In the scorched sands of Gaza, where silence often follows the roar of bombs, a woman kneels beside the sea, shaping stories with her hands. Rana Al-Ramlawi is not just a sculptor, she is a witness, carving the collective memory of a wounded people into the earth itself.

With no studio, no tools but her fingers, and no peace but the rhythm of the waves, Rana sculpts what Gaza cannot speak. Mothers clutching wounded children, refugee girls carrying water, a sack of flour cradled like a lifeline, her creations emerge from the same sand that buries the dead, becoming fragile monuments to lives erased.

Displaced from her home, grieving the loss of her father, brother, and their family, she now lives in a tent. But even in a shelter, she seeks clean sand among the rubble, insisting that Gaza’s soul will not be buried beneath its ruins.

Her art, fleeting as it may be, has travelled beyond borders. Through photos and videos, Rana’s voice pierces through indifference, carrying Gaza’s sorrow, and strength, to the world.

She dreams not of galleries, but of building a space where Gaza’s children can shape their fears into beauty. Because in every sculpture, every grain, lies a single truth: that we are still here, resisting erasure, one handful of sand at a time.