As Russian troops fast advanced on other parts of Ukraine, residents in the picturesque western city of Lviv started bracing for war. Within days of the beginning of the invasion, Lviv, 50 miles from the border with Poland and a safe haven for hundreds of thousands of internally displaced Ukrainians, rapidly transformed itself into a garrison town. The city was ringed with checkpoints, a strict curfew was ordered and self-defense groups were formed to patrol streets, monitor access roads and look for saboteurs. Community members started making so-called Molotov cocktails en masse, knitting camouflage nets, building anti-tank "hedgehogs" made from scavenged metal, and constructing barricades to help fortify the city. With the swirling rumours and fear, and bodies of local fallen soldiers arriving everyday, groups of women started attending first aid courses as reservists in uniform lined ready to take up arms and be deployed to halt any Russian advance.

As the reality of the lockdown sinked in, I tried to come to terms with the new normal. The kids were at home 24/7, their schools were closed and all social activities got canceled. The interaction with their friends was confined to the occasional chaotic conversation through the computer or gaming headset, and the daily chats with the next door neighbours through the garden fence. Watching my pre-teenage son and my 5 year old daughter having their childhood disrupted by the proliferation of a new virus, triggered unfamiliar anxieties. Using my home as a canvas and an old Kodak Carousel slide film projector, I incorporated images of faraway places into scenes of the children’s daily routine. A photo of a lake in the Atacama desert filling our sitting room during a late night family disco party or the boiling mud of a geyser in the Bolivian Altiplano revealed on the bathroom tiles during bath time, provided some distraction from the new reality and prompt enthusiasm in the kids.