Damascus, in its rawest form—black, white, and everything in between. One Studio was never about the spotlight; it was about the souls standing in it. In the echoing halls of the Opera House, on the quiet stages of the Higher Institute, art became defiance, performance became purpose. The price of a ticket was never for profit—it was a gift, a hand extended to those who had lost everything. In a city that had seen too much grief, One Studio proved that creativity is its own kind of resistance.