Afterimage by Sunniva Hestenes:

Screenshot from Al Jazeera’s Instagram. Images of the two sisters were captured by Palestinian journalist Alaa Hamouda.

Despite the constant wave of visual and written information we receive every day, there's one video I've been thinking about since it came out. It's of two Palestinian siblings, Qamar and Sumaya Subuh, released by the Al Jazeera network. We see a journalist meeting these two young children, one carrying the other. The journalist asks them what has happened and where they are going. It turns out that one of them was hit by a car. They say they are on their way to the Bureij refugee camp or just anywhere that can help. The journalist decides to help and drives them to Bureij, where one of them carries the other. Then the clip ends. Of all the videos I've seen, this is the one I play over and over in my head.

I think it's because of the way it's filmed. It feels close, almost like I'm standing in the journalist's shoes. I look the children straight in the eye, they look at the journalist and the phone in his hand (me). I think about their gaze, how it is absent and present at the same time. I know that such a look can only come from one thing, and that is cruelty. At the same time, I know that I will never understand how bad it really is. The video's powerlessness haunts me. My own, Sumaya's and Qamar's. It could have been me. And it's a truth that is so extremely frightening, also in relation to the fact that there are so many who choose to look the other way.

It's about empathy and positioning. If we can place our experience in what we see, it's easier to recognize. This applies to everything - dreams, reality, relationships and possessions. The more willing we are to relate to something, the easier it is to engage, participate, and share. I think of the duality that exists in constantly witnessing what the Palestinian people are going through without really understanding, physically or mentally, the level of damage you are witnessing. The same goes for Congo, Lebanon and Sudan. All through the telephone, which both communicates and protects.

Still, refusing to witness the atrocities you see is the same as saying it's okay in my worldview; I can't vouch for it. You can't look away. You have to do something.

Afterimage is an ekphrastic series about that one image you see when you close your eyes, the one still lingering in your mind. We invite artists and writers to reflect on an image they can't shake. This column has been a part of Objektiv since our very first issue, originally titled Sinnbilde in Norwegian. As the sea of images continues to swell, the series explores which visuals linger and take root in today's endless stream - much like a song that plays on repeat in your head. Whether it's an image glimpsed on a billboard, a portrait in a newspaper, a family photo from an album or an Instagram reel, we're interested in those fleeting moments that stay with you and refuse to let go.