"Having my art in New York makes me feel like I matter, even when my life was treated like it didn't. My pain is no longer invisible." These are the words of a 16-year-old Palestinian artist from Rafah, whose drawings are now displayed in a New York exhibition by Ms. Rachel, carrying a voice that travelled where her body could not.
From living rooms in London and classrooms around the world to the tents of Gaza, Ms. Rachel is known and loved globally for her educational videos, followed by more than 18 million subscribers on YouTube. This week, the educator and children's advocate opened Colors That Survived, an exhibition dedicated to raising funds and awareness for children in Gaza.
Over the past year, Ms. Rachel remained in direct contact with children living through Israel's horrific genocide in Gaza, many of whom shared their drawings with her — artworks now transformed into a public testament of survival, loss, and hope.
For the Colors That Survived, Ms. Rachel selected artworks created by the children, all of which have been reproduced as limited-edition prints of 20, each priced at $220, with all profits going back to the young Palestinian artists. All the artwork has now sold out, raising over $67,000.
"Having my art in New York City makes me feel like a butterfly flying above the clouds," said six-year-old Luna, one of the children in Gaza.
The Rafah artist added, "It feels unreal to be in an art show in New York. I never imagined my drawings could travel when I couldn't. It feels like a part of me escaped. My body stayed in fear, but my drawings found safety. I carried these memories alone: the hunger, the bombing and the loss. Sharing my art feels like letting people hold a piece of what we lived. I wish people in New York City knew we're just children. We loved cartoons, school and silly dreams. We grew up too fast because we had to. And even after everything, we still want to live and create."
Colors That Survived was inspired by Palestinian children and, in particular, the story of Hind Rajab, the five-year-old girl killed in Gaza on 29 January 2024 by Israeli gunfire.
Ms. Rachel, who has dedicated her life to the wellbeing and education of children everywhere, was deeply moved by Hind's story, and the stories of the tens of thousands of Palestinian children who have been killed and displaced by Israel's violence.
"I am forever changed by connecting with these incredible children from Gaza," Ms. Rachel said. "They share their powerful art, stories and hopes for the future with such courage in the face of unimaginable hardship."
'Means the world'
The children's artwork was first exhibited in New York on 13 January. The show runs until 26 January at Chelsea's Caelum Gallery, with online purchases available until 30 January via Artists Support.
The campaign is organised in collaboration with The Voice of Hind Rajab — the Oscar-shortlisted and Golden Globe-nominated film — and Artists Support, an initiative that partners with artists to raise funds and awareness for causes they care deeply about.
"Having my art displayed in New York means so much to me. It means the world can see us not only as victims, but as creators and dreamers," 16-year-old Yamen from Gaza said.
"My art is my voice, the only way my heart has been able to travel, while my body still awaits treatment and freedom. I’ve come to realise that imagination knows no borders, and that paintings can reach places I have yet to see."
Another child, Anne, shared, "I feel like my drawings are having a party. I wish I could go there, too. I hope people see that we like talking to our teddy bears just like other kids."
Children in Gaza and the West Bank are living through a dire humanitarian crisis shaped by prolonged Israeli military occupation, ongoing violence, and illegal restrictions on daily life.
In Gaza, children continue to face widespread displacement, the destruction of their homes and schools, severe shortages of food, clean water, and medical care, as well as constant fear caused by Israeli bombardment and the obstruction of aid and medical personnel.
Israel's ongoing genocide in Gaza has created the largest cohort of child amputees in the world, and tens of thousands of children have lost one or both parents.
And in the West Bank, children endure frequent Israeli military raids, arrests, movement restrictions, and settler violence – all of which disrupt education, family life, and mental health.
Across the occupied Palestinian territories, children are growing up in trauma, with little to no access to basic rights enshrined in international law.
This exhibition provides not only much-needed attention to the horrific conditions children face every day, but also offers them a rare opportunity to feel seen and heard in a media environment that otherwise seeks to erase them.
Some of the drawings express hope for the future; others depict the devastating reality of daily life in Gaza. Seen together, they serve as a reminder of the countless children who have become victims of this ongoing genocide and occupation — children who, like every child, have the right to draw, play, dream, and grow up in a safer world.
At its core, Colors That Survived is a call to witness, to hold those responsible to account, and to remind every person of their collective responsibility to humanity — most especially when it comes to children.
The artists speak about their artwork:
Ahmed, 12 years old. House on His Back.
"When I was displaced the first time, my mother told me to pack a small bag with only the most necessary things. I left my new blue soccer shoes under my bed. I hid them well because my bag was too small to take them. I didn't know I would never see them again. Now they're under the rubble of our home, and I miss them — just like I miss my room and everything we left behind. I used to ask, 'Why do we live like this? Why doesn't the world see us and stop this? Why don't they tell our stories?' My sister told me that maybe people can't hear us or see us, but I should tell my story anyway. So I began to draw."
Yara, 16 years old. Begging for Food.
"My paintings used to reflect my personality — vibrant and full of energy and joy. I used to spend hours studying English, as I always dreamed of connecting with people from different cultures and languages. Then everything changed. I was displaced from my home with my family, and we lived in a worn-out tent that couldn't protect us from the heat of summer or the cold of winter. I stood in long lines just to get water. It was painful for me and my siblings. Our house was bombed, destroying my room and all my art supplies."
Rana, 13 years old. Pouring the Universe.
"Haya was the most beautiful angel to come into our family. She had the most beautiful cheeks, it took my mom and dad seven and a half years to have Haya. A month later, my beautiful sister Jana was killed. Jana was 13. Jana was like a second mother to me. She was wonderful, intelligent, caring, and beautiful. Everyone loved her. She was kind and gentle. She dreamed of becoming a doctor to treat people. I want to tell the world that my sisters are not just numbers, they are moons. They are like the stars. They shine and sparkle. They were the most beautiful, wonderful sisters. I miss them so much. Sometimes I cry because I am alone without sisters, and my father is not by my side. Art is also a way for me to honour the eleven members of my family we lost."
Rama, 15 years old. Walking To School.
"My family is from Northern Gaza. Our home was bombed and destroyed. I was afraid, but I tried to be strong for my mom and brothers. I told myself, maybe we can go back. Maybe we can build our lives again. Every time we left, I felt a part of me was broken. I kept losing parts of myself. Love is having my family next to me, my mum's hug, my dad's smile, my siblings playing, and my friends' care. We may not have much, but their presence in my life is the most precious thing, and it's what makes me feel that there is good in the world and what's enabled me to remain optimistic and resilient throughout the war."
Sarah, 9 years old. Sunset.
"Life here before the war was much better. In the morning, I'd wake up, arrange my school clothes and bag, and go on the school bus. When I'd come home, I'd help my mother prepare lunch until my father came back from work. We'd sit at the dining table and talk about what happened to us during the day. I used to wake up in the morning and stand in the school line, now I stand in line to get drinking water. At noon, I stand in line for food. In the evening it's cold. I cry a lot when I remember our house and my bed. When I saw tanks, I felt my heart would stop because I was so afraid. I was displaced with my family almost 15 times from one place to another. I watched buildings collapse in front of my eyes. Here, there is only dust, stones, destruction, and the smell of death everywhere. I wish I could wake up from this terrifying nightmare."
Sebastian Shehadi is a freelance journalist and a contributing writer at the New Statesman
Follow him on X: @seblebanon