Ali Asfour

Ko wai koe? 
Ali Asfour. A Palestinian analog film photographer based between Ramallah, Palestine and Amman, Jordan. My work explores themes of displacement, identity, and resistance while celebrating the resilience, culture, and traditions of Palestinian life. Through cinematic imagery and a focus on everyday moments, I aim to weave narratives that evoke longing and nostalgia, countering erasure and fostering a deeper understanding of my people's experiences. My photography serves as a testament to the Palestinian spirit, balancing beauty and adversity while inviting reflection and action toward justice. 

My work has been exhibited locally and internationally, including my solo exhibition The Promise of Liberty at New York’s Institute of Arab and Islamic Art. It has also been featured in notable publications such as GQ Middle East, Atmos, The New Arab, Waastaa, Dazed Middle East, and Nowness Asia, helping to amplify the stories of Palestinian existence to audiences around the world. 

Right now, I am exhibiting with La Palestine Nous Ressemble and Artists Against Apartheid at La Bellevilloise in Paris as part of a fundraiser event—an exhibition dedicated to raising funds for Gazan families in France. Simultaneously, I’m involved in two fundraiser events in New York with Wilf Farm and ARC, where my prints are being sold to support The Palestine Music Space and Palestine Music Expo. 

Beyond exhibitions, my work will also be featured in two upcoming printed publications with EBB Zine and Dukkan Collective. 

In addition to my work in photography. I am a DJ and music selector with a passion for exploring diverse musical landscapes. My sets are inspired by various sounds and scenes, embracing rhythms and influences from different cultures and collectives worldwide. I also host a monthly show on Mutant Radio, SADAA: Echoes of the MENA, where I delve into the vibrant musical tapestry of the MENA region, connecting listeners to its rich, ever-evolving sound. 


What are your pronouns? 
They/Them 


Where are you living/working right now? 
I am living and working between Palestine and Jordan/Amman 


What do you do and why do you do it? 
I am a documentary photographer. I have always loved photography—always been drawn to the way it allows me to see, to question, to remember. I document because it makes me feel alive, because I am curious, because I refuse to forget, because I refuse to let them erase us. My camera does not stand aside—it moves with history, with memory, with resistance. I do not capture for spectacle; I capture to preserve. 

I do not observe from a distance; I belong to what I document. My lens does not hover above; it moves within, listens, lingers. It understands the language—not just in words, but in silence, in glances, in the spaces between laughter and grief. 

I document because the world ignores, forgets, justifies. Our lives are more than statistics, more than fleeting headlines. I do not show suffering for pity—I show defiance, endurance, love. 

I am Palestinian. I do not need permission to tell my people’s stories. My camera is not an intrusion; it is permitted. It enters where trust is built. I do not chase tragedy or exploit grief—I document what is already there. The tenderness, the quiet strength, the unshaken devotion to a land that refuses to abandon us, no matter how many times they try to sever us from it. 

I do not see my people as subjects. I am not a journalist scavenging for suffering, not an outsider peering in through a polished lens of distance. I document from within because I am within. Not for applause, not for exhibitions, not for consumption. I do this because memory is a battleground, because existence itself is an act of defiance. 

My camera is my weapon, my witness, my archive. It is my refusal. My testament. 


What are you working on at the moment? 
At the moment, I am working on a collaborative mixed-media project with photographer and artist Rasha Al Jundi. What did you see?—a question both simple and unbearable, the first thing a Palestinian exile asks when they meet someone returning from the homeland they can no longer reach. It is a question that carries longing, grief, and a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, someone else’s eyes can hold the things we are denied. This project is an attempt—not to answer, because some things cannot be answered—but to offer glimpses, fragments, contradictions. To show what is seen, and more importantly, what is not. What does it mean to visit a land under colonial siege? To walk streets that are yours yet occupied? To meet people whose presence, against all odds, is an act of defiance? This collaboration unfolds as a conversation, a confrontation, a visual reckoning—an offering for the viewer to complete the picture in their own mind. Alongside this, I continue the journey of my documentary photographic project, Where Is My Childhood, a work that does not end because the question itself never does. It lives on through two forthcoming printed publications—one with EBB Zine, the other with Dukkan Collective. 


What do you love about art? 
I love that art allows me to express myself without apology, to unravel and reconstruct, to search and, in doing so, find. It is both language and rupture, a space where I can navigate questions that have no easy answers. Through my practice, I do not just capture what is seen—I preserve what lingers, what resists, what refuses to be erased. Art is where I exist on my own terms, where memory and presence defy erasure, where I can speak without needing permission to be heard.


What are you reading/listening to/watching at the moment? 
I’m always reading news and politics—it’s something deeply important to me, not just as an interest but as a necessity. Coming from where I do, staying informed is crucial, so I make it a point to follow what’s happening around the world through various sources. I read The New Arab, Al Jazeera, Al Mayadeen, and even different Telegram channels to get real-time updates. At the same time, I also keep an eye on Western media—not because I trust their narratives, but to understand how they frame events, what they choose to highlight, and what they deliberately leave out. Being aware of these contrasts helps me build a more comprehensive view of the world. 

One magazine I really love is The Funambulist Magazine—its approach to politics, spatial justice, and decolonial thought always resonates with me. Right now, I’m also reading The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin. It’s a book that dives into the nature of creativity, which is something I reflect on constantly in my work. 

When I’m listening to something educational, I turn to podcasts. Some of my favorites include Heidak L Podcast, Sarde After Dinner, Ab Talks, and Afikra Podcast. 

Music is an essential part of my life—not just something I listen to, but something I actively explore, research, and share. As a DJ and music selector, I have a deep passion for uncovering diverse musical landscapes, tracing how sounds evolve across different regions, cultures, and collectives. My sets are inspired by rhythms from all over the world, embracing both traditional influences and contemporary experimentation. I also host SADAA: Echoes of the MENA, a monthly show on Mutant Radio, where I delve into the rich, ever-evolving sonic tapestry of the MENA region, connecting listeners to its deep-rooted histories and modern interpretations. 

Beyond my own region, I love digging into global music scenes—understanding how different genres take shape, how these communities foster unique sonic identities, and how music transcends borders to create connections. Lately i’ve been fascinated by how belly dance music from the ’70s to the ’90s blended with synths and Western production techniques, creating an entirely new, electrifying sound. But my curiosity doesn’t stop there—I explore everything from Raï, Tuareg, and Gnawa to tribal rhythms and various electronic subgenres like footwork, breaks, electro, grime, and even hip-hop. I don’t just listen to these sounds—I try to understand them as movements, tracing how they evolved, how they reached us, and how they became forces of change in their own right. Whether through resistance, refuge, or cultural fusion, these genres tell stories of struggle, celebration, and transformation.—labels that don’t just release tracks, but carefully curate, archive, and present music in ways that respect its roots and expand its reach. Platforms like NTS Radio, Refuge Worldwide, and Rinse FM are always in my rotation, introducing me to new artists and sounds that push boundaries.

Visually, I’m drawn to anything related to photography, whether it’s about film photography or exploring the works of other photographers. Two YouTube channels I’ve been watching for a while are Paulie B, who does a great series called Walkie Talkie, and Tatiana Hopper, whose videos dive into cinema and visual storytelling in a way that I really appreciate. I also always return to the work of Uncivilized Media—their approach is raw, honest, and thought-provoking. 

As for films and documentaries, the most recent one I watched was The Salt of the Earth, which tells the story of photographer Sebastião Salgado. It’s a powerful documentary that follows his journey across decades, capturing the beauty and brutality of the world through his lens. His work is a testament to the power of photography—not just as an art form but as a way to bear witness. 


Who is your art crush? 
It’s impossible to name just one. I’m constantly inspired by artists across different disciplines—photographers, painters, musicians, writers—especially those who document, resist, and challenge narratives through their work. 

In photography, I deeply admire Maen Hammad, Sakir Khader, and Al Ayoun Collective, who capture our realities with urgency and defiance. I’m also drawn to the work of Tamara Abdul Hadi, Rula Halawani, Ahlam Shibli, and Mohamed Mahdy, each of whom has a distinct way of telling stories that refuse erasure. 

In music, I love artists who embrace heritage while pushing sonic boundaries—like Rizan Said, Toukadime, Nancy Mounir, Hello Psychaleppo, Nadah El Shazly, and Maurice Louca. Their sounds are rooted in history yet constantly evolving, much like our own narratives. 

In literature, I always return to the words of Elias Khoury, Sahar Khalifeh, Mourid Barghouti, Sinan Antoon, and Radwa Ashour—writers who write with the weight of memory, exile, and resistance in every line. 

In painting and visual arts, I admire Dia Al-Azzawi, Juliana Seraphim, Huguette Caland, Samia Halaby, and Nabil Anani, whose works capture both the dreamlike and the brutally real, the nostalgic and the revolutionary. 

But if I had to name my ultimate art crush, it would be Frankie Jenner—an incredible writer and researcher, but also someone who supports me, challenges me, pushes me to be better, and loves with the most generous heart. I have a crush on her every day. 


If you had one wish for the art world what would it be? 
If I had one wish for the art world, it would be for the industry, institutions, and those who work with artists to truly value the artist—not just their work, but their labor, their time, their vision. To treat them with the respect, transparency, and fairness they deserve. Too often, artists are expected to create under precarious conditions, to accept exposure as payment, to navigate vague contracts and unclear expectations. I wish for a system where artists don’t have to fight for basic rights, where they are supported, not exploited. 

I also wish for an art world that isn’t dictated by trends, gatekeeping, or Western validation—where artists, from occupied and marginalized communities, don’t have to conform to external expectations just to be seen or funded. 

That being said, my experience with Enjoy Gallery and DJCS has been incredible. They have treated me with the respect, clarity, and care that every artist deserves, and I truly wish all artists could have the same experience working with galleries and curators who genuinely support them.