Attention. This is going to sound like a love letter. Having the pleasure of calling this year’s edition my third visit at Manifesta, I make no secret of the fact that I adore the concept of it: the idea behind this nomadic biennale, where one “does not fetishize the venue and does not absolutise the museum or the exhibition“. You can certainly call me biased in this review.
Otherwise
Otherwise is the theme of Manifesta 14 Prishtina. Otherwise is a way of linking two events to show what would have happened if the first had not taken place. Otherwise allows a drift to alternatives – circumstances other than the present or contemplated, or else, in other respects, apart from. It could also sound boastful: Otherwise, what? But in the perspective of Kosovo, a country – being left over, passed over, left out, left behind – otherwise sounds comforting.
Manifesta 14 Prishtina is made up of individual fragments that at first glance do not necessarily belong together or complete the story, at least not yet. But nevertheless it collects the pieces – patiently and accurately, like in the china shop where the bull is missing and there is now no one to blame for all that has happened. All 25 venues have thematic overlaps, but this thematic richness is most evident in the main exhibition of Manifesta 14 Prishtina at the Grand Hotel Prishtina, where works are clustered around terms such as transition, migration, water, capital, love, ecology and speculation. The mood is bittersweet, stirring, touching, often poignant. The time indication is maybe post-past continuous. Or perhaps post-past imperfect. Or possibly post-past progressive.
What impresses me the most is the matter-of-factness with which the works present themselves. They don’t pretend to be anything else. In the abandoned places within the city, in the urban leftovers: the works are as they are – without any polish or retouching. It is the message alone that counts. There is no art that has to be something, no art that follows a norm, no agenda that has to be fulfilled.
Upon entering the National Gallery of Kosovo, one hears Selma Selman shout: “You have no idea“. Born in 1991 in Ružica, Bosnia and Herzegovina and living in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, Selman walking the streets of Washington D.C. here somehow sums up the Biennial for me. Is it possible to share traumas, emotions, feelings and sensations to the point of understanding? With a tremendous intensity and vehemence to her voice – from screaming to exhaustion – she is truly stirring in this short performance documentary.
Another video work is situated between language and movement. Jelena Jureša (born 1974 in Novi Sad, lives in Ghent) filmed two women – a journalist and a choreographer. In this descriptive work, a photograph of a Serbian voluntary soldier kicking the dead corpse of a Bosnian woman is thematised. The work is part of Jureša’s Aphasia series. While the medical term “aphasia” refers to the inability to speak or find the right words, this video is a proof to how powerful language can be – interpreting, questioning, doubting and rehashing what happened in 1992 without showing the actual photo taken by Ron Haviv. “If the fight is inevitable, don’t throw the first punch” – writes Driton Selmani (born 1987 in Ferizaj, lives in Prishtina) in acrylic paint on a found plastic bag. His ongoing Love Letters, on display at Grand Hotel Prishtina, oscillate between Instagram-like memo entries and embittered reality. How to react when attacked and where the limits of one’s non-violence lie. “Pacifism is the wrong response to the war in Ukraine” wrote Slavoj Žižek for The Guardian about four months ago and Selmani’s work suddenly becomes, for me, probably more political than intended. “Let’s pretend this is not a house on fire” is written on another plastic bag. Can we do that while experiencing almost 25 degrees in Central Europe at the end of October? Our house is up in flames and the next blow is sure to come. It’s no longer live, love, laugh, but switch, swap, substitute.
Manifesta 14 Prishtina focuses on asking the right questions, whereas most current art events attempt to provide the right answers. This biennial does not give answers but rather ponders: Do you have any idea? It shows impressively, as we are very busy picking stories apart, what could happen if we saw them more globally, more universally, and more generally.
Lastly, some numbers: 103 artists from over 30 countries are participating in this year’s 100 days of Manifesta Prishtina 2022 (ending Oct. 30), with 48% of the participants coming from Kosovo and the Western Balkans. Access to all 25 venues is free; all venues are open until 8 pm. The change from previous editions is that, in the interest of sustainability, a Centre for Narrative Practice has been opened, with funding secured for the next five years. Kosovo is the only country in the former Yugoslavia that does not have the right to travel freely in the Schengen zone. One-third of the Kosovar population lives in the diaspora, and half of the remaining population wants to leave the country. Less than twenty per cent of Kosovar women are employed, and less than ten per cent own their businesses. Recently, parliament rejected a motion to allow same-sex couples to enter into civil partnerships. Less than 25 per cent of MPs voted in favour of the new law.
It is a bitter twist that the next Manifesta will be hosted by Spain, one of the five European Union countries that do not recognise Kosovo’s independence.
