Where Have All the Flowers Gone
This portrait did not begin with a photograph. It emerged from the gut—from grief, from rage, from the unbearable helplessness that war leaves in its wake. The figure is part boy, part man, caught in a place where innocence and duty collide. His face is solemn, haunted. His eyes hold too much.

This is a portrait of someone who did not choose war but is trapped within it. Someone who longs to protect his people but also dreams of simply going home. The colours bleed and swirl around him—unformed, unsettled—mirroring the internal chaos, the emotional shrapnel that never fully leaves the body.

There is no heroism here, only survival. The portrait speaks for those who are still alive but no longer whole. For those who carry the wounds of war in silence. For those who are both protectors and victims.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone is a cry—for peace, for mercy, for the right to return not just to land, but to self.