A fragment of Gaza’s wall stands here, transplanted into the antiseptic glow of the art fair. Concrete pockmarked by bullets, graffiti faded by dust and fire, a woman painted in defiance—now framed by spectators with champagne flutes and lanyards. What was once a barricade to survival is reborn as installation, an artifact of war transformed into a collectible spectacle.
This piece confronts the grotesque alchemy of the art market: how walls that cage the living can become monuments for the cultured. Visitors wander past, murmuring about form and texture, while in Palestine, walls still divide, surveil, suffocate. The drone above is no longer just a weapon—it is a curatorial flourish, another element in the choreography of controlled violence.
The work is not just about Gaza. It is about the violence of translation—when lived oppression becomes décor, when concrete that once held screams is recast as cultural capital. The wall fragment is no relic; it is a scar, placed under glass, asking the most dangerous question: how far will we go to aestheticize suffering before we admit our complicity?
