To Stay or Leave? Young Women in Lebanon Navigate War, Crisis, and Uncertainty

A question scrawled on a wall in Beirut—Where do I go?—forms the emotional core of Rania Matar’s powerful new body of work. Her solo exhibition 50 Years Later – Where Do I Go? ???? ????, on view at the Sidney and Lois Eskenazi Museum of Art through August 2, 2026, coincides with a photobook of the same name. Bringing together approximately 128 color portraits of young women living in Lebanon today, the project reflects on identity, belonging, and the weight of difficult choices.

The images are evocative and layered, shaped through a deeply collaborative process in which each participant plays an active role in how she is seen. For many of the women portrayed, the question at the heart of the work is not abstract but immediate, as they navigate the pressures of war, economic instability, and an uncertain future.

We asked Matar to tell us more about her process and the uncanny timing of this work’s release.

All the women seem to be around the same age. What made you choose this
particular period in a woman’s life? 
“The women in this project are of a similar age, generally, and that was entirely intentional.
In 1984, I was their age when I left Lebanon and faced one of the most wrenching decisions
of my life: to leave, or to stay. These women stand at that same crossroads. One path leads
away from family, home, and everything familiar; the other means remaining in a country of
fractured hope. All these years later, I saw myself in each of them, and with that came a
painful understanding that history keeps repeating itself.

“These women are also the ages of my daughters. Had I stayed in Lebanon, my daughters
might literally be them: standing where I once stood, facing the same impossible question
that I never thought the next generation would have to answer.”

Generally, what does this period in a woman’s life look like in Lebanon? What
decisions are they grappling with? And what are their choices?
“Generally speaking, young women in Lebanon aren’t so different from young women
anywhere else in the United States or elsewhere. They worry about education, career,
finding their path, falling in love, and life in general. But in Lebanon, sadly, they
sometimes also have to carry an extra burden: the burden of survival and war.

“This project grew out of a very specific moment that threw these young women into adulthood much faster: the explosions at the Port of Beirut in August 2020. That event shattered so many lives in such a massive way that it forced a generation of young women into an impossible crossroads: do they stay, or do they leave? What comes next?

“And those questions are not simple. Leaving home and family to go into the unknown is not
an easy decision to make. And if they stay, how do they begin to build something new out of
the rubble, literally and figuratively? Many stayed; some left and came back; others left,
but they never really left. I know that firsthand. And as I mentioned earlier, I viscerally felt their dilemma, their shattered hopes, their dreams, their pain, and I wanted to give them a platform to tell their story and the story of their relationship to this beautiful and fractured country.

“In 1984, when things in Lebanon got very bad, I faced the same decision. That’s when I came to the United States, thinking it would be for a couple of years. And here I am, so many years later.”

Did the women have a particular feeling that they wanted to convey, and how much
was discussed before the location scouting and positioning?
“I give the women agency over the process, and they’re deeply involved in every decision we make. Before any shoot, I always try to schedule a phone call first. I want to hear their story, what Lebanon means to them, where they’re from, and what relationship they have with a particular place.

“We plan the shoot together from the very beginning. We don’t scout the location in advance, and we don’t stage anything. I either pick the young woman up or we meet there, and from that point on, it’s pure creation, experimentation, and collaboration. We start feeding off each other — her ideas, my ideas, bouncing back and forth— and together we make something beautiful and meaningful happen. I make sure to establish a relationship of trust and respect throughout the collaboration. I want the session to be enjoyable and empowering.

“None of these pictures could have been made without the specific person standing in front of me. Each image exists because of who she is, what she brought to that moment, and what we created together. It’s a beautiful collaboration which, for me, is the heart of the project. If I get a picture I love, it’s the ultimate reward.”

How did you find the women you worked with? Is there something you were looking for?
Or feel they all have in common?
“I often find the women by putting out a call on Instagram before I travel to Lebanon. I
describe the project and ask who would like to collaborate. I was grateful and humbled to
have received such a large response. We then schedule a phone call to get to know each other and discuss where to go from there. There was no scouting involved, and I never asked anyone to send me photos or anything like that.

“My thinking was simple: anyone who responds is going to be interesting, creative, and
exciting to work with. Eventually, the circle grows from there: I collaborate with someone,
and she recommends a friend, a cousin, or an acquaintance. I also often meet people in other settings, really anywhere, and I approach them and invite them to be part of this series, then we take it from there.

“I have to emphasize that I owe so much to every one of these women. Their willingness to
put themselves out there takes courage and grit. Maybe this is what they ultimately have in
common. It’s always a little tentative at first. But then something beautiful happens as we
begin to discover each other, as the ideas start flowing between us. That connection is really where the work comes alive.”

I sense a “phoenix rising from the ashes” theme as well as portal-like elements such
as shafts of light, mirrors, or women sinking into the earth or flowers. Could you
speak to some of the recurring motifs?
“I’m glad you raised that, because hope is absolutely central to this project. It all began after
the Port of Beirut explosions in 2020, when I discovered that these young women were out
there: working in the reconstruction, clearing the debris. They inspired me profoundly. I was
in awe of them. And from that moment, the idea of hope and rebirth became inseparable from the work.

“It was important to me that the images feel metaphorical rather than documentary. Some
reflect the architectural wounds of the city, the destruction, the layers upon layers of it. But others reach toward something else entirely: the beauty of Lebanon, the Mediterranean light, the flowers, the mountains. I wanted to hold both truths at once.

“The mirrors and the light are very deliberate. For me, they speak to duality. There are always two sides being revealed at the same time. The light shining through a woman, the mirror reflecting something just out of frame. It’s that constant tension between devastation and resilience, between what has been lost and what is still possible.

“And ultimately, that generation gives me genuine hope for Lebanon, in so many ways. I
wanted that hope to live in every image, even the difficult ones. Especially the difficult ones.”

How do you feel about the timing of this exhibition with what is going on in
Lebanon currently? And do you think the portraits take on a different meaning
now?
“The timing feels almost eerie, and sadly, incredibly timely. The question at the heart of this project, ‘Where do I go?’ — the title of the book and the exhibition — is being raised again and again as a quarter of Lebanon’s population is currently displaced.

“When I was working on this book and the exhibition was being planned, my goal was to
commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Lebanese Civil War (1975 –2025). Little did I
know that a year later, we would be living through something like it all over again, or even
something worse. I am heartbroken.

“And yet I am grateful that this exhibition is happening now. The news cycle talks about
numbers, statistics, the price of gas, etc., none of which bring you close to the human
reality. What I hope this work does is put a face on these women, many of whom are from
South Lebanon, from areas that are currently being bombed and occupied. They deserve to be seen as individuals, as full human beings, not as abstractions in a headline.

“Do the portraits take on a different meaning now? Absolutely. They have become the face of hope against what feels quite bleak at this moment. And for me, that is everything: to be able to show the world the beauty of my people, and of this country that refuses, generation after generation, to stop believing in itself.”

Are you hearing from your models and keeping tabs on what is happening with
them?
“Yes, I am very much in touch with them. Some have been displaced and are sheltering with
their families in different parts of the country. A few of them are from South Lebanon, so it
has been an incredibly difficult time for them.

“But I am also in awe of them, truly. Just as they rose to the occasion after the port
explosions, so many of them are doing it again right now. They are raising funds, sourcing
mattresses, cooking meals, and distributing food to the people who have been made homeless by this war. They are showing up in the most concrete and human ways possible. I am grateful to every single one of them.

“It brings me back, again, to the heart of this project, and that question: ‘Where do I go?’ It felt urgent when I began this work. Sadly, it feels just as urgent today. And these women, in
everything they are doing right now, are the most honest and beautiful answer I know.

“These images are my love letters to them. This project is for us all: the ones who stayed and the ones who have left but can never leave.”

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