course for curators of contemporary art: course participants / study excursions / program collaborators / exhibition

Aleksandra Mirćić and Vladimir Tupanjac (I - February 2003);
Barbara Borčić (II - July 2004)
A conversation with the Škart group
(Dragan Protić - Prota in Djordje Balzamović - Žole)

I

Tell us something about yourselves and your status as artists. Did you officially 'decide' to 'become' artists?

Ž: It depends on what you mean by that.

P: In what sense?

Legally. Things are no longer that simple.

P: Well, for a while we were determined to be spiteful. And we really were spiteful. We managed to spite the university, associations, etc. This means that we never registered, that we had no social security, no health care, no bank account and we did not pay any taxes. But, together with this spite the years sneaked up on us, so when we looked back, we realised we have done a great job in spiting, but we also reached a certain age and people were surprised that we had no social security and health coverage. There was no proof that we exist. This was ridiculous. For example, I had some skin problems and I needed a health card for the first time in years, and I did not have it. The lady working behind the counter told me that she could not believe it. Thus, you are faced with these situations one after another, and eventually, when we went to register; like craftsmen in a guild.

Ž: Craftsmen in trouble. This uncertainty is hard to handle …

P: Nevertheless, I think that we remained consistent. Naive, maybe, but I would say that we were consistent. You see, we, as architects, did things that were not related to architecture, while other people trained for those things and did yet again some other things, and so on. It was neither poetry, nor design; everything always crossed the lines of something else, which, in a way, relieved us of the responsibility of being 'pointed at' within one medium. When I am told that my songs are banal, I answer that I am not a poet, but an architect. And so on.

Ž: My answer to that question is that, first of all, I do not consider myself to be an artist. If someone asked me what I did for a living, I could say that I am a graphic designer. During the last six months or so we 'made money' out of art for the first time.
But, first of all, if we are talking about a decision, there are two reasons. One of the rare dreams I remember from my childhood is the one in which I paint and yell in my sleep 'I want to paint!' and fall out of my bed. Maybe I was ten at the time. Later on, when I had to choose my studies, I was rather indecisive and my parents suggested profitable professions and schools - engineering, architecture, something that was connected with art, but could also offer me a job. However, I wanted to enrol in the Art school, but I had little support, and I was asked the usual questions, such as 'How are you going to make a living?' It seemed uncertain even to me, especially after the talk with my parents. Later on, it all came down to knowing what I did not want to do; I decided 'I do not want a nine-to-five job.' Eventually, I realised that I was not sure what I could do. I still consider graphic design to be our basic profession, because it earned us this studio and everything else we have. And if someone asked me, 'How do you function as an artist?' it would be easier for me to answer how I function as a graphic designer.

Prota, would you also say that you are a graphic designer?

P: I would prefer to say that I am a poet. Even though not many people have realised that.

Ž: I just need to add that I did not make it in Art school. I tried once, and I failed. I remember reading biographies of 20th century artists and counting those who were autodidacts. I was under the impression that there were quite a lot of them. Even Le Corbusier, after finishing high school for arts and crafts, was suspicious about the school of architecture, because he was not sure what he could learn something there. The decision to be self-taught does not have to be bad. It is simple; if your interest is high you can have a certain advantage over those who attend schools. On the other hand, things are done easier in schools, they train you, and that saves you time. But, it is definitely not a flawless system.

P: In our country, there are a lot of 'know it all' kind of people, who are so sure of their education and upbringing that they do not consider broadening their perception. In a way, our culture is a do-it-yourself one, and culture like that does not have many considerable results, results achieved when they have a basis in talent and hard work. It is attractive to be self-taught, but it should not be taken as a rule. I do not agree with kids who say they do not need schools and that it is easier to be successful as a self-taught person. Such statements are often a sign of a personal utopia.

Do you really think that this is characteristic for your region?

Ž: I think it is. It is interesting that there is also the opposite situation, a reverse utopia, the attitude that the very fact that you have graduated from college, allegedly, provides you with a kind of social safety - even though you do not know and you do not care what you want to do, ambitious or not, you have a university diploma, and that offers you an illusion. It seemed to me that I have often seen people bragging with their diplomas, content with their university education, and that is why I found it interesting to choose a different way. I am not secure, I have no title or anything that would open the door for me, as my parents used to put it. My choice was to be better than the competition, to keep in shape. Of course, that can be rather difficult.

Are you nostalgic by nature?

P: What do you mean?

Well, do you enjoy looking back and contemplating the past? Are you a Yugoslavia nostalgic?

P: Recently I read a saying that states 'one feels best in one's memories'. As it happened, we went through our childhood and youth, our late or never-ending adolescence during the period of the second Yugoslavia, which means that I, as well as you, feel safe in my memories. It is a space of safety. I am not a Yugo-nostalgic, just nostalgic in general. And everyone likes safety. Whether it lies under the sheets or in the memories.

Ž: I must admit that I am a Yugo-nostalgic in a way. Maybe I would rather call it Yugo-angry. First of all, it is because it seems to me that we have to do things all over again. I think that is what is happening to us at the moment. We had something that was a prototype for modern Europe, I refer to the old, or the great Yugoslavia, but the stupidity of the majority of citizens took us 20 to 30 years back. In five years or so, when we are back together under the same roof in Europe, we will realise that we are back at square one. This drives me crazy. It seems to me that conservatism is very strong here and that Vojin Dimitrijević had a point when he said that we were waiting for the train at the station called '1941' instead at the one called '2003'. It seems that we are condemned to the past, to looking back, to the irrelevant things that obsess us, like the coat of arms, the anthem, etc.

I can not say that I have noticed anger or anything similar in your work.

Ž: Take Sadnesses from the beginning of the nineties for an example, the project that in a way marked that period of our work and the project which has been discussed the most. With this piece of work we presented ourselves to the art scene 'officially', in 1994 this was our first gallery exhibition. In a way, Sadnesses were met well by the critics, and later on they were published and reproduced very often. Now, when we go back to that work, we realise that it brought nothing new. It was a sort of nostalgia, a lament, and my personal problem about that project is that I have never wanted to be identified as someone sad. On the contrary, I wanted to do something that could 'offer' solutions, something that would look ahead, into the future, not the past. However, Sadnesses summarised the situation that had evolved to the moment of their creation.

P: They do not look back to the past, they observe the present, the present that was at the time.

Ž: Yes, but without any perspective.

P: It is easy to say that there is no perspective there. Sometimes it is hard to see the perspective from the present. And the easiest way to deal with it is to dissect it and to observe the perspective from that dissection.

Ž: I think it is very interesting that we are discussing a ten-year old project. Why should we not be able to criticise our own work, anyway?

P: I agree.

Ž: Take Ljubomir Simović, one of the rare valuable phenomena in our culture today. Recently, he said that he had rewritten his play The Battle of Kosovo, originally written in 1989. He cut half of it out and rewrote the other half. He says, 'In '87 or '88, when I began writing it, I was fascinated by the myth and that huge theme of the Kosovo battle. Now, with a twelve year distance I realise that many things were not right there.' I read this in the papers, so all of this is to be accepted only partially, but I think that the concept is valid.
When we are talking about Sadnesses, it seems that we had to deal with one of the key problems also of art today, and that is representation. We were handing out Sadness of a Potential Consumer to consumers, but that was done in the presence of a photographer taking pictures. Why does the photographer take pictures and make it uncomfortable for the consumers we are handing it out to? You know, it was really the time of the utmost misery in Yugoslavia, they were coming out of empty supermarkets, empty bags in their hands … At moments like that people do not want to be photographed, I surely would not want to be. However, a photographer was there, Vesna Pavlović, an excellent photographer, who is able to get really close to people. Prota, you will agree that it is the same problem that many artists have today when they are desperate to attract an audience. They create something, display it on the wall and then they wait with a camera, trying to take a picture of someone standing in front of the work. Better yet, if it is placed in a larger space, there is a whole army of photo-reporters and cameramen. And then you take that tape and declare it your representative specimen upon which your funding is based. This is how you can create this Hollywood-like fiction about art and projects that effect people, when there are no more than a couple of visitors a day. Taking photos of Sadnesses looked like selling out to me, like commercialising our own work. The excuse was that we had to document our work, and there were always a couple of photographers and cameramen present. This is why I was always suspicious when it came to taking photographs of Sadnesses, even though it resulted in some great posters.

I wonder what would have become of that project if it had not been photographed.

Ž: The second issue is that when those posters appeared the poems printed on the cards were not that important anymore. Today, nobody can recite you a verse from Sadnesses, none of the curators and enthusiasts… This is how Sadnesses turned into merely some neat objects hanging on the walls, and the key of it all, the starting point was forgotten.

P: What I wanted to achieve with that project was not to have some people remember those verses after I do not know how many years, but to realise a communication, to provoke through a different language. Not the language of daily news, but the language of personal poetry that nobody needs, but upon which you insist.

It seems that it was this symbolism of giving, giveaway, at a time when it was hard to imagine giving something away, and not wanting anything in return, that was one of the qualities of that project recorded in the photographs. What is more, I have always perceived it as an exchange of provocation, not of sad emotions… I really could not believe it when I came to Belgrade in 1995 and I kept seeing these little objects in the homes of various people, and they treasured them somewhat modestly, yet at the same time proudly. Usually in the kitchen. As if you managed to create a circle of people who maybe knew each other, and maybe not, but they all had a common denominator and that was that object.

P: I found that moment of uncertainty rather interesting. There was this circle of people, our friends, who were given Sadnesses directly, the poems themselves were dedicated to some of them, and you can address every one of them… For whom or against whom they were written. These two contexts, for and against, were present from the very beginning. Beside this circle of friends, they were always handed out without any control, and that was precious to us. At a certain moment we had to stop the project, because we ran out of money. A group of our friends asked us why we stopped and when they found out what the problem was, they collected the money and we were able to continue with our project. So, you do not look for sponsors, you do not go around begging, and what happens - a genuine example of civil solidarity. At such a moment people united in collecting money for little cardboard cards… If nothing else, it was a successful project.

Ž: Still, I am not happy with the representation. If our goal is to achieve 'one on one' communication, why do we have to take pictures of it, why do we make photographs for some galleries, so that 'the art world' can see them … That is why I like Goran Djordjevic's work - you have to see it for yourself, you cannot consume it via photographs or just by talking about it. This is the real thing at a time when technology enables us to go around the world in a couple of seconds and to be virtually present everywhere. This is not what we are doing. We are developing a personal communication.

P: Maybe I could agree that taking photos of that project deprived it of its intimate and personal aspect to an extent, but it definitely introduced a certain new quality.

Let's talk a bit about the 'Belgrade alternative community' that functioned during the nineties. How do you, as people who designed most of the material that marked that period - things related to Cinema REX, B92 and other institutions - how do you see that period and the social circumstances that were present at the time? Has it ever occurred to you that what went on was the existence of parallel worlds, functioning entirely independently, one beside the other - the official world controlled by the government and the one organised around independent media and cultural and humanitarian institutions?

P: I totally agree that this incestuous closed circle should be broken. Our projects were always about breaking it, about reaching some unknown people, who would pass it on to some other unknown people. That is also breaking the circle.
If we are talking about the so-called 'safe space', we can agree that something of the kind could be identified in our space at the time. While our experience with trying to get out of this space has been disastrous. Working with people on the market was truly risky. Our co-operation with B92 was truly successful and professional - we had enough freedom in our work and they were always serious enough. At the time it was clear with whom you could work, the political situation was less obscure, unlike this 'cross-dressing' situation we have now. We enjoyed working with people who were starting from scratch, with new institutions who were better at coping with that period. We grew up together and the freedom of expression in culture was of great importance to us all. We could have tried very different media, so we never left culture and switched to industrial design, for example.

How do you see the political and social circumstances in Serbia during the nineties in general? Did they stimulate you or were they somewhat restrictive?

P: I believe that real things happen only when you are not manipulating yourself and your reality. If you do this, it in most cases means that you are not aware of what is going on around you. I think that it is important to fight for the equality of your own reality and certain 'super-realities' that are forced upon you, as was the case in Serbia during the nineties, when all values were forgotten and tumbled over. It was important, and I here speak for myself, not to be conscious of the reality and to keep on doing the same as before, simple things. At the same time, a great number of restrictions emerged and they effected people. Our way of fighting it was, above all, to feel responsible for ourselves and our reality. We did not want to feel victimised, which often happens to people when they do not know where or how or with whom, neither to make it a heroic myth, which comes as a result of that 'we, we and only we, 300, 800, 1000 years ago', but, above all, we wanted to produce tools for a plain, simple and banal life we had lived until then. We realised that within this new context, which you recognise because it itches in a different way, because it is too tight and it smells funny, our work must be about communication, not about some kind of escapism, locking yourself inside a studio etc. Communication as in fighting back. As soon as you figure out what your strategy should be it gets easier to come up with the particular tactics that are defined by the circumstances. If it is an independent fight that has nothing to be started with, it is a challenge to think of 'what to produce' and 'how to do it'. As graphic design and experimental poetry were our fields of operation, we decided to make paper products for our first weapons. Even today, people refer to us as 'the ones who make that little paper stuff'. It sounds as if we were selling football or lottery tickets. 'Little paper stuff' is something that marked our work.

It is interesting to know how you see yourselves as a part of the local art tradition. Are there any authors you would consider your predecessors? Has 'communication art' had any exponents in your territory and do you know about them?

P: Just the other day, during a conversation with students of art and industrial design Žole said that we were terribly uninformed, which we find precious in a certain way. Really, we did not know what was going on in the past, and our associates and people we talked to could not inform us. We did not hang out with art critics and designers, our work was more like an autistic excursion, like reinventing the wheel. What provoked me the most was the direct communication. Maybe this urge is based in my loneliness. Maybe, using these objects and 'weapons', I want to steal a fraction of the emotions I miss from the people I do not know.

Ž: Let's return to the political environment and its effect on your work. In a way, the question of political environment makes you obliged to respond and this depends on your personality. During certain periods art probably had less to do with politics or it responded to politics less directly. But, this has basically been a trend for the last five or ten years, or since the dramatic changes in Europe took place, i.e. the fall of the Berlin Wall and the disappearance of the border between the East and the West. However, this does not mean that in the near future a kind of auto-referential, abstract art will not become the trend. Contextual work is trendy throughout the world. Here, it came as a result of the dramatic changes that the majority could not stay immune to. It was impossible to stay home and paint, when you have to face money dealers on the streets or to wait in line for a loaf of bread... If we had lived somewhere else, we probably would not have done this kind of work. Politics was something we could not avoid - it 'became' our life. What has really annoyed me is this famous phrase 'you should not mix sports and politics', which is total nonsense that indicates the extent of the stupidity that surrounds us. It is the same as if arms dealers said that you should not mix business and politics... As if only politicians were responsible for politics and everyone else should be relieved of this responsibility.

P: You want to say that everything is politics...

Ž: Well, it is to a certain extent. However, I do not want to judge people who paint nice paintings, landscapes, watercolours, flowers - all of this can be on a very high level and that is a matter of their choice. In a way, I would not agree with Prota that we were not aware of the situation around us. I think we were, although maybe not politically aware. True, we did not know much about tradition and history, but I think we were fortunate not to. I have a friend who is an artist, he lives and works in Italy, and he is having trouble with the fact that everything he does seems to have been already done and seen. Even when it came to design, world trends were of no importance to us...

Still, is there any authority you would relate your work to?

P: You could say that my idols come from the other side, from the world of pop-culture, or from culture in general - Vasko Popa and Arsen Dedić. One belongs to the world of poetry and the other to the world of, let's say, chanson poetry. I think it is nice not to be afraid, not to cling to an idol coming from the scene you belong to, but to get your energy from some things that are different from the ones you do. Speaking of 'fine arts' of watercolours and flowers, I would like to quote one renowned artist who said: 'I started creating engaged art when the circumstances became right.' Just like Tito's quote in an architecture textbook - you know it was normal to have his photographs and appropriate quotes in most textbooks. Anyway, next to a photo of him inspecting a model together with a few architects and politicians, it said: 'We will build humanely, in accordance with our abilities.' That's one ingenious nothing. Just like the right circumstances for involved art. It comes down to consistence - if you feel the need to create that kind of art, you will do it from the beginning to the end, and you will not call it involved art, you will simply do it. To call it involved and to define it is in itself a kind of false involvement.

Let's return back to communication. What have the reactions of people meant to you, and how have they changed during the years, along with the situation? I mean the common people, not the people from the art world.

P: From the very beginning, we were determined to remain hidden from the media, we used strategy to avoid being recognised by people or for them to expect something from us. We always found the potential situation interesting, we wondered what would have happened if we had become widely known. What we had in mind was being kind to people and intimate with them, we never wanted to provoke, irritate or start a conflict. The question is has the communication changed. During the beginning of the nineties people really were sort of 'frozen' and very distrustful, and that first step in approaching them and convincing them that they should accept what we have to give them was very, very slow and unpredictable. Later on, during the years the 'ice' gradually 'melted'. We experienced the culmination of aggression just prior to the bombing, when we were attacked in a village near Belgrade during an art action. In 2000, people were already much more open and ready to communicate. Generally speaking, ordinary people are in a somewhat better position, because an artist comes into their life offering something of his/her own, this art that no one needs, and in their world it is often something superfluous and useless.
We had great experience with the choir and the orchestra we have been co-operating with for the last three years. It is quite different with them, because people are given some kind of small festivities, instead of 'intrusions', and that is the most beautiful kind of communication we have managed to realise. Both, people we encounter randomly and the members of the choir, are surprised over and over again, only this time by something that should result in pleasure and, possibly, some sort of critical awareness.

Ž: It is often the case that we manage to realise the project with the choir thanks to some earlier works, as was the case with a small tour we had in Montenegro. We were invited to the Cetinje Biennial because we had a successful project over there a couple of years ago, and, to our surprise, they agreed to meet the expenses and to provide us with transport and accommodation for those couple of days. We went to some really small places, taking roads that were not intended for buses. That entire project did not have a budget, the props were very cheap, but what was most important was to go to those places and meet people there, people who had not had the opportunity to see anything like that before.

Do you have any experience with the art market in Serbia? Do you have any specific opinion as regards it? Are you in a similar position like most artists here or...?

P: We reached a decision not to sell anything for the first ten years, to give everything away for free. Our new products look like the old ones... Even if we wanted to, we do not know the market, thus we cannot sell anything. It has been over twelve years, but we still cannot say that we have a lot of experience. The project entitled Embroideries that we are working on together with the women of Kovačica (a village in Banat, famous for its naive art) and the Association of Single Mothers from Zemun is conceived as something that should develop and grow. It is about decorative embroidered objects that could find buyers. Our goal is to have those women earn money and to see those objects hanging in kitchens, like Sadnesses used to. The Embroidery of the Month project is starting today, and we will see the reaction of the people and the media. People abroad are almost always delighted with the naiveté and the originality of the confessions of local men and women presented through these traditional objects.

How do you make your living?

Ž: We receive payments. We get invited to exhibitions or similar events, and the organisers meet all expenses and pay us a certain fee for, let's say, a public talk with us. Recently we were guests at the closing of an exhibition in Germany where we exhibited our works, and on that occasion a conversation with the public was arranged.

Do you receive fees for participating in exhibitions?

P: No, we do not. I guess we are still bush league. Also, we received a prize in a competition in Berlin. The competition was on a utopia-like vision of design and communication, about new contexts of design and possibilities in communication. We sent them our 'little paper stuff' and together with three other groups of artists we received the first prize. Luckily for us, the prize was quite a considerable sum of money and it helped us to cover the lease for the studio for the next year.

And, finally, there is graphic design...

Ž: The problem is that the people who would possibly hire us do not know that we are here, or they think that we have gone somewhere abroad. That is how we managed to loose a number of so-called 'clients'.

What is your opinion of the situation in Serbia since 2000?

P: Well, we have not been here for a long time in one piece, so we have not really co-operated with anyone. We are more into small projects, such as 'Embroideries', than graphic design.

And how do you see 5th October 2000? From your point of view, can you say that things have changed?

P: I am not sure I can single out anything important. Perhaps I am a bit selfish and preoccupied with myself, but this is my impression.

Ž: Our own situation has changed, we really do work abroad much more than before. My impression is that the art scene is experiencing some sort of hopelessness, maybe even a lack of alternatives. After the moments of euphoria and optimism that came with the changes, it seems to me that things are getting dim again, it is like we are going backwards again. I really think that we are still in 1945 in a way. And another impression - I feel that the sense of solidarity has grown weaker since 2000, while the struggles for personal interests and a kind of selfishness emerged. I think that people feel the need to come out and to talk about the troubles they have. You can see it even with artists and highly educated people. An artistic ego combined with such intentions and needs is always hard to handle.

P: The change that did not happen is the one concerning the lack of self-criticism, and, as Žole said, the low level of solidarity. I think that we have to deal with these things once and for all, together with the old times and its restraints, since we thought that these unpleasant characteristics were the consequence of a certain period. However, the system collapsed, but the bricks that it was built from are still lying scattered around. This is what we need to do - we have to keep improving ourselves.

II

What sort of experience have you gained by working in the international environment?

A domestic artist behaves as a spoiled brat. Everything in this world is there just because of him and he is the measure of all things. His life takes place in the prescribed order: studies at a fine arts academy; student, group and individual exhibitions; fine art colonies; membership in an artist association; colour reproductions in colourful catalogues together with the obligatory biography that 'sounds nice'. If you do not follow this route the self-reproduced local big shots are going to block your way to the stars. This holds true also for all of the other unaired environments; a false value system of course produces false values. It is important to outwit this masquerade as soon as possible.
When we went 'out' we discovered that the space in the world of art is not a package that belongs to you in accordance to your status on the local scene, but a space that you have to conquer over and over again. And it is through this repetition that you proliferate your work.
The only thing that is dangerous is that in the 'wide world' the masquerade does not end - it only becomes larger and noisier. Therefore, you have two options: to choose a costume and dance in the main square or to comb other people's wigs for eternity. In the meantime, the two of us hid in an orchestra.

How do you see the influence of this international co-operation (not just yours, but also that of other artists) on the local scene?

Not so long ago Goran Stefanovski wrote in Conserved Impressions something that is very true: 'We constantly try to convince ourselves that the great expectation is not in vain, that there is a hidden meaning in it and that it establishes a sort of an equilibrium that is good for us. This might be true, but on the other hand we might be doing a great mistake.'
There are always the same six, five names that appear in this world, while all the rest are merely on stand-by. Luckily or unluckily a lot of young and talented artists went abroad, so we are expecting the true influence upon the local scene to appear only when this creative energy will return.

What is your opinion of the system of the world of art and the way it operates?

I have already mentioned that we are currently hiding within an orchestra. This is not merely a figure of speech, but I mean in also realistically. We are autistically disinterested in the systems of the 'world of art' and its rules, thus we founded a choir and an orchestra named HORKEŠKART four years ago. It is volunteer based and self-sustainable (We were just called by the horn players and they asked when do we start with our sessions. They are impatient. Curious. Is this establishing new 'hidden relations' not of greater importance than any large system?).
We want to realise our dreams and not fulfil the desires of others.

How do you perceive the fact that the Balkans and the art from the Balkans are so extremely popular lately?

Europe changed into a closely monitored cage and in the opinion of those who are within the cage there is true wilderness just outside the door. And we are the wild game, that is being stopped at every boarder and restlessly having our documents checked and are being asked 'What brings you here?' The wild game from the neighbourhood. The wild game they would prefer to avoid, if they were not already fed up with this avoidance. They are completely sick and tired of this avoidance and this weariness is, as has been so often the case, the reason for the 'new curiosity'.