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Another Time, Another Place 2014 "Civil Provision!", Onomatopee at the Kulturni Centar Beograd, Serbia.
"The fourth exhibition of the A.C.T. DEMOC(K)RACY project, which focuses on a bottom-up awareness of European democracy through actual cultural exchange, fostering awareness and relations by a combination of international residencies and exchanges of students and tutors, by seminars that stimulate thinking and acting and by exhibitions which open up sensibilities." For the Civil Provision! exhibition at the Kulturni Centar Beograd, I made contact with a Roma community on the outskirts of town, built a shack amongst the other illegal shacks in the hidden settlement and lived there for a couple of days. (Text below). Photo's: Paul Segers. Under construction photo's: Nikola Đorđević. Thanks to: Nikola Đorđević for maximum support and interpreting. |
ACT Democ(K)racy! Civil Provision! Bottom up! Except for the exceptions..
My motivation for building a shack in a Roma settlement on the outskirts of town and living there for a couple of days weren't based on any political concept. Neither were the social conditions a specific target at first. Coming from the Netherlands and living in a ‘poor’ neighborhood that houses a variety of different people from different nationalities and social status I was interested in the reality of the real dystopia. The crisis we experience is real, but means for most people the consideration of selling the 2nd car or skipping a holiday in the sun. What if I actually couldn't pay the rent, had no house, no running water or electricity? What if the shit really hit the fan? Could I manage to feed my family, find solutions to the most basic problems? Going into one of the many settlements in Belgrade would be a mental test, a personal case study, just to get even a glimpse of the life outside of society. Even democracy wouldn’t reach that far.
A photo of a Roma settlement made by Francois Lombarts who was mapping the city of Belgrade triggered me. It seemed like something totally out of this world. Another time, another place. I went there to see it with my own eyes. It was beyond Mad Max. That was my first thought. A landscape made of trash, like something past the end of everything. The remnants of a consumer society after the markets went down and the factories closed. A wavering sea of plastic.
The contact was made, the money paid, the safety guaranteed. Getting in was one thing, making contact another. Sweat bonds, and building my shack together with Sacha – my illegal landlord - broke the ice and the distrust from both sides. It was going to be a good shack, according to Sacha. I had to exchange my circular saw for a hatchet, my power tools for a hammer and nails. Every time something just barely fitted Sacha would look me in the eye with a serious look and make the signal by kissing the tip of his fingers: this was going to be something special..
And then night fell. My shack barely more than a wooden box with an old mattress on pallets and the wind picking up. It is hard to describe the change of scenery, like it is hard describing some weird surreal dream. The landscape literally seemed to melt into the night. The rustling sounds of plastic all around, rats, barking dogs, cats.. nightcrawlers. It was quiet, but everything seemed to move. Walking around between these bizarre sculptural shacks with ample light powered by stolen electricity and the smell of burning rubber from their stoves producing black smoke from the chimneys transported me straight into another planet.
And when I went out of this world back into our reality, surfacing from the darkness like a shy animal I could actually feel that change. Momentarily I had become that alien, or at least alienated. Going into a restaurant for a toilet felt like breaking some kind of unwritten law that I used to know. Smelling like burnt plastic, dirty, and due to the sleeping comfort of my shack quite rotten, people were looking at me. The moment you evaluate someone by his outlook, decide whether the alien is a dangerous one or just lost. I had been there myself, looking through the eyes of the barkeeper and all the others.
And then going back in again! Following the last road parallel to the last block with its empty yellow lights and then beyond – into the darkness. It was insane. It was magical in the cruelty of the scene. I was an impostor, obviously. I would never be in there for real and I would never be able to simulate what these people were actually living through. Sacha and his family would tell me the stories around the stove while burning old shoes. They would make me coffee and offer up their beds for my comfort. They are good people, in a very bad situation. Outcasts for life. Parallel systems crossing the city without touching or seeing each other.
We will have to say goodbye soon. I’ll be off to my house and family. I will take the alien with me, walk through my world together, to see what’s happening.
Paul Segers, Belgrade 04-03-14
My motivation for building a shack in a Roma settlement on the outskirts of town and living there for a couple of days weren't based on any political concept. Neither were the social conditions a specific target at first. Coming from the Netherlands and living in a ‘poor’ neighborhood that houses a variety of different people from different nationalities and social status I was interested in the reality of the real dystopia. The crisis we experience is real, but means for most people the consideration of selling the 2nd car or skipping a holiday in the sun. What if I actually couldn't pay the rent, had no house, no running water or electricity? What if the shit really hit the fan? Could I manage to feed my family, find solutions to the most basic problems? Going into one of the many settlements in Belgrade would be a mental test, a personal case study, just to get even a glimpse of the life outside of society. Even democracy wouldn’t reach that far.
A photo of a Roma settlement made by Francois Lombarts who was mapping the city of Belgrade triggered me. It seemed like something totally out of this world. Another time, another place. I went there to see it with my own eyes. It was beyond Mad Max. That was my first thought. A landscape made of trash, like something past the end of everything. The remnants of a consumer society after the markets went down and the factories closed. A wavering sea of plastic.
The contact was made, the money paid, the safety guaranteed. Getting in was one thing, making contact another. Sweat bonds, and building my shack together with Sacha – my illegal landlord - broke the ice and the distrust from both sides. It was going to be a good shack, according to Sacha. I had to exchange my circular saw for a hatchet, my power tools for a hammer and nails. Every time something just barely fitted Sacha would look me in the eye with a serious look and make the signal by kissing the tip of his fingers: this was going to be something special..
And then night fell. My shack barely more than a wooden box with an old mattress on pallets and the wind picking up. It is hard to describe the change of scenery, like it is hard describing some weird surreal dream. The landscape literally seemed to melt into the night. The rustling sounds of plastic all around, rats, barking dogs, cats.. nightcrawlers. It was quiet, but everything seemed to move. Walking around between these bizarre sculptural shacks with ample light powered by stolen electricity and the smell of burning rubber from their stoves producing black smoke from the chimneys transported me straight into another planet.
And when I went out of this world back into our reality, surfacing from the darkness like a shy animal I could actually feel that change. Momentarily I had become that alien, or at least alienated. Going into a restaurant for a toilet felt like breaking some kind of unwritten law that I used to know. Smelling like burnt plastic, dirty, and due to the sleeping comfort of my shack quite rotten, people were looking at me. The moment you evaluate someone by his outlook, decide whether the alien is a dangerous one or just lost. I had been there myself, looking through the eyes of the barkeeper and all the others.
And then going back in again! Following the last road parallel to the last block with its empty yellow lights and then beyond – into the darkness. It was insane. It was magical in the cruelty of the scene. I was an impostor, obviously. I would never be in there for real and I would never be able to simulate what these people were actually living through. Sacha and his family would tell me the stories around the stove while burning old shoes. They would make me coffee and offer up their beds for my comfort. They are good people, in a very bad situation. Outcasts for life. Parallel systems crossing the city without touching or seeing each other.
We will have to say goodbye soon. I’ll be off to my house and family. I will take the alien with me, walk through my world together, to see what’s happening.
Paul Segers, Belgrade 04-03-14
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