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Art Under Occupation: Palestinian-Canadian artist Hanny Khoury talks art, identity, and belonging

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Palestinian-Canadian artist Hanny Khoury has spent years thoughtfully exploring his identity, trying to establish his understanding of what it means to be Palestinian.Art has always been his lifeline, an outlet where he channels frustrations and emotions, seeking a means of representing his past in a way that empathizes with an international audience. From Palestine to Canada, his journey has been difficult and encouraging, a true redemption arc that’s far from over.

Khoury grew up in a small village in historical Palestine-one of six children-under the Israeli occupation. As far back as he can remember, his identity, and the identities of his family and neighbors, were conflated with the information being spread by the occupation. “You are a Palestinian, a minority living under occupation. The environment is weird, nothing is clear.You can’t identify yourself and you don’t grow up with a clear identity that’s solid,” says Khoury.“From school to the media, the occupation is basically programming your brain, to make you forget your identity.”

Art was the one thing that could ground Khoury to something tangible. It was a means of coping with the instability of his daily life and allowed him to express his confusion. As he describes, it was a means of creating an entirely new world: “It’s like I was creating my own environment, my own life, the way I wanted it to be. With time, art became a healing process for me. It became the one thing through which I rebuild the relationship with everything around me and make peace with it. Heal it. That’s how art spoke to me. Art became like food for me, or water.”Even when his parents struggled to afford necessities, his mother would use soil and flowers to make natural pigments he could paint with. Walls, doors, broken pieces of wood-anything could serve as a canvas in Khoury’s eyes.

Eventually, after years of tension, both internally and with his environment, he made his way to Canada. This fresh start opened his mind, and he finally found the space and time to focus on his practice. It was during this period that he began to consider the parameters of being a Palestinian artist in a contemporary context. As a child, Khoury’s sources of artistic inspiration were limited to what was acceptable under the occupation. Names from Western art history, like Salvador Dali and Pablo Picasso, were tolerable, but examples of Palestinian art were scarce. “Back then, I didn’t have anything that made me a Palestinian artist. I got this sense of belonging later in life, through my own research. I developedan awareness about our existence as Palestinians and then my art started to belong to the history and the story of Palestine. Before that, I didn’t have the opportunity to learn that information,” says Khoury.

Through his studies and careful research, Khoury began to form his own idea about the critical difference between being a Palestinian artist and producing Palestine art. “I think the Palestinian story of identity loss, it had its own time,” he explains.“Silman Mansour, Nabil Anani, Ismail Shammout-those artists had to do it because they had to construct their identity and the identity of the Palestinian people.  For us, as the young generation in or from Palestine, we must do something different. We have to work with an international language, while still belonging to the Palestinian identity.” Khoury’s search for identity is also a search for expression, finding a way to leverage Palestinian form to resonate on an international, even universal, level.

Currently represented by Mark Hachem Gallery, Khoury’s work is set to make an impression on audiences around the world. He has already made great strides with his ability to translate his own experiences into a visual, emotionallanguage that anyone can connect with. “What I have suffered in my life, the experiences, the journey I had in Palestine-this is what developed my international language of art. This is where it came from. The figures, the colors, the balance. Everything that makes up my work is Palestinian, but the figures themselves aren’t necessarily Palestinian,” he explains. “Art is translating the time period that we live in, visually.The modern world of art is not translating specific moments, it’s translating specific emotions. We talk about our conflicts, our difficulties, our pain, the system. That’s what we talk about as artists. So, when we look at art, it should deliver emotion. It doesn’t necessarily have to do with belonging to the physical world. It can be connected to the emotional world, or faith.” Confident and passionate, Khoury is forging ahead with a new vision of what Palestinian art could be, offering the next generation of young artists what he was denied growing up: an inspirational figure.

Michelle has been a part of the journey ever since Bigtime Daily started. As a strong learner and passionate writer, she contributes her editing skills for the news agency. She also jots down intellectual pieces from categories such as science and health.

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Lifestyle

The Future of Youth Horror Gaming: Lonely Rabbit’s Midnight Strikes

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Credit: Lonely Rabbit

Empty hallways echo with footsteps that aren’t yours. The carnival rides spin without passengers. Familiar spaces, the ones etched into childhood memory, twist into something menacing, something that watches. Lonely Rabbit’s Midnight Strikes arrives eight months before its completion, targeting a youth horror genre that is hungry for experiences that feel personal rather than purely fantastical. The indie studio searches for a publisher while building momentum for a game that weaponizes nostalgia, turning high schools and carnivals into theaters of psychological dread. As franchises age and audiences demand fresh scares, this PC title tests whether memory-based terror represents the next chapter in youth horror.​

Maturing Past Jump Scares

Youth horror gaming shed its training wheels. Little Nightmares and Bendy and the Ink Machine proved that younger players crave atmospheric storytelling over cheap shocks, puzzle-solving over gore, and visual distinctiveness over recycled formulas. Bendy’s ink-soaked corridors attracted a massive audience, including children drawn to the characters despite the T-rating, because the experience felt emotionally authentic rather than condescending. Players now expect psychological tension woven through environmental details, stories told through decaying spaces, and cryptic objects scattered across levels.​

The genre’s maturation reflects audiences who grew up solving Portal’s test chambers and exploring Limbo’s monochrome nightmares. Among the Sleep demonstrated the potency of perspective: experiencing horror through a toddler’s eyes made familiar domestic spaces feel uncanny and threatening. Fran Bow plunged players into hand-drawn asylum corridors where perception itself became unreliable, where puzzles demanded engagement with trauma and grief rather than simple pattern recognition. Modern youth horror respects its audience enough to disturb them thoughtfully, creating experiences that linger days after the screen goes dark.​

Corrupted Childhood as New Territory

Midnight Strikes drags players through levels “reminiscent of their childhood memories”: the high school, the carnival, spaces universal enough to feel personal. Lonely Rabbit constructs what they describe as a “menacingly beautiful atmosphere filled with bizarre and terrifying creatures,” pairing monster survival with puzzle challenges that prioritize mood over mechanics. The game adopts a “cinematic and otherworldly feel” while grounding its terror in locations players actually inhabited, making fear feel intimate rather than abstract.​

This memory-based direction distinguishes Midnight Strikes from fantasy settings that dominate youth horror. Deserted carnival rides and empty school corridors carry weight because players recognize them as such. Maybe the locker rows feel too narrow, maybe the Ferris wheel groans with a voice that shouldn’t exist, maybe the cafeteria smells wrong. The game challenges players to “survive their fear of the unknown” while navigating spaces that should feel known, creating cognitive dissonance that amplifies dread. Other developers exploring similar territory, such as Subliminal, which utilizes “nostalgic spaces” and “a rotting feeling that something is not quite right,” suggest that childhood corruption represents an emerging subgenre.​​

Lonely Rabbit’s approach weaponizes personal history. Every player attended school, visited carnivals, and formed memories in spaces designed for safety and joy. Corrupting those spaces turns nostalgia into a threat, asking audiences to confront distorted versions of their own experiences. The monsters inhabiting these environments become more than obstacles; they represent the fear that familiar places might betray us, that memory itself becomes unreliable when shadows move in the wrong direction.​

Smaller Teams, Bigger Risks

Indie studios like Lonely Rabbit maneuver where larger publishers hesitate. Their two-month publisher search and pre-launch community building reflect changing pathways for games that defy established franchise formulas. Building a follower base before release creates market validation, proving that audiences want what you’re making before significant capital is committed. Transparency about development timelines and production milestones generates audience investment, turning potential players into advocates during the publisher search.​

Midnight Strikes represents creative gambles major studios avoid when quarterly earnings loom. Smaller teams experiment with concepts, corrupted childhood spaces, memory-based horror, pand sychological tension prioritized over action mechanics, that might fracture focus groups but resonate with underserved audiences. Lonely Rabbit’s global distribution ambitions demonstrate indie confidence: build something distinctive enough, and geography becomes irrelevant when digital storefronts erase borders.​

The next eight months determine whether Midnight Strikes defines a subgenre or remains an interesting experiment. If players respond to horror that mines personal history, if corrupted nostalgia proves more terrifying than fantasy monsters, other developers will follow this path. Lonely Rabbit’s gamble, that childhood spaces make better horror stages than alien planets or demon dimensions, could redefine what scares young players next. The studio’s publisher search tests whether the industry views memory-based terror as the future of youth horror or a niche curiosity. Either outcome writes the next page in a genre still learning what it can become.

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