Lebanon | Israel War: Ghost Cities, Living Graves
How War Devours Life in Lebanon
Lebanon, November-December 2024
This gallery is a brief selection from a much larger body of work. The remaining images and full narrative are reserved for my forthcoming book. For commissioning or licensing enquiries, please contact me directly.
In Lebanon’s mountains, coasts, and border towns, war does not simply kill—it hollows out lives, spirits, and futures. How War Devours Life in Lebanon is a first-hand account of survival amid Israeli airstrikes that have targeted homes, schools, medics, and the dead alike.
This series follows ordinary people—fishermen, mothers, artists, refugees—forced into extraordinary resilience. Children flinch at drones, recite prayers under rubble, and lose the language of play. Displacement is constant; safety, an illusion. In towns like Nabatieh and Tyre, war criminalises existence itself—fishing, farming, even walking by the sea.
And yet, defiance endures. Barbers open shops. Mothers walk the waterfront. Coffee carts roll out each morning. Every act of normalcy is a quiet protest against erasure.
This work bears witness to a people who do not just survive war—they resist it with every breath.
Lebanon, November-December 2024
This gallery is a brief selection from a much larger body of work. The remaining images and full narrative are reserved for my forthcoming book. For commissioning or licensing enquiries, please contact me directly.
In Lebanon’s mountains, coasts, and border towns, war does not simply kill—it hollows out lives, spirits, and futures. How War Devours Life in Lebanon is a first-hand account of survival amid Israeli airstrikes that have targeted homes, schools, medics, and the dead alike.
This series follows ordinary people—fishermen, mothers, artists, refugees—forced into extraordinary resilience. Children flinch at drones, recite prayers under rubble, and lose the language of play. Displacement is constant; safety, an illusion. In towns like Nabatieh and Tyre, war criminalises existence itself—fishing, farming, even walking by the sea.
And yet, defiance endures. Barbers open shops. Mothers walk the waterfront. Coffee carts roll out each morning. Every act of normalcy is a quiet protest against erasure.
This work bears witness to a people who do not just survive war—they resist it with every breath.
© Liz Loh-Taylor
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