middle ground, parasols lie overturned, and behind them a plume of smoke rises, dense and insistent, mirrored again in the still water below. And yet the sky does not obey - it melts Ito pastel creams and pinks so that the light of sunset settles over everything in tones that might otherwise feel soothing and almost tender.