Nema Nikog Da Ga Bere

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Nema Nikog
Da Ga Bere

There is no one to harvest them

interactive ceramic installation based on the notion of commemorative monuments, consisting of 102 fruit pieces native to (Northern) Bosnia and Herzegovina

2022 - 2023

ON MONUMENTS

I recently wrote a thesis on the importance of commemorative rituals and monuments, "Case Study: Prijedor." I explored how monuments are systematically banned, both openly and subtly, under the guise of false progress.

On how visiting a monument can be a personal act and/or a communal ritual - both healing and painful at the same time. It provides a tangible time and space for expressing and processing grief, helping individuals move forward.
On the unique pain of those still searching for their loved ones, who might know the last known location but do not have a body, grave, or appropriate burial ritual to provide closure.

On removed plaques and false promises. On white ribbons, white sheets on houses, white balloons, white roses. On economically motivated denial of war crimes despite the annual mass burials of victims' remains. On the brave citizens and family members fighting for truth and visual evidence, organizing petitions and gathering signatures, creating improvised temporary monuments, participating in peace protest marches, and demanding monuments in exile.

Especially in politically charged situations, monuments can and should serve as chroniclers of history, documenting past events for future generations and fighting against false historical narratives.

“There is no one to harvest them” was created in response to this current political climate. As monument erection faces repression, this work 'compromises' by incorporating and hiding multiple layers, intentions, and uses within its context.

ON TREES

My goal was to create a monument concept that, besides its horrific reason for existence, also embodies resilience and the spirit of moving forward, inherent to the people of this region. I chose fruit trees as a motif, not even as a metaphor, but as a clear symbol of their deep connection to the homeland. This idea stemmed from a sentiment I often encountered in various contexts, boiling down to "Who will take care of my trees? Who will take care of the harvest?" From the diaspora of this now relatively empty land wondering if their trees have already borne fruit - to the first people taken to camps, not knowing where they would end up yet.

I wrote about a (fruit) trees being the only recognizable element from my parents' pre-war home. About trees that 'could' document where valuables were buried when the marking bricks had long disappeared because you didn't expect to return for so many years.

About caring for them, which is a significant part of my parents' monthly visits from abroad. About them as year-round living elements of fully equipped houses across the country, only missing the inhabitants.

About the forests that served as the last safe haven for the last people still trying to defend their homeland and resist the Serbian army. And the last refuge for people hiding with those too weak.

About years of intergenerational care, liters of water, endless pruning, shaping, forming, pest control - making the tree what it is today.

About the apple tree in the yard that my father planted himself as a child, after discovering it randomly growing in a potato field. The apple tree survived relocation, survived the war, and had people who returned to nurture it. While other things were destroyed or stolen, the apple tree could still provide fruit, shade, shelter, just like it had before. A tangible token from the past.

As much as this work is a tribute to trees, forests, and gardens, symbolizing deep love for the homeland, it also carries a hidden, second dimension.Ceramic pieces on the ground, which look like randomly scattered fruits of native fruits in natural size, symbolize the absence of those who would pick them. In reality, there are exactly 102 pieces, each representing a child killed in Prijedor from 1992-1993. For the uninitiated, these pieces hide important information about those children, turning the monument into a physical statistic.

If a permanent inscription with their names on the monument is not allowed due to the persistent refusal of local authorities in Prijedor, I 'compromised' by documenting them subtly - but openly. Their names are not allowed a permanent place - so I will incorporate them in a secret code, known to those who matter.
Just as these ceramic pieces, lying eternally on the ground like fruits, never had the chance to reach their full potential - as a blooming tree or a blossoming person.

Reflecting the local tradition of taking initiative, maintaining informal commemorations, and creating temporary monuments, this work sends a message to advocates of this purpose. The careful handmade crafting of each of the 102 pieces serves as a testament to the dedication and spirit of "Because it matters to me." This initiative stems from the collective care and attention towards those affected, affirming that these children are not forgotten.