Twenty-Four Windows, 85x80 cm. 35mm photography.\ Noga Greenberg

Noga Greenberg’s (b. 1985) series of analog photographs unfolds intimate, tender scenes within a complex and difficult period. Working on the home front, Greenberg documents the routines of war—moments when the domestic sphere briefly became an active arena, but more often remained a site where life persisted. Focused largely on family space, the photographs assemble a quiet syntax of the everyday: sirens, laundry, headlines marked “cleared for publication,” shared meals, tears, and sleep.

While artillery roars in the distance, birthdays are still celebrated. White shirts hang to dry in the sun like a civilian flag of truce. Filtered light continues to enter the home, offering brief respite. A superhero doll left casually on a car dashboard gestures toward a childlike hope for a cinematic resolution—one in which good inevitably prevails.

Against this persistence of objects and gestures, human figures appear cropped, partial, almost incidental. The surrounding landscape follows the same logic: nature remains beautiful, but not peaceful; the road is open yet refuses to extend into the distance. Through this tension, Greenberg’s photographs offer not escape, but closeness—a plea for intimacy amid uncertainty.