His first name, Namik, comes from the Arabic language and means ’one who writes beautifully’. But this means beautiful in the calligraphic sense and not necessarily in terms of content. As our interlocutor explains himself, “I actually write terribly, if you’re refer to my handwriting. With me, it’s not pretty cursive, but rather ugly cursive. I nevertheless write some books that are read, so that’s a bit of a saving grace.” The surname Kabil is said to have originated in the Kabylia region, located between Tunisia and Algeria. At some point in history, part of the population of Kabyle and the Berber tribes moved to Spain, then relocated to the Montenegrin town of Risan with the Sephardic Jews, and later moved from Risan to the city of Trebinje in Bosnia & Herzegovina.

Namik’s father, Faruk Kabil, was a renowned doctor in Trebinje and across Eastern Herzegovina, while his mother, Suada, was a teacher who gave up her job to take care of the house and their daughter Lamia and son Namik, because her husband spent most of his time with his patients. Namik’s wife, Sanja, is originally from Zenica and works for UNICEF in Sarajevo. Together they have an 11-year-old daughter, Esma. Namik says that he was spoiled as a child, both at home and in the city.

“But I luckily wasn’t a delinquent; I didn’t crash the car or get into fights, but I was sufficiently indulged at every turn, as male children used to be indulged in a patriarchal upbringing. It was only later, when I went to America, that I realised that spoiling had done me a disservice, because I subsequently saw how unprepared for more serious life challenges I really was. I grew up in a house where people sang, ate well, drank and laughed a lot. And that very warmth that I carried with me from home is one of the most important things in life generally for me. It seems to me that it created the emotional stability that enabled me to endure and survive life’s challenges, which I sometimes found scary and very demanding.”

His father, Faruk, moved from Trebinje to Sarajevo to study, completed medical studies and landed a job in Tuzla, only to return to Trebinje with his family in 1975, when Namik enrolled in the first year of primary school.

“My early memories from Tuzla are foggy, but I refreshed some of them when I returned to that city in 1990. I had gone there to study medicine, but unsuccessfully, as it would later turn out. Some element of unconscious identification certainly prevailed in me making such a decision. Specifically, my father was the only specialist ear, nose and throat doctor in Eastern Herzegovina. He was a very powerful man in that microcosm, and I probably wanted to be like that too. But medicine is difficult and demanding to study, and I struggled with my inner artistic demons throughout the entire time that I was studying. Then came the war. Everything stopped and I left for America.”

He attended Santa Monica College, Los Angeles City College, UCLA Extension, all of which were based in Los Angeles. And to that he adds:

“That’s why, from today’s perspective, I also consider myself a ‘war profiteer’ because without the war I’d probably have ended up in some more dubious situation and my life would be a tapestry of indecision. I had already wasted years and money attempting to study medicine, without anyone really forcing me to do so. On the contrary, my father would say that I wouldn’t succeed because medicine “demands that you sit and cram for fifteen hours, while you prefer to talk like some lawyer”. He was ultimately satisfied when I dropped out of medical studies, because he was also an artistic soul who played music, sang and loved books. In the end, he said that he was happy that I dealt with such refined things as literature and film, as opposed to examining people and having to look at blood. He forgave me for both the money and time I spent stumbling around Tuzla.”

I’m a provincial child, a troubadour and a fisherman, who just happened to find himself in Los Angeles

Namik says that he inherited his father’s obsession for his work. If he dedicates himself to something, then he does so with all his power, until he reaches that which will satisfy him as a result. And just as his mother was once a top cook, so he enjoys himself in the kitchen today, making various specialities. His parents weren’t formally religious people, but they observed the holidays. They would sometimes spend the days of Ramadan fasting, but Eid al-Fitr was celebrated regularly.

“That was more of a celebration that provided an occasion for a family gathering. What I have left of that identity today, which is more atavistic, is that I don’t eat pork. But that’s more of a legacy than something I really understand, because I’m ultimately quite a sinful man in that formal sense.”

Namik wrote his first poem – about Tito – in the third year of primary school in Trebinje! And he continued to write, or rather to scribble, as he says, which was childish frivolity and abstraction. He felt that he had creative energy early on, but it was neither channelled nor articulated.

“I later had a band, wrote songs, while I only started writing my first serious prose in America, publishing them in some non-commercial magazines. I then wrote the screenplay for the feature film Days and Hours [original title Kod amidže Idriza], which furthered my career, while it was simultaneously a reason for me to return… This time to Sarajevo.”

The film Days and Hours, directed by Pjer Žalica, quickly gained a large audience, and for Namik it marked the start of the work that he wanted to do. He entered the world of art in a big way and was happy that his film was so well received by the public and is still being screened today. Namik’s books represent a kind of inventory of a life that was determined by war as a turning point. The war destroyed, changed and determined the lives of the people about whom he writes, and primarily presents to readers his life from Tuzla, via Trebinje, Dubrovnik, Sarajevo and Los Angeles, then back to Sarajevo. With remnants in Trebinje in the form of the family home that marks the start of his latest novel, Beskućnik [Vagabond].

He fled to America with the outbreak of war in 1993, only to return nine years later.

“I am a deserter in my soul, I mean that I’m primarily a selfish coward. I couldn’t see myself fighting in any army, on any side. I simply ran from the war with my head, regardless of everything. I found America difficult and demanding, particularly since I hadn’t previously prepared for that kind of challenge. That’s because I’m a provincial child, a troubadour and a fisherman, who just happened to find himself in Los Angeles. To be clear, I didn’t go there to work on films; I didn’t have any kinds of visions or concepts, I just fled.

“I first fled from Trebinje in 1991, due to the military mobilisation. When the Yugoslav People’s Army started buying people, grouping them to head towards Dubrovnik, for something that was called an ‘exercise’, it was immediately clear that they wouldn’t stop there. They had yet to send me an invitation to join, but my father told me that the situation certainly wouldn’t end quickly and that I should flee. And that’s how it was. As soon as I left Trebinje, they came looking for me twice. I went to Tuzla, where they weren’t able to mobilise me because I wasn’t registered. I fled from there to Zagreb, where I had no source of income to live from, and it was there that I realised I had to start all over again. And that’s how I ended up going to America.”

The political elite very consciously retain the trauma of war “at a working temperature”, because that forms the basis of their rule

The cover photo for Beskućnik, published by Novi Sad publishing company Akademska knjiga, is signed with the name of his father – Faruk Kabil.

“I selected it instinctively. That photo was taken by my father in the early 1980s. The picture was taken in the village of Pridvorci near Trebinje. I’m the boy pictured from behind and I’m looking at the man holding the horse, whose name is Isak Bračković, and he was the one who saved the photo. I remember only that we were at his parents’ farm and he was holding a horse that was being groomed, and I watched it all as my father took the picture. He also dealt with amateur photography and developed the film and made the picture himself, and I only discovered it a year ago and decided to put it on the cover page. My friend and professional photographer Amer Kapetanović, who lives in Sweden, said when he saw the photo in the book: ‘You are watching this man tell the horse where it belongs, and the horse doesn’t agree. It’s as if he wants to tell the man where he belongs.’ That sounded like a precise explanation to me, because the book is about where we belong, among other things; about where we should and shouldn’t be, where we’ve been, where we no longer are, what we’re nostalgic about and what we aren’t, while we’re either happy or bitter about everything. However, as usually happens in life, everything is mixed together in some proportions that aren’t so clear.

Two of Namik’s books are named after famous films: Amarcord and The Shining, while one is named after the famous Beatles song Yesterday… He explains why.

“Amarcord is one of my favourite films, and Fellini is one of the dearest directors. In the book I dealt with memory and the film Amarcord was the first association for the title of the book. It might have initially sounded a bit pretentious, but I decided it was the right choice. I’m generally very interested in cover versions of songs, or when one covers a well-known topic, such that it both is and isn’t what it once was. When U2 singer Bono was asked about Johnny Cash’s cover version of the song One, he replied: “If Johnny Cash covers one of your songs, it’s no longer yours; it’s a new song”. There’s also that urge to take something that’s well known, that has a general place in the collective memory, and to make it into something that’s your own. That was the case with me in Amarcord and The Shining, while Yesterday is based on that song title thematically. As Miljenko Jergović said about this novel, these are yesterday’s people, people from yesterday who simply can’t accept that time has passed. I have long been addressing a traumatised time, through various books, and the way people always look back and think it was better before, which is naturally always very personal and subjective. But that isn’t linked only to these lands of ours, as people have always had an urge to look back, because – when it’s fully stripped bare – we certainly won’t die in the past, while in the future we will.”

He recalls Yugoslavia and living an intense life growing up in that country, while he also served in the Yugoslav People’s Army.

“In my recollections, completely privately and subjectively, that Yugoslavia was a better place to live than these countries are today. Of course, there’s some truth to the statement that people don’t remember Yugoslavia, but rather they remember their youth. We were young and everything seemed rosy. However, I think that there was more order, more systems that functioned, we were at a higher civilisational level than we are now. And when I say that I’m referring to the whole region.

“There’s a very good and useful book written by Snježana Kordić, called Language and Nationalism. Through the story of language, she provided a broader picture of things. Say, for example, the fact that nationalists, as a rule, underline the differences in our language varieties doesn’t mean that there aren’t many more similarities. But they deliberately ignore them.”

In the book Amarcord, Namik mentions Slobodan Milošević from the period of his rule in Serbia, and that seems to have been the author’s first encounter with politics from the late 1980s and the very start of the ‘90s.

“I felt that as a young man in Trebinje. I wasn’t able to articulate it, but you know that sense that something’s rumbling over the hill, that some tensions are building. That was my first personal encounter with nationalism. Milošević called those years the ‘Years of Unravelling’ in his own book, and I would say that those were years of both unravelling and entanglement. Now, after everything has passed, we see that it was much easier to enter into misdeeds and crimes, and much more difficult to overcome them politically and especially spiritually. In order to overcome them, you have to have an academic and social format, while the engagement of the entire social community and confrontation must be implied, and we know how far we are from that. In order to become a criminal, it is enough just to be inhumane. To go to your neighbour’s house and set it on fire. I personally – and I would say as a layman – don’t think that the Hague Tribunal is a real court, but God forbid it didn’t exist. What alternative could we offer after the crimes committed in these lands? And would we ever even offer such an alternative? Unlikely.”

Namik has the habit of saying that a man doesn’t know rock bottom until he hits it, after his life in LA collapsed completely. But the good thing is that nothing else is difficult after such an experience. Working on the streets was a dangerous job that he certainly would never have chosen if he hadn’t been forced into it. He adapted his taxi driving to his studies. He endured difficult days and years, feeling intimidated and insecure. After his American experience, he says: “Today, as a sailor, I try to use every wind that blows to head in the direction I desire”.

I have long been addressing a traumatised time, through various books

The war, which he experienced for ten months before leaving for America, is still an indescribable experience for him. “Those are the kinds of situations when you go to a kiosk, buy cigarettes and walk on, then a grenade falls and kills the man who sold you cigarettes. When that fear builds up within you, then you know the difference between the benign fears you had as a child, and the much harsher fear I discovered when the war began. You can live with a benign fear, while the other fear messes with your head.”

Since 2009, Namik has been employed as the editor of Documentary Programming at Federal Television in Sarajevo:

“If I hadn’t had that period of squirming at the bottom in America, I perhaps wouldn’t value the job I do today as much. After America, nothing is difficult for me anymore, and I’m very happy that I do this job. Setting aside the crazy fact that I live in a country like Bosnia and Herzegovina, which has three public services. That’s like imagining England with three BBCs! One can often hear the metaphor that the Dayton Agreement is a straitjacket that stopped the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina and should never have been brought to life as a peacetime constitution.

But since 1995, when the war formally ended, this country hasn’t come to life as a normal society. We are still plagued by relapses towards the tragic war. And it’s certainly no coincidence that war themes are still current in literature, cinematography and art in general. In Mostar, for example, within a radius of 300 metres, you have no consensus on what happened in that city, and that’s just one obvious example. The political elite, or the political cabal that rules, knows very well that people are traumatised and very consciously retain the trauma of war “at a working temperature”, because it is on that basis that they rule. The people watch and listen to the news, we also apathetically allow politicians to intimidate us all these years, as if we really believe that everything is the way they say it is.”

The post Relapses Towards the Tragic War Still Plague Us appeared first on CorD Magazine.

His wit is seductive and sharp, while his multiple talents helped him achieve great popularity at a very tender age. And that has remained the case to this day. He never met Tito, but he did come faceto- face four times with one of the planet’s all-time most famous footballers: Diego Armando Maradona (1960 – 2020). He viewed Maradona as a symbol of ‘third world’ rebellion, describing him as a warm man who turns into a boy when he speaks and says everything with great passion.

Today, at the age of 62, Nele is a veritable musical classic. His real name is Nenad Janković, though he’s long been better known and renowned as Dr Nele Karajlić. Born 11th December 1962 in Sarajevo, his parents were professors called Srđan and Vera.

“I completed primary school with all As and finished the Second Sarajevo Gymnasium high school in 1981 with just one A, only to repeat my primary school success of all top marks at the Faculty of Philosophy, Department of Oriental Studies. I never graduated from university, but people nonetheless call me doctor.”

“When you grow up in a family of educators, that implies receiving a broad education and strict moral principles. Apart from that, our parents raised us two sons in the spirit of socialist self-management, in which material possessions didn’t represent some great virtue. On the contrary, back then, people who were materially wealthy were viewed as shameful.”

The turmoil resulting from the change in the social system was particularly stressful for his family. “I struggled to handle it, but I’m proud of the way I was raised by my parents.”

Bosnia was officially a bastion of the communist party, due to reasons of national security and preserving the sense of brotherhood and unity among Serbs, Muslims and Croats

Socialism and self-management provided a positive framework for Nele’s personal development in Sarajevo, because, as he himself says, there was no social stratification and his childhood was absolutely carefree. He was simultaneously infected by music and football. Actually, he explains, “I started taking an interest in football, intensively and analytically, from the age of six, and in music from the age of ten.” And he never abandoned those loves of his. To this very day, he has a tendency to watch every possible sport on television, “including bocce” [Italian bowling]. The only thing is that there’s no time for that today.

The period of his youth was completely idyllic until he became intrigued by the first ideas of injustice, and when asked if Sarajevo was enough for him or if he had considered leaving it to head out into the world, Nele gives a definitive answer without hesitation.

“No, nor did any of us in our area have such an idea. We had the idea that someone would play some good music in London or Paris. We generally heard about music from our elders, and each of us had an older brother, apart from poor me. And that older brother would also bring vinyl records from England or somewhere else, but the idea that life was elsewhere didn’t exist among us. Our idea was that life exists there where it is. And when we were just high school pupils, we had the idea of fixing it; of fixing the place where we live.”

The ‘70s were very exciting in musical terms. In Sarajevo, but also beyond, the rock band Bijelo Dugme was sacrosanct. Nele was an ‘alternative guy’. He preferred the bands Buldožer and Smak. His music worldview shifted when he discovered punk at the age of 15/16, and it was also then that Nele and his friends began developing their social and political awareness.

As high school pupils, our idea was that life exists there where it is and that we had to fix it, to fix the place where we live

“The older brother of my friend, who was around my age, arrived from London in 1977 and played us the Sex Pistols’ first single – God Save the Queen. Incidentally, that single ended up at my place right before the outbreak of the war in Bosnia and was left in the house. And I read somewhere in a newspaper, about fifteen years ago, that everyone who had a copy of that single could sell it for 10,000 pounds! So, I missed out.” Janković’s rebellious period resulted in one of the most popular TV shows of the 1980s: Top lista nadrealista [The Surrealists’ Chart Toppers]. It is also very interesting that this brand of satire emerged in Sarajevo, a city that for decades, and for good reason, held the infamous title of the bastion of the most rigid communism in the former Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

“Two parallel worlds existed there. The first was the official world that upheld Bosnia as a bastion of the communist party, due to reasons of national security, in order to preserve the sense of brotherhood and unity among Serbs, Muslims and Croats. The key that then existed in Bosnia was also copied by the international community when it came to the coconundrum of organising the current country, with nothing cleverer having been thought up in the meantime. On the other side, beneath that suffocating plastic bag of communism that existed in Bosnia, a generation of kids emerged and showed in their own way, through various media and arts, that they were more or less politically aware. The contradiction of that relationship in Bosnia was also precisely in the fact that the firm hand of the Party and the strictest possible form of dark administration gave birth to an entire generation of children of military personnel and educators who formed their own rageful front, primarily in music and film. That’s a phenomenon that will surely one day be rationalised better by someone else.”

When it comes to music, our interlocutor doesn’t forget the valuable position of poet Duško Trifunović. As editor of Television Sarajevo, under the pressure of serious control from above, he came up with the ingenious idea that singers should perform in the Serbian language on television, which compelled entire generations of talented kids to produce local songs instead of copying foreign ones.

Emir Kusturica and Dr Nele Karajlić met for the first time after the release of Kusturica’s film Do You Remember Dolly Bell?

“That could have been 1981. We performed an episode of the Surrealists’ Chart Toppers on the radio, and afterwards made an advert for his new film that he was scheduled to shoot: When Father Was Away on Business. For me, Emir was an authority, just like anyone who is superior in their work. I can say that we were really close. We worked and socialised together. And in a way he was also my professor. We managed to tour the whole world with our music. That had been unimaginable prior to us. We left behind a deep mark. Bands from all over Europe copied our style. That really was the most exciting part of my career. For now… We aren’t in contact today, but I view those times with nostalgia and pride.”

Kusturica and I left behind a deep mark… We aren’t in contact today, but I view those times with nostalgia and pride

Nele’s wife, Sanja (née Jovanović) is an architect who calls her husband Neško. She doesn’t really favour any kind of public promotion. As a refugee from Sarajevo and an architect left jobless, Sanja turned to work that then brought her joy and gave her very positive affirmation – she decoratively painted wooden furniture in the home, especially items located in children’s rooms. Sanja has been the curator of Gallery Sanjaj over the past few years, with which her love for fine art has finally received some of its own functionality. She had always wanted to have her own gallery. That was her dream. And that’s also why the gallery is called Sanjaj [meaning dream on in Serbian]. It is a name comprising her first name and the first letter of her surname. “We somehow ended up with the opportunity to create the Sanjaj gallery in the very centre of the city, on Dositejeva Street. I was practically born in Dositejeva Street, but the one in Sarajevo. The gallery has totally enriched our lives.”

Nele and Sanja have been together since their high school days and got married on the eve of the outbreak of war. And prior to that they’d enjoyed ten interesting years. They are the parents of two grown up children, so we asked how they raised them and how similar that was to the upbringing they’d received themselves.

“There are no special recipes for raising children, so neither my wife Sanja nor I stuck to any strict instructions. Every child is a world of their own. It seems to me that what was most important was to show them the world around them and define some boundaries that they would have to cross over the course of their lives. As Bishop Grigorije says, the biggest step for man is that step over the threshold of their house.”

Their daughter, Jana, is a veterinarian working in Switzerland at the Small Animal Clinic of the University of Bern. Their son, Srđan, who was born following the death of the grandfather after whom he is named, is a director and screenwriter. He completed marketing studies in the U.S. and the MetFilm School in Berlin, before returning to Belgrade, where he intends to build a career.

Nele has the habit of saying that everything he participated in came more or less by accident.

“The stable family that I have is a logical development in my life, because I was never a typical rock musician, especially when it comes to those that we know from films or books. In my case there was none of the typical sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, probably because I had no intention of dealing with that business seriously. And when I look back from this distance on what I was involved in and what I did, I realise that it mostly came by coincidence. We formed the band Zabranjeno Pušenje [the No Smoking Band] in 1980, so that we would have something to do until we finished university, and we treated the gigs like an interesting adventure. I even declared in newspapers back then that nobody older than 25 can perform rock. I completed two years of Oriental Studies in the first wave, then completed my third year after the scandal with the song Crk’o Maršal [the marshal has croaked], but I had to return to music when Emir Kustirica came to support the band, only to later return to complete university thinking that was the end of everything. And then war erupted. And when we fled to Belgrade, I realised that the only way to support my family and myself was to do freelance work. And when in 1997 we released the album Ja Nisam Odavle [I’m Not From Around Here], and when Vukota did everything that Zenica Blues had done ten years previously, I realised that there was no going back for me.”

He gained international fame thanks to music, but the moment came for him to bid farewell to it. He began writing prose and says that he feels the best when doing so. He first published the book Closing Time in Sarajevo [Fajront u Sarajevu], which is a sort of encyclopaedia of Yugoslav rock that sold more than 100,000 copies. Next came the extremely popular novel 28 Thessaloniki Street [Solunska 28], for which he received the award that bears the name of Momo Kapor. That novel is a trilogy that addresses one of the most exciting centuries in the history of Belgrade: the 20th century, when Belgrade was bombed five times in two world wars.

“I must admit that I was pretty surprised when I discovered that I’d received the Momo Kapor Award. I was convinced that I would miss out on all the awards, because I’m neither a typical writer nor do many consider me a writer. But Momo Kapor wasn’t a typical writer either, and I took comfort in that. I was genuinely happy when they informed me that I’d won the award. And that wasn’t only because of the award itself, but also because of its name. Momo Kapor was held in high regard in my family and I consider him as the writer with the most beautiful style.”

The firm hand of the Party and the strictest possible form of dark administration gave birth to an entire generation of children of military personnel and educators who formed their own rageful front in music and film

Witty, interesting and cynical, mostly at his own expense, Nele explains in detail how he had very poor grades in school for everything that he does today. He dropped out of music school because he was incapable of singing and always received a strained D in solfeggio and a B in piano, which wasn’t high enough to encourage him to persevere. He earned a C in Serbian language studies at school, only to make a living from writing poems and finding enjoyment in writing books. Even for English, a language he’s written in for many years, he only received a grade of D or C.

“I don’t know what to conclude. Either the school was bad and evaluated me poorly, or I must have learnt it all in the meantime.”

Sarajevo is a painful subject for a man who fled his hometown on the eve of the outbreak of war in Bosnia with just a toothbrush and toothpaste in his pocket. And when the journalist conducting this interview once asked him to bring some photos from his youth, he said that he no longer has any. Everything that he has was saved by Sanja’s mother. And his own mother, Vera, provides the reason behind a touching account.

“My mother was born in Sarajevo and lived in a house at 14 Dositejeva Street. She was born during the time of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, lived there during Tito’s Yugoslavia, and ultimately abandoned Bosnia. Her mother had been born in the same house during the time of Austria-Hungary, lived during the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and died in Tito’s Yugoslavia. Her mother, so my great-grandmother, was born in the same house during the time of Turkish rule, lived during the period of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and died in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Four generations on my mother’s side lived in the same house, in the same kitchen…and each of them went through the reorganising of three countries. That is the most succinct picture of Sarajevo.”

There was also the Sarajevo that he recalled last winter, when the 40th anniversary of the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics was commemorated.

“The Olympics looked like some special form of heaven to us, in which we all temporarily live for 15 days. We were young, but we weren’t naïve, and we were aware that everything happening around us represented an unrealistic utopia with a limited life. However, no matter how consciously and with how much reason you observe such a great event, it still makes a deep impression on you and leaves you breathless. One would hardly exchange it for any other experience. That’s a period that’s deeply etched in your memory and you wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Nele has been working constantly in recent years. And he reveals interesting news for CorD’s readers.

“I’ve been stretched on multiple sides. The musician in me woke up this year, so I intend to release the odd new song. On the other hand, I’ve started writing a new novel that should be published in 2025. The quiz show I love Serbia, in which I’m the captain of the blue team, has entered its ninth season, which none of us expected. At the end of April, our Gallery Sanjaj, together with the Monolog Gallery, is exhibiting at a large multimedia art festival in Istanbul with an installation entitled ‘In the beginning was the word’. Apart from me, the credit for that installation also belongs to the curators: my wife Sanja and Denis Hegić, owner of Monolog Gallery. Our plan is to present this installation, which was met with great interest at last year’s Art Budapest, at a number of other art fairs in Europe. Of course, my greatest wish is to make a screen adaptation of the first edition of Solunska 28, for which I received the Momo Kapor Award.”

It seems to us that this screen adaptation would best be conceived and implemented by Srđan Janković.

Photo: Laguna

The post Bosnia of Two Parallel Worlds appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Miloš Šobajić, born in 1945 in Belgrade, Serbia, is a distinguished artist whose work spans several decades and encompasses painting, sculpture, and multimedia. His artistic journey began in the cultural milieu of post-war Yugoslavia, where he developed his unique style that would later gain international acclaim.

Šobajić studied at the Academy of Fine Arts in Belgrade, where he was exposed to various artistic movements and philosophies. His early work was marked by a strong expressionistic approach, often focusing on human figures and faces, imbued with intense emotion and a sense of existential turmoil.

This period of his career was reflective of the broader socio-political tensions in Yugoslavia and the search for individual identity within a changing society.

In the 1970s, Šobajić moved to Paris, a decision that significantly impacted his artistic development. Paris, with its rich artistic tradition and vibrant cultural scene, offered him new perspectives and inspirations. During this time, his style evolved, incorporating elements of surrealism and abstract expressionism. His paintings began to feature more complex, dream-like scenes with distorted figures and objects, conveying a sense of the surreal and the subconscious.

Miloš significantly contributed to the Serbian and European art scenes, both through his influential works and as a mentor to emerging artists

Šobajić’s work is known for its dramatic intensity and visual impact. His use of bold colors, dynamic compositions, and textured surfaces creates a powerful visual language that engages viewers on both an emotional and intellectual level. His paintings often explore themes of human existence, suffering, and the metaphysical, questioning the nature of reality and human perception.

Throughout his career, Šobajić has maintained a strong connection to his Serbian roots, and his work often reflects the historical and cultural complexities of the Balkans. He has been an influential figure in the Serbian art scene, contributing to its development and international visibility. His dedication to exploring and challenging the boundaries of art has made him a key figure in contemporary Serbian and European art.

In addition to painting, Šobajić has made significant contributions to sculpture and multimedia art. His sculptures, often large and made of bronze or other metals, echo the themes and aesthetic concerns of his paintings, with distorted forms and surfaces that suggest movement and transformation.

His art is celebrated for its dramatic fusion of surrealism and expressionism, creating impactful, dream-like scenes that delve into existential themes

Šobajić has exhibited extensively in galleries and museums worldwide, earning him a reputation as one of the leading artists of his generation. His work is included in numerous public and private collections, and he has received several prestigious awards for his contributions to art.

Beyond his artistic achievements, Šobajić has also been involved in education and cultural advocacy. He has taught at art schools and universities, sharing his knowledge and experience with younger generations of artists and encouraging them to pursue their own artistic paths.

In summary, Miloš Šobajić’s life and work represent a profound engagement with the visual and existential dimensions of art. His innovative approach, marked by a deep understanding of historical and cultural contexts, continues to inspire and challenge the conventions of the art world. His legacy is that of a creator who transcends boundaries, offering a vision of art as a vital, ever-evolving dialogue with the world.

The post Surrealism and Expressionism in Serbian Art appeared first on CorD Magazine.

It is unavoidable for any presentation of art historian Irina Subotić (1941) to begin with the saga of her family, because her origins and upbringing determined her life choices to a large extent. Born in central Belgrade just as World War II was reaching the country, she was baptised at the famous ‘Saborna Crkva’, the Cathedral Church of Saint Michael the Archangel, attended the King Petar I Primary School, resided in the Vračar neighbourhood for a while, then on Banovo Brdo, only to arrange with her husband Dr Gojko Subotić, who she married in the Municipality of Stari city, the penthouse apartment in which they still live. It can thus be said that her life’s journey has unfolded within the boundaries of old Belgrade.

Her half-Polish, half-Russian mother, Tatjana Lukašević, arrived in Belgrade in 1939 and married Irina’s father, Milivoje Jovanović, in 1940.

“Mum didn’t know Serbian, so she communicated with my dad in French. When I was little, my mother spoke Russian with me, but she stopped in 1948, due to well-known events [the Tito-Stalin split]. She carried multiculturalism within her and instilled it in me in various ways. When they were young, her mother and aunt formed a musical duo that was famous in Saint Petersburg during those years, and it was also said that Mayakovsky [Russian poet and playwright Vladimir Mayakovsky] visited their home to attend their artistic evenings.”

The sister of Irina’s mother, after whom she is named, was a ballerina and actress. She played the female lead, opposite Vittorio De Sica, in the 1933 Italian film Bad Subject [Un Cattivo Soggetto].

“My mother studied opera singing, but she abandoned her studies when she came to Belgrade to visit her parents, who had fled here because the city had a large colony of Russians. She met my father, they wed and I was born the following year, only for my sister Jelena to be born three and a half years later. My mother remained eternally stateless. She lost her nationality and, apart from falling in love with my father, she also fell in love with Serbia and all its traditions. That’s how we came to live with all Serbian and Russian customs.”

Milivoje Jovanović originally hailed from Krupanj in the Rađevina area. He graduated in law and worked for the City Administration. Advancing in his career, just before the outbreak of World War II he had been in charge of the civilian aides and security of Prince Pavle. And he advanced from that position to become chief of police for the City of Belgrade.

Only 30 per cent of what previously existed can be changed in a single generation, in order to preserve the spirit of a city and for it to have layers that make it valuable

“He saw what was about to happen and he had a large number of friends among Jews and leftists. He remained in the City Administration, but not in a leadership position, and until 1943 was responsible for many good deeds that I only learned about in the middle of the last decade. He never spoke about that, but thanks to the documentation of his good friend Miodrag Popović, the father of lawyer Srđa Popović [famous as a political activist and leader of the student movement Otpor (Resistance) in the ‘90s], I found out that he compiled lists of people who had been accused of wrongdoing under the regime and threatened with arrest and even death. Those lists reached members of SKOJ [The League of Communist Youth of Yugoslavia] who rescued the suspects. The Germans grew suspicious of my father and the Gestapo ultimately arrested him. He was tortured in an electric chair and then transferred to the Banjica concentration camp, which had actually been established while he was chief of police! He was arrested several times after the war – the last time in 1948. We thought that was linked to Infombiro [the period of purges within the Communist Party of Yugoslavia], but we never discovered the truth. He knew how to keep his mouth shut. When I asked him how he survived the Gestapo, the Banjica camp and subsequent imprisonment, he would constantly repeat that the most important thing had been to say that he didn’t know anything: that’s how he saved the lives of hundreds of other people, but also his own.”

Irina’s father had socialised with famous painters of the time: Lubarda, Gvozdenović, Šerban, Peđa, Milunović et al. He had a nice collection of paintings that was split between Irina and Jelena after their parents passed away.

“And at the time he was in prison, everything in the house that could be sold was. Carpets, silver, even books… the pictures were last because they were my father’s greatest love. They both departed this world in a symbolic way: Mum died on Good Friday, 6th May, 1983. Dad couldn’t endure that loss and departed himself just a year later, on Friday, 18th May, on Saint Irina’s Day. That was the name day of both me and their granddaughter Irina Ljubić, Jelena’s daughter. Mum wasn’t even 70 when she died, while dad made it past his 70th birthday. She had been in very poor health in her last years, and the diagnosis we heard from one doctor was ‘Your mother has worn out her life!’.”

Irina’s younger sister was famous ballerina Jelena Šantić (1944-2000). Having succeeded professionally, she devoted the last decade of her life to the continuous struggle for peace on the territory of the country at war that was then still called Yugoslavia, but those wars took many victims and changed the faces of yesterday’s republics. She said: “I poured my despair and horror into concrete work against hatred, nationalism, chauvinism, para-fascism and violence… I experienced the outbreak of the war as the collapse of culture and our civilisation.”

Speaking about her sister, Irina says that she had known from her primary school days that she would be a ballerina.

“She had enormous energy while she danced, but also enormous life energy with which she fought and which, unfortunately, she also depleted with the illness that took her life at the age of 55. She left behind her daughter Irina, an art historian who had attempted to work in a state institution, but that didn’t suit the libertarian spirit that had been instilled in her by her mother. And then she did something great and important. She separated the fund established by Professor Vojin Dimitrijević in the organisation Group 484, which had been founded by my sister, and thus the Jelena Šantić Foundation was born. That Foundation now operates successfully and Irina holds on to the idea that the Foundation’s work will help to really improve things when it comes to young people and women, and to culture more broadly penetrating small communities… Irina has two wonderful daughters, our granddaughters, who are 18 and 11.”

I asked my father how he survived the Gestapo, the Banjica camp and subsequent imprisonment, and he said that the most important thing had been to say that he knew nothing

Irina’s husband is Dr Gojko Subotić. A historian of medieval art and full member of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts (SANU), he is one of the most important and respected experts in the field of protecting monuments of culture. She says that she was ‘tricked’ into meeting him. In her third year of high school, for the final exam of the School for Tour Guides, she was tasked with walking through Belgrade to Avala and presenting all the monuments created by famous sculptor and architect Ivan Meštrović. Meštrović had previously published a memoir in which he criticised Tito, resulting in all books about him being withdrawn and hidden from the public eye. She searched for anything about Meštrović in various places without success, ending up at SANU, where she was offered a doctoral dissertation that was of hardly any use to her. Upon returning it, she didn’t know who had lent it to her, so she placed the business card that her father had made for her in the book. The young man to whom she returned the book with the business card was Gojko Subotić, and within a year and a half the two of them were married. They spent the most beautiful year and a half living in Greece, when Gojko was learning the Greek language, before returning to Belgrade and sharing an apartment with his parents.

They have two daughters, both of whom abandoned Belgrade during the 1999 bombing of Serbia.

“We weren’t aware that that would be permanent, but they quickly found their way and established their own families. Our elder daughter, Jelena, received a scholarship for postgraduate studies in America, earned her doctorate and is now a professor of political science at Georgia State University in Atlanta. She is married and has a wonderful seventeen-year-old son. Our younger daughter, Ivana, graduated in Italian Studies and lives in Rome with her husband. After numerous different jobs, she’s been working as a manager of apartments over recent years and is very satisfied with her work. Their son is a student of modern gastronomy and hotel management.”

There’s no doubt that the upbringing Irina received at home also determined her profession. She grew up surrounded by paintings, serious music, books… She read a lot and attended exhibitions and concerts. She was very close to her father.

“He was a gentle, wonderful father. It was from him that I received knowledge and a joy of life, but I also remember the sadness he carried within him. We lived at 2 Braće Jugovića Street, opposite Glavnjača [the colloquial term for a political prison in Belgrade city centre]. When he was in prison in 1948 and would go out for a walk with all the other prisoners on Fridays, I would watch him from the roof of our building, together with my mother and sister. I was seven at the time. When they later relocated us to Beogradska Street, the din of the tram would wake me up at night and I would fear that something had happened to my father… His imprisonment was terribly traumatic for me. Fortunately, my parents didn’t ‘poison’ me or my sister with what dad had gone through.”

The issue of culture has failed the test in all fields in our country, and perhaps most of all in museology, because we don’t keep abreast of what the civilised world is doing

Milivoje attempted to convey everything he knew to Irina. They would walk around Belgrade so he could explain to her how the city had looked prior to the bombing of 1941 and 1944.

“My mother instilled in me a different kind of love for art, and thanks to my knowledge of her language, I earned money as a translator and tour guide when I was a third-year high school pupil. I used the first money I ever earned to buy the Herbert Read book The Meaning of Art. I read it all night and realised that I wanted to study modern art, because there were many more meanings hidden behind the appearance of beautiful colours that I wanted to discover.”

Over the last 25 years, or more specifically since the death of her sister Jelena, Irina has been recording the genealogy of the Lukašević and Jovanović families, but also the Subotićs. Her work has today evolved into a huge book of nearly 800 pages that’s intended for children who aren’t in Belgrade, as a recollection of memories they don’t have.

Irina’s professional life implied constant work and study. She was ultimately awarded an Emeritus Professor title, while life taught her to be strict.

“It was only in my later years that I learnt to dismiss that seriousness a little; to be a little more lenient towards myself and others. I learnt from the great art historians and the good artists in my surroundings that, when it comes to art, the testimony of an authentic creator is very important in our profession. I left behind many traces of their words; I wasn’t a so-called ‘first-person critic’. I started writing early on, thanks to Stojan Ćelić, who established the magazine Umetnost, together with a group of other intelligent people, and invited me to contribute. I didn’t include my own theory in the articles, nor did I rely on aesthetics and citing greats. I learnt from what I discovered by socialising with people from the art world; I wanted to be cognisant of how authentic and variegated they are in their poetics; I wanted to get better acquainted with their work and then better acquaint others with it. That’s why I wrote numerous articles about great artists who have remained great and inimitable to this day, such as Leonid Šejka, Cuca Sokić, Vladimir Veličković, Milenko Šerban, Stojan Ćelić and others. Of course, I also wrote about many artists who were just emerging on the scene and who invited me to write about them. I didn’t hesitate to use my words for the sake of artists who didn’t have a major biography or a prominent place in the art world. These weren’t about praise; I wasn’t dealing in epithets, but rather the meaning of their work, in the case that I found such meaning. And there were many articles that I had no desire to write…”

When the Museum of Contemporary Art opened on Ušće in 1965, it represented a new wonder of the world in terms of architecture and the museology concept provided by its founder and first director, Miodrag B. Protić. And CorD’s interlocutor explains that this was no accident, but rather a consequence of state cultural policy. On the other hand, today, unfortunately, even following the National Museum’s restoration just a few years ago, this national institution still isn’t capable of hosting a single globally-relevant exhibition, because it lacks the required technical conditions that are a given for major museums. Irina is the best possible witness to the good and bad times of these museums, having worked as a curator at both of them.

We can no longer have major exhibitions at the National Museum like we used to. Conditions have changed around the world and we haven’t adapted to them

“Yugoslavia firstly wanted to be relevant in international circles at the cultural level, and not only in the policies of nonalignment. It also wanted to carve out a more stable place among the countries of the developed world, to which it wanted to belong. Then there was Miodrag B. Protić – who was extremely influential with his vision, despite not being a member of the Party. Those were years when culture was deemed important and necessary. That’s how, even during the 1980s, the National Museum still inherited that which Lazar Trifunović had established back in the 1960s as the vision of a great Museum. He was the first to bring us works by Van Gogh, to make agreements with the most important Dutch and German institutions etc. With his considered policy, the National Museum stimulated a high level of expertise and brought proven treasures. And then came the ‘90s – disastrous in every sense: not only because of the countless dead and displaced persons, because of the destruction of Yugoslavia, but also because all values dropped, such that an inconsequential painter could be the director of the Museum of Contemporary Art for an entire decade and sweep away almost everything that Protić had done. When the need was felt in the early 2000s to transform the National Museum into a museum of worldwide relevance, which it deserves to be thanks to its priceless collections, and it was realised that this would entail major reconstruction works, digging underground spaces and building extensions, animosity and our mentality let to that being abandoned, so we ended up with only painted rooms. That’s why we can no longer have major exhibitions like we used to. The truth is that conditions have changed around the world and we have been left behind, having failed to adapt to those changes. The issue of culture has failed the test in all fields in our country, and perhaps most of all in museology, because we don’t keep abreast of what the civilised world is doing.”

When asked, in her capacity as an art historian, if it’s normal for a city to undergo so much demolition to make way for large apartment blocks, as we see happening in Belgrade city centre, Irina explains: “Only 30 per cent of what previously existed can be changed in a single generation, in order to preserve the spirit of a city and for it to have layers that make it valuable. That’s how it was done in Lisbon and Buenos Aires, and those are referred to as preserved cities. There are derelict buildings in our country that need to be demolished, but the problem is that investors, rich people, are building at a hitherto unseen speed as if they’re just laundering money, paying no attention to the entirety, to the residents, to history, tradition, everything that comprises the spirit of a city. All that matters to them is to build whatever they want, in locations with the highest rents. And the institutions that should take care of this and prevent destruction – from the National Assembly to the Institute for the Protection of Cultural Monuments – don’t function properly.”

It was thanks to Irina that the valuable art collection of Zenitist Ljubomir Micić was saved from oblivion. That marked the start of the broader recognition of Zenitism as an authentic avant-garde movement, thanks once again to this exceptionally capable and charming woman.

The post Culture Culture has Failed the Test appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Slobodan Šnajder (born 1948) has been in the spotlight once again in recent months, with his latest novel, Anđeo nestajanja [The Angel of Disappearence] having attracted a lot of attention. He spent a full eight years working on it and it was published by Croatian publishing house Fraktura, while Novi Sad’s Akademska knjika is responsible for the Serbian language edition, just as it published his previous novel Doba mjedi [The Brass Age], which had four editions in Croatia. Translated into fifteen languages, critics described it in the newspapers of Italy, Germany, the Netherlands and elsewhere as an epic novel that can undoubtedly be considered a masterpiece of European literature. The first reviews of The Angel of Disappearence also suggest that Šnajder has “once again tailored a wonderful novel and obviously shown and proven that his literary prowess doesn’t know or acknowledge any boundaries” (Jaroslav Pecnik).

During his many decades of writing, this distinguished intellectual was also a columnist for Rijeka’s Novi list newspaper, right up until the point at which the people in power no longer wanted to endure his stinging remarks. He hasn’t generally been in love with any government. He spent just a short time – while social democrat Ivica Račan was prime minister – a director of the renowned Zagreb Youth Theater, but he had to leave due to the repertoire policy for which he advocated. He is praised across Europe as a top-class playwright, while his plays aren’t generally staged in Croatia, with a few rare exceptions. He doesn’t complain about that, and as a rule he swiftly, and often cynically, interprets and explains individual moves of the government, after which everything is clear to all.

Šnajder is the biological offspring of father Đura Šnajder, a poet and writer, and mother Zdenka, who in 1942, as a member of the Yugoslav National Liberation Movement, and having barely turned 18, suffered atrocities at the Ustasha concentration camp in Nova Gradiška. Šnajder has also previously described himself as the “wild son” of Croatian writer Miroslav Krleža (1893-1981), as he explains in this CorD Magazine interview.

“An illegitimate son is that unpleasant surprise that turns up when a father dies, particularly if he is famous and rich, and such a son announces his inheritance aspirations. There is, however, no such scramble over Krleža’s inheritance. One anecdote suggests that one of the most persistent and vocal on the matter of inheritance after Krleža’s death was his chauffeur.

“The wild son in this case would be one that the father wouldn’t acknowledge, as is often the case. But when Krleža could do no more about this issue, the chauffeurs turned up, of course.

“Specifically, we today live in a country, in its literature, as if Miroslav Krleža had never written a single word.

“In truth, and as you’re alluding to, I once stated that I’d be happy to be just such a ‘wild son’. That calculation turned out to be mistaken: there’s nothing to inherit there. We have to do it all ourselves. Time and again. With great respect to the bard, but time and again. Well aware that we won’t leave anything behind either. I also have wild grandchildren, in addition to three real ones.”

His parents divorced early on and he grew up alongside his mother.

If the criterion of a state’s worthiness is the happiness of its citizens, then there was still more of that happiness in Yugoslavia than there is today

“My mother and father fought difficult legal battles over their children, my sister and me, which is strongly reminiscent of some contemporary battles, for example with regard to Severina. My mother took the victory in that tough litigation, that is to say that she took the children. But my father then disappeared almost entirely. You can read about that in the concluding chapters of the novel The Brass Age. I inherited the traces of their battle in correspondences, when they were ripping each other’s guts out, and I’d rather I hadn’t.”

And yet, despite everything, he had a happy childhood.

“I went to primary school with rural kids because we lived on the outskirts of the city, in a settlement that wasn’t yet a city, but was ceasing to be a village. I was raised in a female family, with my mother and grandmother, an extremely intelligent matriarch to whom life really hadn’t been kind. Her son, my uncle, had never returned from Mauthausen concentration camp, where he’d been sent after Jasenovac.

He was literally killed on the last day of the war, in May 1945. A candle always burned for him in front of the Partisan memorial (in fact a piece of paper). My grandmother received compensation for her son, worth about 30 euros by today’s standards.”

When I ask him what he inherited from his parents and how his upbringing looked, he responds as follows.

“Genetics, which we of course don’t choose. In this sense, I received a Greek gift from my father: I have a gene that always concerns cardiologists. In black and white terms, it tells me that I have an elevated risk of heart failure. My father died of a myocardial infarction when he was precisely the age I am now.

“So, he disappeared from my childhood, only to reappear in my life sometime during my high school days. I must state immediately that I attended a gymnasium high school that was incomparably better than what is referred to by the same name today. The teaching faculty was incredible and I still have fond memories of many of my teachers. The teacher of Croatian instilled in me respect and love for Crnjanski, and subsequently also for Krleža. I really enjoyed reading my early works to the class. I was always vain and needed an audience.

“Surprisingly, when it came to what should have been the male component in my upbringing, I settled for myself. I really liked football. I went to matches, and naturally cheered for Dinamo. Entering the stadium was a problem, of course. It was necessary to find any adult fan to get me in for free. And that’s how I was adopted by many; I was a wild son of many. Krleža didn’t attend football matches.”

What remains today of that leftist who came to Belgrade to support the students back in 1968, as a delegate of the University of Zagreb?

“I will first tell you something about that ’68; that generation that strove with all its might to be born politically and culturally. A man usually grows up by resisting authority. The Yugoslavia of that time was led by a man with huge political instinct – even Đilas admitted that to Tito – and great credit for the success of the only authentic revolution on our territory. The Ustasha fascists also called their movement a revolution, and they christened it as openly totalitarian, because for them that term didn’t have the horrid connotations that it does today, on the contrary. But the totalitarian revolution is a revolution against the very concept. Like calling Tuđman’s conservative.

“So, on the one hand, we had as leader a man who was indisputably worthy of credit for the relatively peaceful childhood and youth we’d had up until then. But we saw that the matter of his revolution had stalled, that the revolution – as Krleža said (but certainly not to Tito, particularly not face to face) – was maneuvering like a locomotive at a secondary shunting station. The regime appeared old to us, incapable of the changes that were on everyone’s lips declaratively, while in reality nothing changed.

We today live in a country, in its literature, as if Miroslav Krleža had never written a single word

At that juncture, the revolution pusswas scared of its own youth. Don’t forget that Edvard Kardelj, despite being one of the most intelligent in Tito’s close circle, pleaded with the Central Committee to deploy tanks against the Belgrade students.

We then took to the streets, and it could easily have been a bloodbath in our country like the one in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square.

Today, after the collapse of his project, I think better of Tito than I did back then. But the objections to him that are raised by my Anđa Berilo in the novel The Angel of Disappearence, as a person devoted to the cause of his revolution, are in essence the objections that my generation raised against Tito’s regime in 1968.

“The 1968 rebellion coincided precisely with events at European universities, especially French and German ones. We had links with them, and many of us were long under suspicion by the ‘Services’ due to those links. The files on us were simply passed from one hand to another in the 1990s. The Services have since pursued different and even opposite ends, protecting countries hostile to one another, but they are basically the same people. That’s what it was like with the Gestapo in France. The West didn’t only need people who knew how to draw and fire rockets, rather first and foremost it needed policemen. All told, this is an as yet unwritten chapter. I also owe something to my generation.

“The way things stand today, the recent Croatian history begins in 1971. In your country, that would mean from Tito’s showdown with Serbian liberals. However, the recent Croatian history begins in 1968.

Still, as I say, I think better of Tito today than I did back then. This is explained in particular by my studying of Tito’s resistance to Stalin. If there had been no such resistance, we would have spent our youth in the grey environment of the countries of the so-called people’s democracy, i.e., in the lands of the Soviet labour camp.”

Is it today possible to be a publicly declared leftist in Croatia or anywhere on the territory of the former Yugoslavia without being professionally sanctioned? How acceptable, unpleasant or dangerous is that today?

“I’ve never thought about it in that way. Even when I received threats that included descriptions of my physical elimination that would be executed with such expertise that I’d be able to experience it to the full for an hour, I didn’t immediately rush to the police. And I said that there are highly rated experts. However, I don’t know what a declared leftist would be? It looks like an apricot compote on which it is stated what’s in the jar. I NEVER decided to be declared as an apricot compote. I never thought about the risk. I thought for myself, only being sure not to be adopted by someone crooked.”

Can you make a living from writing?

“I’m a Croatian pensioner, and that category is more or less social. My foreign publishers don’t like that, so they occasionally send me some money. I certainly have more than most of those who do what I do. If they really aren’t academics.”

How much are you impacted by daily politics today?

“Napoleon’s famous remark on the subject crosses my mind: everyone talks about destiny. Politics is today destiny. So much for Bonaparte. By the way, he was the first to create a secret service, a very effective one. And previously in this interview I said that destiny is genetics. All I can say is that, in getting old, I’ve developed a disdain for such a political class. It seems that this class in our lands, in the former Yugoslavia, is outgrowing its framework by some necessity into what Đilas calls a new class, i.e., a nomenclature. What is actually something of a novelty in this sense, and has been happening recently in Croatia, is that the political class has been directly transferring public money in dizzying amounts to their companies, under their own ownership. For example, one minister transferred millions of euros to his own company. Nothing is hidden anymore, even though it’s nefarious. This has somehow unfolded in a roundabout way so far, though the result is the same. Now they no longer pussyfoot around. The political class promotes itself into the high bourgeoisie. So far without any risk!”

Is there any positive heritage from the former country left to us?

“It exists in such a way that it no longer exists. There are memories. If the criterion of a state’s worthiness is the happiness of its citizens, then there was still more of that happiness in Yugoslavia than there is today. But let’s admittedly be under no illusions. Yugoslavia was far from an ideal country, but if we look back on it today, what I said seems true to most of those who were born in these lands.”

What is the greatest success of the Croatian authorities since the creation of the independent state?

“Well, that would imply that many successes exist, and then one that is the biggest. Dajte-najte [Don’t leas us on], as we Kajkavian people say. My masochism also has limits.”

Šnajder’s theatre drama Croatian Faust has to this day remained a “dark object of desire of the Croatian petty bourgeoisie”, never performed at the Croatian National Theatre. If it had ever been performed there – as it was in 1982 at the Yugoslav Drama Theatre, becoming that theatre’s most popular play for the subsequent ten years – would anything have changed regarding the perception of this play and its rating when it comes to contemporary Croatian drama?

“I’m reluctant to talk about it because I’m already sick of that topic. I keep raising two fingers, and as if to pray, Lord, I’m here, the wild son of this one or that one, give me, for God’s sake, take notice! But I basically don’t care about that. There is a chapter in the novel The Angel of Disappearence entitled ‘Le Danse macabre croate’, i.e., ‘The Croatian Dance of Death’, in which I stated something conclusive about that unhappy topic, with the wish that I never have to speak publicly about it again.

All I can say is that, in getting old, I’ve developed a disdain for the political class as it is

“And here you are asking. It boils down to something that survived the disintegration of the country as a taboo and continued to endure in another that was created according to the opposite ‘user manual’. So, how come? There is something curious in all of this, something scurrilously- comical. It scurrilously points to grinning skulls.

“Well, may they all rest in peace!”

Snježana Banović had wanted to stage Croatian Faust at the Croatian National Theatre when she was that theatre’s director of drama, but?

“Mladen Tarbuk, the intendant of the Croatian National Theatre in the period when Snježana Banović was its director of Drama – forming, by the way, by far the most informed duo to date – indeed mentioned in one interview that he intended to stage that play. But a repertoire proposal was never formed. The two of them certainly thought about it, especially Snježana Banović, but she was very quickly fired from the position of drama director, and that was precisely because of a guest appearance in Belgrade that she had planned. And then, unfortunately, Mladen Tarbuk was also hung out to dry. Banović developed great distress, not only for that play, but also for thirteen others that had never been performed, in many places, including in her book about the crazy ‘80s, which you have in Serbia in the very good edition of Geopoetika.”

Your new novel, The Angel of Disappearence, is a kind of ode to a Zagreb that no longer exists. What is Zagreb today for Slobodan Šnajder?

“Well, just as you exposed who my biological father was, and to whom I offered myself for adoption, Zagreb is forever my birthplace, is it not? Only Homer was born in as many as seven Greek cities. The Angel of Disappearence is dedicated to Zagreb; it is a novel about the city, just like Döblin’s Alexandarplatz is a novel about Berlin, if a small one can be compared to a large one. I live on a small island in central Dalmatia. My sources are there, and one shelf is already full of my books. Terrible.”

What does this writer read; does he have his own favourite writers?

“I’m a reading machine. One anecdote states that my father, old Kempf from The Brass Age, read the entire literary production of Croatia in his time as a critic. I don’t deal with critiques, but I’m interested in what my colleagues write.

“I’ve been reading a lot of Kiš recently. My great literary role model is Roger Martin du Gard, a forgotten French Nobel laureate, and his Thibault family. That’s how I would like to write. I don’t think I’ll succeed.”

The post I Think Better of Tito Today Than I Did Back Then appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Cecilia Bartoli’s exceptional career in the world of classical music has brought her numerous prestigious awards and honours, such as several Grammy Awards, multiple ECHO Klassik Awards and the Polar Music Prize, but also the high distinction that is the Order of Cultural Merit of the Principality of Monaco.

Speaking in this exclusive interview for CorD Magazine, the Europa Nostra president stresses that the Venice Manifesto, which was presented in the stunning setting of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista in Venice, will inspire and guide Europa Nostra’s action over the course of the next decade and beyond. “Today, more than ever, we need to recognise and celebrate what can bring Europe’s citizens and communities closer together. Culture – arts and heritage – are prime vectors for promoting stronger cohesion and social inclusion within our societies. We need to combat fragmentation and even hostility through solidarity and mutual support. It is for this reason that our Venice Manifesto insists that the concept of “European citizenship”, which constitutes the very foundation of the European project, cannot be reduced to its political or economic dimensions.”

Madam Bartoli, it was in May 2022 that you became the new President of Europa Nostra, the European Voice of Civil Society that’s committed to Cultural Heritage. What does this role mean to you?

— As a European citizen and someone who has dedicated most of my life to art and cultural heritage, I feel extremely privileged to have been appointed President of Europa Nostra. I accepted this honour with the greatest pride. I am also delighted to continue pursuing the work of the previous president, Plácido Domingo, for whom I have great respect, and to work hand in hand with our Executive President, Hermann Parzinger, who is an eminent heritage scholar and practitioner from Germany.

Europa Nostra is an organisation that inspires me and enriches my own work. In return, with my multifaceted experience as a performer, producer, facilitator and cultural manager, I hope to contribute to further focusing and amplifying Europa Nostra’s vision and action for the future.

What does “being European” mean to you?

— I was born in Italy, the birthplace of opera, and surrounded by music throughout my youth. Growing up in Rome allowed me to inhale the magical beauty of cultural heritage in its various forms, from architecture and sculpture to music and poetry, on a daily basis. Italy’s magnificent landscapes – its islands, mountains and plains, villages and towns, fearsome volcanoes, rugged coastlines and shiny white beaches, ancient vineyards, olive groves and canals, endless shades of blue in its lakes and surrounding seas – form part of my own cultural inheritance, to which I am intimately attached.

I am delighted to continue pursuing the work of the previous president, Plácido Domingo, for whom I have great respect, and to work hand in hand with our Executive President, Hermann Parzinger, who is an eminent heritage scholar and practitioner

This is also the case to the same extent with my country’s handicrafts, folklore or our exquisite gastronomic heritage, as well as with our more recent achievements, such as high-speed railways, elegant fashion or legendary films. This heritage profoundly marked my thinking, my feelings and my personality. Over the years, I have been fortunate to add additional cultural layers, mostly European ones, to my native one: Spanish, French, Swiss, Austrian, Monegasque and many more. They made me love and value Europe’s shared heritage, which is so utterly diverse, while at the same time so profoundly interwoven. I love Vivaldi and Handel as much as Mozart and Bizet. All this make me feel European and proud to be so. And I strongly believe that many people in Europe feel the same way.

Together with Europa Nostra, you promote the multiple values of cultural heritage as a vital resource for bridging Europe’s past, present and future, and for shaping a better quality of life for Europe’s citizens and their communities. At this time that sees Europa Nostra commemorate its diamond jubilee, what do you see as being the key priorities of the federation’s future action?

— I was so pleased last September to join Europa Nostra’s large pan-European family of members and partners in Venice for our European Cultural Heritage Summit. This was the perfect occasion to celebrate our 60th anniversary and to also reflect on present and future challenges to our action.

The choice of Venice was a deliberate one: this uniquely historic city is, in many ways, so emblematic of the mission of Europa Nostra. Historically, Venetian culture, in all its aspects, spread across Europe and the world. The city itself epitomises both the uniqueness and amazing beauty of Europe’s heritage, but also reflects its fragility and vulnerability, due to the many challenges it faces today.

Europa Nostra, as the largest European network of civil society organisations active in the field of cultural heritage, celebrates and champions cultural heritage as a strategic resource for a better future for our Europe. Cultural heritage is the foundation of the entire European project; it is the essence of what it means to be European. If we want to achieve a more sustainable, more inclusive and more beautiful Europe, we must place culture and cultural heritage at the very heart of our strategies and priorities. Europa Nostra’s task is to become an even more forceful advocate of this key message, together with our many partners gathered around the European Heritage Hub project that is being funded by the European Union. This project includes the creation and empowerment of our new heritage hubs in Krakow, Athens, Lisbon, Nicosia and Venice, with further ones to follow.

It was during the European Cultural Heritage Summit in Venice that Europa Nostra presented its Venice Manifesto, which introduces and promotes the concept of “European cultural citizenship”. Can you tell us more about this important initiative?

— The Venice Manifesto, which was presented in the stunning setting of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista in Venice, will inspire and guide Europa Nostra’s action over the course of the next decade and beyond. Today, more than ever, we need to recognise and celebrate what can bring Europe’s citizens and communities closer together. Culture – arts and heritage – are prime vectors for promoting stronger cohesion and social inclusion within our societies. We need to combat fragmentation and even hostility through solidarity and mutual support. It is for this reason that our Venice Manifesto insists that the concept of “European citizenship”, which constitutes the very foundation of the European project, cannot be reduced to its political or economic dimensions. We really need to promote the concept of “European cultural citizenship”, which will help strengthen the much-needed sense of belonging to a wider European community and will foster the sense of togetherness that will help us successfully combat and overcome forces that could serve to divide Europe and its citizens.

Europa Nostra is active all over Europe, including in Serbia. What is your message to all people who care for cultural heritage in our country and in the wider Western Balkan region?

— Your country and your region are so rich in cultural heritage: built and natural, tangible and intangible. This heritage reflects millennia of European history and today represents the strongest possible anchor within the wider European family. Therefore, taking good care of this heritage and making it more widely known is crucial for the participation of your country and your region in the process of creating a space where the European spirit, which is based on our shared cultural heritage, is palpable.

Like in all countries, we are naturally aware that your priceless heritage is also often endangered by different types of threats. We stand ready to support all those who are committed to saving this heritage, for the sake of present and future generations.

Rossini is maybe the most European figure who – indirectly – won a European Heritage Award this year and should serve as a role model for all of us!

We are delighted that the integrated conservation of the Bač Fortress received one of our Grand Prix awards back in 2018, when we celebrated the European Year of Cultural Heritage. I am delighted that the person who was responsible for the coordination of this outstanding project, Slavica Vujović, has recently been appointed the new President of Europa Nostra Serbia. We wish her and the entire team of Europa Nostra Serbia, led by Secretary General Vesna Marjanović, every success in pursuing the pioneering and visionary work that was led during the last 25 years by Professor Irina Subotić, who was also a highly regarded Vice-President of Europa Nostra and has become an Honorary Life Member of Europa Nostra.

Last but not least, let me highlight the key role played by our Secretary General, Sneška Quaedvlieg-Mihailović, who was born and raised in Belgrade. She has spent more than 30 years working tirelessly, passionately and forcefully to enlarge and strengthen Europa Nostra’s network all over Europe, including in your region. At this moment when we are celebrating the 60th anniversary of Europa Nostra, we are indebted to her leadership and unwavering commitment to the Europe of Culture and the Europe of Values, which are at the core of the mission that’s promoted by our organisation.

It was in Venice that Europa Nostra, together with the European Union, presented this year’s European Heritage Awards/Europa Nostra Awards, which are considered the European Oscars of Cultural Heritage. One of those awards went to Italian musicologist Sergio Ragni in recognition of his many decades of dedication to the life and work of famous European composer Gioachino Rossini. Being a celebrated opera singer and performer of Rossini’s works, this award certainly warmed your heart?

— All winners of our European Heritage Awards warmed my heart and the hearts of so many of our members and partners who had the privilege of attending Europa Nostra’s award ceremony at the iconic Palazzo del Cinema on the Lido in Venice. These winners cover so many aspects of our heritage: from architectural gems to archaeological treasures; from magical gardens to stunning coastlines and other examples of cultural landscapes; from museums and handicrafts to our musical heritage and other aspects of Europe’s intangible heritage.

Of course, I was particularly happy to see Sergio Ragni appearing on the stage to receive his own award in the category of Heritage Champions.

Rossini is not only one of my favourite composers, who also propelled my career forward from the very beginning, he is also a truly European figure: as a musician, as someone who furthered talent, as an influential arts administrator and a respected figure with connections to the most important political figures of his day. His music was played all over Europe – but also in North America and Russia! – it united artists, audiences and all kinds of social layers in a spirit of community and enthusiasm. Rossini is maybe the most European figure who – indirectly – won a European Heritage Award this year and should serve as a role model for all of us!

I am so happy for this high European recognition for Sergio Ragni, whose work with and for Rossini I have admired for many years. He has done this out of pure passion for decades, and has invested large amounts of money and time into this – while making it all available for free to the general public. Go and visit his museum in Naples, or consult his editions of Rossini’s letters and writings when you have a chance! I very much hope that our European Heritage Award will give further visibility to the work of Sergio Ragni and his Rossini collection, leading to a lasting solution to make this work and collection more widely accessible to all musicians, scholars and Rossini lovers today and in the future.

Your own passion for reviving forgotten operatic treasures is wellknown. You’ve explored a wide range of musical styles and historical periods. Are there any uncharted territories or projects you’d like to explore in your future career?

— It has indeed given me great joy to give new life to forgotten musical gems that I found in archives all over Europe, by bringing them to new audiences of the 20th and 21st centuries. At the same time, I want to share with people what I learned about the lives of great composers and singers of those times, such as famous 18th-century castrato singer Farinelli, and the unique 19th century opera diva and multifaceted artist Pauline Garcia-Viardot and her incredible family, who changed so much of Europe’s cultural and social life.

Classical music builds on communion, giving and taking, shades and colours, soft and differentiated sounds. Classical music exhilarates, providing joy and comfort

Of course, there are today also new projects that occupy my mind, but they sometimes take years to materialise or get discarded along the way. But what I would like to explore in the future – in collaboration with Europa Nostra, among others – is a new project in which music is utilised to further social inclusion in deprived areas. We cannot talk about our common heritage without exerting greater efforts to make sure future generations are aware of it, with a particular focus on those who are not brought to European culture automatically through their upbringing or schooling. They will be among the ones who must continue to care for our heritage when we are gone.

Your exceptional career in the world of classical music has earned you numerous prestigious awards and honours. How important are such public acknowledgements to an artist?

— For me, public recognition is a sign that my voice has been heard, and that the things I feel passionate about and find worthy of bringing to public attention have reached an audience and also met with their enthusiasm. In this sense, they are encouraging and I am most grateful for them.

But it is absolutely vital to awaken the interest of young people in culture, and to help them in their professional career. The Cecilia Bartoli – Music Foundation does this through projects like the CD label „mentored by Bartoli“, or the opera academies we just launched in Monte-Carlo.

Your dedication to educating and mentoring talented youngsters is admirable. This will not be the first time that you’ve been asked how you see the future of opera and classical music in general, in our world of new media and modern technologies?

— I always say that, having survived more than 400 years until now, opera will surely survive a little longer. And classical music is, of course, far older and more diverse. I invite people to open their hearts and minds and take their time to discover it. It is such an immensely wide and varied field that everyone will find something in it that fascinates or moves them!

In light of the great many challenges that have confronted, and continue to confront, Europe and the world, what are your hopes for 2024?

— I hope people will listen to and play more music, especially classical music. Classical music builds on communion, giving and taking, shades and colours, soft and differentiated sounds. Classical music exhilarates, providing joy and comfort. I also hope that people will, more than anything, listen to one another carefully and respectfully.

Photo: Uli Weber/Decca

The post Culture Must Be Placed at the Heart of Europe appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Dubljanska Street is located in the Belgrade neighbourhood known as Čubura. The street is named after the small Mačva village of Dublja, which is known as the site of the 1815 battle of the Second Serbian Uprising that saw the Serbs defeat the Turks. This street is also known for its inclusion in the title of Miodrag Zupanc’s play White Rose for Dubljanska Street. And it was in this very street, on the eve of the outbreak of World War II, that CorD’s interlocutor, architect Toma Garevski, was born.

His father Dragan, a Macedonian, was a representative of Macedonian companies in Belgrade. His Jewish Mother Ružica Liper survived World War II thanks to being married to an Orthodox Christian. And her sister Dragica also managed to save her life by marrying a Slovenian man.

“With the experience of the horrors of war and mixed marriages, they raised me to love Yugoslavia, primarily because of the inter-ethnic tolerance that really existed back then.”

Toma completed his basic schooling at all the schools of the Neimar and Pašina Brdo neighbourhoods, but he also attended Knez Mihailova Street’s Dr Vojislav Vučković Music School, accordion department.

“I remember my childhood for the fact that family order was respected in the house, while the street was where we children played freely. I thus fell in love with Čubura. We planted trees in the park on Neimar that are still there today. We lived for football and played with a rag ball. A relative from America came once and before departing asked us what we would like him to send us when he returned to the States. Without thinking, me and my younger brother Boris told him to send us a football. We spent the next two months dreaming of the ball arriving from America. And when the package finally arrived, the family and all the children from the street gathered. Opening that package was the greatest ceremony that I can recall. And the greatest sadness. Instead of a standard football, the relative had sent a ball for American football. We didn’t even know what that sport was, nor could we play football with that ball. There wasn’t a friend who didn’t cry.”

Čubura is a holy place for all lovers, but Toma went further: he claims that Čubura is also a way of thinking, a code according to which a thug must be an educated person, sufficiently courageous and ready to succeed in life. I know that this opinion was shared by his fellow Čubura native and immortal actor Dragan ‘Gaga’ Nikolić, but also by the Zupanc brothers, director Dragomir and the aforementioned Miodrag, who were born and continue to live in Čubura.

Čubura is a way of thinking, a code according to which a thug must be an educated person, sufficiently courageous and ready to succeed in life

After completing his architecture studies in Belgrade, Garevski headed to Paris.

“I also completed my military service and went to Paris to buy a synthesizer. I already played the accordion in the Mile Lojpur Orchestra and needed to have a synthesizer for the summer stages on the coast. After three months working in the office of great French architect Jean Balladur, I bought a synthesizer, but the work took off and was too enticing for me to leave. That’s how I ended up staying.

“You should keep in mind that in high school I was the worst student of the French language. Throughout the entire period of my schooling, I ‘earned’ by drawing and playing the accordion. Instead of knowledge, those were the aces up my sleeve, and it was because of those skills that the teachers turned a blind eye to everything that I didn’t know. When I came to Belgrade to attend the celebration marking the 20th anniversary of graduating high school, my French teacher, Professor Nikačević, was still alive. I told him that I lived and worked in Paris, and he was so taken aback that he almost had a stroke.”

Toma spent five years working in the atelier of Jean Balladur and was a member of the team that worked on the project for a hotel in Vichy. He was told in confidence that his work was the best, but he wasn’t rewarded for his efforts because the name behind the project was more important than anything else to the president of the municipality in Vichy.

“It was then that I realised that it would be more profitable for me to work abroad as a French architect, as opposed to being a foreigner in France. I firstly had to graduate in architecture studies in Paris, because they only acknowledged two years of my studies at the Belgrade faculty. I thus formally became a French architect, though that didn’t help me a lot – because you can’t succeed in Paris if you don’t have family ties or influential connections. And heading out into the world meant that I initially worked in Lebanon and the Middle East.

“Those first experiences of mine were also interesting. I’d learnt in Belgrade that it was a great success if you create the best possible project in a small space, say by packing a three-room apartment into an area of 70 square metres. In contrast, in Beirut, I had orders to design a three- or four-room apartment on an area of 300-400 square metres. That’s called a clash of worlds in architecture.”

Very strict architectural rules exist for all large buildings… For me it has always been important for my projects to fit into the ambience and philosophy of the surrounding area

This architect worked wonders in Saudi Arabia. And he was assisted in doing so by a certain Rafic Hariri, a key man for capital projects in that country who happened to like Toma’s works and ideas. That’s how he ended up building a residence and hotel that had been commissioned by Saudi King Khalid and had to be completed in eight months. And to be the most luxurious edifice the world had ever seen.

“From foundation to roof, the Intercontinental Hotel was built in eight months, in the desert, in the middle of nowhere. When I returned there 10 years later, I couldn’t even find the hotel. A large city had been built around it. After King Khalid, his successor, King Fahd, also wanted to work with ‘the fastest architect in the world’. We built a Sheraton hotel and many other projects near Mecca: palaces, hotels, residences etc. Invitations followed from other countries. I implemented the Presidential Palace in Djibouti and have remained friends with the President of Djibouti to this day, having worked there for about fifteen years. All these projects opened doors for me in Paris and on the French Riviera. And the Automobile Museum in Paris was among the first.”

He describes himself as being like a general practitioner, because architects constantly ask him to do this or that, convinced that he can design a hospital, hotel or luxury palace, as well as an ordinary residential building. Once in Skopje, after an earthquake, he participated in a design contest for a cemetery! In stark contrast, he had the great pleasure of receiving the opportunity to contribute to the luxury monograph ‘Ces belles mairies de France’ [The Beautiful Town Halls of France], detailing the most beautiful municipal buildings where people most like to get married in France.

When fashion house Louis Vuitton decided to construct its business palace in Paris’s Avenue Montaigne, at the very entrance to Champs-Élysées Square, the job was given to Toma. He offers an interesting explanation regarding this extremely prestigious endeavour.

“Very strict architectural rules exist for all large buildings. Apart from that, for me it has always been important for the projects that I do to fit into the ambience and philosophy of the surrounding area. If I design Hilton and Sheraton hotels in Saudi Arabia, I utilise their history and the local architecture. I draw inspiration from their legacy. The territory on which I built the Louis Vuitton palace, otherwise situated in the most exclusive part of Paris, generated enormous interest. And it was terribly expensive, costing around 35 million francs at the time. Then Vuitton came and bought it for 70 million! Why the company had done so wasn’t clear to anyone, but an answer came quickly: it was important for Vuitton to have an address on the Avenue Montaigne, because of the prestige the company had in Japan and around the world. As such, the Palace had to have a highly representative look. The investor was Boussac, and we built a penthouse apartment for Mr Marcel Boussac and everyone was very satisfied.”

I quickly realised that it would be more profitable for me to work abroad as a French architect, rather than being a foreigner in France

Famous Serbian architect and university professor Mihajlo Mitrović (1922- 2018) reviewed this building in his capacity as a critic in 1990.

“This latest work of architect Garevski, in the heart of Paris, largely compensates for missed opportunities and represents his architecture in the best way, showing the success of gradually replacing old buildings with new edifices, larger spaces and new functionality. Installed on the new, modern building is the complete Florentine portal that previously adorned the demolished building, shaped with marble squares in an aluminium grid. With this approach, Garevski has brought back to Parisian architecture, and affirmed in a new way, the controversial idea of Violletle- Duc that a deliberate and purposeful reconstruction in architecture should mean establishing a finished structure that never previously existed. And indeed, the new Vuitton store today shimmers with rich new spaces and exclusive interiors, while at the same time supporting, tranquilly and in a refined way, and enriching, in a modern way, the atmosphere of the boulevards of the Champs-Elysée, the world’s most beautiful boulevards.”

After Toma, his younger brother and fellow architect, Boris, also came to Paris, and the two of them have for decades had a joint company, AXE, based in Paris and on the French Riviera in Antibes. Toma has long been married to Anđelka, his high school sweetheart who hails originally from Kruševac and graduated in technology studies. One event in which the main actors were Toma Garevski and his wife remains as a historical anecdote and film script story. Namely, he granted himself the right to bring his wife to the reception commemorating the opening of that hotel and residence in Saudi Arabia, which he had completed just a few days ahead of that famous eight-month deadline. The king had invited several thousand guests to the reception, but the only woman in attendance was Anđelka Đeka Garevski. That was because only men had been invited, and Toma didn’t want to attend the reception without his wife. In a country where, at the time, women were deprived of even the most basic rights, where they were not allowed to even touch the steering wheel of a car, let alone attend a reception with men, Toma was a hero who’d completed a magnificent building in the middle of nowhere ahead of the deadline, so for him everything was permitted.

Toma and Anđelka are the proud parents of two successful daughters. Gorana is communications director for Channel 1 of French television company TF1. Sabina is the director of a real estate company. Gorana has a daughter, Gaia, who just turned 17 and attended her birthday celebration with a boyfriend for the first time. Apart from his family and work, Toma has also spent time with friends from Belgrade and Yugoslavia who’ve come to Paris, stayed, left, and returned once again. He became friends with famous ballet dancer Milorad Mišković and would visit him at his place in Nice, together with Politika newspaper’s Paris correspondent Aleksandar ‘Saša’ Prlja. Toma’s office has a gallery section that includes pictures by his painter friends – from Vladimir Veličković, Ljubomir Popović and Petar Omčikus, to Milorad ‘Bata’ Mihajlović and Miloš Šobajić – and sculptures by Nikola ‘Kolja’ Milunović.

“My first friend among painters was Đoka Ivačković, who was actually an architect by education, just like Veličković. That’s also how I very quickly made friendships with our other painters. We often socialised at my office. Ljuba Popović lived around 200 metres away and always came on foot. Veličković made it a practice of parking his car and visiting my office on the way to his studio. Bata Mihailović was my fellow Čubura native and I had a special way of communicating with him. Kosa and Petar Omčikus really liked us to visit them. I remained friends with Miloš Šobajić until his last day. We were all inseparable at celebrations, at the Cultural Centre, at the exhibitions of all of them. We did everything we could for each other, without a moment’s thought or interest. A proper gallery of their works, which I received as friends’ gifts, has remained in my office as a reminder of that time. It could thus be said that we still hang out today.

Vlada, Ljuba, Kosa and Petar, Bata, Miloš… We were all inseparable at celebrations, at the Cultural Centre, at the exhibitions of all of them

“We rejoiced in every arrival in Paris of our friends from Belgrade. And that was particularly so during the years when Dragan Nikolić was performing here. And he, like me, initially spoke French disastrously, but learned extremely quickly and forged a successful career in Paris. His wife Milena also came often and those were unforgettable gatherings.”

Toma also spent his summers with his friends from Belgrade. He spent his summer holidays in Cavtat [a town on Croatia’s Adriatic coast], but used his boat to visit his Parisian and Serbian friends holidaying everywhere from Istria, via the islands, to Dubrovnik.

“We often went to Dubrovnik to see our [Yugoslav] artist Jagoda Buić, while it was obligator for us to go to Ljuba’s place on Korčula. I would drink coffee every morning with Zoran Radmilović, who had a house in Cavtat. Many dear people were there, including Ružica Sokić, the married couple Milka Stojanović and Živan Saramandić, famous cardiologist Ninoslav Radovanović. Us friends from Belgrade who had addresses all over the world would have a nice time socialising once a year in Cavtat and on the Adriatic.”

This architect was always ready to help when he was asked to do so in Paris by “someone among ours”, which is how he still refers to all people from the territory of the former Yugoslavia.

“I’m always ready to help the Embassy, the Church and the Cultural Centre. We renovated the entire Serbian church in Paris, but also the Cultural Centre of Serbia; at the Serbian ambassadorial residence we arranged the balcony and roof, installed gas etc. There is still a lot of work to be done at the ambassadorial residence, which is one of the most beautiful buildings in Paris and is unbelievably well positioned opposite the Eiffel Tower. I hope to continue what I’ve started with the new ambassador, Ana Hrustanović.”

And how is it possible that Toma Garevski from Čubura has never done any work in Belgrade? Responding to that question, CorD’s interlocutor offers the following answer.

“I haven’t managed to implement anything concrete, but I have proposed many projects. First and foremost were several offices next to the building of Politika, where to this day there is still an empty space, or rather a parking lot. I proposed an office building opposite the Assembly, on the site where the Three Leaves of Tobacco tavern used to stand. I provided a project for the expansion of the hotel on Avala. I brought Mr Eric Hilton to Belgrade to explore the possibility of building a hotel. I’m currently working on a project for a hotel that will be located next to Nikola Tesla Airport in Surčin. I have a great desire to also leave a mark in my hometown.”

The post From Čubura to Paris and international Success appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Public attention is currently focused on a particularly interesting and highly attractive book entitled Sa Cvejom [With Cveja], which represents an unprecedented undertaking in the field of biographical literature in Serbian practises. Delving into the life and work of actor and highly successful director of the Yugoslav Drama Theatre, Branko Cvejić (1946 – 2022), the book is co-published by CLIO and My Balkan. Unusually for the esteemed publishing house’s founder and chief editor, Zoran easily and persuasively explains: “It is extremely important that fragile arts like acting gain lasting insight in the public eye and a longer life. This book is conceived as a testimony. It was written by those who worked with Branko Cvejić, primarily on the stage. However, Cveja, with the diversity of his public activities, ‘called out’ other collaborators to write about him. For me, he is a cultural creator in the fullest sense of the word; a symbol of what we aspire to and what a serious society must have.”

This book came to fruition thanks to Beka Vučo, who did a tremendous job – from initial idea to full realisation. “There are few who can give so much for an artist like her and her organisation, My Balkan. I am very pleased with the excellent collaboration we’ve had,” explains our interlocutor. Zoran (66) was born in Belgrade’s Filmski Grad neighbourhood and spent his early days there. His father, Nikola, a military man originally from Herzegovina, had been waiting to receive an apartment, so they lived with relatives in a hangar in Filmski Grad. It was there that his mother, Dušanka, raised her newborn baby Zoran, who didn’t have a crib and slept on two stools.

“I was an only child and I constantly asked my mother to give me a brother or sister, but my wish was never fulfilled.”

They moved to a new apartment in Voždovac in 1960, when Zoran was just three years old. Something seemingly contained in the dust of Filmski Grad inevitably stuck with him. As a child, he worked as an extra in several domestic films shot in Košutnjak and Pionirski Grad, though he can’t recall exactly which films they were. He only remembers that it was a lot of fun for him as a child. He started school at the Bora Stanković Primary School and was an excellent pupil, but failure to grant his request to be in the class that was learning English prompted his parents to transfer him to the Karađorđe Primary School. Interestingly, these two primary schools are located on the same street – Jove Ilića. One street, two schools, but also two civilisations!

Our task was to address those who think for themselves and move forward, and we have never stopped doing that

He still recalls a situation that illustrates the time in which they lived vividly. He resided in a building that housed a large community of military personnel from across Yugoslavia. Back then, neighbours would congratulate one another on 1st May and 29th November, which was Republic Day. He had a neighbour, an officer, for whom it was essential to prove his loyalty to the new government because he had also been an officer of the royal army in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia.

“He was a simple and loyal man who wanted to wish Jovanka Broz, the wife of President Josip Broz Tito, well on 8th March [International Women’s Day]. He wrote everything as he thought best, but instead of signing himself, he signed me, a pioneer, a first-year school pupil, and sent the letter. After some time, a long white envelope arrived at the school, written in beautiful handwriting with the signature of Jovanka Broz. The letter said: Dear Zoran, thank you for your congratulations, and I wish you all the best in school. It’s clear that this letter first arrived at the school director’s office, and he asked the teacher to gather all the students in the hallway to read the letter that our comrade Jovanka Broz had sent to me. So, I undeservedly became a hero that day. I received congratulations for no reason. During school events, when I recited or played the violin, that was an additional factor of ‘fame’.”

He completed the 12th Belgrade Gymnasium high school in Voždovac, and everyone knew that he was a talented painter. Half of the school was adorned with his paintings, and it was expected that he would enrol in the Academy of Fine Arts. Apart from playing the violin, he also played the bassoon, making it clear that he had an artistically inclined soul.

Over these thirty years, we have been publishing the kind of literature that is motivating in formal and informal learning conditions

“I was also an extra in the theatre, jumped into the choir, always wanted to do more because being ‘just’ a high school pupil didn’t fulfil me. The art teacher praised my work and instilled in me the feeling that I was meant to be a painter. That boosted my pride, not my work and talent, for which she wasn’t responsible! I never even considered enrolling in art studies.” The fact that he was born in Filmski Grad still seemed to define him. He applied to the Faculty of Dramatic Arts, majoring in acting. He didn’t pass the second round of the entrance exam because he hadn’t properly memorised something that was mandatory. Many years later, Professor Ognjenka Milićević told him, “I liked you, but you didn’t complete the tasks”.

“I had the idea to simultaneously study acting and literature! I enrolled in Yugoslav literature and spent four dynamic and creative years at the Faculty of Philology. I directed my attention towards writing for ‘Student’, which was my first significant creative challenge. We revived the literary magazine ‘Znak’ [Sign] at the college and its main editor later became Vesna Bjelogrlić, now known as Goldsworthy. During my postgraduate studies, I started collaborating with the magazine ‘Književna kritika’ [Literary Critiques], where I became a member of the editorial board and learned what it was like to work at a publishing house.”

Prior to devoting himself entirely to publishing, Hamović spent four years as a professor at the Institute for Foreign Languages. He taught Serbian to foreigners, an experience that meant a lot to him. Through ‘Književna kritika,’ he then ventured into publishing house Rad, which was then becoming attractive to young people. Its ‘Reč i misao’ [Word and Meaning] series was popular throughout Yugoslavia, because the then country had a large book market. In his four years at Rad, Hamović managed to master all the publishing processes. And so it was that in his 20s he introduced the concept of marketing to Rad. Of course, back then marketing was a newly discovered and foreign word that was often used inappropriately. The formal job title was ‘Head of Propaganda Department’ and something else, which he can’t remember today.

I am interested in the improvement and modernisation of the Book Fair, and its return to the global map of festivals and book fairs

“We wanted to create a modern-conceived publishing house; we had great ambitions and created several fantastic series – ‘Svedočanstva,’ ‘Dijalog,’ ‘Pečat,’ ‘Zmaj’… We also launched a series for young writers called ‘Znakovi pored puta’ [a reference to Ivo Andrić’s famous book Signs by the Roadside], and at the beginning of their careers, authors like Dragan Velikić, Radoslav Vava Petković, David Albahari, Novica Tadić and others were published there. In the end, we modernised Rad, strengthened its identity, changed its image and improved communication throughout Yugoslavia. But the social crisis was getting stronger, the country was approaching the year 1991, when the war essentially began, and the communication systems with Slovenia and Croatia were breaking down. Rad had branches and bookshops throughout Yugoslavia. We had branches in Zagreb and Sarajevo, bookshops in Slavonski Brod, Pula and other cities, not to mention other republics and provinces.

We realised that the time had come to sell all the bookshops located outside of Serbia and Montenegro, to salvage what we could. The editorial board and management consisted of fewer than twenty people, but there were over three hundred employees. At some point, I had to become the commercial director! Almost overnight, Rad, which had been a very successful company until then, sank into confusion. Disagreements, strikes, resignations… It was a time of general upheaval, a period in which shrewd people launched and successfully implemented the transformation of state capital into private capital. Rad was attractive because of its real estate ownership. It rented most of its space, but also owned a significant part of it. The looting of state institutions began and people were displaying their worst side.”

One fateful day, he abandoned Rad to venture into a risky and uncertain entrepreneurial future. He registered his company in December 1990 under the name CLIO, named after the muse who is the patroness of history and writing. That was his idea, a guiding light for what he wanted to do. The journey to official recognition was neither fast nor easy. The first boost came from Intel, a company for which he did some promotional work. In return, he received his first computer, a 386, as the first asset of his future company. CLIO is today probably the oldest private publishing house that continuously publishes books and actively operates on the Serbian publishing scene. With a great reputation and respectable publications, it guarantees quality.

“The first book I published was called ‘Yutlantida,’ a collection of texts by Dragan Velikić published in weekly news magazine Vreme. It was sort of my ID card at the time. Another thing I started and that proved valuable to me as an experience was cooperation with the University of Arts. We needed to reprint Odelo i oružje by Pavle Vasić (1907-1993), a renowned painter, art historian and art critic. And there CLIO was co-signed with the University of Arts. My first dream – to work on books that attracted me and from which I wanted to learn – thus came true.”

The most terrible and enduring consequences for our society are the collapse of the education system and the disdain for education

The CLIO Publishing House, which occupies a beautiful location at the corner of Gospodar Jovanova and Kneginje Ljubice streets, has eight employees and around a hundred regular collaborators. All of this is in the service of hundreds of published books, which mostly reflect Hamović’s refined taste and good knowledge of the market. “For me, the most important question over these thirty-plus years has been: what is the purpose of all this work and all these books? Precisely to gain power, but over knowledge! What are books for if they don’t make us better? I set and, together with my colleagues, fulfilled that task before us, and did so ahead of others. Over these thirty years, we have been publishing the kind of literature that is motivating in formal and informal learning conditions.

From world literature, via history, psychology, sociology, media and culture studies, to art history and theory, marketing and management… Our task was to address – as our motto goes – those who think for themselves and move forward, and we have never stopped thinking and working in this way. CLIO also created a non-governmental organisation called ‘Biblioteka Plus’, which dealt with transfers of knowledge through seminars, conferences and lectures, activities that encouraged informal learning. ‘Biblioteka Plus’ fostered communication not only with the public, but primarily with school libraries, enhancing media literacy among pupils and teachers through a project called ‘Internest’. I would say that the most important task of our house is not just publishing books, but also exchanging ideas. And if we’ve put something on the market, we’ve tried to make it new ideas.”

Through its translations, CLIO Publishing has also contributed to expanding the list of required reading literature and refreshing the curricula in academic communities and universities, including the Faculty of Political Sciences, the Faculty of Philosophy, partly the Faculty of Philology, the University of Arts and many other higher education institutions.

Hamović didn’t shy away from his responsibilities or professional challenges that extended beyond the tasks and duties of CLIO Publishing. He served as the Artistic Director of the Belgrade Book Fair for four years and advised two ministers of culture, Branislav Lečić and Nebojša Bradić. He was well aware of the implications of such an engagement.

“I knew all the consequences of such an engagement, even more, I anticipated them, but I was determined to make the greatest possible contribution to our profession. One achievement that was undoubtedly significant was Serbia’s participation as a guest of honour at the Leipzig Book Fair in 2011, as well as numerous other fairs from Frankfurt, Paris and Vienna, where we didn’t only present Serbian authors, culture and literature, but also established important individual and institutional connections. Books are important when they bring people together, provide them with creative impetus and a more inspiring life, make them free. If they only serve cheap entertainment, then they are not books, but tabloids in hardcovers…”

He is President of the Association of Professional Publishers of Serbia and has been unwavering in his opposition to the planned relocation of the Book Fair from its current location. “I will never agree to the Book Fair being moved. I am interested in its improvement and modernisation, its return to the world map of festivals and book fairs, and in that sense relieving it of content that does not contribute to that. I have nothing against various exhibitors participating in the planned EXPO 2027 exhibition in Surčin, but the publishers I know and respect will not go there. We will advocate for the tradition not to be interrupted and for professional publishers to gather in the place where they belong.”

He is also Chairman of the Political Council of the Movement of Free Citizens of Serbia and briefly summarises the current positions of the government and the opposition.

“We have learned from history that there is a ‘civilisational manuscript,’ and there is someone who is politically stronger, socially more active and materially superior at any given moment. The opposition is mostly made up of experts, educated people who are trying to prevent the damage caused by irresponsible moves and the abuse of people in power; people who have found themselves in responsible positions without the required knowledge and experience. Therefore, let’s conclude with something related to books and education. The most terrible and enduring consequences for our society are the collapse of the education system and the disdain for education, nurturing the impression among younger generations that diplomas and people can be bought, and books are thrown away; that corruption and prostitution are the only ways to ‘progress’.

The post The Power of the Book is in Advancing Mind! appeared first on CorD Magazine.

There is no guarantee that we will succeed in this endeavour, at least not in the foreseeable future, especially when it comes to breaking the SANU Gallery’s impressive attendance record that has stood since 1984. However, we could at least state with a clear conscience that we have exerted efforts to leave behind a better world for our children than the one we inherited from our parents – adds SANU President Zoran Knežević in this interview for CorD Magazine.

Mr Knežević, SANU is currently commemorating the centenary of the birth of great painter, writer, filmmaker and Academy member Miodrag ‘Mića’ Popović. Apart from the two exhibitions that have already been unveiled – a smaller one at the SANU Library and a larger retrospective exhibition at the SANU Gallery – how else is the Academy celebrating the legacy of this distinguished former member?

– Permit me to remind your readers that the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts is this year commemorating the centenary of the births of two important academics and painters: Miodrag ‘Mića’ Popović and Milorad ‘Bata’ Mihailović. To mark this exceptionally special occasion, large retrospective exhibitions have been arranged at the SANU Gallery to present the works of these two great artists and friends, rebels against the dogma of socialist realism in art, who were connected, among other ways, by havreing both belonged to the famous “Zadar Group”, which they co-founded with a group of their fellow students.

The exhibitions are accompanied by outstanding catalogues that have been published by the Academy, with the one representing Popović’s work having been prepared by art historian Dr Vesna Kruljac, assistant professor at the University of Belgrade Faculty of Applied Arts. Throughout the exhibition’s run, visitors are able to watch excerpts from Popović’s films, while lectures by Dr Kruljac and other experts have also been organised, dedicated to researching and interpreting Popović’s creative work. Apart from the exhibitions, the central event with which SANU is commemorating the legacy of its prominent members is a scientific conference under the working title “Polemic Aspects of Post-1945 Serbian Modernism With A Particular Focus on the Actions of Zadar Group Members”, which will take place at the Academy on 17th and 18th October and will focus on shedding light on Serbian modernism from a new perspective and re-evaluating the Zadar Group’s contribution to our fine art scene. You have already mentioned the smaller, chamber exhibition dedicated to Mića Popović at the Library of the Academy, while SANU has also used the Popović works preserved in its collection to participate in exhibitions at other galleries in Belgrade, Kikinda and elsewhere.

The title of the Popović retrospective exhibition includes the wording “The Art of Permanent Rebellion”. In the case of this academic and painter, that rebellion wasn’t merely artistic, but rather also implied an engaged, critical perspective on events occurring in society. This brings us neatly on to the unavoidable and eternal question of determining the correct relationship between the Academy and politics?

— I think this question needs to be observed in the context of the position of the Academy, as defined by the Law on SANU and the Statute of the Academy, as “the highest scientific and artistic institution of the Republic of Serbia”, and then for such a designation to determine its appropriate role in society. In a broader sense, this position is also determined by the dual nature of the Academy, i.e., its operational and honorary roles.

It could be stated that SANU’s authority is unquestionable in our scientific and artistic milieu, that what the Academy does and says is highly reingspected; beyond its own framework, in the political sphere, the Academy – in accordance with the aforementioned definition – rarely speaks out, and particularly not with regard to daily political issues, because it isn’t organisationally structured like a political party that formulates an opinion or common stance that it then promotes publicly.

I would remind your readers that SANU is this year commemorating the centenary of the births of two important academics and painters: Miodrag ‘Mića’ Popović and Milorad ‘Bata’ Mihailović

In accordance with its structure, the Academy is an assemblage of independent individuals, intellectuals who can, and often do, have completely contradictory political views and opinions, with which they appear in public of their own accord, independent of the Academy, individually or in groups, on the basis of their own feelings and needs. In this regard, a question arises as to the extent to which decisionmakers in society are prepared to listen to the well-intentioned and science-based assessments and advice of their own top scientists that have been formed through, among other things, national academies, but also the responsibility of academies for the advice that they offer.

The Academy maintains its relations with the state and its executive bodies primarily via an open and constructive dialogue, but also through collaboration with every opportunity for the competences of the Academy to be beneficial to the state and society. In so doing, the Academy acknowledges and appreciates the various social frameworks in which we operate, with the essential political distancing that results from the requirement for the Academy to be independent and to operate primarily in the service of the general good, and not any particular interest.

You were elected SANU president this March. In accepting to take on the position, you promised continuity and to direct SANU “towards safe harbours”. What would you single out as your priorities?

– The leadership of the Academy is confronted by many obligations and responsibilities, alongside the performing of daily tasks. I would use this opportunity to single out just a few of the most important activities that marked the first months of my mandate to a large extent.

Partly due to circumstance, in the first few months of its mandate, alongside its regular work related to providing the institution with the conditions required to operate and function, the new SANU leadership devoted the greatest attention to advancing our Academy’s international cooperation with academies across the region, but also in a broader European and global context, as well as improving SANU’s cooperation with international academic associations, universities and the like. Numerous contacts were established, multiple meetings were held, and we had several visits and encounters. So, it could be said that we renewed some important collaborations and improved some others, and – together with what we inherited from the previous period on this front – SANU can now boast of having very wide international cooperation and visibility.

Numerous activities that are in the focus of the attention and engagement of the leadership unfold constantly at the Academy, including the holding of numerous scientific gatherings, lectures, panel debates and roundtable events, exhibitions and concerts. All these activities are progressing at full steam, and let me note with satisfaction that they are also prepared in a very high-quality way and are well attended.

We are awaited in the year ahead by elections for new regular, correspondent and foreign members, so at this moment the Academy and its leadership are already somewhat turning – through a series of preparatory activities – towards that challenge and the important work that lies ahead of us.

Work is also continuing on capital national projects, such as the compiling of the SANU Dictionary and the Serbian Encyclopaedia, which require the constant attention and engagement of the SANU leadership and members. New volumes and books are expected soon, constant care of the Serbian language and script is taken etc.

SANU has responded to numerous existing challenges over the previous period. Its scientific summits have contributed to discussions regarding healthcare (during the Covid-19 pandemic) and energy sources (with reference to smallscale hydro power plants and mining practises), as well as declaring its position on Kosovo. Should the Academy continue down that path?

— I am able to state unreservedly that SANU has – with the work and activities it has carried out over the previous period, coupled with the values it promotes and the standards it applies – achieved significant results and become an exemplary, well-organised, functional institution and a centre of cultural, scientific, artistic and intellectual life generally in our neighbourhood. It is thus completely self-evident that the central pillar of the work programme of the new SANU leadership is “rational and realistically achievable continuity in the work and activities of the Academy, or in the managing of its affairs in accordance with the highest standards appropriate to our house”.

We are awaited in the year ahead by elections for new regular, correspondent and foreign members, so at this moment the Academy and its leadership are already somewhat turning – through a series of preparatory activities – towards that challenge and the important work that lies ahead of us

The answer to your question is therefore a simple ‘yes’: the Academy should, and is, continuing along the same path and responding to current challenges, with an additional essential clarification: that it does so wherever it possesses the required competences to address a given problem and wherever it is able to contribute realistically and constructively to resolving said problem.

The tragic shooting at Belgrade’s Vladislav Ribnikar Primary School has led to talk across Serbia about a crisis of education and the disruption of the system of values that largely develops during the school education process. What would you say about the current state of Serbia’s education system?

— The Academy devotes a lot of attention to education, as evidenced – among other things – by the fact that operating actively under its auspices are the SANU Board for Education and the SANU Board for Higher Education. In the context of your question, the best answer – to which I have nothing to add personally – was provided two years ago, when a large scientific conference was held at SANU under the title “Education: status, perspectives and role in the development of Serbia”.

This conference included the presentation of a voluminous publication containing key data points on the state of education in Serbia, as well as the defining of recommendations for improving education in Serbia, which were then submitted to the public and all relevant state bodies and national educational organisations and institutions, while the conference ‘Proceedings’, representing a collection of works presenting transcripts of authorised discussions from the conference, were also published. I would also mention the fact that multiple lectures and panel debates held at SANU in recent times have also addressed various relevant topics related to education, while several exhibitions covering the topic of education have been organised at the SANU Gallery of Science and Technology.

Returning to the exhibition of Popović’s paintings, it has been stated that half a million people saw his 1984 exhibition, which set a SANU Gallery record. At this time when there is plenty of talk of the need to redefine the model of culture, particularly among young people, what needs to be done to break that 1984 exhibition attendance record?

— It could probably be stated that SANU’s raison d’etre, at least to a certain extent, is identified with its permanent active participation in the ambitious endeavour of creating a modern, more humane and more tolerant society, within that framework of social and political awareness, and many view this as a natural and implied obligation of the Academy. Many people will probably also agree with the ascertain that our society needs a radical change to the predominant model of culture, if not “conceptualising a completely new world” – to paraphrase the words of my esteemed predecessor as SANU president, academic Vladimir S. Kostić.

I couldn’t say that I know for certain what needs to be done and how in this sense, but I am certain that this must be the goal, at least in principle, that we all strive to achieve, including the Academy. There is no guarantee that we will succeed in this endeavour, at least not in the foreseeable future, especially when it comes to breaking the SANU Gallery’s impressive attendance record that you mention. However, we could then at least state with a clear conscience that we have exerted efforts to leave behind a better world for our children than the one we inherited from our parents.

The post Radical Change to the Dominant Model of Culture Required appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Nikita Milivojević (62) was born in Vojvodina, in Inđija, which he describes as his own Ithaca, his personal Yasnaya Polyana, or Bergman’s Island of Fårö. His ancestors hailed originally from Montenegro, which they departed bound for Dalmatia. Nikita believes that he has forever imprinted within him, like two strongly contrasting elements, the wintry scenes of the Srem plain and the baking stone of Dalmatia. As Andrić stated: ‘every man is indebted to his homeland’.

“In my case, ‘homeland’ refers to two locations: Inđija, where I was born; and Dalmatia, or more precisely the village of Polača near Knin, form where my parents hailed and where I spent most of my summer and winter school holidays. When I recently found myself back in those parts of Dalmatia after many years, I was surprised by how many of the different sights, smells and sounds have lived on in my memory. To me, my parents’ village was something like Macondo for Márquez: a place filled with mythical, unbelievable stories, events, characters… The story of my roots has always been important to me. The first documentary film that I made was inspired by an event linked to life in those lands.”

A happy childhood in a small town implies, first and foremost, unbridled freedom. As a child, Nikita would spend all day on the street, playing, only heading home when he felt hungry.

“Spreading in front of my house, like some sort of huge carpet, were gardens (they are still there today) that were always full of people, who were planting something, digging, watering plants etc. Through the middle of those gardens ran a stream, and everything was somewhat reminiscent of an idyllic landscape created by a painter. As I’m a ‘winter child’, winter and snow hold a special place in my memory. That’s probably why snow often falls in my plays.” Fleeing from the Turks who’d invaded Montenegro, Nikita’s ancestors settled in Dalmatia, in the lea of Dinara mountain.

“That’s why my mother’s maiden name was Crnogorac [Montenegrin]. When listening to countless stories about life in those lands, I always wondered how people could live in that rocky, harsh environment. Due to their life being a struggle in the true sense of the word, many of them naturally departed in search of better living conditions, and that’s how my father ended up in Vojvodina. The Dalmatian folk were known as good builders, who were particularly renowned for their ability to work with stone. And with lots of construction going on in Belgrade and the surrounding area at the time, they very quickly managed to cope. My mother went to Pula to attend school very early on, with her oldest brother having lived there, and to this day she still remembers how to speak a little Italian. It was from her that I inherited my kind of ‘artistic streak’, curiosity, energy, tenacity… and particularly the passion for reading. I find it amazing that she’s still constantly reading something, has an interest in various things, is constantly planning something…”

When the son of a friend of mine, who was then 12 years old, told me that he’d never been to a cinema, I decided to reopen the cinema in Inđija… I consider that one of the best things I’ve done in my life

His father was often away from home due to his work. Nikita was 11 when his brother was born, and he spent most of his time with his mother. As a very hardworking and curious woman, she determined some of the most important life principles that formed his character. He summarises the essence of his upbringing with the phrase ‘less is more’. Cinema left an indelible mark on Nikita’s childhood.

“My friend received a small children’s film projector as a New Year’s present, and that’s how, at his place, I first discovered film. That’s among the strongest and most important experiences of my childhood. A white sheet was spread out in a darkened room and, when the projector was turned on, a magical line of light appeared, which turned into moving images projected on the whiteness of the canvas… Miraculous! Returning from a trip later, my uncle brought me as a gift a small ‘optical box’ [slide viewer light box], in which I could place photo slides, which enlarged in the box thanks to the ‘lens’, which was actually a magnifying glass, creating a kind of ‘magic lantern’ illusion for me. That was one of those experiences that remains imprinted in the deepest part of our unconscious. 

Bergman devoted an autobiographical book to that and even made a film. I belong to the generation for which cinema represented one of the most important institutions in life. Later on, during the time of my studies, my ‘best man’ Živko Popović and I literally went to the cinema every night, which was a special experience for me. And then, in the 1990s, the cinema in Inđija closed down, like so many others across the country. During one of my ever-rarer visits home, the son of a friend of mine, who was then 12 years old, told me that he’d never been to a cinema!? That was totally unbelievable to me. That’s why I decided to reopen the cinema of my childhood in Inđija. I named it Stalker, after the film by Tarkovsky. I consider that one of the best things I’ve done in my life.”

He’d wanted to study literature, but it was more for the sake of socialising that he sat the entrance exam for directing, which he completed at the Academy of Arts in Novi Sad. Although he’d spent that summer preparing well, he thought it unlikely that he’d pass, and that he’d subsequently enrol in what he’d planned: literature.

What I remember in particular about that entrance exam was the smell of the stage. I could say that I actually fell in love with the theatre because of that smell! The stage has a special aroma: the curtains, costumes, lights… incredibly exciting

“What I remember in particular about that entrance exam was the smell of the stage. I could say that I actually fell in love with the theatre because of that smell! The stage has a special aroma: the curtains, costumes, lights… For someone who was feeling all that for the first time, it was something incredibly exciting. The only other things that had smelt like that to me were new books for obligatory reading when I received them at the start of the school year.”

A story exists about how Nikita prepared for his first directing exam at an army barracks with soldiers, and how his professor, Boro Drašković, had come to the barracks in Niš for that exam.

“It just so happened that I had to do my military service after the entrance exam at the Academy, and then a law was introduced that meant 18-year-olds had to go to the army immediately after finishing high school. In my case, this meant that, by the time I returned from the army, my peers with whom I’d been admitted to study directing would already be in the second year of their studies, while I would have to start with the first-year students and the professor who was taking the class that year. In order for me to remain in his class, Boro Drašković set an almost impossible precedent. He suggested that I take my first-year exam from the army. And so it was that I didn’t attend the first year of directing studies, but rather I ‘served’ it and entered the second year of directing studies directly. I carried out a dramatic adaptation of Chekhov’s short story The Chameleon, dividing the roles among my fellow soldiers. We snatched time for rehearsals during various breaks and somehow succeeded in creating a play that we performed in the empty auditorium of the military club in Niš, exclusively for professor Boro Drašković. That’s how I passed, and the stage of the Niš barracks’ military club was my first theatre.”

Nikita’s first direction job was on Eugène Ionesco’s play ‘Jack, or The Submission’, in the Salon of the Yugoslav Drama Theatre, and it became famous for the beans that were served to the audience. The audience had actually been invited to a wedding, which is how they were seated, at wedding tables that had been placed along the walls of the Salon. And then, at one point in the proceedings, real homemade beans were served, which arrived for each performance from a tavern located across the street from the theatre, together with live music. It appeared as though reality was entering the play, directly from the street.

“What I will certainly remember forever is the first criticism that I then received, in NIN. Vlada Stamenković praised the play exceptionally, under the headline ‘Victorious Imagination’.

During the 1990s, Nikita’s plays – In the Hold, Banović Strahinja, A Midsummer Night’s Dream etc. – found themselves at the centre of the attention of the domestic theatre scene. At that juncture, Yannis Houvardas, director and owner of Amore, the most prestigious off-Athens theatre, was on the hunt for a young director from Serbia and got in touch with Nikita. When he staged his first play, Chekhov’s Ivanov, which proved to be a huge success, Nikita was invited to direct the following season at Yannis’s theatre. That had been the play Crime and Punishment, and – together with an exhibition of Goya’s paintings – it was declared the cultural event of the year in Athens! From that moment, the doors of many theatres were opened to him.

There were more than 100 theatres in Athens when I arrived, while today there are nearly 200! At that time, for me, Greece meant, among other things, a new maturing. My horizons broadened and I discovered many new things

“I’d arrived in an environment that was much richer than ours in every sense. There were more than 100 theatres in Athens at that time, while today there are nearly 200! One of the first big surprises for me was the very well-developed and interesting alternative scene. The Amore Theatre, for example, was a famous summer cinema, with a wonderful open rooftop terrace. At that time for me, Greece meant, among other things, a new maturing. My horizons broadened, I discovered many new things, met numerous interesting people. Unfortunately, in our country so much has been changing for the worse for many years, and so it was that the theatre hasn’t been spared either. Time and concentration are required for serious work… It is impossible to create a serious play without discipline, dedication, research, normal time for rehearsals. Whenever I talk about this, I know that I prompt indignation among many of my colleagues, while I simultaneously know that many of them share my opinion. The essential problem is our theatre system. One director recently told me that he didn’t have all the actors together for a single rehearsal, not even for the pre-premiere rehearsal!?” Since 2014, when he established the Shakespeare Festival in Čortanovci, this summer theatre event has become an inextricable part of this director’s life.

“The notion that a Shakespeare festival would be born in Čortanovci, and that it would even be opened by Shakespeare’s own Globe Theatre from London (with nothing less than Hamlet itself!?) – I don’t believe anyone could have imagined that even in their wildest dreams. Over the course of ten years, Villa Stanković has become an incredibly positive and exciting place, a genuine world stage. Our guests have included theatres from Iran, the U.S., Finland, Georgia, the UK, Belarus, Turkey, Germany, Armenia, India, China, Greece, Slovenia, North Macedonia, Croatia… Approximately 25,000 people have attended the Shakespeare Festival throughout all these years. and have to date watched more than 60 plays.”

At this year’s edition of the festival, we watched the great play Twelfth Night, directed by Nikita’s student Ivan Vanja Alač. We asked Professor Milivojević if he finds it easy to recognise the talent of a future artist during their studies.

“There is that saying in Bosnia that coughing and poverty can’t be hidden. I also believe that talent can’t be hidden. Of course, talent is something that must be developed; if it doesn’t progress – it regresses. Vanja Alač is precisely one of those talented people whose talent is developing continuously. When I see that they are talented and diligent, I feel an obligation to support them. As a rule, my students always perform in my plays, and the directors are regularly my assistants on plays. If you are teaching them something, you should somehow also show that you believe in them, in what we’ve gone through together during the studies.”

Nikita was this year appointed artistic director of the Bitef festival. When asked how much that is a source of joy for him, but also a source of fear, he responses by noting that Bitef is one of our country’s most important cultural institutions, firmly entrenched in the identity of Belgrade and Serbia.

The essential problem is our theatre system. One director recently told me that he didn’t have all the actors together for a single rehearsal, not even for the pre-premiere rehearsal!?

“That is, of course, a source of serious motivation for any person of the theatre; to be part of such a great story. However, considering that this is a kind of ‘return’ to Bitef for me, a very special, personal reason also exists. Specifically, I consider the four years – between 2005 and 2009 – that I spent at Bitef as being a very important and creative period of my theatre life, so I now view my arrival in the position of artistic director of Bitef as a kind of return home. I once spoke about the fact that one of the most beautiful things that’s ever happened to me in all the years that I’ve been in the theatre is connected to that time specifically, or more precisely to the moment when I was leaving Bitef, in 2009, and the entire collective signed a petition for me to stay for another four years. Of course, that shouldn’t have any special meaning to anyone but me, but it’s still worth mentioning because it isn’t commonplace in our country. This invitation to return to Bitef, given that it came from Bitef itself, could represent a kind of continuation of that story. Regardless, it’s always nice to go where you know you’re welcome.”

When it comes to the history of Bitef, Nikita recalls in particular – apart from numerous plays – his meeting with Otomar Krejča (1921-2009) following the premiere performance of his play In The Hold. Krejča was a big name of European theatre and many still fondly remember his adaptation of the play Three Sisters, for which he also won the main prize at Bitef.

“That meeting and conversation with Otomar Krejča was something important for me. Then there was everything that he said the next day at the Roundtable; the way he spoke. That all left a powerful impression on me at the time. In his assessment of the Festival following the culmination of that edition of Bitef, the critic from Politika [newspaper] wrote that the greatest event for him was ‘what Krejča said about the play In The Holdʻ. Apart from commending the play, that was also an interesting consideration of the great director regarding contemporary theatre and how he saw it.”

In his capacity as artistic director, Nikita believes that this year’s Bitef will, first and foremost, be extremely diverse, with an abundance of varying forms.

Photos: Jelena Ivanović

The post The Stage Has a Special Aroma appeared first on CorD Magazine.

It was just a few months ago that Archbishop Santo Gangemi arrived in Serbia to take on his new post as Apostolic Nuncio of the Holy See to Serbia. Originally from Messina, Italy, Archbishop Santo Gangemi has previously served in various countries, including the Solomon Islands, Papua New Guinea, Mali and El Salvador. Currently resident in Belgrade, his wealth of knowledge and experience provides more than enough reason for an in-depth interview.

The numerous topics we discussed include the position of the Catholic Church in Serbia, diplomatic relations between Serbia and the Vatican, as well as the potential role of churches and religious communities in achieving peace in Ukraine. We additionally touched upon the call for reforms within the Catholic Church.

What initially crossed your mind when you first found out that you would be coming to Serbia, and what have your impressions been since arriving? 

First, a warm greeting to all CorD readers. The appointment in Serbia was a surprise! I didn’t expect to be changed from El Salvador, nor to come to a part of Europe that is unknown to me, though at the same time I had no valid reasons to refuse such an assignment, so I accepted.

There is no doubt that it is always pleasant for a European to return to Europe after an absence of many years. Therefore, discovering Belgrade is like rediscovering this historic part of the old European continent; it is rediscovering, in a certain sense through a fraternal embrace, this crossroads of peoples and cultures, thinking of the junction of its history, through which the East has approached the West since ancient times. This is a country with lights and shadows, like all human realities, but, above all, with its desire to live, grow and keep up with the times.

What is your opinion regarding the position of the Catholic Church in Serbia and its relations with the majority Serbian Orthodox Church? 

I am gradually getting to know the reality of the Catholic Church in Serbia. A first meeting took place on 11th December, on the occasion of the beginning of the pastoral ministry of His Grace Archbishop László Nemet as Metropolitan Archbishop of Belgrade, and then, last 25th January, I went to Subotica for the feast of the Patron of the Diocese. Again, I spent the days of the Easter Triduum in Subotica and touched with my own hands the religious vitality of that city and that diocese. Brief and circumstantial contacts allowed me to experience the enthusiasm of a community that does not complain about being a minority, nor does it feel marginalised, even though it has to face many problems.

Discovering Belgrade is like rediscovering this historic part of the old European continent; it is rediscovering, in a certain sense through a fraternal embrace, this crossroads of peoples and cultures

I am pleased to see it solicitous in the pastoral, social and ecumenical fields and committed to the synodal path, thus giving priority to the request of Pope Francis. I also find the relationship with the Orthodox Church very constructive. For my part, the meeting with His Holiness Patriarch Porfirije was a moment of grace and emotion. After the initial pleasantries, and after bringing  the fraternal greetings of Pope Francis, an intense exchange of views followed, during which the will to continue on the path of dialogue and understanding was emphasised. I am personally convinced that, on the ecumenical level, due to its long history, the Serbian Orthodox Church can offer much.

What priorities have you set for yourself during your tenure in Serbia? What do you want to work on in particular? 

The Motu Proprio Sollicitudo omnium Ecclesiarum of 24th June 1969, and cannas 362 and 363 of the Code of Canon Law, illustrate and regulate the task of the Pope’s Legates (Nuncios), to whom “is entrusted the office of permanently representing the Roman Pontiff himself with particular Churches or even with States and Public Authorities to which they have been sent”.

These few lines contain the entire service of the Nuncio, who strives, in this way, to become, where he is, the face, the voice, the hand of the Holy Father; in short, he is a bridge between the Holy Father and the State, as well as a bridge between the Holy Father and the particular Church.

We’re fast approaching the 1700th anniversary of the First Ecumenical Council (2025), which has long been seen as an opportunity to bring together the various Christian churches. Given that this great celebration is now just two years away, and that a tragic war is still raging in Europe, do you think we will even be in a position to take advantage of this opportunity, and, if so, how? 

The anniversary of the first Ecumenical Council, the Council of Nicaea in 325, is undoubtedly a milestone to look back on and from which to draw inspiration to continue to mend the rift that occurred in the Church in the centuries that followed that important event.

I am fully convinced that religious faiths can play an important role in bringing an end to this terrible conflict between Russia and Ukraine. Everyone is aware of Pope Francis’s calls for peace

There is no doubt that its preparation is clouded by the news of war. A conflict that confronts two Christian peoples, two Christian civilisations. Nicaea also offers today’s world a message that is not obsolete: ideas may oppose each other, but understanding deserves every effort and commitment.

Could churches and religious communities contribute to the achieving of peace in Ukraine, and, if so, in which way? How do you see the role of the Roman Catholic Church and Pope Francis in this regard?

I am fully convinced that religious faiths can play an important role in bringing an end to this terrible conflict between Russia and Ukraine. Everyone is aware of Pope Francis’s calls for peace, and also of his full willingness to create a roundtable for dialogue. Of course, the role of the Catholic Church is limited by the acceptance of mediation by the conflicting parties and, above all, by the full willingness to follow up on the agreements reached.

What role do Christian have to play during times of war? 

It is not easy to answer this question, or rather the answer is so easy in the light of Gospel teaching, but so difficult when it comes to putting it into practice. Christians cannot deviate from the teaching that comes to them from the Gospel: to be peaceful and peacemakers.

It is more difficult to understand how. I do not believe that there is a pre-established formula, but certainly a commitment to let oneself be guided by the Spirit who, in unexpected ways, makes one find suitable words and gestures. In any case, it is clear that, for the Christian, war is always a failure and never a conquest.

You were born and raised in Italy, while you’ve lived in countries with completely different traditions. What’s your view regarding good and healthy relations between the Church and the State? In which fields should they act together and what boundaries should never be crossed? Where do you see the greatest temptations?

The years of my diplomatic service have taken me to work in different countries with different sensitivities in Church-State relations. In all of them, however, I seemed to perceive a common denominator: the State looks at the Church with attention and interest. Why is this so? Perhaps because the Church has always shown itself to be more inclined to what unites than to what divides; using an evangelical image, I would say that the Church is always careful not to let the flickering flame die out.

There is an element that I then consider important in relations between the Church and states – that of never allowing oneself to be overwhelmed by pessimism or to think that one is always right. Rather, it is a relation of together trying to clarify misunderstandings. I think this is the work of diplomacy.

Diplomatic relations between Serbia and the Vatican were established more than a century ago. How do you see the current juncture and the future of those relations?

Diplomatic relations between Serbia and the Holy See date back to 1920; they were interrupted in 1952 and normalisation returned only 18 years later, on 13th August 1970, with the appointment of two respective Diplomatic Representatives – Ambassador and Nuncio. The history of this century of relations is undoubtedly an interesting story with many facets, and a few lines are not enough to summarise it.

The anniversary of the first Ecumenical Council is undoubtedly a milestone to look back on and from which to draw inspiration to continue to mend the rift that occurred in the Church in the centuries that followed that important event

The presentation of the Letters of Credence, on 12th December 2022, gave me the opportunity to have a brief meeting with the President of the Republic and the political and military figures accompanying him. Beyond the purely ceremonial aspect, it was an opportunity to take stock, albeit briefly, of the good bilateral relations between the Holy See and Serbia, which have been established in past years and which I will be committed to continuing and, as far as possible, consolidating.

There are vocal calls for the reform of the Roman Catholic Church in certain countries, for example in Germany, while Rome generally responds to such calls with restraint, to put it mildly. What is the higher view on that, does the Roman Catholic Church need to be reformed and, if so, how?

Instances of reform in the Church are nothing new; I have no doubt that the verb ‘to reform’ has been the most overused of all time. What does a reform consist of and how can it be realised? The answer to this question can only be given if one has a clear idea of what the Church is: a human and divine reality! It is founded by Christ, who entrusted men (apostles and their successors) with the task of carrying it forward, to the ends of the earth. It is clear, in this sense, that there is a foundation that cannot be changed and elements that instead need to be ‘modernised’ for a greater understanding of its being, bearing in mind that such modernisation in no way means distancing or misrepresenting the Gospel doctrine or the perennial tradition of the Church.

Now, in my humble opinion, we seem to be witnessing a distorted understanding of this reality, applying exclusively human categories to it. Hence the misunderstanding of reform at any cost, thus aligning it with purely earthly realities. One question remains open, and it is always difficult to answer: are these calls for reform made in good faith? The truthful answer to this question can certainly pave the way for a reform that helps us to understand the mystery of the Church more fully, but without distancing her from the will of her Founder and enabling her, as the Second Vatican Council’s Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen Gentium, reminds us, to “…overcome with patience and love her internal and external afflictions and difficulties and to reveal to the world, faithfully, even if under shadows, the mystery of the Lord” (8:307).

By Jelena Jorgačević

The post Striving To Clarify Misunderstandings Together appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Dušan Otašević (83) explains simply and succinctly why he chose the motif of a grain of wheat and developed it in various techniques – from collage, via terracotta, to paintings in a combined technique of three-dimensional installations. “A grain of wheat carries within it both dying and the shifting of life cycles. A seed dies when it is sown, but from it emerges new life.”

The imagination and originality of this artist in his works is only equalled by his appeal as a precious interlocutor and reliable witness to events that have shaped the cultural map of Serbia. He was born in Belgrade just a few months prior to World War II reaching these lands, which condemned his parents to great struggles raising him. Fear of bombing compelled them to flee the city with the infant Dušan and find shelter in the surrounding villages, struggling to survive. Dušan’s mother was born, as Ana Krunoslava, in the Croatian city of Slavonski Brod.

“When she married my father, Milan, in 1938, the wedding took place in a church, as was the custom in the then Kingdom of Yugoslavia, and – as a Catholic – she’d had to convert. She also changed her first name and was married as Slavka. Never in my hood was a question posed as to who belonged to which religion or nationality. Right up until the 1990s, I didn’t know the national identities of some of my friends. And we all know what happened in the ‘90s and the results of all that counting of blood cells.”

Dušan was an only child for ten years, until the arrival of his brother. He had a harmonious, pleasant and happy childhood. His parents got on well until the end of their lives and the family functioned well. He remembers socialising meaningfully with his parents, playing a kind of game that brought them pleasure.

Never in my childhood was a question posed as to who belonged to which religion or nationality

“We liked to draw and we drew each other, drew animals… My mother drew beautifully, but father not so much. I remember the two of us laughing at his drawings. I saw the first reproductions in the magazine Graphic Review that my father used to bring home. For the possibilities of that time, they were extremely high-quality reproductions. Mother was a tailor for women’s lingerie  childwho had a great sense for art. She stopped working after I was born, but she continued using her skills throughout her life. I remember how, in the miserable years after the war, she would turn over the collars and cuffs of mine and my father’s shirts. That was a special ability to turn over the frayed edges of the collar and cuffs, place them on the inside and you end up with a shirt looking like new that you can continue to wear. She had a ‘singer’ sewing machine that she did that on, and I later used that same machine for one of my works. She also had tailoring patterns, and many years later I found on one of them one of the sketches I’d done as a child, which I exhibited at an exhibition as my first work.

My father was also a craftsman, a typographer, which today is also a forgotten profession. His job was oriented towards the printing of books and our house was full of books. There are valuable examples from the library of the Serbian Literary Association that I still have today, because he brought home every book he worked on. That was a time when books were read and I grew up on books. If there hadn’t been books, I don’t know what I would have done as a boy and a young man during the summer holidays. I still use literature in my work to this day.”

In order to develop an understanding for Otašević’s work, it is necessary to know that he ventured into the waters of painting while he was still a student of the Academy of Fine Arts, during the years when the world scene was dominated by a movement with a somewhat forgotten name: pop-art.

“It was a new outlook with new expressive possibilities and I leaned into it somehow naturally. It was dear to me as a liberated form of expression, in contrast to what museum exhibits then represented. Pop-art was similar to what I’d loved as a child. They were wonderful works by typographers in numerous shops, particularly in Balkanska Street, advertisements for craft workshops, barbershops, hairdressers, when these advertisements were painted by anonymous… let’s call them artists. There were scenes linked to the profession and I always found that interesting. Just like the ‘cookbooks’ hanging in kitchens. When I started to paint, I tried, as far as I could, to connect that naïve expression with the realisation of a top artist. My artistic preoccupation was represented by that combination of something that wasn’t even acknowledged as an art form, but that nonetheless existed, and the recognised art of those years.”

Dušan’s father was tolerant in his relations with people, tolerant in his relationship towards faith, nation, everything different, and this artist’s entire life and all his actions show that he inherited that tolerance to a great extent.

“The understanding that he had is clear to me in my memory, particularly today, when everything is moving more towards closing up, towards some narrowing, which is calamitous for an artist, but also for the life of man as a whole. I said long ago that it is very important for a person to open the windows and doors of their studio, because something must enter from the outside. If you just close yourself off in your own world, that’s not good. It’s useful up to a level, but it doesn’t have a great future. My father had another good quality – he wasn’t bitter over injustices or adversity that would befall him. Let’s just say that prior to the war, he’d had a house that served for renting out. When the new government confiscated that house after the war, he took it relatively calmly and that never caused him to instil either hatred or rage in me, as a child.”

That breadth of perspective and sense of freedom formed the basis of Dušan’s upbringing in the home. After completing his sixth year of ‘gymnasium’ high school, he knew that he would deal with painting, and his father, who recalled the poor bohemian painters, thought that it would be a better idea for him to enrol in an academy of applied arts instead of an art school. He calculated that it would provide him with a more secure occupation. Dušan heeded his advice, but failed to pass the entrance exam. It was a year later that he applied for the Academy of Fine Arts, and did so with the great support of his mother, who was full of understanding for his choice, and was accepted.

Recall just how much of a percentage had been allocated for culture when Nada Popović Perišić was minister? If I’m not mistaken, it was four per cent of the total budget, while today it isn’t even one per cent

During his studies, and even subsequently, Dušan hung out with his colleagues, but mostly socialised with people from other professions, especially writers and directors. They shared a common language. He had his first solo exhibition while he was still a student, in 1965, at Atelje 212. He graduated a year later. It was also while he was a student that he met famous artist Leonid Šejka (1932-1970), one of the founders of the art group Mediala. 

“We met in the reading room of the Academy of Fine Arts. He spoke about his views on art, about the idea behind Mediala, and he later also wrote the book A Treatise on Painting. That was very interesting and important to me at the time. It was also during my studies that I met the interesting Peđa Ristić, an architect who we called Peđa Jesus and who built a tree house on the Sava. I also had precious acquaintances with writer Boro Ćosić and his wife Lola Vlatković, film director Ljubomir ‘Muci’ Draškić and his wife Maja Čučković, painter Stojan Ćelić and his wife Ivana Simeunović Ćelić, and later we also socialised as families. I was delighted, but also slightly scared, when Muca offered me my first chance to work on set design for Bora Ćosić’s play My Family’s Role in the World Revolution, which he directed at Atelje 212. He was easy to develop an understanding with because he knew exactly what he wanted and what it was possible to implement on stage.”

Interestingly, it was back then, in early 1971, that Otašević first made a model representing the apartment that was the setting for Ćosić’s play. And that model served to shape the  afscenography for the stage. Many years later, Muci’s daughter, Iva Draškić Vićanovič, today’s dean of the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade, testified that at some point that model had been found in the apartment of her parents, with her mother having played one of the nasty characters in that play. “It was my most favourite toy,” admitted Iva.

CorD’s interlocuter explains that friends were recognised according to the structure of their personality, in the way they understood one another without many words. He had friendships that lasted decades and only ended when that friend died.

“I have never been a member of any party. Throughout my life, I’ve tried to avoid succumbing to any ideology, because a person is limited by every ideology. By accepting one ideology, a person condemns those who ascribe to another, because they think it’s worse than their own ideology. I would say that was my lack of interest in the ruling ideology, but also among most of my friends. We were united by our artistic work, by the desire for each of us to achieve something in our work, or more precisely to show the best of our ability. I today recall pleasant socialising, content rich and meaningful.”

The current president of Serbia hasn’t visited SANU once. And that is a kind of sign and signal from that side. Restraint – I would say that it is mutual

The time of the single-party system of the former country is today often spoken of as a time of the “firm hand”, in which the League of Communists decided on everything and questioned everything. As aware as he was about the mistakes and bad moves of Tito’s government, Otašević insists that “uneducated and unprofessional people didn’t reach leadership positions”. And he cites an example:

“Even after Broz, during the time of Slobodan Milošević, more care was taken over culture than is the case today. Recall just how much of a percentage had been allocated for culture when Nada Popović Perišić was minister? If I’m not mistaken, it was four per cent of the total budget, while today it isn’t even one per cent. I have no doubt that this high percentage was also a result of the knowledge and skills of Minister Popović-Perišić herself, who was capable of fighting for a better position for culture, much more than the ministers that came after her. And it didn’t cross anyone’s mind to contest her for being part of the then ruling party.”

On the other hand, many artists didn’t fear showing a kind of deviation from the ruling ideology with their works during the time of the socialist Yugoslavia. And our interlocutor was among them.

“I had several works, one of which spent a long time in the exhibition of the Museum of Contemporary Art and it’s called Druže Tito ljubičice bela… [Comrade Tito white violet]. Of course, it clearly wasn’t in honour of Broz. But back then, in the second half of the 1960s, it wasn’t advisable to make fun of ruling attitudes and personalities. That work was large, 5×3 metres, and I created it for the first solo exhibition of the newly admitted members of ULUS [The Association of Fine Artists of Serbia], which was held at the Cvijeta Zuzorić Art Pavilion. They rejected me, the explanation being that the work was abnormally large, which is not collegial with regard to other exhibitors. I think that was an incomprehensible justification. Two or three years later, I exhibited that work at the university’s Kolarac Gallery. It all went without any consequences, but also without any reactions. I had other similar works with the figure of Lenin or ‘Mao Tse-Tung Swims in Communism’, and I was never called in for talks or reprimanded for those works. However, on the other hand, I never received a studio, unlike the majority of my colleagues, and I never went on a single study trip; and I didn’t get a job that I was more qualified for than the colleague who got it, but he had a party membership card and I didn’t.”

Dušan’s status was, and remains, that of a ‘free artist’, which implied great freedom and even greater financial insecurity. He created his own studio, in the attic of his father’s house, where he still resides to this day. He didn’t belong to any institution until 20 years ago, when he became a member of the most significant national institution: the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts, SANU. He has been successfully serving as the administrator of the SANU Gallery for more than ten years. He is among those academics whose word is highly respected, although he rarely advertises that fact. Tactical and restrained, he supported the positive changes initiated by Vladimir Kostić in his capacity as SANU president until recently, but he has a hard time understanding the fact that nearly four decades after the Memorandum marked the work of this house, its shadow still looms over SANU.

“Meetings and discussions on this topic were organised at the Academy, and I’d thought that it was a topic that had long since been dealt with. For some reason, that topic is still rolled out today. I never understood the actual aim of those manipulations and always appeal for the need to be restrained, not to allow the use of the Memorandum for the purposes of everyday politics. The Academy is an institution that’s comprised of individuals who have their own views. Simultaneously, the Academy is an institution in which new members are chosen according to clearly established rules, and here it isn’t possible for some godfather to get you into SANU – at least I know of no such case. But I do know that the ceremonial sessions commemorating SANU Day, which numerous guests and the state leadership, headed by the President of Serbia, are invited to attend, have only been attended by presidents Boris Tadić and Tomislav Nikolić since I’ve been at SANU. The current president of Serbia hasn’t been once. And that is a kind of sign and signal from that side. Restraint – I would say that it is mutual.

Even after Broz, during the time of Slobodan Milošević, more care was taken over culture than is the case today

“The Academy is a conservative institution in accordance with its organisational structure, but in recent years it has been taking steps towards opening up. I don’t think it should be avant-garde, but it must have an appreciation for reality. If film has existed as an art form for 100 years, isn’t it time to open up the possibility for a top film director to become a SANU academic?”

Dušan Otašević spent almost half a century married to Mira Otašević, who departed in 2019. An exceptionally interesting and talented individual, she graduated in literature and dramaturgy and worked as an editor at Television Belgrade. With her novel Gorgone [The Gorgons], Mira Otašević, who went by the nickname of Miruška, was shortlisted for the 2017 NIN Award. Together they have a son, Uroš, and a grandson.

“We didn’t succeed in celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary because Mira passed away that year. She left suddenly; there was no illness to prepare me for it. We had a good life together, and it’s very fortunate to live with someone all your life and to have understanding for one another and to be able to discuss what you do for a living. I created the exhibition that’s currently running at the Zepter Gallery in loving memory of Mira. I promised her during her lifetime that I would make it, but I never got around to it. When Mira went to that better place, as they say, I prescribed working therapy for myself and I think she would be happy with what I did.”

The post Man is Limited By Every Ideology appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Together with his then colleagues at the Ministry of Culture, he succeeded in finalising the reconstruction of the National Library of Serbia and the Yugoslav Cinematheque Film Archives. As a personal challenge, he arranged a marathon television broadcast of Belgian playwright Jan Fabre’s famous play Mount Olympus, which opened the 2017 Bitef and lasted as long as the play itself: 24 hours! And so it was that the theatre of antiquity, recounted in the most modern way, entered 220,000 homes throughout Serbia. It was a feat previously unrecorded in the history of Yugoslav and Serbian television, and an endeavour that wowed the world’s theatre public. He staged the musical Les Misérables at Madlenianum Opera & Theatre, which went on to be performed for 15 years as this theatre’s most successful production, while the version of the musical Fiddler on the Roof that he directed for Sofia’s Muzikalen Theatre was declared 2021’s best play in Bulgaria!

Whatever he’s done, Nebojša Bradić (1956) has done as a man of culture; culture represents his most enduring point of reference. For him, culture is ’standing on the shoulders of previous generations, continuity and the establishing of public awareness’. He knows how the system of funding culture works, has high criteria when it comes to artistic scope, and is precise when locating the right address to resolve problems in this area.

“As long as prime ministers and finance ministers view culture as an expense, and not as an opportunity to provide the basis for the country’s success and good reputation, this trend that’s leading to the country’s decline will not change. Culture is not and can never be degraded. The degradation of culture can only be a projection of powerful people who are unworthy of that culture.”

The premiere performance of his interpretation of the opera Falstaff was recently staged at the National Theatre in Belgrade. This work by Giuseppe Verdi, which is again being performed in Belgrade after a break of 45 years, enjoyed unprecedented success at its early June premiere. And Bradić is today already rehearsBeling at Terazije Theatre for the musical Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, based on Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar’s 1998 film of the same name.

The position of minister is always a challenge, it’s like being Vuk’s monument. You are raised on a pedestal and actually become the best target for pigeons

When they do have free time, Nebojša and his wife Zaga, a renowned psychiatrist and psychoanalytic psychotherapist, plan holidays, but also tours of some important museums and exhibitions, in order to watch shows in some European countries. They have been married for more than 30 years.

“Zaga and I provide each other with unquestionable support when it comes to the work we do. Our life is serene in these years, and oriented towards our shared interests. Our jobs are each inspiring in their own way. Her work is particularly interesting to me in that part in which she offers complex understanding of the human soul and the human situation today. But we have a clear agreement not to discuss topics that are strictly professional. Her patients are her problem, my ‘patients’ are my problem. Zaga loves the theatre and art, and particularly literature.”

CorD’s interlocutor had an exciting upbringing in the house of his father Momir, an actor and theatre manager in Kruševac, and his mother Milica, a teacher of mathematics who accompanied her husband on his journey. He was often left alone in the company of books and his own fantasies, and he believes that this was a good way to form the basis of what would be his future steps.

“I was nevertheless most profoundly determined by the close proximity of art and people who belonged to that world. On the other hand, I was interested in sport, music and literature, but also the natural sciences. In line with my mathematical mind, I defended my graduation thesis in the field of atomic physics.”

Divided in such a way, after completing high school he moved to Belgrade and enrolled in three colleges: one in the field of technical sciences, a second covering the subject of language, and a third in theatre direction at the Faculty of Dramatic Arts.

“Compared to all my previous interests, I made the decision to deal with the theatre rather late and slightly unexpectedly, because I’d never previously been involved in the theatre and wasn’t even a member of the drama club. And it was because I wasn’t sure if I would pass the entrance exam for directing that I also enrolled in two other colleges.”

He succeeded at the first attempt and enrolled in the class of Professor Borjana Prodanović, the granddaughter of famous Serbian politician, writer and academic Jaša Prodanović (1867- 1948), who was a special character in her own right.

“Interestingly, one of her students in the generation before me was my colleague and longtime friend Branislav ‘Žaga’ Mićunović, who also served as minister of culture of Montenegro, while Jagoš Marković was later also a student in her class. Three people with totally different sensibilities who were all her students.”

For Nebojša the student, socialising with Belgrade actually meant socialising with the theatre.

“It was as a student that I saw the best plays at Bitef; it was then that I watched the directing work of Robert Wilson, Grotowski, Eugenio Barba, Peter Brook and others. Belgrade was a centre of world theatre, and I unfortunately never again had an opportunity to experience that in Serbia. However, thanks to that initiation, I continued my personal and professional development in London, the theatrical magic of which still motivates me.”

The success of the opera Cinderella in 1998 was all the greater because the very process of working on it was marred by threats that we were to be bombed

Nebojša still remembers the fascination he felt when he watched his first play in Belgrade, Radovan III, starring Zoran Radmilović in the title role. He also recalls theatre director Jovan Bata Putnik (1914-1983), who just happens to be one of those deserving of the credit for Nebojša having entered the world of theatre in the first place, and whose plays impacted on him viewing theatre as art. As a second-year student of theatre direction, he was an assistant to Dejan Mijač (1934-2022) on the Yugoslav Drama Theatre’s adaptation of the play Pučina [The High Sea], which remains remembered as being ‘revolutionary’ because of the way Mijač interpreted Nušić’s melodrama. Just as he interpreted other Serbian classics, which is why Nebojša rated him so highly.

Another great of Serbian culture, writer Borislav Pekić (1930-1992), had a deep impact on Bradić’s memory. When he decided to stage an adaptation of Pekić’s book The Golden Fleece, Nebojša approached the writer in the club of the National Theatre on one occasion in 1979.

“After that first meeting, we had several ‘sessions’ at the then City Tavern, where we discussed his work. He listened carefully to what I intended to do with the Fleece. That instilled a sense of self-confidence in me and I believe it influenced my future attitude towards art and artists. Pekić was then already a successful writer, and he spoke so seriously with a student of theatre direction. And did so totally openly, filled with understanding. We later saw each other occasionally; he invited me to be his guest when I came to London. I directed his plays and was impugned for that, but also rewarded. I am proud that I was one of his friends.”

Nebojša had his first independent directing assignment while he was still a student, while he graduated with the Henrik Ibsen play Nora at the National Theatre in Niš. He has since gone on to put his name to around a hundred plays, musicals and operas that he’s staged in the theatre and opera houses of Serbia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria and elsewhere. He’s received positive and even outstanding reviews, won the Sterija Award and numerous others, but he approaches his work on each new play as if it were the most important, or, as he says, ‘every play is the last’.

Encompassing a significant and successful part of this artist’s work have been his terms as an administrator of several theatres. His first such management role was at the Kruševac Theatre, where he spent 15 years as a theatre director, artistic director and manager. It was under his tenure, during the late 1980s and the first half of the ‘90s, that it became the most respected theatre in the Serbian provinces.

“I was 30 years old when, based on the incentive of the actors, I first became acting manager and then administrator of the theatre. I accepted that duty with the precondition that the first job be the reconstruction of the theatre. The new theatre was open to guest actors, who included the likes of Đuza Stojiljković, Branislav ‘Ciga’ Jerinić, Tanja Bošković and many others. That was the impetus to launch the theatre and create successful and authentic plays.”

The triumph of the play The Damned Yard [based on Ivo Andrić’s book] at the Sterijino Pozorje festival in the year 2000 marked the crowning of Bradić’s ‘Kruševac cycle’. He both dramatically adapted and directed this famous Andrić novel, receiving the Sterija Award for his efforts, with the play declared the best of the entire festival. The cast comprised the then young Vojin Ćetković, Sergej Trifunović, Nebojša Milovanović, Nebojša Dugalić et al.

Nebojša would subsequently spend a short period as manager of Belgrade’s Atelje 212 theatre, a position he took on at the suggestion of fellow director and then outgoing manager Ljubomir Muci Draškić (1937-2004). It was from there, based on the suggestion of then Minister of Culture Nada Popović Perišić, that he moved to the helm of the National Theatre, where during the following two and a half years of isolation he would break the blockades by realising international cooperation at this theatre. It will remain recorded that in the building of the National Theatre on Republic Square, on the eve of the launch of the 1999 bombing campaign, he succeeded in staging the premiere performance of a Jagoš Marković directed version Rossini’s opera La Cenerentola, aka Cinderella. The costumes for the play were created by famous Italian fashion designer Renato Balestra.

Culture doesn’t belong exclusively to any one party or convocation of the Ministry; it should not be preyed on by political interest groups

“Cinderella signalled the return of our theatre scene to the world. Its premiere came in the time following the signing of the Dayton Agreement, after the lifting of sanctions. It was a stride forward for the theatre in difficult years. The staging was supported by the Serbian Ministry of Culture and the Italian Embassy in Belgrade. You should know that this success was all the greater because the very process of working on it was marred by threats that we were to be bombed. We ignored that a little, but that kind of uncertainty and tension was present.”

The Belgrade Drama Theatre also recorded years of great success during the two mandates when Nebojša was at the helm. He also founded the international Dance Festival, which today – after Bitef and Bemus – is undoubtedly a top national cultural treasure. He arrived at the BDT at the invitation of its actors. And he once again began his tenure time by seeking that the building undergo reconstruction.

“We quickly reached agreement that it was first necessary to work on the infrastructure, then to deal with the programme, followed by the ensemble, and in the meantime to work on bringing back the audience. We had to come up with a code for the way we could attract the audience and re-establish the theatre on the map of Serbia’s important institutions of culture. There were successful plays, but also those others. Successful plays can be soothing, but you can draw better conclusions when a play fails than when you achieve success. Our artists and theatres are mistaken when they try to create success. Success isn’t created! Rather one creates a good repertoire, a good division of duties and a good show.”

His successes led to him being qualified to be nominated for the position of Serbian culture minister by then political party G17 Plus, and he subsequently spent three years in that ministerial role (2008-2011) and showed how it could be possible to start solving some problems. However, political games took other turns. He described the situation well, saying: “The position of minister is always a challenge, it’s like being Vuk’s monument. You are raised on a pedestal and actually become the best target for pigeons.”

He had a lot of ideas that would have proved useful during the times that we were then in, but that wasn’t to be.

“That was the moment of the world economic crisis and that was the biggest handicap for the then Government, and for the Ministry of Culture in particular. It wasn’t possible to implement many of the ideas that we had. One of the things we finalised was Serbia’s presentation at the Book Fair in Leipzig, where we were the guest of honour.”

Bradić showed what he was capable of doing in his time as minister. Famous actor Velimir Bata Živojinović (1933- 2016), a long-time MP of the then ruling Socialist Party of Serbia, praised their exceptional collaboration during the years when he was in opposition and Nebojša was minister. And the author of this article once testified about him in an interview for NIN.

“I was in all government bodies, and film bodies, in all film funds, where I could influence things for the better, to solve problems. Of course, without the help of some minister, especially Minister Nebojša Bradić, who did plenty to resurrect the film industry, while we film workers wouldn’t have been able to do much either. He deserves credit for the fact that Serbian cinematography is in a much better situation today than it was yesterday, though he didn’t have the understanding of many relevant people. If there were any stoppages, they weren’t his fault. Serbian film progressed so strongly that it began very successfully presenting our cinematography worldwide. It’s a shame that Bradić left.”

Today, when people from the domain of culture are dissatisfied with the government’s attitude towards them, Nebojša’s stance during his time as minister represents a rare, bright example of desirable conduct.

“Both back then and today, I considered cultural clashes as not being needed by culture, that they are not good for culture, no matter how ‘attractive’ they sometimes seem to the media sphere. Someone in the position of a minister shouldn’t be someone who judges or adjudicates in a way that belittles someone or assassinates their character. The decisions made at the Ministry actually determine the policy that will be led by that Ministry. It is beyond my sense of civilised conduct when a minister clashes with a writer, director or actor. Culture doesn’t belong exclusively to any one party or convocation of the Ministry; it should not be preyed on by interest groups. The tone and manner in which individuals are discussed in the National Assembly, whether actors or someone else, is particularly insulting. This only causes the further escalation of violence in society, fear and insecurity. I’m proud of the dialogue I had with people who don’t belong to the same aggregation of political ideas or stances, because in that way we were able to collaborate with the aim of developing culture and the arts.”

The post Culture Is Standing On The Shoulders Of Previous Generations appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Predrag J. Marković (1965) was born and raised in Belgrade, where he grew up as the middle child of three (he has an older sister, Danica, a professor at the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine in Belgrade, and a younger sister, Milena, a playwright who lectures at the Faculty of Dramatic Arts and won the NIN award for the novel Children, which the jury declared as being the best novel in Serbia in 2021).

Predrag J. Marković (1965) was born and raised in Belgrade, where he grew up as the middle child of three (he has an older sister, Danica, a professor at the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine in Belgrade, and a younger sister, Milena, a playwright who lectures at the Faculty of Dramatic Arts and won the NIN award for the novel Children, which the jury declared as being the best novel in Serbia in 2021).

“My family and childhood are among the best known imaginable. That’s because my sister Milena described our childhood in painful detail. She exposed the life of my family so much with that unusual novel that she wrote that I don’t know what I would add.”

He describes his family as having belonged to the new socialist middle class. His father, Jovan, hails from a rural family, while his mother, Milka, was born into ‘the most terrible Lumpenproletariat family’, as he describes himself. His mother had a career as a Russian language teacher, while his father was, and remains, a devoted cinephile, screenwriter and the first private producer in Yugoslavia.

“I grew up in New Belgrade. None of my friends’ parents were from Belgrade. They were mostly lower ranked officers or employees in culture and various federal institutions… New Belgrade was no ghetto, which is also a lie. New Belgrade was a fortress of the socialist middle class. I only met upper echelon urban families for the first time when I married in old Belgrade, and they were really something different. There were several different types of middle class at that time, and I would divide them into at least two: the old middle class, as remnants of the pre-World War II period; and the new middle class raised under socialism.”

I went through the best course in modesty, because I was in big cities where nobody knew me. All budding youngsters should go to some bigger city to slightly temper their selfadoration

This historian cites numerous examples and scientific knowledge to show how much socialism created opportunities for education. He also exposes some misconceptions that still exist today when people talk about ‘old Belgrade families.’

“Only the elites leave tracks behind. What we know about those families we know from the books of Stevan Jakovljević, Svetlana Velmar Janković or Slobodan Selenić, and that is the very cream of the crop of several hundred families of the society of that time. And yet we know nothing about those families that lived in hovels, with an outdoor squat toilet behind their house. Most Belgraders lived in courtyard houses, with a drinking fountain in the yard and a squat toilet in the middle. And alongside it was obligatory to plant geraniums that would neutralise the stench.”

When it comes to the great fortunes made in the interwar period, and generally after every war, Marković says that they are war profiteers and that there hadn’t been many very wealthy people in the Kingdom of Serbia, as can be seen in the buildings erected at that time.

“Belgrade only ‘exploded’ in the 1920s and ‘30s, when a lot of money came into the city and many people got rich. And it seems that the most common investment was in buildings that yielded a return on the investment in five or six years, which was an incredible opportunity to generate wealth. The real boom began in 1918, with people constructing building after building, and Belgrade grew much more in the interwar period than it did after World War II.”

Predrag lectures in several subjects at Singidunum University’s Faculty of Media and Communications, and the ‘History of Family’ subject is one that also implies students talk to their grandmothers about their youth and life. And, according to him, grandmothers mostly lie. They describe what was not. They create an idyll that people want to believe in retroactively. Of course, there are families that raise children with better manners than others.

I increasingly believe that stupidity is one of the greatest forces in history; stupidity that is greater than any conspiracy. The problem with drawing lessons from history is that you don’t know which lesson to draw

“You also have that which psychologists call resilience, hardiness. Some children are like kittens – no matter how you throw them, they will land on their feet. Some children can survive any trauma and remain decent people. And some end up broken, like this demon child at Ribnikar” [in reference to the recent mass school shooting at Belgrade’s Vladislav Ribnikar Primary School].

He describes himself as having been an unhappy, frustrated teenager who resorted to the useful tactic of ‘fleeing upwards’. And that meant enrolling in college at the tender age of 15, after completing just the first year of high school. He insists that it wasn’t difficult. He figured that Lenin and some guy from Kopaonik who tended sheep had enrolled in university without having completed secondary school. He explains that it’s easy to pass entrance exams, but you have to try, which people don’t tend to do. He took seven subjects, which he found much easier than if he’d had to spent three more years sitting around in secondary school. He doesn’t see that as being something special, but rather considers himself as representing a continuation of the Marković family tradition.

“My father, like every rural child, was left to his own devices, so he wandered around the village and sat down at a school desk at the age of five. Sitting in the classroom together were children from the first to the fourth grades, and he knew the answers to every question. He is thus the initiator of that schooling ahead of schedule, because he was a year and a half younger than his generation. And I perfected that method.”

Predrag is nine years older than his younger sister Milena, while Danica is 12 years her senior. The two elder siblings were thus like Milena’s second parents, even attending her school parents’ meetings and taking care of her.

“It seems that we underestimated her somewhat, as she was the youngest. When that great talent of hers manifested itself, things changed. My older sister and I now believe in Milena’s authority. She is actually the wisest of us. You see how a dynamic system it is; how relationships between people change constantly.”

Yugoslavia was an incredibly complicated country. More complicated than the Soviet Union. Not to mention Czechoslovakia. In Yugoslavia there were many similar sized nations, with terrible shared wounds. The Soviets didn’t have a tradition of fratricidal war like us

Women were the key to everything in the Marković family. Predrag was born as the lightest baby to survive at the time. He weighed just 900 grams. And he had hemiparesis, the partial loss of movement in one part of the body. His cousin, famous writer Dobrica Ćosić, managed to get hold of an incubator that wasn’t in Belgrade at the time and had to be brought from Zagreb. The doctors told his mother: ‘let go, you are a young woman, you’ll bear another child’. But Milka ignored them all, deciding that her son wouldn’t only survive, but that all his functions would also restore themselves. She was helped by Cvetko Brajović, a former Goli Otok inmate and one of the first speech therapists. It was Cvetko that gave him the name Predrag. The long and often torturous exercises that his mother took him for every day helped.

“I pulled through. Some consequences remained, but I lived a more or less normal life thanks to my mother’s fierce efforts. My mother was like a Šarplaninac [a devoted and stubborn mountain dog]. She would have jumped out of the window at a nod from my father. And she might even have asked if she was allowed to open it first. When you look at the stories of various successful people, you see the great importance of the role of mothers. Those were mothers in staunchly patriarchal societies who sacrificed everything for their children. Many successful children were raised on the sacrifice of their mothers.

“Fathers are today much better for their children than they once were. That was also noted, for example, by my favourite writer, Norwegian Karl Ove Knausgård, who – just like my sister Milena – described his life down to the most unpleasant details. He is a true Scandinavian father, looking after the children, feeding them, preparing their lunch and dinner. When he comes across Japanese tourists they take pictures of him, because that kind of emancipation has yet to arrive in Japan. You have that witty remark about Scandinavian crime shows, when the inspector comes home in the evening exhausted and has a glass of wine, while her husband has prepared dinner. Fortunately, that trend of caring fathers is expanding and today’s fathers are much more dedicated than father used to be. For instance, today you don’t have the model of a father who relaxes after work, after lunch, but rather one that takes care equal of the children as the mother.”

Vukan and Miona are the son and daughter of Predrag and Sara, and they are rightly proud of their children. Miona is a successful 27-year-old actress who is due to get married in a few months. Vukan is 29 and is completing his Ph.D. at Cambridge University. He didn’t want to be his daddy’s boy, so instead took the more difficult route of making his own way in a world where no one could help him in any way. And he succeeded in being true to himself, in dealing with what could be called the philosophy of history, something between philosophy and history. He works at the Institute for Philosophy and Social Theory.

“My children grew up in a patriarchal cooperative. I was a lodger residing with my in-laws, and that turned out well for the children. If anyone suffered, that was my wife. I lived like a student; my mother-in-law was a strict teacher of maths and my father-in-law was an extremely industrious man. They helped in raising the children to an incredible extent. The grandparents took them to school and waited for them afterwards, prepared lunch for them, and what was a frustrating situation turned out to be very good. When you are lucky enough to have grandparents who are interested in learning and are ambitious, that extended family doesn’t have to be a miserable solution. Thanks to some circumstances that were initially unfortunate, my family was more efficient in terms of educating the children than it would have been if I’d had a better living standard.

“Many cultures have shown extended families to be pretty effective. The middle generation goes to work and the older generation looks after the children. It can be seen in many cases that this network of grandparents doesn’t have a negative impact. You have the Chinese and the Vietnamese, among whom this principle of raising children functions well, and they are known as being the most successful people on the planet. In America, many of them are even more successful than the Jews!”

It was around a year ago that actress Miona Marković wrote a social media post dedicated to her mother Vladislava, who goes by the nickname of Sara, has been married to her father for three decades, works at the Belgrade City Library and successfully avoids the limelight. Her statements are touching: “My mum is a better parent to her parents than they ever were, and I won’t even mention us. My mother’s greatest success is us, her children, but she was never an ambitious parent. The success of her children was never a primary priority for her, and I guess that’s precisely why we wanted it. So, young parents, be like my mum, don’t pressure yourself or your children, they will find their own way to that which interests them.”

German diplomatic documents that have now been published show that Germany actually only broke when the war spread to the areas around Vukovar and Dubrovnik. Prior to that, both Germany and America were actually in favour of somehow preserving Yugoslavia. Attacking Dubrovnik and Vukovar was an unbelievably stupid decision

Our interlocutor says that its fortunate that everyone close to him does what they love.

“We are privileged people, several generations in the family do what they love. That is a combination of fortunate circumstances. Of course, in that there is also some work, talent, energy…”

There is one interesting detail from the biography of CorD’s interlocutor that is remembered by multiple generations. As a student, he was a winner in the most successful and popular Yugoslav TV quiz, “Kviskoteka”, which was broadcast by Television Zagreb. Speaking in 2017, the man who came up with that show concept and some other television quizzes, the late Lazo Goluža (1936-2020) said in 2017: “The greatest class in Kviskoteka was Belgrade history student Predrag Marković. May none of our people get angry, but that is the truth. He was phenomenal.”

Predrag gained enormous popularity across Yugoslavia during his time participating in this quiz, proving more popular even than the most famous stars of film and music of that time. He today talks about that time as a fond memory of Mr Goluža and presenter Oliver Mlakar (1935), with an explanation that’s seemingly inherent in him to provide justification whenever his successes are mentioned.

“That was in 1990, on the very eve of the war, and everything that happened prior to the war acquired an aura of nostalgia. You should know that that was a big country with just two television channels and so few programmes that everyone watched everything that was broadcast. The prize for Kviskoteka was a language course in Washington. And I also received a scholarship for England and was in London. So, I basically disappeared at the peak of my media popularity, spending more than six months in countries where I was nothing and nobody. I went through the best course in modesty, because I was in big cities where nobody knew me. All budding youngsters should go to some bigger city to temper their self-adoration.”

He recalls where he was when war broke out in Yugoslavia, and responds in the affirmative when asked if Yugoslavia really had to disintegrate.

“It probably did have to, but it didn’t have to happen like that. Yugoslavia was an incredibly complicated country. More complicated than the Soviet Union. Not to mention Czechoslovakia. In Yugoslavia there were many similar sized nations, with terrible shared wounds. The Soviets didn’t have a tradition of fratricidal war like us. As a Srbijanac [meaning a Serb from Serbia], I knew nothing of the traumas that the Bosnian Serbs have. I saw that when the war erupted, because they couldn’t bear to live in a new NDH [a reference to the WWII Nazi puppet state of the Independent State of Croatia]. And that was obvious. Slavko Goldstein wrote about that in his book 1941: The Year That Keeps Returning. They restored the former name of the currency, restored the name of the army from the era of the Ustaše [WWII Croatian fascist and ultranationalist organisation], and the Croatian regime did nothing to appease the Serbs. Their ideal was obviously ‘Croatia without Serbs’, and that’s what they ultimately achieved.”

Many experts are of the opinion that Germany undoubtedly played a role in the collapse of the then Yugoslavia, which Marković explains in his capacity as a historian.

“That doesn’t seem to be entirely true. German diplomatic documents that have now been published show that Germany actually only broke when the war spread to the areas around Vukovar and Dubrovnik. Prior to that, both Germany and America were actually in favour of somehow preserving Yugoslavia. Attacking Dubrovnik and Vukovar was an unbelievably stupid decision. So many stupid moves were made that only the attack on Ukraine is stupider. You attack Dubrovnik, one of the world’s most beautiful cities, for no reason and that is unfortunately attributed to the Serbs, although it was assaulted by Montenegrins and the future darling of the Americans and the European Union, Milo Đukanović. And then you also attack Vukovar, that’s like Mariupol in Ukraine. You destroy a city with a national composition that’s actually predominantly Serbian.

Computer-based writing has made writing easier for various scribomaniacs. That is a worldwide trend. Something that was once mandatory isn’t any longer. You can now complete literature studies without reading Chekhov

“I increasingly believe that stupidity is one of the greatest forces in history; stupidity that is greater than any conspiracy. The problem with drawing lessons from history is that you don’t know which lesson to draw.”

As a professor at the Faculty of Media and Communications, he has the rare privilege and satisfaction of receiving the highest ratings among students year after year, and they enjoy attending his classes. He lectures on Media History, the History of Family, the History of Propaganda and Intercultural Communication. He says that he makes an effort around his students, because students love enthusiasts.

“I’ve had various experiences in teaching. I spent a long time going to Petnica [the Petnica Science Centre], which is attended by the best possible students, and I taught at the Teacher Education Faculty when the dean was Aleksandar Jovanović, a wonderful man. It was delightful to lecture at Petnica. Those are inquisitive children who write papers better than the majority of much older researchers. The most important pedagogical experience for me was represented by the lady teachers. Those are girls who don’t really have much love for history, because history is still preferred by men. I taught them in the evening slot, when they could hardly wait to go home, or to the dormitory, because most of them are from the heartlands. There I practiced all my skills to arouse interest among an audience that was completely indifferent to the subject.

“The practise is very different at the Faculty of Media and Communications. There is an overabundance of information on offer today and there are multiple canons. On the other hand, some canons that were valid for a long time have since been destroyed. For instance, the literary canon has been destroyed, the hierarchy of writers, and the fact is that more books are being sold than ever before. Today there are more copies in circulations and more titles. You could say that this is scribomania, as is the case in historiography. Computer-based writing has made writing easier for various scribomaniacs. That is a worldwide trend. Something that was once mandatory isn’t any longer. You can now complete literature studies without reading Chekhov.”

When it comes to his position as a vice president of the Socialist Party of Serbia, he says that party president Ivica Dačić utilised him very intelligently.

“He is a very wise man who allowed me to be a more or less independent intellectual, because it is better for people to simultaneously recognise the socialist and independent intellectual in me than for me to be some party soldier. And that gives me ample opportunity to primarily speak and interpret as a historian.

“My son taught me that, in history, the best story wins; the best told story leaves the strongest mark. The only problem is that there are a lot of stories.”

The post In History, The Best Told Story Wins appeared first on CorD Magazine.