In a place where nothing changes, where even hope for change loses its meaning. Because it's late, too late to wait. That the culprit must be found, sounds like persecution or vindication. In order not to sink into pessimism, let something beyond human nature be blamed. Fog, take it
No period or comma, I would not take away from what I had fixed a year ago, at the same time, sometime after midnight, outside the deadline, under the usual rush to finish a job that I would be able to it used to be done. It was a kind of attempt to join three lines for a narrative, something like weaving about visas, the prisoner who marks the days with lines waiting for freedom, and about what is signed with a line and that is what the state considers.
The attitude of not changing anything is far from any prophecy in the forecast. Even further away from the arrogance of authorship for a text that never gets old. It is the circumstances that make even forecasting an easy task. In a place where nothing changes, where even hope for change loses its meaning. Because it's late, too late to wait.
But "Don't Look Back" by the rock group "Boston" would be the order of 1978 not to look back.
In the end, as usual, that writing would end with congratulations. Seen in today's perspective, it's all gone: for the lines to come together to become the outline of another painting.
The lines did not join, the next painting, in the softer version, became a croc. In the most realistic way – doodle.
That the culprit must be found, sounds like persecution or vindication. In order not to sink into pessimism, let something beyond human nature be blamed. Fog, take it.
* * *
We were still not taught what it is - somewhere like pre-primary or elementary school we had learned a few letters of the alphabet - it was a strict obligation to learn rhymes about the fog, which starts with bathing (fog) and ends with a threat. And the threat was made with the sun. The fog was blamed for spoiling the children's play, calling upon the sun's rays to destroy it. I don't believe that they taught us to instill in us the belief in the sun, in the energy of this star.
The real image of smog together with the fog usually returns every beginning of winter, my 5-year-old Bindi would remind me of the poem about it on one of the usual foggy days. A few verses of what I had in mind were not enough as an explanation in the questions that are replaced by another, another and another. The dilemmas with which we breathe lead to the innocence of a child's curiosity. His questions were joined by mine, which were filled with fear for the smoke and smog that he and all of us inhale. And the greatest fear for the fog that envelops his future and all of us.
Compromise was the sun that destroys it. Far from impregnating his faith in the sun alone.
* * *
It was a sunny day, the third Thursday of May 2018, when the Israeli curator, Avi Lubin, together with the artists, would land at the National Gallery of Kosovo with their artistic "Megulla". Far from breaking down each of the works, the genealogy of the concept is suggestive enough. That he comes from a country that does not recognize the citizenship of Kosovo, for the curator who spoke at the starting point. And it started as a joke: an exhibition that doesn't exist, in a place that doesn't exist, with people that don't exist, in a gallery that doesn't exist. The joke turned into a joke when he would try to go down "to the state that does not exist". The plane didn't land, it spent a night in Istanbul and from there Lubini greeted the artists with another joke that Kosovo probably doesn't really exist.
At the opening of the exhibition, the sun had set. Understandably, the dim rays did not even have the necessary minimum to remove the artistic fog that raises questions, investigates the past and the future, in an attempt to give meaning to the present. Somewhere in the corner of the gallery, what would be grasped as a metaphor, now goes beyond it. A piece of the national flag sewn with the former Yugoslavian one, placed on the tail of the scythe. "The untitled community" is the baptism that the conceptual artist Driton Selmani gave it, and above all, a work like this, has its power not only in warning or predicting the events that follow, but in sustainability. Obviously - it will be able to be exhibited in the years to come. If for nothing else, only for the fog that drowns the present along with the future. And if he needs a second reason, the nebula that we have stratified as a legacy is enough. "Fog" as art became a powerful statement to question the existence of a society at the crossroads.
In order to destroy it, the lines of a poem will become necessary, like child's play that the sun removes the fog. Or going back to the past. When the first ones were sitting, they didn't find the reason to trust each other. And they believed in the sun.
* * *
The fog of smog on the longest night of the year will be added to the smoke of holiday fireworks, transformed into rituals that do not require a reason. That behind the brightness of the lamps, hides the darkness without beginning and end. The simplest explanation for fog is the suspension of small water droplets, where horizontal visibility is less than a kilometer. Outside of science, in reality, the tiny drops of water are people suspended in the mist. Those for whom the horizontality of vision will be blinded even more and will have to raise their heads vertically, waiting for rescue from the stars.
Glad we don't go back and trust only the sun!