Urban art photography is more than a passion — it’s my voice in a world that often refuses to listen. The streets become a canvas for those who have no gallery, no microphone, no platform — just a spray can and a message. Graffiti may be dismissed as rebellion, but to me, it’s resistance, it’s freedom, it’s truth painted in bold colors on concrete walls. We call ourselves the most intelligent species, capable of changing the world — and we have. We’ve turned unity into division, discovery into destruction, and brotherhood into bloodshed. We build walls instead of bridges and feed systems built on greed and silence. But then there’s art. There’s hope. There’s a mural in Lisbon — a woman holding a machine gun, with a red flower blooming from its barrel — a tribute to April 25, 1974, when a revolution in Portugal ended a dictatorship without a single shot. That flower, like Anne Frank’s words, dares to believe that a life lived with purpose can echo beyond death. Every day, people die in wars, fight battles that aren’t theirs, protect strangers in the name of peace. And in all this chaos, I hold onto the belief that art can heal, awaken, remind. That a camera can be a weapon against indifference. That maybe, just maybe, a world without war — or at least with fewer wounds — is not a fantasy, but a fight worth taking on. Because in the end, expressing yourself should never come at the price of a bullet.