KAZALO ALI JE PRIHODNOST LAHKO BOLJŠA?, JASMINA JERANT 4 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN O VRATIH IN PUŠČAVAH: POGOVOR Z LOREDANO BIANCONI, VARJA MOČNIK 11 SLAVA KRALJICI!: POGOVOR S TATIO SKHIRTLADZE, PETRA METERC 24 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO ŠOLA IN VRTEC SKOZI OGLEDALO, EVA D. BAHOVEC, DARJA RAKOVIČ 39 ANNETTE KRAUSS: PRIKRITI KURIKULUM, TEA HVALA 50 PRIKRITI KURIKULUM: PESMI IZGOVOROV, ŠPELA ČEKADA, PETJA GOLEC HORVAT, NEŽA ANA GORIČAR, TARA KLEMENČIČ BELŠAK, PIKA KOVAČ, DOMINIK KRIŽ, LAURA PENŠEK KOZMELJ, ŽAK MOŽE, FILIP PERPAR, ELA ROMIH, SINJA SMOKVINA 58 VSE JE V REDU, ANA LORGER 66 VSE JE V REDU: ODLOMKI IZ POGOVORA PO PREDSTAVI 80 Z ROKO V ROKI OPLODI ME/POGNOJI ME, MAJA SMREKAR 89 BUILDING CONVERSATION: PORTRET PLATFORME, KRISTINA BOŽIČ 100 KOLEKTIV ATLAS: SLED MESTA, MAY ABNET 112 SEZNAM FOTOGRAFIJ 128 TABLE OF CONTENTS COULD THE FUTURE BE BETTER?, JASMINA JERANT 6 COLLECTIVE MEMORY OF GATES AND OF DESERTS: INTERVIEW WITH LOREDANA BIANCONI, VARJA MOČNIK 18 GLORY TO THE QUEEN: INTERVIEW WITH TATIA SKHIRTLADZE, PETRA METERC 29 THE SCHOOL WE WANT SCHOOL AND PRESCHOOL THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS, EVA D. BAHOVEC, DARJA RAKOVIČ 43 ANNETTE KRAUSS: HIDDEN CURRICULUM, TEA HVALA 53 HIDDEN CURRICULUM: EXCUSE POEMS, ŠPELA ČEKADA, PETJA GOLEC HORVAT, NEŽA ANA GORIČAR, TARA KLEMENČIČ BELŠAK, PIKA KOVAČ, DOMINIK KRIŽ, LAURA PENŠEK KOZMELJ, ŽAK MOŽE, FILIP PERPAR, ELA ROMIH, SINJA SMOKVINA 61 EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT, ANA LORGER 74 EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT: EXCERPTS FROM A DISCUSSION AFTER THE THEATRE SHOW 84 HAND IN HAND FERTILIZE ME, MAJA SMREKAR 94 BUILDING CONVERSATION: PLATFORM’S PORTRAIT, KRISTINA BOŽIČ 106 ATLAS COLLECTIVE: A HINT OF A CITY, MAY ABNET 120 LIST OF PHOTOGRAPHS 129 JASMINA JERANT ALI JE PRIHODNOST LAHKO BOLJŠA? Pred dvema letoma je zbornik Mesta žensk izšel spomladi, še zaznamovan s prvim koronskim valom. Pomlad zatem je zbornik za sezono 2020/2021 izšel, ko se je svet z epidemijo boril že več kot dvanajst mesecev. Valove je bilo na tisti točki že težko šteti. Oba zbornika sta se v uvodnikih dotaknila težkih družbenih in gospodarskih bremen, ki jih je epidemija naložila ženskam in drugim ranljivim skupinam, kot so prekarni delavci in delavke, umetnice in umetniki, begunke in begunci … Tudi v letošnjem, prvič dvojezičnem zborniku premišljamo najodmev-nejše dejavnosti in umetniške dogodke Mesta žensk iz pretekle sezone in festivala. Zbornik o našem delovanju na področju feminističnega kuriranja, zagovorništva, aktivizma in izobraževanja smo zaključevale v času epidemije, v obdobju krepkega omikronskega pohoda, a zdaj, na prehodu v pomlad 2022, je pisanje uvoda še trpkejše kot v prejšnjih dveh letih. Kaj naj človek napiše, ko po Ukrajini divja grozljiva vojna? Če je uvodnik spomladi 2020 pozival k univerzalni temeljni pravičnosti in spomladi 2021 k razpravi o enakosti spolov v času globalnih izzivov … k čemu naj uvodnik poziva spomladi 2022? Je v času vojne še smiselno govoriti o univerzalni temeljni pravičnosti in enakosti spolov? Kaj bi rekla moja prijateljica Daryna, stara manj kot 30 let, ki je v začetku marca uspela skupaj s starši iz Ukrajine zbežati v Evropo? Izjemna, ponosna, močna mlada ženska, s katero sva na mednarodni univerzi v tujini skupaj študirali politologijo in ki je pri 23. letih prejela nagrado za najboljšo magistrsko nalogo v generaciji. Feministka. Borka. Ženska, ki je objavila, da bi se 8. marca običajno udeležila shoda v Kijevu. A je namesto pohoda po Kijevu na svoj spletni profil iz zatočišča nekje na zahodu države objavila zahvalo svojim rojakinjam, vojakinjam na fronti, svojim sodržavljankam. Njihovi moči, pogumu in žrtvi. Koliko ukrajinskih žensk v tem trenutku bije boj na fronti in koliko jih rešuje svoje otroke in starše med potjo v neznano? Koliko sirskih, jemenskih, sudanskih žensk vsak dan bije svojo bitko? Z ramo ob rami, z roko v roki skupaj z drugimi državljani in državljankami? Koliko bitk s pomanjkanjem osnovnih higienskih pripomočkov, s pomanjkanjem zdravil, prostora ter brisač in rok na čelu med rojevanjem? Koliko jih je bombardiranih v bolnišnicah in obstreljevanih med tekom čez mostove, med brodenjem 4 z otroki čez deroče reke na drugo stran, kjer naj bi bilo vsaj nekaj luči na koncu temačnega, grozljivega predora? Ob vsem tem je težko odgovoriti na vprašanje, ki je bilo temelj, rdeča nit festivala Mesto žensk leta 2021. Je prihodnost lahko drugačna od preteklosti in sedanjosti? Je lahko boljša? Najbrž se trenutno bolj instinktivno vprašamo, ali je prihodnost sploh možna. Na to ni samo težko, ampak skorajda nemogoče odgovoriti. Vemo pa, kaj lahko naredimo v sedanjosti, kaj je možno tukaj in zdaj. Begunkam in beguncem iz Ukrajine in drugih držav lahko kot posameznice in posamezniki pomagamo po svojih močeh; nevladne organizacije na področju kulture, kot je Mesto žensk, pa lahko s pomočjo umetnosti opominjamo na posledice vojn in nujnost miru. Ustvarjajmo boljši kolektivni spomin zdaj, za prihodnost. Naj bo naša sedanjost, ki jo živimo in dihamo tu in zdaj, temelj za nekaj boljšega v bodoče. S tega vidika odgovor na vprašanje ni več tako težak. Prihodnost je lahko boljša, če jo gradimo na izkušnjah iz preteklosti. Vsak dan. Bojujemo bitke na svoji strani, za tiste ali s tistimi, za katere se je vredno boriti. Za vse ljudi. Za vse ženske. Za pogumne, izjemne, ponosne, močne Daryne tega sveta, ki si zaslužijo boljšo prihodnost. 5 JASMINA JERANT COULD THE FUTURE BE BETTER? Two years ago, the collection City of Women: Reflecting 2019/2020 was published in spring, marked by the first coronavirus wave. One spring later, the anthology for the 2020/2021 season came out when the world had been battling the epidemic for more than twelve months. The waves were already hard to count at that point. Both editorials touched on the heavy social and economic burdens imposed by the epidemic on women and other vulnerable groups, such as precarious workers, artists, refugees, etc. In this year’s bilingual collection Reflecting 2021/2022, we once again reflect on the most resounding City of Women activities and artistic events from last season and the festival. We completed the publication on our work in the field of feminist curating, advocacy, activism and education during the epidemic, the period of the Omicron wave, but now, with spring 2022 just around the corner, the editorial is even more bitter than in the previous two years. What should a person write when a terrible war is raging across Ukraine? If the editorial in the spring of 2020 called for universal fundamental justice and in the spring of 2021 for a debate on gender equality in a time of global challenges … What should the editorial call for in the spring of 2022? Does it still make sense to talk about universal fundamental justice and gender equality during the war? What would my friend Daryna, less than 30 years old, who managed to flee Ukraine and come to Europe with her parents in early March, have to say about that? An exceptional, proud, strong young woman with whom I studied political science at an international university abroad and who, at the age of 23, received the award for best master’s thesis in her generation. A feminist. A fighter. A woman who recently announced how she would normally attend a rally in Kyiv on March 8. But instead of marching around Kyiv, she expressed her gratitude to her compatriots, the female soldiers at the front, her fellow citizens for their strength, courage and sacrifice from a shelter somewhere in the west of the country. How many Ukrainian women are currently fighting at the front and how many are rescuing their children and their parents on their way to the unknown? How many Syrian, Yemeni, Sudanese women are fighting their battles every day? Side by side, hand in hand with their fellow citizens? How many battles with the lack of basic hygiene items, with the lack of medicine, space and towels and hands on the forehead during childbirth? How many 6 are bombed in hospitals and shelled while running across bridges, while wandering with children across raging rivers to the other side where there is supposed to be at least a little light at the end of the tunnel out of this darkness and horror? From all this, it is difficult to answer the fundamental question, the common thread, of the City of Women festival in 2021. Can the future be different from the past and the present? Can it be better? We are probably instinctively asking ourselves at the moment: is the future even possible? Not only is this difficult, but it is almost impossible to answer. But we know what we can do in the present, what is possible here and now. We can help the refugees from Ukraine and other countries to the best of our ability, and cultural NGOs such as the City of Women can remind us about the consequences of war and the need for peace through art. Let’s create a better collective memory now, for the future. May our present, which we live and breathe in the here and now, be the foundation for something better in the future. That is why the answer to the question is no longer so difficult. The future can be better if we build on the experience of the past. Every day. We fight battles on our side, for those or with those worth fighting for. For all people. For all women. For the brave, exceptional, proud, strong Darynas of this world who deserve a better future. 7 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN COLLECTIVE MEMORY VARJA MOČNIK O VRATIH IN PUŠČAVAH Pogovor z Loredano Bianconi Dokumentarni film O vratih in puščavah italijanske režiserke Loredane Bianconi temelji na pripovedih, ki so jih Bianconi pripovedovali številni begunci, ki jih je spoznala v več kot dveh desetletjih. Režiserka pravi svojemu dokumentarnemu filmu literarno-filmski esej. Pesem v prozi se izpisuje na ekranu, stavek za stavkom. Odvija se migrantska odiseja; z včeraj na danes, od puščav do vrat utrjenega mesta. Besedilu odgovarjajo arhivski posnetki, posnetki, zbrani prek interneta, stare slike, posnetki iz današnjega časa: prizori, ki, kot besedilo, pripovedujejo zgodbo tisočih, ki KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN iščejo zatočišče: brodolomcev, preživelih, preminulih. COLLECTIVE MEMORY Tu povzemamo pogovor z Loredano Bianconi, ki ga je po projekciji njenega filma v Kinodvoru v času 27. festivala Mesto žensk moderirala urednica filmskih programov in filmska ustvarjalka Varja Močnik. K pripravi in objavi pričujočega besedila je prispeval tudi Kinodvor, besedilo pa je iz italijanskega avdio zapisa v slovenščino prevedel Denis Debevec. 11 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY Varja Močnik (VM): V predstavitvi beremo, da ste na filmu delali dvajset let. Kako vam je uspelo toliko časa imeti produkcijo pod nadzorom? Loredana Bianconi (LB): Trmasta sem (smeh). Od takrat, ko sem napisala prvo besedilo za film, pa do končanja filma je minilo dvajset let, saj nobena komisija projekta ni hotela odobriti za produkcijo. Ena prvih težav je bilo besedilo. Večkrat sem ga predelala, ker naj bi bilo prezahtevno, prezapleteno in podobno. Potem so mi rekli, da pretiravam, da to, kar navajam v besedilu, ne drži. In da osebe, ki naj bi jih imeli za žrtve, da bi prečkale meje, tudi same počnejo grozne stvari. In to za marsikoga ni bilo sprejemljivo. Obtožili so me tudi, da želim občinstvu vzbujati občutek krivde. Kar pa nikakor ni bil moj namen. Predvsem pa so mi očitali, da so te besede neme, da hočem posneti nemi film. A sama sem želela, da bi besedilo oziroma film vsakdo tolmačil na svoj način, s svojimi čustvi, svojimi občutji. Toda po mnenju komisij to nikakor ni bilo primerno in bi morali prizore odigrati igralci in igralke. S tem pa se nisem strinjala. In še zadnje, kar velja za celotno besedilo in projekt, ki sem ga predstavljala: po eni strani so mi govorili, da sem že dolga leta vpletena v te zgodbe, ker obiskujem zbirne centre in taborišča, in da zato obstaja tveganje, da bom pri tem preveč čustvena. Po drugi strani pa so mi očitali, da film zaradi svoje estetike ne premore dovolj čustev. Zaradi tega sem bila pogosto depresivna in sem projekt hotela opustiti. Potem pa mi je prijateljica, s katero sem v preteklosti že sodelovala, rekla, naj pogledam, ali je v njenem arhivu podob kaj zanimivega zame. In tako smo začeli. Ker pa spet ni bilo denarja, sem se odločila pogledati še na spletu, ali bi lahko našla že pripravljene, ready-made podobe. VM: In podobe v filmu so zelo lepe, pogosto zelo pretresljive, presunljive, ampak tudi lepe. Zakaj ste se odločili za tovrstno estetiko, ne pa za estetiko realnosti, razdrte, grobe realnosti? LB: Razlogov je več. Glede na to, da so bile podobe moje prijateljice Els Van Riel (te so vidne na začetku filma: ladja, morje, modri valovi) zelo lepe, sem se odločila, da morajo biti lepe vse podobe v filmu, saj so prosilci za azil, živi ali mrtvi, pogosto prikazani v svoji bedi, v svoji grdoti, da tako rečem. Sama pa nisem hotela tega, hotela sem jih prikazati lepe. In menila sem, da za to potrebujem lepe podobe. Lepe v smislu, da so lepo posnete, da je lepa fotografija, da so lepo kadrirane itd. 12 In potem sem šla na splet. Podobe, ki jih najdeš tam, so surove, robate, slabo kadrirane, predvsem pa so posnete z mobilnimi telefoni. Njihovi avtorji so pogosto ljudje, ki so sami preživeli potovanja čez puščave, morja itd. Čeprav so bile slabo kadrirane in surove, posnete spontano, so bile te podobe zelo silovite, imele so pomen, moč. Bile so pričevanja o grozotah, ki se dogajajo. In vprašala sem se, kaj lahko storim z njimi. S podobami sem morala narediti enako kot z besedilom. Besedilo tega filma je namreč nastalo na podlagi srečanj z migranti, zgodb, ki so mi jih povedali, njihovih izkušenj. Tu gre za prisilno emigracijo iz tistih krajev. Želela sem predelati ta jezik, da bi mu povrnila pomen. Zato da ne bi vedno govorili »migranti, begunci«. Vedno pravim zato, ker besede izgubijo pomen, če jih nenehno ponavljaš. In odločila sem se, da s podobami storim enako ‒ jim povrnem pomen. Zato sem naredila izbor podob, na novo sem jih kadrirala, kolorirala, iz njih vzela detajle in jim skušala tako vtisniti svoj pogled. VM: Zanimivo mi je tudi to, kako ste se odločali za vsak kader in ga pretehtali. LB: Najprej je bilo treba doseči, da se podobe in besedilo skladajo, da so tako rekoč v sozvočju. Da podobe ne ponazarjajo besedila in obratno. To je bilo izjemno obsežno delo. Izločili smo namreč trideset odstotkov izvirnega besedila. VM: Ste upoštevali tudi, od kod prihajajo posnetki? LB: Da, to je zelo pomembno, saj na spletu najdeš res vse mogoče. Včasih se vprašaš, kdo je to tako dobro posnel ‒ v smislu kadriranja, osvetlitve itd. Posnel recimo otroka, ki se utaplja v morju, ali pa žensko, ki se utaplja, medtem ko je z vrvjo še vedno privezana za čoln. Videla sem strašne prizore, ki so posneti dobro, tehnično brezhibno. Pri vseh podobah, tako tistih s spleta kot drugih, sem čutila odgovornost, da čim bolj raziščem, kdo jih je posnel in ali ne gre morebiti za inscenacijo. V neki meri vedno insceniraš, saj izbereš načine kadriranja, kote snemanja itd. Ampak na spletu so tudi dejanske inscenacije, zaigrani prizori. Pri vsaki podobi oziroma posnetku, ki sem jih poiskala na spletu, sem se vsakič ‒ in to je zelo vznemirljivo, obenem pa zastavlja številna etična vprašanja o odgovornosti ‒ vprašala, kaj naj pokažem. Veliko prizorov sploh nisem mogla gledati, tako strahotni so bili: mučenje v Libiji, trupla v puščavi, ožgana od sonca, seznam je neskončen. Vprašanje je torej bilo, kaj od tega naj pokažem in česa ne. Zato sem veliko uporabljala detajle in upala, da bo detajl nakazoval dogajanje zunaj kadra, če se izrazim filmsko. 13 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY VM: Med gledanjem tega filma sem razmišljala, kdo sem jaz, kdo je ta oseba, ki to gleda. In razmišljam o kolektivnem spominu in kdo je ta kolektiv, skupnost, kdo so vse posameznice, ki to gledajo, kdo so one v relaciji do filma, zgodbe. Zato me zanima, kako se vi tu najdete, kako se definirate, s katere pozicije poveste zgodbo? LB: To vprašanje je zelo zanimivo in tudi sama sem si ga zastavila že večkrat. Pogosto sem se vprašala, zakaj bi predelovala pričevanja. Oziroma saj to niso zgolj pričevanja ... Veliko časa sem preživela s temi ljudmi, da bi si pridobila njihovo zaupanje. V tem besedilu ni nič izmišljenega o tem, kar so doživeli. Čutila sem potrebo, da to prenesem naprej, da izrazim vprašanja, ki sem si jih zastavljala. Da vprašam, ali se občinstva to tiče. V sebi sem nosila veliko gneva, veliko bolečine. Na vprašanje, kdo sem jaz, da to počnem, da posnamem še en tak film ‒ obstaja namreč že zelo veliko igranih in dokumentarnih filmov, radijskih in gledaliških del na to temo ‒, bi mogoče lahko odgovorila, da sem ga posnela zato, da bi prenesla spomin nanje. Res sem čutila potrebo, da to naredim. Ne vem točno, kdo govori. Seveda govorim jaz, saj sem jaz izbrala besede in dogodke, jaz sem izbrala način pripovedovanja te zgodbe. Čutila sem dolžnost, da pričam o tem. Zaradi neizmernega gneva, s katerim me navdajajo brezbrižnost, zavračanje, morilski zakoni, ki pobijajo te ljudi, sem čutila potrebo, da to izrazim. Rada bi navedla samo en primer. V Italiji so pred kratkim obsodili Mimma Lucana, župana južnoitalijanskega kraja Riace ‒ o tem kraju je posnel film tudi Wim Wenders –, na trinajst let zapora zaradi kriminalnega združevanja z namenom spodbujanja nezakonitega priseljevanja. Riace je bil tako rekoč mrtev kraj, Lucano pa je vanj kot župan sprejel te ljudi, brodolomce na tamkajšnji obali. To je bil neverjeten primer integracije oziroma vključevanja. Kraj je spet oživel, spet so se odprle trgovine, šola itd. Begunci in prebivalci kraja so složno zaživeli skupaj. A to je primer, ki v Italiji ne sme obstajati, saj je treba zatreti vsakogar, ki si misli, da je lahko na strani sprejemanja drugih in drugačnih. Lucano je bil obsojen na trinajst let zapora! Pred časom pa je bil nekdo, ki je v svojem kraju iz avta streljal na temnopolte, obsojen le na nekaj mesecev zapora in je tudi že na prostosti. Lahko bi navedla celo vrsto takih primerov. Vsakič čutim potrebo, da bi rekla: »Kaj pa počnemo? Se res ne da nič narediti? Naj samo gledamo? Se pretvarjamo, da ne vidimo?« Sama tega ne zmorem. Včasih si sicer želim, da ne bi videla, zato da bi bila mirnejša in manj obupana nad stanjem stvari na tem svetu, ampak ne morem. In da ne bi bila tako osamljena, s takim filmom zastavljam vprašanja: »Se res ne da nič narediti? Pa vi? Pa mi?” Nikakor ne gre za vzbujanje 14 občutka krivde, ampak za spraševanje, koliko se lahko navadimo na brezbrižnost do drugih. VM: Ni vprašanje, ampak zahvala. Rada bi se zahvalila za super projekcijo in odličen film in mislim, da film prinaša sporočilo, ki bi ga vsak moral slišati. Hvala vam za pogum. LB: Hvala, ampak ne vem, ali je pogum prava beseda. Ne verjamem, da sem imela pogum. V teh časih sem to preprosto morala narediti. Morda predvsem zaradi sebe. V vseh teh letih sem srečala veliko ljudi, ki so do zdaj že umrli ali so v ilegali ali pa ne vem, kje so. Povedati moram, da ne prenesem zapisov »Naj počivajo v miru«. Kdor je bil umorjen ali ni bil deležen pomoči, ne počiva v miru. Prav tako ne prenesem zapisov »Spomin nanje še vedno živi v nas«. Sprašujem se, kateri spomin neki. Teh ljudi je na tisoče, na tisoče! Petindvajset tisoč je samo tistih, za katere vemo, da so v zadnjih letih umrli v Sredozemskem morju. Težko poslušam tudi izjave, da se taki filmi snemajo zato, da bi te ljudi oživili. Ne, ni jih mogoče oživiti. Ne vem. Recimo, da je to moj način ... Če bi bila verna, bi rekla, da na ta način molim, ampak nisem verna. To je moj način, da povem, koliko grobov je. Loredana Bianconi je filmska kritičarka in organizatorka filmskih prireditev ter več mednarodnih videofestivalov. Režirala je radijske programe, pisala radijske in televizijske scenarije. V zgodnjih osemdesetih letih je začela ustvarjati svoje filme, zlasti dokumentarce in videe, kot so La Mina (1989), Do You Remember Revolution (1997), Devenir (2004), La Vie autrement (2005) in Oltre mare (2017). Varja Močnik je delovala kot režiserka in scenaristka. Danes ureja filmske programe in o filmih piše. Pri festivalu Kino Otok v raznih funkcijah sodeluje od njegovega začetka, od leta 2013 tudi kot vodja filmskega programa. Dela tudi kot sourednica filmskega programa pri Slovenski kinoteki. Sodelovala je pri nastanku mnogih festivalskih katalogov in drugih publikacij s filmskimi vsebinami. 15 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY VARJA MOČNIK OF GATES AND OF DESERTS A talk with Loredana Bianconi The documentary film Of Gates and of Deserts by Italian director Loredana Bianconi is based on the stories recounted to Bianconi by the many refugees she has encountered in more than two decades. The director calls her documentary film “a literary cinema essay”. A poem in prose is written on the screen, sentence by sentence. Here is a migrant Odyssey from yesterday to today, from deserts to the gates of the Citadel. The text is countered by archival images, images gleaned from the Internet, paintings, scenes filmed today: depictions which, like the text, tell the tale of thousands seeking refuge; the shipwrecked, the survivors, the lost. We present the revised conversation with Loredana Bianconi moderated by Slovenian editor of film programmes and filmmaker Varja Močnik after the screening of Bianconi’s film, hosted by Kinodvor, at the 27th City of Women festival. Kinodvor was also involved in the preparation and publication of the present text, translated from Italian to Slovenian by Denis Debevec. 18 Varja Močnik (VM): In the film presentation, it is written that you worked on the film for twenty years. How did you manage to keep the production going for so long? Loredana Bianconi (LB): I’m stubborn (laughs). Twenty years have passed from when I wrote the first script for the film to its release, as no commission wanted to approve the project for production. One of the first problems was the script. I’d reworked it several times because it was supposedly too demanding, too complicated, etc. Then they told me that I was exaggerating and that what I was saying in the script was not true. And that the people that we are supposed to perceive as victims also do horrible things in order to cross the border. That was not acceptable to many people. I was also accused of wanting to make the audience feel guilty. That was by no means my intention. Above all, they accused me of being silent, that I wanted to make a silent film. But I myself wanted everyone to interpret the text or the film in their own way, with their own emotions, their own feelings. But according to the commissions, this was by no means appropriate and the scenes should have been played by actors and actresses. But I didn’t agree with that. And last but not least, this applies to the whole script and the project that I presented: on the one hand, I was told because I had been involved in these stories for many years through visiting assembly centres and camps, there was a risk that I was too emotional. On the other hand, I was criticised for not having enough emotion because of the film’s aesthetics. Due to all of this, I was often depressed and wanted to abandon the project. Then a friend I had worked with in the past told me to browse through her image archive to see if there was anything that I would find interesting there. And so we began. But since there was no money once again, I decided to look online to see if I could find ready-made images. VM: And the images in the film are very beautiful, often very shocking, stunning, but nevertheless beautiful. Why did you choose this kind of aesthetics and not the aesthetics of the shattered, harsh reality? LB: There are several reasons. Given that the images of my friend Els Van Riel (these images are seen at the beginning of the film: the ship, the sea, the blue waves) were very beautiful, I decided that all the images in the film should be beautiful since asylum seekers, alive or dead, are often shown in their misery, in their ugliness, so to speak. I myself didn’t want that, I wanted to show them as beautiful. And I thought I needed beautiful images for that. Beautiful in the sense that they are beautifully taken, that it is a beautiful photograph, that they are beautifully framed, and so on. 19 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY And then I went online. The images you find there are raw, rugged, poorly framed, and most of all, taken with mobile phones. Their authors are often people who have travelled across deserts, seas, etc. Although they were poorly framed, raw and shot spontaneously, these images were very powerful; they had meaning, power. They are testimonies of the atrocities that are going on right now. And I wondered what I could do with them. I had to do the same with the images that I did with the script. The script of this film is based on meetings with migrants, the stories they told me, their experiences. This is about forced emigration from those places. I wanted to rework this language to give it back its meaning. So that we don’t always keep saying “migrants, refugees”. I say “always” because words lose their meaning if you keep repeating them. And I decided to do the same with the images – give them back their meaning. So I made a selection of images, re-framed them, coloured them, took details from them and tried to give them my touch. VM: It is also interesting how you made a decision about each shot and then closely considered it. LB: First of all, the images and the script had to be in harmony. So that the images do not portray the script and vice versa. It was extremely extensive work. Namely, we eliminated thirty percent of the original text. VM: Did you also consider where the recordings came from? LB: Yes, this is very important, because you can really find everything online. Sometimes you wonder who shot it so well – in terms of framing, lighting, etc. Who filmed, for example, a child drowning in the sea, or a woman drowning while still tied to a boat with a rope. I’ve seen scary scenes that are shot well, technically flawless. With all the images, both those from the web and from others, I felt a responsibility to research as much as possible who filmed them and whether or not it was possibly a staged photo. To some extent, you are always staging, as you choose the framing methods, shooting angles, etc. But there are also actual staged and performed scenes online. Every time I looked for a picture or a video online, I wondered what to show. I couldn’t watch many scenes at all, they were so horrible: torture in Libya, sunburned corpses in the desert, the list is endless. So the question was, which of these should I show and which I shouldn’t. So I used the details a lot and hoped that the detail would indicate what was happening outside the frame, if I express myself cinematically. 20 VM: While watching this film, I was thinking about who I am, who is this person that is watching this. And I think about the collective memory and who is this collective, the community, who are all the individuals watching it, who are they in relation to the film, the story. So I’m interested to know: How do you see yourself here, how do you define yourself, from which position do you tell the story? LB: This question is very interesting, and I have asked myself that many times. I often wondered why I processed testimonies. Or rather, these are not just testimonies ... I spent a lot of time with these people to gain their trust. There is nothing fictional in this script about what they have experienced. I felt the need to pass this on to express the questions that I was asking myself. To ask if the audience is concerned. I carried a lot of anger inside me, a lot of pain. To answer the question of who I am to do this, namely, to make another such film – there are already a lot of feature and documentary films, radio and theatre works on this topic – I might say that I made it in order to transfer the memory of them. I really felt the need to do that. I don’t know exactly who’s telling the story. Of course, I am the one speaking since I chose the words and the events, I chose the way of telling this story. I felt obliged to testify. Because of the immense anger that fills me at the sight of indifference, rejection and murderous laws that kill these people, I felt the need to express it. I would like to give just one example. In Italy, Mimmo Lucano, mayor of the southern Italian town of Riace – Wim Wenders also made a film about this place – was recently sentenced to thirteen years in prison for criminal association to promote illegal immigration. Riace was, so to speak, a dead place, and Lucano received these people, the shipwrecked people on the coast, as mayor. This was an incredible example of integration. The place came to life again, shops, a school and so on reopened. The refugees and the inhabitants of the place lived together in harmony. But this is an example that must not exist in Italy, as anyone who thinks he can accept others and the ones who are different must be suppressed. Lucano was sentenced to thirteen years in prison! Some time ago, however, someone who shot at black people from a car in his hometown was sentenced to only a few months in prison and has already been released. I could cite a whole list of such examples. I often feel the need to say “What are we doing? Is there really nothing we can do? Should we just watch? Should we just pretend not to see?” I myself can’t do that. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t seen it in order to be calmer and less desperate about the state of things in this world, but I 21 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY can’t. And in order not to be so lonely, with such a film I ask questions: “Is there really nothing you can do? And you? What about us?” I am by no means trying to invoke a sense of guilt, but rather pose a question about how much we can get used to indifference to others. VM: Not a question, but a thank you. I would like to thank you for a great projection and a great film, and I think that it brings a message that everyone should hear. Thank you for your courage. LB: Thanks, but I don’t know if courage is the right word. I don’t believe I had courage. In those times, I just had to do it. Maybe mostly for myself. In all these years, I have met a lot of people who are now dead or are somewhere illegally or at an unknown location. I must say that I cannot stand the “Rest in peace” inscriptions. Anyone who was murdered or did not receive help does not rest in peace. I also don’t like the inscriptions “The memory of them still lives with us.” I wonder which memories this refers to. There are thousands of these people, thousands! Twenty-five thousand are just those that we know have died in the Mediterranean in recent years. I also find it hard to listen to statements that such films are made in order to revive these people. No, they can’t be revived. I don’t know. Let’s say this is my approach... If I were religious, I would say that this is my way of praying, but I’m not. This is my way of saying how many graves there are. Loredana Bianconi worked as a film critic, as well as an organizer of film events and several international video festivals, directed radio programs for RAI 3, wrote scripts for radio and television shows in New York. In the early 1980’s, she started producing her own films, in particular documentaries and videos, such as La Mina (1989), Do you remember Revolution (1997), Devenir (2004), La Vie autrement (2005) and Oltremare (2017). Varja Močnik worked as a director and screenwriter. Today she edits film programmes and writes about films. She has been participating in the Kino Otok festival in various functions since its inception, and since 2013 she has also been the head of the film program. She also works as a co-editor of the film program at the Slovenian Cinematheque. She has participated in the creation of many festival catalogues and other publications with film content. 22 23 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY PETRA METERC SLAVA KRALJICI! Pogovor s Tatio Skhirtladze Med hladno vojno so štiri legendarne gruzijske šahistke sprožile revolucijo v ženskem šahu po vsem svetu in postale sovjetske ikone ženske emancipacije. Dokumentarni film Slava kraljici! razkriva pre-pletene biografije svetovnih šahovskih velemojstric None Gaprindašvili, Nane Aleksandrije, Maje Čiburdanidze in Nane Ioseliani. Čeprav so v olimpijski ekipi Sovjetske zveze igrale skupaj, so bile tudi zagrizene tekmice in že več kot petindvajset let niso sedle za skupno mizo. Film jih znova poveže na srečanju, ki poraja spomine, obuja njihovo skupno zgodovino in osvetljuje številne razlike med njimi. Slava kraljici! je filmski razmislek o tem, kako boj žensk za neodvisnost in njihov upor proti močnim moškim sistemom odmevata v življenjskih zgodbah posameznic in skupin. Projekciji dokumentarnega filma na 27. festivalu Mesto žensk je sledil pogovor z režiserko, ki ga je vodila filmska kritičarka Petra Meterc. 24 Petra Meterc (PM): Kaj vas je osebno spodbudilo k temu, da ste posneli ta film in se lotili tega projekta? Tatia Skhirtladze (TS): Osebnih vzgibov je bilo več. Prvi je ta, da prihajam iz Gruzije, vendar od leta 1999 živim v Zahodni Evropi, v Avstriji. Kot Gruzijko so me vedno identificirali s Sovjetsko zvezo, Rusijo in Stalinom. Razen ene osebe, ki je rekla: »Oh, ti prihajaš iz Gruzije? Ženske šahistke!« Zame je bila to najbolj razveseljujoča identifikacija – biti ženska in šahistke, ne pa spet politika, moški, geopolitika, morilci. In to mi je ostalo v spominu. Navsezadnje sem z imeni teh žensk odraščala. Drugi razlog je bil, da sem odraščala v ženski družini. Pet nas je bilo: moja mama, tri sestre in moja teta. Vse so bile in ostajajo močne neodvisne ženske in zdelo se mi je čisto naravno, da sem delovala iz svoje živete resničnosti. Tretji pa, da sem leta 2004 po naključju na telefon posnela Judith Polgár, Madžarko, najboljšo šahistko vseh časov, med igro simultanega šaha proti štiriindvajsetim moškim. Zavedela sem se, da je to morda tema, ki bi ji morala nameniti čas. Tako sem leta 2016 naredila prve intervjuje s svojimi štirimi protagonistkami. PM: Ali lahko poveste več o tem, kako ste jih našli, kako ste vstopili v stik z njimi, ali so se bile od samega začetka pripravljene srečati in sodelovati z vami? TS: No, Gruzija je majhna država. Tako sem do večine prišla prek osebnih stikov, razen do Maje Čiburdanidze, ki sem jo morala spoznati v cerkvi, saj živi zelo verno življenje in se ne pojavlja veliko v javnosti. Zadnja od štirih šahistk je bila Nana Ioseliani, in ker so prve tri pristale na sodelovanje, je privolila tudi ona. In pomembno je poudariti, da so te ženske zelo dobro vedele, da je njihovo zgodbo treba povedati. Zato so privolile v sodelovanje. Bile pa so hkrati tudi solidarne z mano, saj sem prvih nekaj let na filmu delala sama. PM: V filmu je tudi Milunka Lazarević, ki je bila nekoč najboljša jugoslovanska šahistka. V filmu nastopa kot komentatorka s takratne jugoslovanske perspektive. Zakaj ste se odločili, da jo v film vključite kot komentatorko? TS: Da, ona je zelo pomembna. Če Milunke Lazarević ne bi bilo, ta film ne bi obstajal. Ko sem začela raziskovati o Noni Gaprindašvili, 25 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY sem zasledila, da je o Milunki, ki je bila starejša od nje, pisala kot o eni svojih največjih tekmic. Milunka se ji je zdela šahistka in umetnica hkrati – nepričakovano briljantna igralka in boemka. Začela sem raziskovati o Milunki in ugotovila, da je bila v času hladne vojne tudi šahovska novinarka. Zato sem se odločila, da jo poiščem. Ko sva se prvič srečali, mi je povedala: »Kot imamo čas pred in po Kristusu, imamo šahovski svet pred in po Noni Gaprindašvili.« Ko je to rekla, sem vedela, da mora biti pripovedovalka v mojem filmu prav ona. In poznala je veliko zgodb. V filmu vidite prvi poskus intervjuja. Nismo je mogli ponovno posneti, ker je v decembru 2018 preminula. Menim, da Milunka v filmu zelo dobro opiše resnično vlogo, ki so jo štiri šahistke imele v zgodovini šaha. Dosežke None Gaprindašvili denimo primerja s pristankom na Marsu ali Jupitru, nečim nepred-stavljivim za tisti čas. PM: Kaj kot filmska ustvarjalka menite o vlogi žensk v šahu? Kako je mogoče, da so štiri gruzijske šahistke lahko igrale v šahovskem svetu, ki je bil rezerviran za moške? TS: Tu sta dve stvari, ki ju je treba morda omeniti. Sovjetska zveza je podpirala šahovsko izobrazbo. Nekateri pravijo, da zato, ker so sovjetski voditelji, kot sta bila Lenin in Stalin, radi igrali šah, a je bil eden od pravih razlogov ta, da so hoteli kmete in delavce odvrniti od pitja. Celo v tovarnah so imeli šahovske klube; šahovski klubi in šahovske šole so bile v šolah povsod po državi. Nona Gaprindašvili je bila prva, ki je to prednost izkoristila. Prišla je iz mesta, v katerem šahovska tradicija sega v 19. stoletje. Tudi rodila se je v družino, kjer se je igralo šah. Imela je štiri brate in vsi so igrali šah. Vzgojena je bila v nekakšnem mikrokozmosu, ki jo je podpiral. Vse to se je dobro poklopilo. Potem pa je njen posebni vpliv povzročil skoraj trideset let trajajočo dobo ženskega šaha, od leta 1962 do leta 1991. Sledile so ji Nana Aleksandrija, Maja Čiburdanidze, Nana Ioseliani in še nekatere druge šahistke, ki pa jih ni v mojem filmu. PM: Kako te štiri ženske vidijo ali razumejo svoj vpliv? TS: Vedo, kaj so dosegle, a sebe vidijo kot športnice. Ko jih vprašaš, kakšen je bil njihov vpliv na družbo, odgovorijo: »No, ja, za nami je veliko žensk začelo igrati šah.« Zato so bile, ko so v filmu 26 videle, koliko ljudi je skozi desetletja v Gruziji po njih poimenovalo svoje hčerke, resnično šokirane. To je bilo zanje nekaj novega, bilo je izjemno presenečenje. O svojih vlogah ne razmišljajo intelektualno. Moj načrt je bil, da jih po premieri tega filma popeljem po vsej državi, potujem z njimi in se pogovarjam o teh temah, na primer o tem, kaj pomeni biti zgled dekletom, ženskam, kako se ženske lahko osvobodijo in počnejo stvari, ki jih imajo rade, itd. Pristale so na to pot. Zdaj čakamo le, da nam bo pandemija to omogočila. PM: Kaj pa ta znamenita tožba None Gaprindašvili proti Netflixu, ki poteka v tem času? Vaš film se v člankih o tej tožbi omenja kot »film, ki pove resnico«. TS: Moj film je bil premierno predvajan 4. septembra 2020 na festivalu CinéDOC-Tbilisi. Mesec dni pozneje je Netflix izdal Queen’s Gambit, fiktivno serijo o šahistki. Glavni lik je genialna ameriška šahistka, popolnoma fiktiven lik. Ne vem, kako jim je to uspelo. Vsi klišeji, ki obstajajo o šahistkah, so prisotni v tej izjemno seksistični seriji (smeh). V eni od epizod glavna junakinja igra na svetovnem prvenstvu v Moskvi proti moškemu. Kamera naredi panoramski posnetek, pokaže eno žensko v občinstvu, glas pa pravi nekaj v stilu: »Tudi Rusija ima močno žensko šahistko, Nono Gaprindašvili, vendar nikoli ni igrala proti moškim.« In to, seveda, ni res. Zdi se, da je hotel biti Netflix korekten in predstaviti resničen lik, vendar gre za napačno informacijo (smeh). Kolikor vem, jih je Nona prosila, naj ta stavek spremenijo. Netflix je prošnjo zavrnil, zato ga sedaj toži, a svoj cilj je dosegla že pred odhodom na sodišče, saj so o tej novici poročali vsi glavni mediji, vsi zdaj vedo za njeno zgodbo. V primeru tožbe None Gaprindašvili bom vesela, če Nona zmaga, a moram dodati, da fikcija ponuja nov pogled na svet z vsemi njegovimi možnostmi, konstelacijami in implikacijami in menim, da na splošno ni dobro tožiti fikcije in zmagati. PM: Ali bi za konec želeli dodati še kaj? TS: Da, še ena stvar je, ki je pomenila zelo pomembno odločitev pri nastajanju tega filma: teh žensk ne primerjamo z moškimi. Veliko možnosti je bilo, da bi imeli v filmu to stalno primerjavo. A tako meni kot moji soscenaristki Ini Ivanceanu je bilo pomembno pokazati svet 27 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY teh štirih šahistk kot avtonomen svet, svet zase. In upam, da nama je to uspelo. PM: Nedvomno vama je uspelo. Tatia Skhirtladze poučuje videoumetnost na dunajski Univerzi za uporabne umetnosti. Njeno umetniško ustvarjanje se giblje med vizualno umetnostjo in filmom, s poudarkom na prostorskih, dolgotrajnih konceptih v mešani tehniki. Kot snemalka in montažerka dokumentarnih filmov dela za različne produkcijske hiše na Dunaju. Pripravlja tudi filmska izobraževanja in izvaja delavnice na temo avdiovizualnih umetniških praks. Petra Meterc je kritičarka in prevajalka. Vrsto let je bila na Radiu Študent aktivna v redakciji za kulturo in humanistične vede. Prevaja iz poljščine in angleščine, leposlovne prevode objavlja revijalno in knjižno. Piše literarne in filmske kritike, je članica Društva slovenskih filmskih publicistov FIPRESCI in prejemnica nagrade revije Ekran za najboljšo mlado filmsko kritičarko (2020). 28 PETRA METERC GLORY TO THE QUEEN Interview with director Tatia Skhirtladze During the Cold War, four legendary female chess players from Georgia revolutionised women’s chess across the globe and became Soviet icons of women’s emancipation. The documentary movie Glory to the Queen reveals the interwoven biographies of world chess heroines Nona Gaprindashvili, Nana Alexandria, Maia Chiburdanidze and Nana Ioseliani. Although they played together as the Soviet Union’s Olympic team, they were also tough opponents and had not sat together at the same table for over twenty-five years. The film by Tatia Skhirtladze brings them together again in an encounter where memories emerge, common history is recalled, and many differences come to light. Glory to the Queen is a cinematic reflection on how the women’s struggle for independence and their rebellion against powerful male systems echoes in individual and collective life stories. The screening of the documentary at the 27th City of Women festival was followed by a talk with the director, moderated by film critic Petra Meterc. 29 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMORY Petra Meterc (PM): What was your personal impulse to do this film and to start this project? Tatia Skhirtladze (TS): The personal input has many parts. The first is that I come from Georgia, but I have been living in Western Europe, in Austria, since 1999. As a Georgian, I have always been identified through the Soviet Union, Russia, and Stalin. Except for one person who said to me “Oh, you come from Georgia? Female chess players!” For me, this was the most exciting identification – “women” and “chess players” instead of the usual “politics”, “men”, “geo-politics”, “killers”. And this stuck in my mind. After all, I grew up with the names of these women. The second reason was that I grew up in family of women. There were five of us: my mother, three sisters, and my aunt. All of them are and were strong independent women and it seemed so natural to me to draw from my lived reality. And the third reason was that in 2004 I happened to film on my phone Judith Polgár, a Hungarian who is the strongest female chess player of all times, playing simultaneous chess against twenty-four man. I realised that maybe that’s the topic I should dedicate my time to. So in 2016 I made the first interviews with my four protagonists. PM: Could you say more about how you found them, how you contacted them, were they willing to meet you, to participate from the start? TS: Well, Georgia is a small country. So I reached most of them through some personal connections, except for Maia Chiburdanidze, whom I had to meet in church as she lives a very religious life and doesn’t appear in public much. The last one of the four female chess players that I reached was Nana Ioseliani and as the first three agreed to collaborate, she did too. And it is very important to emphasise that these women knew very well that their story should be told. That was why they agreed to collaborate, and they also showed solidarity with me because I worked on film alone for the first few years. PM: There is also Milunka Lazarević in the movie, who used to be the strongest female chess player in former Yugoslavia. She appears in the movie as a commentator from the Yugoslav perspective of the time. How come you decided to include her as a commentator in the movie? 30 TS: Yes, she is very important. If Milunka Lazarević did not exist, this movie would not exist. When I started to do some research about Nona Gaprindashvili, I saw she wrote about Milunka, who was older than her, as one of her strongest female competitors. For Nona, Milunka was a chess player and an artist at the same time – an astonishing brilliant player and bohemian. That’s why I started researching about Milunka and realised that she was also a chess journalist of the Cold War Era. So I decided to approach her. When we met for the first time, she told me, “As we have time before and after Christ, we have the chess world before and after Nona Gaprindashvili.” When she said that, I knew she had to be the narrator in my film. And she knew a lot of stories. What is seen in the movie, is the first try out of the interview. We were not able to film her again as she passed away in December 2018. I think Milunka manages very well to describe the real role the four female chess players had in the history of chess. For example, she compares Nona Gaprindashvili’s achivements with landing on Mars or Jupiter, which was unimaginable for that time. PM: What is your opinion as a filmmaker about the role of women in chess? How was it possible that these four Georgian chess players were able to play chess in a world reserved for men? TS: There are two things that maybe are important to mention: the Soviet Union supported chess education. Some say the reason was that Soviet leaders like Lenin and Stalin liked to play chess, but one of the real reasons was to keep farmers and workers from drinking. There were even chess clubs in factories, there were chess clubs in schools all around the country. Nona Gaprindashvili was the first who took this advantage. She comes from the city with a chess tradition going back to the 19th century. Nona was also born in a family where chess was played. She had four brothers, and all of them played chess. She was raised in a kind of microcosmos which supported her. So these facts all came together very well. Her great impact created the era of women’s chess, which lasted for almost thirty years, from 1962 to 1991. She was followed by Nana Alexandria, Maia Chiburdanidze, Nana Ioseliani and a few other players who are not shown in my film. 31 KOLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMOR K Y OLEKTIVNI SPOMIN / COLLECTIVE MEMOR PM: How do these four women see or understand their own impact? TS: They know what they achieved, but they see themselves as sportswomen. When you ask them, what they think was their impact on society, they will say “Well yes, after us, many women started to play chess.” So when they saw in the movie how many people in Georgia, through decades, named their daughters after them, they were really shocked. This was something new for them, it was a huge surprise. They don’t reflect on their roles intelectually. My plan, after the release of this film, was to take them around the whole country, travel with them and talk about these topics, for example, what it means to be a role model for girls, women, how women can free themselves to do the things they love, etc. They have already agreed to do this, we are just waiting until the pandemic allows us to do it. PM: What about the famous lawsuit of Nona Gaprindashvili against Netflix that is happening as we speak? Your film is being mentioned in the articles about this lawsuit as “the film that tells the truth”. TS: My film was released on 4 September 2020 at the CinéDOC-Tbilisi Festival. Months later Netflix released Queen’s Gambit, a fictional series about a female chess player. The main character is this American prodigy female chess player, an absolutely fictional character. I don’t know how they did this, all the clichés that exist about female chess players are in this super sexist series (laughs). In one episode, the main female character plays at the world championship in Moscow against a man. The camera makes a pan shot, shows one woman in the audience, and the voice says something like: “Russia also has a strong female chess player, Nona Gaprindashvili, but she never played against men.” And this is, of course, not true. It seems Netflix wanted to be correct, to bring one real character, but it is the wrong information (laughs). As far as I know, Nona asked them to change this sentence a little. Netflix declined, so now she is suing Netflix and she already reached her goal even before going to court, as all the main media have covered this news, everybody knows about her story now. In the case of Nona Gaprindashvili’s lawsuit, I am glad if Nona wins, but I have to add that fiction is a proposal of a new vision of the 32 world with its possibilities, constellations, implications, and I think that in general suing fiction and winning is not a good thing. PM: Is there anything else you would like to add at the end? TS: Yes, one more detail which was a very important decision in the making of this film: we don’t compare these women to men. There were many chances to have this constant comparison in the film. But to me and the co-writer Ina Ivanceanu it was important to show the world of these four female chess players as an autonomous world, a world of its own. And I hope that we succeeded in this. PM: You certainly have. Tatia Skhirtladze teaches video art at the University of Applied Arts Vienna. Her artistic work oscillates between visual arts and film, with a focus on site-specific as well as long-term mix media concepts. She works for different film production companies in Vienna as a camerawoman and editor for documentary films. She also develops film education modules and conducts workshops on audio-visual artistic practices. Petra Meterc is a critic and translator. For many years she was active in Radio Študent in the editorial office for culture and humanities. She translates from Polish and English, and publishes literary translations in magazines and books. She writes literary and film reviews, is a member of the Association of Slovenian Film Publicists FIPRESCI and the recipient of the Ekran magazine award for the best young film critic (2020). 33 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO THE SCHOOL WE WANT 38 EVA D. BAHOVEC, DARJA RAKOVIČ ŠOLA IN VRTEC SKOZI OGLEDALO Odlomki s strokovnega posveta Tematski sklop 27. festivala Mesto žensk pod naslovom Kakšno šolo hočemo je vključeval tri dogodke, ki so naslavljali prikriti kurikulum: strokovni posvet, razstavo in predstavo. Naslavljanje prikritega kurikuluma, te sence uradnega kurikuluma, je pomembno, saj se prikriti kurikulum ne odraža le v nezavednem ravnanju posameznikov in posameznic, temveč zajema še vrsto drugih dejavnikov, kot so opremljenost vzgojno-izobraževalnega zavoda, organizacija prostora in število otrok v skupini ali mladih v razredu. Prvi izmed treh dogodkov, strokovni posvet Šola in vrtec skozi ogledalo, je bil namenjen tako strokovnim delavkam in delavcem vzgojno-izobraževalnih ustanov kot tudi drugim, ki se tako ali drugače srečujejo s pedagoškim delom z vidika kulturno-umetnostne vzgoje. Posvet je bil osredotočen predvsem na prepoznavanje in preseganje posrednih sporočil, ki jih otroci in mladi o sebi in drugih dobijo iz KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO ravnanja odraslih. THE SCHOOL WE WANT Strokovni posvet sta z uvodnimi predavanji odprli Eva D. Bahovec in Darja Rakovič. Tu predstavljamo odlomke iz njunih predavanj, vključno s povzetkom intervjuja z Evo D. Bahovec, opravljenim pred predavanjem. EVA D. BAHOVEC Področje, s katerim se ukvarjamo, je preplet ženskih študij, študij spola in feministične teorije na eni strani ter na drugi strani pedagoške znanosti z najrazličnejših področij poučevanja, didaktike, metodike itn. Gre za raziskovanje šole od vrtca do univerze kot institucije moderne dobe, za katere so značilni podobni mehanizmi kot za druge sorodne institucije. Če govorimo v luči Michela Foucaulta, obravnavamo šolo tako kot tovarno, tako kot bolnico, kot psihiatrični azil, kot zapor. Kot nek prostor organiziranega načina življenja, ki je od samega začetka in na vse mogoče načine prepleten z oblastjo in njenimi mehanizmi. Na drugi strani pa jo po 39 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT Louisu Althusserju umeščamo v kontekst ideoloških aparatov države, pri čemer je šola vodilni ideološki aparat države. Zanj je značilno to, da pretežno deluje z ideologijo, kar pa je v nasprotju z represivnimi aparati, ki delujejo pretežno z represijo, z direktno prisilo. V tem kontekstu je ideološki aparat države tisto, kar je treba raziskovati na nov način, kritično. Raziskovati moramo, kako se ideologija ob vsakdanjem življenju v vrtcu, v šoli, na univerzi kaže in hkrati skriva, kako nam je vsem na očeh v obliki vsakdanjih rutin in praks organizacije časa in prostora, pa je vendar ne opazimo. In temu rečemo prikriti kurikulum. To je druga stran kurikuluma, uradnih učnih načrtov, tistega, kar je zapisano v Beli knjigi o izobraževanju (2011) in v različnih kurikulumih za vrtce, za šolo, za različna področja od slovenskega jezika do matematike, zgodovine, sociologije itn. Gre torej za celo mrežo, morda malo poenostavljeno rečeno, a vendarle za mrežo zelo konkretnih, na prvi pogled ne zelo očitnih oblastnih mehanizmov, ideoloških mehanizmov, ki otroke, dečke in deklice, od malega učijo, kako se podrejati. Mehanizmov, ki oblikujejo posameznika kot podrejenega posameznika. Mehanizmov, ki nas subjektivirajo kot podrejene subjekte. To je treba postaviti v ospredje in tu še posebej pomembno mesto pripada prav najrazličnejšim ženskim študijam, feminističnim teorijam in praksam ter osveščanju. DARJA RAKOVIČ Po svojem prvem poklicu sem vzgojiteljica predšolskih otrok. Kar nekaj let je trajalo, da sem dojela, da nas v našem delu »drži« prikriti kurikulum, a se tega sploh ne zavedamo. Kot vzgojiteljica se vklopiš v sistem, v tok dogodkov, in se ne sprašuješ, zakaj določene stvari počneš tako, kot jih. Ker si tista, ki organiziraš delo in prostor, v ta tok, vrtince, s sabo potegneš tudi otroke, starše in sodelavke; skratka vse, ki so v tej situaciji povezani s tabo. Šola in vrtec skozi ogledalo – Priročnik za vrtce, šole in starše (2004) prinaša vsebine strokovnih seminarjev, ki so bili namenjeni usposabljanju za delo po novem kurikulumu. Vsebine v priročniku so za demokratizacijo vsakdanjega življenja v vrtcu bistvene (dnevna rutina, prosti čas, pravica do izbire in zasebnosti, priznanje in upoštevanje drugačnosti, vloga odraslih ipd.), saj najdemo nasvete, kako odstraniti ovire, povezane s pojavom prikritega kurikuluma. Že omenjeni nacionalni dokument, Kurikulum za vrtce (1999), je v primerjavi z vzgojnim programom, ki je veljal pred tem, sicer bolj fleksi-40 bilen, omogoča več odprtega prostora, predvsem pa prinaša premik od tradicionalnega poudarka na vsebinah oziroma snovi na sam proces predšolske vzgoje. Na celoto interakcije in izkušenj, iz katerih se otrok v resnici uči. A tu je past, saj gre za premik od vsebin oziroma snovi k dnevni rutini, k pogojem za uresničevanje vsebin – k implicitnemu, prikritemu, nenapisanemu kurikulumu. Strokovne delavke naj bi bile bolj kot na vsebino pozorne na formo. Da je temu res tako, dokazuje naš ciklus izobraževanj z vidika dnevne rutine prikritega kurikuluma, v katerem je raziskava pokazala, da je v vrtcu bistveno več rutinskih kot vsebinskih dejavnosti. Da bi prikriti kurikulum v največji meri odpravljali, moramo biti nanj neprestano pozorni, saj stalno vznika. Če smo pozorni na izdelke otrok, denimo opazimo, da so si vsi podobni, serijski. V nekaterih primerih vzgojiteljice celo pričakujemo, da so takšni. Michael Apple meni, da so za uspešno spreminjanje določenih primerov, vzorcev in načinov pri delu nujne nenehna odprtost, pozornost, razumevanje in pripravljenost na preseganje obstoječega stanja. Da bi šle v smeri glavnih sprememb, strne Eva D. Bahovec v priročniku Šola in vrtec skozi ogledalo, se moramo strokovne delavke vrtca pri svojem neposrednem delu posvetiti naslednjim osiščem: (1) premik od prevladujoče skupinske rutine k zasebnosti in individualnim avtonomijam; (2) premik od pravila »za vse enako« k pravici do izbire in novemu razumevanju pravice do igre; (3) premik od discipliniranja telesa k drugačnemu pojmovanju pravice do zdravja in varnosti; in (4) premik od formalne enakosti k dejanskemu upoštevanju razlik. Štiri osišča, pa vendar sem iz svojih izkušenj prepričana, da tega še nismo dosegle. Še vedno na primer ne izkoristimo prostora v vrtcu, ne igramo se z njim, temveč so kotički postavljeni k zidu. Poleg prostora je problem tudi čas – v vrtcu se nam vedno mudi, čeprav sploh ne vemo, kam. V raziskavah in praksi na primer opažamo, da se kosilo v vrtcih premika na zgodnejšo uro, a ko vzgojiteljice vprašamo, zakaj, ne dobimo pravega odgovora. In seveda še vedno vsiljujemo mukotrpno in časovno tempirano popoldansko spanje v vrtcu, če naštejem le nekaj primerov. EVA D. BAHOVEC Ravno te stvari iz vsakdanjega življenja, ki se na prvi pogled zdijo malenkostne, so glavna tarča našega raziskovanja. Ta indikacija konkretnih primerov šol in vrtcev kot ideološkega aparata države. Ideologija kot forma, materialnost ideologije, kot temu pravi Althusser. In kot tisto, kjer se ta 41 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT problematični vidik šole konkretizira. To so vse te samoumevne, na videz funkcionalne prakse, ki pa so na strani uniformiranja, na strani »za vse enako«, na strani vsega tistega, kar avtomatično sprejmemo. Kot je nakazala že Darja Rakovič: nadobudna mlada vzgojiteljica pride v vrtec, opremljena z novimi znanji, a kmalu prevzame pravila prikritega kurikuluma. Ne zato, ker bi vzgojiteljice to hotele, temveč zato, ker je ta materialnost ideologije v institucijah moderne dobe, kakršne so vrtci in šole in še nekatere druge, skoraj avtomatična, nekaj, čemur se ni mogoče upreti. Zdijo se le malenkosti, kot so na primer otroci, ki v vrsti hodijo in prepevajo Naša četica koraka. To je zelo težko osvestiti, saj gre za sestavni del življenja in institucij moderne dobe. Na drugi strani pa imamo možnost misliti drugače. V raziskavah smo se ukvarjali s tem, kako se spopasti s to osnovno logiko, da morajo vsi večino časa delati na isti način. In se spopasti tudi s tem, zakaj postane problem, če nekdo hoče nekaj drugega ali drugačnega, če želi v nek drug kotiček. In to moramo v ospredje postaviti v širšem kontekstu. Kako se s sistematizacijo drugačnosti soočiti na vseh nivojih. Gre za materialnost ideoloških praks, ta prikriti kurikulum, materialnost delovanja institucije, nenapisana pravila, ki lahko hitro postanejo nekaj, kar nas iniciira v bitja, ki bi se ves čas prilagajala in podrejala. Problem je v tem, da postanemo podredljivi, oblikuje se podrejena osebnost, gre za subjektivacijo skozi način podrejanja. In to je tisto, kar je zares problematično. Eva D. Bahovec je profesorica filozofije na Filozofski fakulteti Univerze v Ljubljani in nekdanja častna predsednica društva Mesto žensk. Je avtorica več knjig, med drugim Psihoanaliza in feminizem: Lacan, Laplanche, Gallop (z Ano Jereb in Leo Madarasi, 2018), mnogih znanstvenih razprav, poljudnih člankov in pamfletov ter urednica slovenskih izdaj nekaterih temeljnih filozofskih in feminističnih besedil. Darja Rakovič je ravnateljica Vrtca Zagorje ob Savi in avtorica po-glavja v priročniku Šola in vrtec skozi ogledalo (2004), avtoric Eve D. Bahovec in Ksenije Bregar Golobič. Zavzema se za demokratizacijo vzgoje, odpravljanje seksizma in spreminjanje tradicionalnih spolnih vlog. Tem ciljem sledi tudi v mednarodnem projektu Verižni eksperiment v vrtcu. 42 EVA D. BAHOVEC, DARJA RAKOVIČ SCHOOL AND PRESCHOOL THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS Excerpts from the Expert Meeting A segment of the 27th City of Women festival entitled The School We Want included three events that addressed the hidden curriculum: an expert meeting, an exhibition and a theatre performance. Addressing the hidden curriculum, the shadow of the official curriculum, is important because it is not only reflected in the unconscious behaviour of individuals, but also includes a number of other factors, such as the equipment of the educational institution, space organisation and the number of children or young people in the classroom. The first of three events, the expert meeting School and Preschool through the Looking Glass, was intended for professionals and employees of educational institutions, as well as others who encounter pedagogical work in one way or another from the point of view of art education. The meeting focused mainly on recognising and overcoming the indirect messages that children and young people receive about themselves and others from the behaviuor of adults. Eva D. Bahovec and Darja Rakovič opened the expert meeting with introductory lectures. Below are excerpts from both lectures, including a summary of an interview with Eva D. Bahovec recorded before the lecture. 43 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT EVA D. BAHOVEC The field that we deal with is the intertwining of women’s studies, gender studies, and feminist theory on the one hand and educational science of various fields of teaching, didactics, methodology, etc., on the other. It is about researching school from preschool to university as an institution of the modern age, characterised by mechanisms similar to other related institutions. Firstly, in reference to Michel Foucault, we treat school as a factory, a hospital, a mental asylum, a prison. A space of an organised way of life that from the very beginning and in all possible ways is intertwined with power and its mechanisms. Secondly, according to Louis Althusser, we place school in the context of the ideological apparatus of the state, it being the leading apparatus. It is characterised by the fact that it works mainly with ideology, which is in contrast to repressive apparatuses that operate mainly with repression, with direct coercion. In this context, the ideological apparatus of the state is what needs to be explored in a new way, in a critical way. We need to study how the ideology of everyday life in preschool, school and university is shown and at the same time remains hidden and how it is in front of our noses in the form of daily routines and practices of the organisation of time and space, yet we do not notice it. And this is what we call the hidden curriculum. This is the other side of the official curriculum, of what is written in the White Paper on Education (2011) and in various curricula for preschools, schools, for various subjects, from Slovenian language to mathematics, history, sociology, etc. It is therefore a whole network, perhaps in simple terms, but still a network of very concrete, seemingly not very obvious mechanisms of power, ideological mechanisms that teach children, boys and girls, from an early age how to submit. Mechanisms that shape the individual as a subordinate individual. Mechanisms that subject us as subordinate subjects. This needs to be brought to the forefront, and a wide range of women’s studies, feminist theories and practices, and awareness-raising play a very important role in this process. 44 DARJA RAKOVIČ My first job was a preschool teacher. It took me several years to realise that the hidden curriculum in our work has a grip on us, but we are not even aware of it. As an educator, you are plugged into the system, into the flow of events, and you don’t wonder why you do certain things the way you do. Because you are the one who organises the work and space, you also pull the children, the parents and your co-workers into this stream, the vortices; in short, everyone who is connected to you in this situation. Šola in vrtec skozi ogledalo (School and Preschool through the Looking Glass, 2004) brings the contents of professional seminars, which were intended for training to work according to the new curriculum. The topics covered in the handbook are essential for the democratisation of everyday life in preschool (daily routine, leisure, the right to choose and the right to privacy, the recognition of and respect for differences, the role of adults, etc.), as we find tips on how to remove obstacles associated with the hidden curriculum. Compared to the previous curriculum, the referenced national document, the new Kurikulum za vrtce (Preschool Curriculum, 1999) is more flexible, allows for more open space and, above all, shifts from the traditional emphasis on content or materials to the process of preschool education. To the totality of interactions and experiences from which the child actually learns. But there is a trap, as it presents a shift from content or material to daily routine, to the conditions for the realisation of content – to an implicit, hidden, unwritten curriculum. Professionals are supposed to pay more attention to form rather than content. That this is indeed the case is proven by our cycle of education from the point of view of the daily routine of the hidden curriculum, in which research has shown that there are significantly more routine activities in preschool than substantive ones. Therefore, in order to eliminate the hidden curriculum to the greatest extent possible, we must constantly pay attention to it, because it is constantly emerging. For example, if we pay attention to children’s artistic creations, we notice that they are all similar, serial. In some cases, educators even expect them to be. Thus, according to Michael Apple, to successfully change some examples and patterns in work and ways, constant openness, attention, understanding and readiness to overcome the existing situation are necessary. 45 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT Therefore, concludes Eva D. Bahovec in the handbook, in order to bring about major changes, preschool professionals must focus on the following axes: (1) the shift from “the same for everyone” to privacy and individual autonomy; (2) a shift from the rule of equal action to the right to choose and a new understanding of the right to play; (3) a shift from disciplining the body to a different conception of the right to health and safety; and (4) a shift from formal equality to the actual consideration of differences. So, four axes, however, from my experience, I am convinced that we have not yet achieved this. For example, we still do not use space in the preschool, we do not play with it, instead, the playing corners are placed against the wall. In addition to space, time is also a problem – in preschool we are always in a hurry, even though we don’t even know why. In research, for example, we observe that lunch in preschools moves to an earlier hour, although when we ask preschool teachers why, they don’t really know. And of course, we still impose a painstaking and time-consuming afternoon nap in preschool, to name just a few examples. EVA D. BAHOVEC It is precisely these details from everyday life, so trivial at first glance, that are the main target of our research; this indication of concrete examples of schools and preschools as the ideological apparatus of the state. Ideology as form, the materiality of ideology, as Althusser puts it, where this problematic aspect of the school is concretised. These are all the self-evident practices, seemingly functional, but really on the side of uniformity, on the side of “the same for everyone”, on the side of all that we automatically accept. As Darja Rakovič has already indicated; an aspiring young educator comes to the preschool equipped with new knowledge, but soon takes over the rules of the hidden curriculum. Not because the educators like it, but because this materiality of ideology in the institutions of modern age, such as preschools and schools and some others, is almost automatic, something that cannot be resisted. There seem to be only little things, such as children walking in line and singing Naša četica koraka (Our Little Marching Fleet). This is very difficult to acknowledge, as it is an integral part of the life and institutions of modern age. 46 However, we have the opportunity to think differently. And what we, in our research, strived to do were two things: firstly, finding a way to deal with this underlying logic that everyone, most of the time, have to do things the same way as everyone else; and, secondly, to establish why does it become a problem if someone wants to do something differently. And we need to put this at the forefront in a broader context. How to deal with the systematisation of differences at all levels. It is about the materiality of ideological practices, this hidden curriculum, the materiality of the functioning of the institution, the unwritten rules that can quickly become something that initiates us into beings who would constantly adapt and submit. The problem is that we become submissive, a subordinate personality is formed, it is a matter of subjectivation through the mode of subordination. And that is what is really problematic. Eva D. Bahovec is a philosophy professor at the Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, and the former honorary chairwoman of the City of Women Association. She is the author of several books, including Psychoanalysis and Feminism: Lacan, Laplanche, Gallop (with Ana Jereb and Lea Madarasi, 2018), numerous scientific essays, popular articles and pamphlets, and the editor of Slovenian editions of several fundamental philosophical and feminist works. Darja Rakovič is the head of the Zagorje ob Savi Preschool and the author of one chapter in the book Šola in vrtec skozi ogledalo (School and Preschool through the Looking Glass, 2004), by Eva D. Bahovec and Ksenija Bregar Golobič. She advocates the democratisation of education, elimination of sexism and changing traditional gender roles. She also pursues these aims in the international project Chain Experiment in Preschool. 47 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT TEA HVALA ANNETTE KRAUSS: PRIKRITI KURIKULUM Galerija Škuc je kot koproducentka v času 27. Mednarodnega festivala sodobnih umetnosti – Mesto žensk gostila razstavo Prikriti kurikulum. Istoimenski participativni projekt je leta 2007 začela umetnica, pedagoginja in piska Annette Krauss. Avtorica v okviru projekta skupaj z mladimi raziskuje dojemanje družbenih norm in nenapisanih pravil, ki vplivajo na šolo ter na vedenje in ravnanje mladih v njej. Razstava arhivskega gradiva, zbranega v petnajstih letih, je vključevala tudi Pesmi izgovorov (2021): tri nova umetniška dela, ki so v času festivala nastala v sodelovanju z dijaki_njami iz Slovenije, soavtorji_cami predstave Vse je v redu. Pričujoče besedilo je bilo prvotno objavljeno v razstavnem listu Galerije Škuc. Razstavo so kurirale Tea Hvala, Iva Kovač in Sara Šabec. Meja med umetniškim ustvarjanjem in poučevanjem umetnosti je komaj opazna, in mnenja o tem, kje poteka, se razlikujejo. Kot pravi britanska umetnica in umetnostna pedagoginja Felicity Allen: »Obstajajo umetniki in umetnostni pedagogi, ki mislijo, da učitelji podcenjujejo umetnost; učitelji in umetniki, ki menijo, da so umetnostni pedagogi bodisi slabi umetniki bodisi slabi učitelji; učitelji in umetnostni pedagogi, ki mislijo, da so ‘pedagoške’ prakse umetnikov naivne ali izkoriščevalske; in kritiki umetnosti, ki pedagoško naravnano umetnost opazijo le, če seže po galerijsko-razstavnem formatu.«1 Tovrstna stališča so bržkone povezana z dejstvom, da poučevanje (česarkoli, ne le umetnosti) ne spada med najbolj ugledne poklice, medtem ko poklic umetnika ohranja vsaj svoj simbolni kapital. Morda so povezana tudi z vtisom, da šola kot ideološki aparat države prej zatira, kot emancipira, 1  Allen, F.: Introduction. V: Allen, F. (ur.): Education. (2011). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press / London: Whitechapel Gallery, str. 16–17. 50 zato je za umetnika, ki si želi sodelovanja, najbolje, da se ji ogne in mlade poišče zunaj njenih zidov. Umetnica, pedagoginja in piska Annette Krauss v projektu Prikriti kurikulum vstopa natanko tja: v šolo. Obenem se sprašuje, kdaj, kako in koga izobraževanje emancipira in kdaj, kako in koga zatira, ne da bi predpostavljala, da se eno ali drugo nujno odvija ločeno ali v različnih okoliščinah. Vprašanje zastavlja sebi in svojemu primarnemu občinstvu (številnim mladostnikom, s katerimi je sodelovala v projektu), a tudi obiskovalkam in obiskovalcem razstave, v katero je umeščenih le nekaj del iz obsežnega opusa, ki nastaja vse od leta 2007. Prikriti kurikulum je strokovni izraz za vse nenamerne dejavnike v vzgoji in izobraževanju, na katere pedagog nima vpliva (npr. opremljenost ustanove, organizacija prostora, število otrok v skupini ali mladih v razredu), četudi bistveno določajo proces šolanja, vlogo otroka/mladostnika v njem in njegove interakcije z vzgojiteljicami in učiteljicami. Prikriti kurikulum je občutljiva tema, saj se – čeprav ga proizvaja družba, ne posameznik –, največkrat odraža v nezavednem ravnanju odraslih in posrednih sporočilih, ki jih otroci v vrtcu in mladi v šoli dobijo o sebi in drugih. In ker so pedagoški delavci in delavke – tako kot mi vsi – odraščali v svetu, polnem ločnic in razdvajanj, so ta sporočila pogosto prežeta s stereotipi in predsodki, ki se v praksi kažejo kot dajanje prednosti večinski kulturi in jeziku oziroma kot diskriminacija manjšin. Annette Krauss je osredotočena zlasti na srednješolski prikriti kurikulum. Pojmuje ga kot krovni izraz za celo vrsto neopaženih in povečini nezaželenih veščin, znanj, sposobnosti, nadarjenosti in vrednot, ki jih učenci in učenke osvojijo med šolanjem, četudi bi jih zaman iskali v zapisanem (uradnem) kurikulumu, učnih načrtih in učbenikih. Mednje spadajo nekritično prilagajanje, podrejanje, poslušnost, ubogljivost, odvisnost, pasivnost, odtujenost, vdanost v usodo in sprejemanje družbene neenakosti kot nekaj samoumevnega, a tudi vednost o tem, kako se vsemu naštetemu upreti. Prikriti kurikulum je raziskovalni in participativni projekt, saj so (razstavljena in druga) dela nastala na delavnicah z mladimi med 13. in 17. letom starosti. Delavnice v obliki rednih srečanj, ki so se odvijala več mesecev, so doslej potekale v več zahodnoevropskih državah, med pripravami na ljubljansko razstavo pa je Annette Krauss bežno sodelovala tudi z dijaki in dijakinjami iz Slovenije. V dolgoročnejših sodelovanjih je umetnica igrala vlogo »nevedne učiteljice«, ki stavi na rancièrovsko enakost inteligenc,2 2   Rancière, J. (2005). Nevedni učitelj. Ljubljana: Zavod En-knap. 51 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT zato je mladim predlagala, naj se lotijo raziskovanja prikritega kurikuluma svoje šole, kakor vejo in znajo, ne da bi jim pojasnila, kaj ta pojem pomeni. Pričakovali bi, da se bodo pedagogi ter njihovi učenci in učenke, ki so pristali na sodelovanje v času rednega pouka, na ta pristop odzvali različno, a ene in druge je večkrat zmotilo dejstvo, da je umetnica v učilnico prišla brez natančnega načrta in vnaprej določenih ciljev. V odporu učiteljev in učiteljic Annette Krauss vidi izraz želje, da bi se izognili vsakršnemu tveganju in napetostim, predvsem pa izgubi nadzora v učilnici. In mladi? Nekateri so od nje nestrpno zahtevali, naj jim že končno pove, kaj prikriti kurikulum sploh je. Ko jim je odgovorila, da ve ravno toliko kot oni, so jo zavrnili, naj preneha s temi »čudaškimi igricami«. Negotovost, pri kateri je vztrajala, je bila za nekatere sodelujoče neznosna, četudi je tavanje v temi eden ključnih elementov raziskovanja in ustvarjanja. Drugi šolarji in šolarke so sprejeli izziv in skočili v neznano. O njihovih raznolikih in duhovitih umetniških izrazih umetnica piše v eseju »To be hidden does not mean to be merely revealed«3 (»Prikritega se ne da kar tako razkriti«), na stenah galerije pa jih povzema razgiban miselni vzorec. Prav različni odzivi sodelujočih nemara najbolje pričajo o tem, kako zelo je šola razpeta med protislovnimi pričakovanji: če so »za levico značilne ideje o ‘potencialnosti’, ‘individuaciji’, ‘participativnem učenju’ in ‘dialoškem modelu’, večinsko mnenje izobraževanje pragmatično povezuje z veščinami, zaposlitvijo, družbeno mobilnostjo in ekonomskim uspehom«.4 Mar ne bi mogli govoriti o podobni razpetosti tudi v primeru (pedagoško naravnane) sodobne umetnosti? 3   Esej je izšel v dveh delih: Krauss, A. (2015). »… To be hidden does not mean to be merely revealed – Part 1: Artistic research on hidden curriculum«. Medienimpulse, 53(3). https://doi. org/10.21243/mi-03-15-15 (zadnji dostop 9. 9. 2021). In: Krauss, A. (2015). »… To be hidden does not mean to be merely revealed – Part 2: Artistic research on hidden curriculum«. Medienimpulse, 53(4). https://doi.org/10.21243/mi-04-15-25 (zadnji dostop 9. 9. 2021). 4    Allen, F. (ur.): Education, str. 17. Tea Hvala piše o feministični teoriji, aktivizmu in umetnosti. Od leta 2018 skrbi za knjižnico ter založniški in pedagoški program Mesta žensk. Je (so)avtorica številnih zinov, pedagoških gradiv in knjige za otroke Skrivna bolnišnica (2017) ter urednica vodnika Po svoji poti: 25 izletov po zgodovini žensk (2021). 52 TEA HVALA ANNETTE KRAUSS: HIDDEN CURRICULUM As co-producer, the Škuc Gallery hosted the Hidden Curriculum exhibition as part of the 27th International Festival of Contemporary Arts – City of Women. The participatory art project Hidden Curriculum was initiated by artist, educator and writer Annette Krauss in 2007. Together with young people, she has been studying their perception of social norms and unwritten rules that affect their schools as well as their school behaviours and actions. The exhibition of selected archival materials, collected in the fifteen years of the project’s duration, featured Excuse Poems (2021): three new works created during the festival in collaboration with high-school students from Slovenia, the co-authors of the Everything is Alright theatre show. The present text was originally published in the exhibition brochure of the Škuc Gallery. The exhibition was curated by Tea Hvala, Iva Kovač and Sara Šabec. The line between artistic creation and art education is barely noticeable, and opinions vary as to where it actually runs. In the words of British artist and educator Felicity Allen: “There are artists and artist educators who think teachers sell art short; teachers and artists who think artist educators are weak artists or poor pedagogues; teachers and artist educators who think artists’ ‘pedagogical’ practices naïve or exploitative; or art critics who tend only to acknowledge art as pedagogy if it is mediated through an exhibition-based model.”1 Such opinions probably coincide with the fact that teaching (of any kind, not just art) is not considered one of the most respected professions, while the profession of artist is retaining at least its symbolic capital. Perhaps they are also connected with the impression that school, as an ideological apparatus of the state, tends to repress rather than 1  Allen, F.: Introduction. In: Allen, F. (ed.): Education. (2011). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press / London: Whitechapel Gallery, pp. 16–17. 53 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT emancipate, which makes it best for an artist wanting to collaborate with the young to steer clear of it and find them outside its walls. For artist, educator and writer Annette Krauss and her project Hidden Curriculum, however, school is the exact place where she wishes to go. She is asking who is being emancipated and who is being repressed by education, how and when, without presupposing that the two activities are necessarily separated or happening in different circumstances. She is addressing these questions to herself and her primary audience (numerous young people with whom she collaborated in the project) as well as to the visitors of this exhibition, which only holds a few works from this copious oeuvre that has been in the making since 2007. Hidden curriculum is a technical term for all factors in educare on which the pedagogue has no influence (e.g. the institution’s equipment, the organisation of space, the number of children in a group or the number of students in a class) although they fundamentally define the process of education, the role of the child/young person in it, and their interaction with the teachers. Hidden curriculum is a delicate subject. Even though it is produced by society not by an individual, it is mostly reflected in the unconscious behaviour of adults and in indirect messages that children in preschool and young people in school get about themselves and about others. And since educators – just like everyone of us – have grown up in the world full of borders and divisions, these messages are often full of stereotypes and prejudice; messages that, in practice, translate as favouring the majoritarian culture and language or as discriminating the minorities. Annette Krauss focuses mostly on the hidden curriculum in high schools. She understands it as an umbrella term for numerous unnoticed and mainly unwanted skills, know-how, capacities, talents, and values that the students pick up during their studies although we would search for them in the written (formal) curriculum, programmes, and textbooks in vain. They include uncritical adaptation, subservience, obedience, diligence, dependence, passivity, alienation, fatalism, and acceptance of social inequality as something self-evident, but also knowledge on how to resist all these states. Hidden Curriculum is a research and participatory project, as the exhibited (and other) works have been made through several workshops engaging young people aged 13 to 17. The workshops designed as regular meetings spanning a few months have so far been organised in several Western European countries; when she was preparing the Ljubljana exhibition, Annette Krauss collaborated briefly also with students from Slovenia. In her long-term collaborations, the artist played the role of the “ignorant 54 schoolmaster”, who assumes that everyone has equal intelligence.2 She proposed to the young people to begin exploring the hidden curriculum of their own school in every way that they can without explaining to them what this term means. One would expect that the teachers and the students who agreed to collaborate during regular school hours reacted differently to this approach. However, both groups were repeatedly bothered by the fact that the artist came to class with no exact plan and prearranged goals. Annette Krauss sees the discomfort of the teachers as an expression of a wish to avoid any risk or tensions, but most of all the loss of control in the classroom. What about the young people? Some of them impatiently demanded her to finally tell them what a hidden curriculum is. When she replied that she knows as much about it as they do, she was rejected and told to stop these “weird games”. The incertitude to which she stuck proved to be unbearable for some participants even though wandering in the dark is a key element of researching and creating. Other students accepted her challenge and dived into the unknown. The artist writes on their varied and witty artistic expressions in her essay “To be hidden does not mean to be merely revealed”,3 and summarises them with a lively mind map on the walls of the gallery. The different responses of the participants are perhaps the best testimony to the level of the school’s discrepancy between contradictory expectations: “Notions of ‘potentiality’, ‘individuation’, ‘collaborative learning’ and ‘dialogic education’ are common on the left, while in the mainstream education is pragmatically associated with skills, jobs, social mobility and economic success”.4 Isn’t there a similar discrepancy in the case of (pedagogically oriented) contemporary art? 2   Rancière, J. (1991). The Ignorant Schoolmaster. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. 3    The essay was published in two parts: Krauss, A. (2015). “… To be hidden does not mean to be merely revealed – Part 1: Artistic research on hidden curriculum”. Medienimpulse, 53(3). https://doi.org/10.21243/mi-03-15-15 (last access 9. 9. 2021). And: Krauss, A. (2015). “… To be hidden does not mean to be merely revealed – Part 2: Artistic research on hidden curriculum”. Medienimpulse, 53(4). https://doi.org/10.21243/mi-04-15-25 (last access 9. 9. 2021). 4     Allen, F. (ed.): Education, p. 17. Tea Hvala writes about feminist theory, activism and art. Since 2018, she oversees the City of Women’s library, publishing programme and art education programme. She is the (co-)author of numerous zines, teaching materials and the children’s book Skrivna bolnišnica (Secret Hospital, 2017), as well as editor of the travel guide A Path of Their Own: 25 Excursions into Women’s History (2021). 55 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT PESMI IZGOVOROV TA majica To majico mi je dal starejši brat, prisilil me je, da jo oblečem, sicer ne bi nosila majice »Jebi se, ponedeljek«. Prespala sem pri prijateljici. Posodila mi je krajše krilo, ker je manjša od mene. Pralni stroj je pokvarjen. Ker se je moje krilo skrčilo v sušilcu. Sestra je po nesreči vzela moje hlače. Aja, ta majica brez rokavov?! Danes imam plesno tekmovanje. Hot girl summer. Čez štiri dni je noč čarovnic. Sem iz zelo revne družine in na Rdečem križu niso imeli drugega. Pes mi je pojedel bluzo. Čez noč sem zrasla. 58 Pes mi jo je pojedel. Mačka mi jo je pojedla. Nosorog mi jo je pojedel. Nisem imela časa, morala sem se boriti proti zločincem. Dala sem jo Jeromu, pa jo je pozabil doma. Odkar sem jo posodila Benu, je nisem nikoli več videla. Hiša mi je zgorela, res je nisem mogla rešiti, gospa Brown. 59 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT Morala sem nahraniti kravo. Nisem je razumela, ker si je sploh nisem ogledala. Nisem imela dovolj časa, ker to zame ni prva stvar. Nisem imela dobre povezave, ker sploh nisem odprla prenosnika. Nisem naredila, ker nisem naredila (aja, pa dojenček je jokal) Prikriti kurikulum / Pesmi izgovorov Ljubljana, 2021 Produkcija: Mesto žensk v sodelovanju z Lutkovnim gledališčem Ljubljana Avtorji in avtorice: Špela Čekada, Petja Golec Horvat, Neža Ana Goričar, Tara Klemenčič Belšak, Pika Kovač, Dominik Križ, Laura Penšek Kozmelj, Žak Može, Filip Perpar, Ela Romih in Sinja Smokvina. Mentorstvo: Annette Krauss, Anouk de Kruiff, Sara Šabec in Nataša Živković 60 EXCUSE POEMS THIS T-Shirt This T-shirt is from my older brother, he made me wear it, otherwise I wouldn’t wear a “Fuck Off Monday” t-shirt. I slept at my friend’s place and she had only shorter skirts to borrow because she is smaller than me. The washing machine is broken. Because my skirt has shrunk in the dryer. My sister took my trousers by accident. Oh this tank top! I have a dance competition today. It’s hot girl summer. It’s Halloween in four days. My family is very poor and there were no other clothes at the Red Cross. My dog ate my shirt. I grew taller overnight. 61 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT My dog ate it. My cat ate it. My rhino ate it. I had no time, I was busy fighting crime. I gave it to Jerome, but he forgot it at home. Once I lent it to Ben, I never saw it again. My house burnt down, I really couldn’t save it, Mrs Brown. 62 I didn’t understand it because I didn’t even look at it. I didn’t have enough time because it’s not my priority. I had a poor connection because I didn’t even open my laptop. I didn’t do it because I didn’t do it. (oh, and the baby was crying) Hidden Curriculum / Excuse Poems Ljubljana, 2021 Produced by: City of Women in collaboration with the Ljubljana Puppet Theatre Authors: Špela Čekada, Petja Golec Horvat, Neža Ana Goričar, Tara Klemenčič Belšak, Pika Kovač, Dominik Križ, Laura Penšek Kozmelj, Žak Može, Filip Perpar, Ela Romih and Sinja Smokvina. Mentored by: Annette Krauss, Anouk de Kruiff, Sara Šabec and Nataša Živković 63 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT ANA LORGER VSE JE V REDU Kaj vse nas šola nauči, pa tega sploh ne vemo? RAZKRIVANJE PRIKRITEGA KURIKULUMA Predstava Vse je v redu je bila premierno uprizorjena 9. oktobra 2021 na Šentjakobskem odru Lutkovnega gledališča Ljubljana (LGL). Pripravilo jo je Mesto žensk v okviru evropskega projekta BE PART in v koprodukciji z LGL. Gledališče je predstavo umestilo v evropski projekt ConnectUp in serijo svojih gledaliških laboratorijev, v sklopu katerih so doslej nastale mladinske predstave Vihar v glavi, Pravica biti človek in Rumena luna. Tokrat je z dijakinjami in dijaki, izbranimi na avdiciji, predstavo režirala in koreografirala Nataša Živković v soavtorstvu ter s pedagoškim in dramaturškim svetovanjem Sare Šabec ter umetniškim svetovanjem Benjamina Zajca. V gledališkem laboratoriju, ki je trajal od februarja do oktobra 2021, je ustvarjalo in sodelovalo enajst dijakinj in dijakov z različnih srednjih šol in gimnazij: Špela Čekada, Petja Golec Horvat, Neža Ana Goričan, Tara Klemenčič Belšak, Pika Kovač, Dominik Križ, Žak Može, Laura Penšek Kozmelj, Filip Perpar, Ela Romih in Sinja Smokvina. Vse je v redu se ukvarja s šolskim sistemom, kolektiv mladih umetnikov in umetnic pa o njem razmišlja s pomočjo termina prikriti kurikulum. Prikriti kurikulum je vse tisto, kar se naučimo v šoli, ne da bi zares vedeli, da smo se tega naučili. Umetnica in pedagoginja Annette Krauss, ki v okviru participativnega mednarodnega projekta Prikriti kurikulum ( Hidden Curriculum) že od leta 2007 v obliki delavnic, intervjujev, razstav in podobnih praks sodeluje z mladimi od 13. do 17. leta in jih tako spodbuja, da aktivno razmišljajo o vsakdanjih praksah v šoli ter načinu sedenja, gibanja v prostoru, razmišljanja in vrednotenja, v svojem članku Mize in stoli1 v ospredje postavlja predvsem učenkino in učenčevo telo. S sedenjem, sicer samoumevno in uveljavljeno šolsko prakso, telo prisilimo, da razmišlja z glavo in pisavo, medtem ko so noge in nasploh spodnji del telesa nepomembni. Stol in miza delujeta kot nezavedna prisila. Spomnimo se, kolikokrat so nas v šoli nadrli, ko smo se na stolu guncali in s tem preizkušali meje uveljavljenih predpisov. 1   Dostopen na spletni strani LGL: http://www.lgl.si/si/files/default/Predstave/Vse-je-v-redu/ig- ralci/Vse-je-vredu_Krauss.pdf. 66 Preprosteje rečeno je prikriti kurikulum vse nenapisano in neopaženo, veščine, prakse, vrednote in znanja, ki si jih v šoli privzgojimo nezavedno, spontano in samoumevno. Šola s prikritim kurikulumom vzgaja mlade ubogljive, poslušne in prilagodljive ljudi, ki so se pozneje zmožni vključiti v družbeno realnost brez problematičnih deviacij, uporniškega duha in kritične misli. Annette Krauss se pri svoji analizi opira tudi na Foucaultovo razumevanje oblastnih razmerij v institucijah, kjer posamezniki spontano disciplinirajo svoje telo že s tem, ko stopijo v šolsko učilnico in takoj vedo, da morajo vzravnano sedeti na stolu in biti tiho umeščeni v svoje sedeče celice, na ta način pa spontano reproducirajo oblastna razmerja nad sabo in drugimi. Po Althusserju bi lahko rekli, da je prikriti kurikulum drug izraz za razumevanje šolskega sistema oziroma njegove institucije kot ideološkega aparata, ki osebo transformira v subjekt s tem, ko ga vključi v proces evidentnih materialnih praks in ritualov določene družbene realnosti, iz katerih prav te iste ideje subjekta izvirajo ter se v ta družbeni proces retroaktivno ponovno umeščajo in ga soustvarjajo. A prikriti kurikulum se lahko loči od tistega jasnega, zapisanega in definiranega, kar daje možnost, da ga je mogoče kritizirati, iz njega izstopiti in izoblikovati zunanji vpogled vanj. Če prikriti kurikulum reproducira družbo normalnih posameznic in posameznikov, predstava Vse je v redu počne ravno nasprotno. Iz skupine mladih skuša izluščiti njihovo občutje krivice, upora ter jeze nad heteroseksualno in patriarhalno okolico, ki človeka vrednoti po ubogljivosti, poslušnosti in višini ocen v redovalnici. PREDSTAVA, KI OSVOBAJA TELO Nataša Živković pravi, da je k projektu stopila z dvema ciljema. Želela je senzibilizirati mlade za umetnosti in tako razvijati tudi mlado občinstvo. Poleg tega je želela odpreti prostor kritike šolskega sistema. Mlade je želela spodbuditi, da o šolskem sistemu razmišljajo kot konstruktivni, kritični posamezniki, ki bi bili zmožni dobro artikulirati probleme in hkrati ponuditi tudi alternativo. Do tega je bilo mogoče priti prav s pomočjo umetnosti. Živković in Šabec sta v procesu ustvarjanja kombinirali telesne tehnike, pisne naloge, ustvarjalne vložke, ki načeloma niso imeli določenega cilja, so pa pomagali graditi zaupanje znotraj skupine in pozneje služili kot material za ustvarjanje. Naključje in načrt sta se med seboj ves čas prepletala. Nekatere fizične vaje so bile dejansko podobne tistim, ki jih v gledališču zatiranih opisuje Augusto Boal: sledenje v skupini, grajenje zaupanja na 67 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT podlagi telesnih vaj ter improvizacije na različne teme, kot so šola v času korone, šolski dan, medvrstniško nasilje in podobno. Pristop k ustvarjanju z mladimi, ki sta ga prakticirali Nataša Živković in Sara Šabec, spominja na besede, ki jih v svojem delu Nevedni učitelj (2005) zapisuje Rancière. Kot učitelji in učiteljice lahko učimo, česar ne vemo – seveda, če sprva emancipiramo učenca ali učenko, predvsem pa, če smo same emancipirane ter če se svojega neznanja zavedamo in od učenke ali učenca pričakujemo, da uporabita lastno inteligenco. Pri razumevanju in učenju torej ne gre za odkrivanje resnice, temveč za voljo. Na odru stavek »ne morem, ne znam« ne obstaja, obstaja pa možnost neskončne zmožnosti, možnost razumevanja vsakdanjika, da na stvari pogledamo tako s svojimi kot tudi z drugimi očmi. Nastopajoče in nastopajoči so na pogovoru po predstavi izrazili tudi dejstvo, da jim je oder nudil prostor, kjer lahko artikulirajo tisto, česar si v vsakdanjiku ne bi upali. Na primer nestrinjanje z določenimi učnimi praksami, konflikte s profesorji ter zgroženost nad določenim načinom dela in komuniciranja šolskih avtoritet. Predstava Vse je v redu je režijsko zastavljena kot nabor točk oziroma postaj prizorov, ki so se izoblikovali tekom ustvarjanja. Ritem predstave je valujoč, vzpostavlja red, ki ga vedno znova ruši, tako da ne moremo govoriti o dramskem trikotniku ali zapletu in njegovi razrešitvi. To režijo namreč določa proces ustvarjanja, saj je bil namen laboratorija iskanje umetniškega izraza, vzgajanje na drugačen način, predvsem pa grajenje kritične skupnosti. Tekom ustvarjanja so vse sodelujoče in sodelujoči odpirali svoje talente in svoj način sodelovanja. Umetnost ne bi smela biti rezervirana za elito, umetnost je tista, ki je človeka zmožna tudi rešiti vsakdanjih tegob, je lahko prostor pobega, prostor izraza in navsezadnje tudi upora. Pri Petji Golec Horvat je to bil na primer gib, pri Piki Kovač rapanje, pri Sinji Smokvina kitara, pri Filipu Perparju ples, pri nekaterih besedni izraz, pri drugih spet slikanje, fotografiranje, pisanje, risanje, ritem ali video … Vse to se je postopoma sestavljalo in sestavilo v kolaž, ki je izražal skupno temo: nezadovoljstvo nad šolskim sistemom, a istočasno tudi voljo po spremembi in voljo po prepoznanju dobrih stvari znotraj sistema, ki smo jih kljub nerganju in kritikam velikokrat deležne. V svojem prispevku se zato osredotočam na posamezne dele, ki se mi zdijo v predstavi ključni. To so uporaba stolov (spomnimo se na Annette Krauss), uporaba tehnologije in telefonov ter kritika heteronormativnosti in seksizma v šolah. 68 Režijska odločitev Nataše Živković, da osnovni rekvizit predstave predstavljajo prav šolski stoli, ni naključna. Stoli so na odru najprej postavljeni v ravno vrsto, nato razpadejo, so postavljeni v polkrog ali piramido, spet razpadejo in razpadajo, vse dokler niso neurejeno nametani na kup. Človeško telo se osvobodi, zavržen kup stolov pa spominja na železni odpad, ki bi moral romati samo še v smeti. Kot sem omenila že zgoraj, so stoli in mize materializirani znak prikritega kurikuluma, ki spontano disciplinira učenkino ali učenčevo telo, ga naredi ubogljivo, mehanično in pasivno. Osvobajajoče je videti, kako na odru telesa na stolih postajajo plešoča, plavajoča, nemirna in ležeča, in s tem, ko se telo okoli njih transformira, tudi stoli dobijo drugačen pomen. Ti na začetku sicer predstavljajo učilnico, a plesna koreografija to reprezentacijo ukinja in ponudi potencialnost drugačnega načina postavljanja mladih teles v prostoru, ki se od prisilne drže na stolih poslovijo. Druga pomembna tema, ki jo predstava odpira, je kritika družbe nadzora. Telefon je predvsem mladim generacijam sodobne tehnološke družbe pisan na kožo in je zlezel tudi pod njo. Instagram, TikTok in že postarani Facebook so prav tako elementi, ki človekovo telo usmerjajo in normalizirajo, proizvajajo želje in človeka zasvojijo. Disciplini teles, ki je kot oblika oblasti v šolskem sistemu še vedno močno prisotna, se pridruži oblast nadzora, ki izhaja iz odvisnosti ljudi od socialnih omrežij. Nenehna priklopljenost teles na kibernetski medprostor med vsakdan mladih posameznikov vnaša skupno koreografijo: podobne poze, izrazi na obrazu, ideali lepote, zahteva po nenehnem snemanju svoje zasebnosti in odtegovanje užitka iz trenutnega zdaj, da se ta proizvede v javnem brezčasju socialnega omrežja, so elementi, ki jih na odru lahko vidimo v obliki ponavljajoče se, skorajda robotske koreografije nastopajočih. Mlade performerke in performerji po prizoru s stoli in sceni brutalnega medvrstniškega nasilja kolektivno zrejo vsak v svoj telefon. Istočasno oder preplavi zvočna slika mešanice posnetkov z YouTuba, cingljanje prispelih sporočil, popularna glasba in opozorila. Kaotično in groteskno stanje preseka krik Laure Penšek Kozmelj, ki prekine tek predstave in spet pomiri stopnjujoči se ritem predstave. Sicer pa na tehnološki ustroj vsakdana opozarja tudi začetek predstave, ki se odpre z videom Simone Kustec, ministrice za izobraževanje, ki svoje funkcije tekom koronskega časa ni izpolnjevala, kar lahko paradigmatsko vidimo v videu, ki temu sledi. Gre za učno uro na Zoomu, ki se izkaže za popolnoma nefunkcionalno, v posameznikih pa sproža občutja jeze, osamljenosti in frustracije. Ta kombinacija virtualne resničnosti z odrskim performiranjem nudi dober prikaz kapitalističnega, s tehnologijo prepredenega realizma mladih ljudi. 69 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT Še vedno aktualna tema, ki morda nikoli ne bo zastarala, je seveda delitev spolnih vlog v šolskem sistemu, še posebej kar se tiče prikritega kurikuluma. Če so v učbenikih za zgodovino ženska imena skrita in revolucionarna ženska gibanja pozabljena, so med odmori razkrite opazke glede telesne razvitosti deklic, izjave, da so fantje močnejši, pripombe glede spolne usmerjenosti in nenehno komentiranje tega, kaj je družbeno sprejemljivo, tj. kaj je prav in kaj narobe. Seveda prikriti kurikulum ustvarja nasilje tudi znotraj skupin mladih, o medvrstniškem nasilju so na pogovoru po predstavi spregovorile tudi ustvarjalke in ustvarjalci sami. Čeprav gledališče odpira prostor za performativnost teles, prostor potencialnega, ki ne omejuje, temveč postane polje raziskovanja in eksperimentiranja, na odru pred nami vseeno stojijo mladi ljudje iz mesa in krvi, ki jih vsakdan sooča z neprijetnimi situacijami, v katerih je sprejemanje odgovornosti za nasilje in izključevanje mnogokrat preveliko breme. Naj zaključim s pisno refleksijo Ele Romih, katere odlomek lahko slišimo tudi v predstavi in ki nas opozarja, da se je prav zaradi šole pozabila čuditi. Pozabila je samo sebe spraševati o razlogih, zakaj nekaj počne. Šolski sistem v ospredje namreč vse bolj postavlja cilje, ki so sami sebi namen. Dobre ocene privedejo do boljšega vpisa na gimnazije, boljše ocene v gimnazijah spet predpostavljajo boljšo fakulteto. Na koncu pa imamo pred seboj armado brezposelnih ali brezupen prekariat. Znanje je vse bolj reducirano na pravilen način odgovarjanja, na izpolnjevanje določenih tipov vprašanj. Zato Filipova koreografija, med katero poje, da ima rad lepe ocene, deluje kot sarkastični odgovor na dejanski problem ocenjevanja, kjer se učimo zgolj zato, ker se petica sliši veliko bolje kot bedna dvojka ali enka. Zaradi ponotranjenega sistema vrednot, zato ker se vmes pozabimo vprašati, zakaj. Nenehno vztrajamo v tem podivjanem mehanizmu, čeprav se mnogokrat zavemo, kaj vse ni v redu in da bi lahko bilo tudi drugače. In da je za to, da so stvari takšne, kakršne so, kriv mehanizem, ki ljudi melje v svojih kolesjih banalnega vsakdana in ki ga navsezadnje v tek spravljamo prav mi sami. Ana Lorger je diplomirala iz primerjalne književnosti in dramaturgije. Njena zanimanja segajo na področje političnega gledališča in feministične umetnosti. Ana piše literarne in gledališke kritike za Radio Študent, spletne gledališke platforme Kriterij, Neodvisni, Kritika (Sigledal) in za LUD Literatura, kurira svoje umetniške projekte in piše poezijo. 70 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT ANA LORGER EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT What does school teach us that we don’t even know? DISCLOSING THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM The performance Everything is Alright premiered on 9 October 2021 at the Šentjakob Stage of the Ljubljana Puppet Theatre (LGL). It was produced by the City of Women within the framework of the EU project BE PART, in co-production with LGL. The theatre included the performance in the ConnectUp EU project, as well as a series of its theatre laboratories that have so far resulted in youth productions Storm in the Head, The Right to Be Human and The Yellow Moon. This time, the performance was directed and choreographed by Nataša Živković in collaboration with the participating high school students in co-authorship and with pedagogical and dramaturgical counselling by Sara Šabec and with the artistic counselling of Benjamin Zajc. The theatre laboratory that took place between February and October 2021 showcased creative work and participation of eleven students from diverse high schools and vocational secondary schools: Špela Čekada, Petja Golec Horvat, Neža Ana Goričan, Tara Klemenčič Belšak, Pika Kovač, Dominik Križ, Žak Može, Laura Penšek Kozmelj, Filip Perpar, Ela Romih and Sinja Smokvina. Everything is Alright tackles the topic of our school system, and the young artists’ collective reflects on it through the aspect of the term hidden curriculum. The hidden curriculum signifies everything we pick up in school without even realising we have learned it. Artist and pedagogue Annette Krauss, who has been collaborating with young people aged 13 to 17 through workshops, interviews, exhibitions and similar practices as part of the international participatory project Hidden Curriculum since 2007, has been encouraging them to think actively about everyday school practices and manners of sitting, moving through space, thinking and evaluating. In her article Tables and Chairs to Live With,1 she above all brings to the foreground the student’s body. By sitting, which in itself is a practice taken for 1   The article is available online at: https://www.p-art-icipate.net/tables-and-chairs-to-live- with/?pdf=4137. 74 granted that has been thoroughly established in schools, we force the body to perform mental work through writing, while our legs and the lower body are more or less neglected. The chair and the desk seem to be unconscious impositions. Just remember how often we got yelled at in school for rocking in our chairs and thereby testing the boundaries of established rules. To put it simpler, hidden curriculum encompasses everything that goes unwritten and unnoticed, therefore all skills, practices, values, and knowledge acquired in school subconsciously, spontaneously, taken for granted. Through its hidden curriculum, school produces obedient, good and adaptable youth, later capable of easy integration into the social reality without deviations, rebel spirit or critical thought. In her analysis, Annette Kraus also uses Foucault’s understanding of power relations within institutions, where people spontaneously discipline their bodies simply by walking into a classroom and immediately knowing they should sit upright in their chairs to silently fit into their sitting cells, thus spontaneously reproducing power relations over themselves and others. In line with Althusser, we could say hidden curriculum is another term for understanding the school system or its institution as an ideological apparatus transforming a person into a subject by including them in a process of evident material practices and rituals of a certain social reality, from which the subject’s very ideas first originate from, then are retroactively placed in, and finally co-create it. However, hidden curriculum can be separated from the clearly written and defined curriculum, which provides the possibility of criticising it, of exiting it to form an outside view of it. Whereas hidden curriculum reproduces a society of normal individuals, the performance Everything is Alright achieves the opposite. From a group of young participants, it attempts to extract their perception of injustices, rebellion and anger at the heterosexual and patriarchal environment evaluating people according to their obedience, conformity and official school grades. A BODY-LIBERATING PERFORMANCE Nataša Živković says she approached the project with two aims. She wanted to sensibilize youth to art and thereby also develop young audiences. In addition, she attempted to open a space for a critique of the school system. She wanted to encourage young people to reflect upon the school system in 75 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT the manner of constructive, critical person, capable of thorough articulation of problems and qualified to offer an alternative. This was achievable precisely through art. During the creative process, Živković and Šabec combined body techniques, written assignments, creative interventions allegedly without precise objectives, but essential in building inner trust for the group and later for creative materials. Throughout the preparations, coincidence and planning were intertwined. Some physical rehearsals actually brought to mind those described by Augustio Boal in Theatre of the Opressed (1974): following one another in a group, building trust on the basis of body exercises, and improvisations with diverse thematic scopes, such as school during the covid period, a school day, school bullying, and similar. The approach to youth creative process taken on by Nataša Živković and Sara Šabec is an allusion to Rancière’s wording in his work The Ignorant Schoolmaster (2005). As teachers, we are able to teach what we do not know ourselves – that is, if first we emancipate the student, and above all, if we are emancipated ourselves, aware of our lack of knowledge, and if we expect of the student to use his or her own intelligence. Thus, comprehension and learning are not about discovering the truth, but instead about will. Onstage, the “I don’t know, I cannot” do not exist, however, there exists a possibility of endless capacity, a possibility of understanding the everyday, of looking at things from our own aspect as well as that of the other. At the discussion after the show, the performers also noted that the stage provided them with a space to articulate that which they would not dare to in everyday practice. Such as discord with certain teaching practices, conflicts with teachers and indignation over some manners of work and communication by school authorities. Direction-wise, Everything is Alright is drafted as a series of scenes or stops that have been formed through the creative process. Its rhythm is pulsating, establishing order and then again crushing it, so we are unable to discuss the traditional dramaturgical triangle or plot as such, with a conflict and a resolution. Namely, this direction is defined by the creative process, for the very purpose of the laboratory was to seek artistic expression, educating in a different manner, and above all building a critical community. During their artistic creation, all participants were unveiling their talents and ways of collaborating. Art should not be exclusively for the elites; art is what is able to save a person from his or her everyday nuisances. It can provide a space for escape, space for expression, and nevertheless, for rebellion. Thus, for instance, Petja Golec Horvat used movement, Pika Kovač rap music, Sinja Smokvina her guitar, Filip Perpar dancing, some others verbal expression, others painting, photography, writing, drawing, rhythm or video … All of 76 this had gradually merged to form a collage expressing the common theme: discontent towards the school system, however, a simultaneous will for change and a will to recognize the good within the system, the good which we often benefit from, despite our whining and criticizing. In my article, I therefore focus on individual parts of the performance I deem vital. Those are: use of school chairs (let us remember Annette Krauss), use of technology and telephones, and the critical approach to heteronormativity and sexism in schools. The decision of the director Nataša Živković to have school chairs as the basic prop in the show is by no means coincidental. At first, the chairs onstage are set in a straight line, then they scatter around, are set in a demi-circle or a pyramid, are again scattered and scattering, up to when they are set in a disordered pile. The human body is liberated, while the discarded pile of school chairs seems to allude to an iron waste, only suitable to be dumped. The chairs and tables are the aforementioned sign of a hidden curriculum, spontaneously disciplining the student’s body by making it obedient, mechanic, passive. It is liberating to see how onstage, the bodies on those chairs become dancing bodies, fluid and restless and lying down, and the transformations of the body around the chairs also infuse the chairs themselves with a different meaning. Although at first, they represented a classroom, the dance choreography did away with that representation, only to provide potentiality of a different way of setting young bodies into space by letting them discard the imposed body posture in relation to school chairs. The second significant topic tackled by the performance is criticism towards the control society. The smartphone is an indispensable tool of young generations of contemporary technological society, as one of the most suitable innovations. Instagram, TikTok and the somewhat elderly Facebook are also elements that direct and normalize the human body, produce desires and induce addictions. The disciplining of bodies, as of yet still very present in the school system as a form of power, is merged with the power of control stemming from people’s addiction to social networks. The constant tapping of bodies into the cyberspace is imposing a common choreography on the average day of a young person: similar postures, facial expressions, beauty ideals, the demand for constant recording of one’s privacy and renouncing pleasure of the current Now in order to produce it in the public timelessness of the social network – those are the elements we can see onstage in the form of the repetitive, almost robot-like choreography of the performers. After the scene with chairs and the scene depicting 77 KAKŠNO ŠOLO HOČEMO / THE SCHOOL WE WANT brutal peer bullying, the young actors and actresses collectively stare each in their own phone. Simultaneously, the stage is taken over by a sound image of YouTube video mixtures, ringtones of chat messages, pop music and notifications. This chaotic and grotesque ambience is cut by the scream of Laura Penšek Kozmelj, who interrupts the show, only to relax its ever-mounting rhythm. Meanwhile, even the beginning of the performance accentuates everyday technological structure by showing a video of the Minister of Education Simona Kustec, who had failed completely in performing her function during covid times. The video that follows paradigmatically brings attention to that fact. It involves a Zoom school class which proves to be completely out of touch and induces the individuals’ anger, loneliness, and frustration. This combining of virtual reality with stage performing provides a thorough depiction of the capitalist, technology-raided realism of youth. A topic that is still socially relevant, perhaps never to fall into oblivion, is, naturally, one of gender roles separation in the school system, especially with a view to the hidden curriculum. While history schoolbooks fail to mention female names and revolutionary women’s movements, the school breaks give room to abundant comments on the girls’ body changes in puberty, statements on boys being stronger, sexual orientation comments and incessant replicas on what is or is not socially acceptable, in essence, what is wrong or right. The hidden curriculum, of course, creates violence among and inside youth groups – the performers and creators of the production themselves also commented on bullying after the show. Although theatre opens the space to the performativity of bodies, a space of potentiality that does not confine, but instead becomes a research and experimentation field, we are still faced with young people made of flesh and blood, every day facing unpleasant situations, in which accepting responsibility for violence and exclusion is oftentimes an overwhelming burden. Let me conclude by commenting on a written reflection by Ela Romih, part of which is also quoted in the performance. Her writing points out that school was precisely the reason why she stopped looking at the world with wonder. She forgot to ask herself why she is doing things. Namely, the school system gives more and more priority to self-serving objectives. Good grades bring you to more favourable high schools, better grades in high schools again presuppose a better faculty. And by the end of it, we are faced with an army of unemployed people or hopeless precarious workers. More and more, knowledge is reduced to the right way of answering questions, to filling certain types of gaps. Therefore, Filip Perpar’s choreography, 78 featuring a chorus about how he likes good grades, acts as sarcasm in view of the actual problem of assessing knowledge, whereby we only learn because an A sounds better than a pathetic D or an F. Due to the internalized value system, because we fail to remember to ask ourselves why. We ceaselessly persist in this mechanism gone wild, although we are often aware of what is not alright and what could have been different. And also, the responsibility for things as they are can be ascribed to this very mechanism, grinding people under its wheels of the banal everyday presence. A mechanism that we are, at the end of it all, fuelling we ourselves. Ana Lorger graduated from Comparative Literature and Dramaturgy. Her interests extend into the fields of political theatre and feminist art. Ana also writes literary and theatre critiques for Radio Študent, the online theatre platforms Kriterij, Neodvisni, Kritika (Sigledal), and LUD Literatura Publishing, curates her own art projects and writes poetry. 79 VSE JE V REDU: ODLOMKI IZ POGOVORA PO PREDSTAVI Ta predstava nam je dala priložnost, da povemo vse, kar si mislimo, ne da bi to povedali človeku v obraz. To v šoli ni zaželeno. Da ne »onečedimo« njihove avtoritete. Skozi to predstavo jim tako lahko povemo vse, kar jim gre. (vsi v smeh) — Laura Penšek Kozmelj Opažam, da sem veliko bolj kritična do izjav profesorjev. Res sem bolj pozorna na dinamiko v razredu in tudi, se mi zdi, prepoznavam prikriti kurikulum, čeprav prej sploh nisem vedela, kaj to je. — Neža Ana Goričar Ugotoviš, kako velik del tvojega življenja je bila – in je še vedno – ta šola. Koliko stvari se zgodi, kako to vpliva tudi na tvoje »privatno« življenje, ki je v bistvu tudi v šoli. — Ela Romih Ko v razredu izpostavim nekaj, kar je narobe, ne pride do podpore, solidarnosti vrstnikov. Bila je na primer situacija, ko se vsi izrazito nismo strinjali z nekim profesoričinim dejanjem, ampak takoj, ko sem predlagala, da bi to izpostavili, se je med nami vnel velik spor. — Sinja Smokvina Vedno bolj se pozna, da smo generacijsko vedno bolj individualisti oziroma vsaj v mojem razredu bi rekla, da je dosti ljudi, od katerih bo vsak samo zase nekaj naredil. In je malo tega, da bi samoiniciativno, kolektivno nekaj želeli narediti. — Pika Kovač Ampak tu je tudi strah zadaj. — Petja Golec Horvat Ja, strah pred avtoriteto. — Tara Klemenčič Belšak Ja, včasih je v razredu pogovor, a gremo kaj rečt ali ne, pa potem »ah, saj veš, kako bo, neopravičene, potem pa ukor, morda rajši ne.« — Špela Čekada Enostavno se ne govori več o enih stvareh, pusti se, da se dogajajo. Tako se jih normalizira. — Ela Romih EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT: EXCEPRTS FROM A DISCUSSION AFTER THE THEATRE SHOW This show gave us the opportunity to say everything we think without telling it to a professor’s face. This is not desirable in school. So as not to “defile” their authority. Through this show, we can tell them whatever we want. (everyone laughs) — Laura Penšek Kozmelj I have noticed that I am much more critical of the professors’ statements. I’m much more attentive to the dynamics in the classroom and also, I think, I recognize the hidden curriculum, even though I didn’t even know what it was before. — Neža Ana Goričar You realise what a big part of your life school was – and still is. How many things happen, how it also affects your “private” life, which also takes place in school. — Ela Romih When I point out something in class that is wrong, there is no support, no solidarity from peers. There was, for example, a situation where we all disagreed with something that the professor had done, but as soon as I suggested that we could actually point it out, we got into a huge fight. — Sinja Smokvina It is becoming clear that each generation is more individualistic than the last. I would say that, at least in my class, there are a lot of people who will focus only on themselves without any regard to the people around them. And there are not many people who would do something on their own initiative that is also focused on the collective. — Pika Kovač But there is also fear. — Petja Golec Horvat Yes, fear of authority. — Tara Klemenčič Belšak Yeah, sometimes there’s a discussion in class about whether we should point something out or not, but the excuses are always the same: “Ah, you know how it’s going to be, first removal from class, then a reprimand, maybe it’s better not to say anything.” — Špela Čekada We just don’t talk about certain things anymore and we let them happen. That’s how we normalise them. — Ela Romih Z ROKO V ROKI HAND IN HAND MAJA SMREKAR OPLODI ME/POGNOJI ME reProduktivne pripovedi: Endokrinološko potovanje Katera orodja in postopke lahko razvijemo, da bi solidarno preoblikovali nekatere vidike skupnega bio-tehno-političnega življenja in kot družba postali skrbnejši? Maja Smrekar in Gjino Šutić v svoji večletni, praktično naravnani biohekersko-umetniški raziskavi naslavljata tovrstna vprašanja, da bi vzbudila razmislek o manj invazivnih možnostih zunajtelesne oploditve (IVF) ter razprla označevanje določenih fizioloških procesov v naših telesih. Osredotočila sta se na človeške hormone hipofize (gonadotropine), ki so zaradi svoje vloge pri ohranjanju nosečnosti znani tudi kot »nosečniški hormoni«. Telesa v menopavzi vsebujejo najvišjo koncentracijo humanega menopavznega gonadotropina (HMG), zato se ga pridobiva iz njihovega urina, v postopku IVF pa ga vbrizgavajo v moška in ženska telesa, da bi spodbudili Z ROKO V ROKI plodnost, saj HMG pri ženskah zdravi neplodnost, pri moških pa povečuje raven testosterona. HAND IN HAND Participativna delavnica Fertilize Me (Oplodi me/Pognoji me), ki je bila premierno predstavljena na 27. festivalu Mesto žensk, sloni na zamisli o svobodni izmenjavi hormonov s pomočjo nizkocenovnih participativnih znanstvenih postopkov, ki na eni strani nudijo morebitno alternativo bolečemu in dragemu postopku IVF, na drugi strani pa igrajo pomembno vlogo pri obnavljanju fizičnega počutja in s tem ohranjanju notranjih homeostatskih procesov. Na delavnici so udeleženke iz lastnih vzorcev urina pridobivale gonadotropin, ki so ga nanesle na nosljive, po meri oblikovane obliže. S tem so povečale znanstveno informiranost in vzpodbudile priložnost za razpravo o neinvazivni rabi (bio) tehnoloških postopkov. Sledi esej Maje Smrekar o ozadju projekta in delavnice. 89 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND Z biohekerjem/umetnikom Gjinom Šutićem (HR) sva leta 2019 pričela razvijati raziskovalni projekt z naslovom reProduktivne pripovedi, iz katerega sva izpeljala delavnico Fertilize Me (Oplodi me/Pognoji me). Celotna zamisel je izvirala iz perspektive sodobnega telesa kot nosilca za (bio)politično upravljanje življenja, s sočasno osredotočenostjo na splošni razmislek o tržno dostopnih hormonskih molekulah, ki služijo reprodukciji (npr. viagra), in na tiste, ki reprodukcijo preprečujejo (npr. kontracepcijske tabletke ali koktajl estrogenov in progesterona, ko telo preide v menopavzo).1 Izhodišči za raziskavo sta bili najini telesi, ki tako kot mnoga druga služijo kot proteza za biotehnologijo, ta pa se mnogokrat uporablja kot nadzorno orodje civilne družbe. Znotraj te paradigme sva vzpostavila praktičen raziskovalni projekt in skozenj razvila diskurz o postreproduktivnem telesu. reProduktivne pripovedi so logično nadaljevanje mojih prejšnjih projektov, v katerih sem naslavljala kompleksnost presnovnih poti lastnih hormonov: v projektu K-9_topologija: Ecce canis (2014) sem svoj serotonin in serotonin pasjega sopotnika predelala v vonj; v projektu K-9_topologija: Hibridna družina (2016) je moje telo proizvajalo prolaktin in oksitocin skozi mlezivo, ki sem ga pridelala s sistematičnim mehanskim črpanjem prsi; leto zatem sem v projektu K-9_topologija: ARTE_mis (2017) uživala blokatorje receptorjev beta za proizvodnjo progesterona in estrogena, zaradi česar je moje telo proizvedlo večje število reproduktivnih celic, ki jih imenujemo oociti. Kot produkt tega procesa je nastala s pasjo somatsko celico oblikovana hibridna molekularna skulptura, ki sem jo s sodelavci izdelala v laboratoriju BioTehna v Ljubljani. Molekularna skulptura je vzpostavila ekofeministični okvir, znotraj katerega sem svoj reproduktivni proces uporabila kot umetniški medij in ne za reprodukcijo lastne vrste – kar bi večina družbe sicer od mene pričakovala. V letih 2018 in 2019 sem zbirala svojo menstrualno tekočino in jo kot umetniški medij shranjevala v serumu, pripravljenem za bodoče umetniške raziskave. V letu 2020 sem skozi endokrinološko metamorfozo vstopila v obdobje menopavze in posledično sem začela naseljevati povsem novo telo, ki med drugim ni več proizvajalo oocitov. Hkrati sem odkrila biotehnološki protokol, ki ga je leta 2016 objavila Mednarodna bolnišnica za materinstvo in zdravje otrok Medicinske fakultete na Šanghajski univerzi Jiaotong na Kitajskem. V protokolu je bila predstavljena prva uspešna diferenciacija endometrijskih mezenhimskih matičnih celic, pridobljenih iz menstrualne krvi, v oocitom podobne celice. 1   Povzeto po: Preciado, Paul B.: Testo Junkie: Sex, Drugs, and Biopolitics in the Pharmacopor-nographic Era (2008). City Universtiy of New York: The Feminist Press. 90 S Šutićem sva se leta 2020 navdahnjena z njihovimi dosežki odločila, da tudi sama izvedeva induciranje endometrijskih mezenhimskih matičnih celic, pridobljenih iz moje menstrualne krvi. Med šesttedenskim bivanjem na Inštitutu UR v Zagrebu sva preoblikovala protokol Šanghajske univerze Jiaotong. Najin protokol je vključeval hormon gonadotropin, ki ga lahko v velikih količinah najdemo v urinu žensk v menopavzi, pri čemer je bilo priročno uporabiti moj gonadotropin. V nekaj tednih nama je uspelo nagojiti oocitom podobe celice (angl. oocyte-like cells), ki imajo številne značilnosti, podobne oocitom, saj izločajo nekatere reproduktivne hormone, ki jih uravnava gonadotropin. V t. i. kliničnem amfiteatru, ki sva ga poustvarila v biotehnološkem laboratoriju, sva oocitom podobne celice predstavila skozi paradigmo in vitro sistema za preučevanje alternativne proizvodnje človeških oocitov v prihodnosti. S Šutićem namreč meniva, da so ti alternativni potenciali izjemno pomembni, saj sposobnost, da iz menstrualne krvi izven našega telesa lahko proizvedemo lastne reproduktivne celice, zmoti razmerje moči med subjektom in objektom reprezentacije. V tem razmerju je subjekt običajno zdravnik IVF, ginekolog, biotehnolog, medtem ko je objekt reprezentacije pacientka, s katero subjekt vzpostavi odnos preko njenega reproduktivnega sistema, pri čemer njena individualna subjektivnost ni niti pol tako pomembna, kot je ginekologova. Tako pridobljena reproduktivna celica postane ontološki katalizator, vzpostavljajoč eksplicitno avtonomijo. Poleg tega sam proces pridobivanja celic subvertira predstavo o menstruaciji kot o fantazmatskem in molekularnem »čudežu«, ki nosi ogromen potencial za preobrazbo v čisti kapital. Pomemben parameter umetniško-znanstvenih raziskovalnih rezultatov reProduktivne pripovedi je bilo tudi posredovanje pridobljenega znanja javnosti. S Šutićem sva pripravila delavnico, ki se je osredotočala na specifičen človeški hormon, splošni javnosti poznan pod imenom »nosečniški hormon« ali gonadotropin. Telesa v menopavzi vsebujejo najvišjo koncentracijo gonadotropina. Praviloma ga, izločenega iz urina, uporabijo v postopku IVF za injiciranje moških in ženskih teles. Pri tem je pomembno omeniti, da ima gonadotropin kljub temu, da je pogosto omenjen le v kontekstu plodnosti, saj služi priročni naraciji farmakološke industrije, tudi vlogo pri obnavljanju fizičnega počutja in s tem ohranjanju notranjih homeostatskih procesov. 91 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND Delavnica Fertilize Me je zato izhajala iz diskurza o prosti izmenjavi hormonov z uporabo nizkoproračunskih orodij državljanske znanosti (angl. citizen science), pri čemer sva s Šutićem obiskovalkam in obiskovalcem predlagala vzajemna strateška zavezništva skozi uporabo lastnih telesnih tekočin kot agentov, sodelujočih v neinvazivnih biotehnologijah. V okviru festivala Mesto žensk sva izvedla dvodnevno delavnico, ki je potekala v BioTehni, laboratoriju za umetniško raziskovanje živih sistemov Zavoda Kersnikova v Ljubljani. Udeleženke so se na delavnici imele možnost spoznati s protokoli za ekstrakcijo gonadotropina iz lastnih vzorcev urina. Prejele so posebej za delavnico oblikovan Fertilize Me komplet, ki je vseboval transdermalni obliž, na katerega so nanesle monosloj, bogat z gonadotropinom, ki so ga pridobile med delavnico. Tega so po delavnici dvanajst ur nosile na telesu kot stabilizator notranjih homeostatskih procesov. Naše vidno telo je le eden od parametrov naše subjektivnosti, zato delavnica Fertilize Me in njen krovni projekt reProduktivne pripovedi javnost nagovarjata skozi kolektivno hormonalno metapozicijo. Ta preučuje performativnost naših številnih teles, njihovih organov in tekočin, pri čemer obravnava vse spole. Čeprav kapital sodobno telo pogosto upodablja kot pasivno živo snov, njegov ontološki status razkriva mnoge kontekste tega tehno-živega sistema, segmentiranega v obdelavah podatkov, ki se pretakajo skozi biokemične, biološke, fizikalne in znanstvene tehnologije ter politične strategije. Ravno z razpiranjem alternativne vloge hormona gonadotropina, ki je javnosti običajno predstavljen skozi enodimenzionalno označevanje, pozivamo k diskurzu, ki razpira kompleksnost onkraj tovrstne hegemonije. Maja Smrekar je umetnica, uveljavljena v mednarodnem umetniškem in znanstvenem prostoru. Izhaja iz kiparstva in sodobnih umetnosti ter razvija transkonceptualna dela, ki obsegajo performanse, instalacije, lokacijsko specifično umetnost, risbe, videe, zvok, delavnice, predavanja, razprave in besedila. 92 93 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND MAJA SMREKAR FERTILIZE ME reProductive Narratives: An Endocrinological Journey What kind of tools and processes would we need to become a more caring society? What kind of solidarity could reshape some forms of our collective biotechno-political living? Maja Smrekar and Gjino Šutić have been posing those questions while rendering hands-on practice-based biohacking art research in order to develop the narrative of a less invasive alternative to In Vitro Fertilisation (IVF). They focused on human gonadotropin hormone, sometimes called “the pregnancy hormone” because of its important role in maintaining pregnancy. Since menopausal bodies have the highest concentration of human menopausal gonadotropin (hMG), the latter is extracted from their urine to be used within the IVF process for injecting male and female bodies in order to induce fertility. These injections help treat infertility in women and increase testosterone levels in men. The Fertilize Me workshop introduces the idea of freely exchanging hormones by developing low-cost citizen scientific tools that offer an alternative to the painful and expensive IVF process. At the workshop, the participants extracted the gonadotropin hormone out of their own urine samples and attached the extracts onto a custom-made patch to be worn on the skin. Thus they created a space for discussion, promoted scientific literacy and formed a strategic alliance to employ hormones and bodily fluids as agents for utilising pharmacological and technological tools as non-invasive (bio)technologies. What follows is Maja Smrekar’s essay on the background of the project and the workshop. 94 Fertilize Me is the title of a participatory workshop that premiered at the 2021 City of Women festival as a derivative of an ongoing practice-based biohacking art research project entitled reProductive Narratives, developed in collaboration with biohacker/artist Gjino Šutić (CRO) since 2019. Stemming from the perspective of a contemporary body as an object of the political management of living and deriving from the possibilities offered by hormonal molecules available on the market that serve for procreation, e.g. Viagra; non procreation, e.g. the contraception pill, a cocktail of oestrogens and progesterone when the body transitions into menopause, etc.1 the research takes our bodies, which serve as a prosthesis for biotechnologies used as surveillance tools for governing civil society, as a point of departure. Challenging this paradigm, our objective was to establish a hands-on research project and to develop a discourse about the post-reproductive body. Furthermore, reProductive Narratives are the logical extension of the artistic framework of my previous projects inspired by the complexity of metabolic paths of my own hormones. For example, six years ago I was focusing on serotonin in the K-9_topology: Ecce canis (2014) project by transforming my serotonin and that of my dog into an odour; five years ago, in K-9_ topology: Hybrid Family (2016), my body was producing prolactin and oxytocin achieved by systematic mechanical breast pumping; while in the K-9_topology: ARTE_mis (2017) project, I was consuming progesterone and oestrogen beta blockers so that they would flow through my reproductive system that consequently produced more oocytes. These were used to create a molecular sculpture, fusing with the dog’s somatic cell within the regulated biotechnological protocols executed at the BioTehna laboratory in Ljubljana (Slovenia). Thus, I employed my reproductive cell as an artistic medium and not for reproduction – which society would expect me to do. In 2018 and 2019, I gathered my own menstrual fluid and stored it in a serum for the future possibility of addressing some of my artistic interests with regard to the body, its hormones and their performativity. By 2020 I was going through an endocrinological metamorphosis, undergoing a menopausal transition, and I consequently started to inhabit a whole new body, which was not able to produce oocytes anymore. During my ongoing research I found a protocol published in 2016 by the International Peace Maternity and Child Health Hospital, School of Medicine, Shanghai Jiaotong University and their collaborators in China. The protocol announced the first 1   Summarised from: Preciado, Paul B.: Testo Junkie: Sex, Drugs, and Biopolitics in the Pharma-copornographic Era (2008). City Universtiy of New York: The Feminist Press. 95 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND successful differentiation of endometrial mesenchymal stem cells extracted from menstrual blood into oocyte-like cells. Šutić and I were very inspired by their achievements and, starting in 2018, we decided to induce endometrial mesenchymal stem cells obtained from my menstrual blood. During our six-week residency in January and February 2021 at the UR Institute in Zagreb (Croatia), we recreated and modified the Shanghai Jiaotong University’s protocol. We redesigned it and used customised protocols of our own, which included hormone gonadotropin that is rich in menopausal urine. Since, by 2021 I had fully transitioned into menopause, it was very convenient for us to use my gonadotropin in the process, and the transformation was successful. While sharing many characteristics with the oocyte cells, expressing some of the same reproductive hormones regulated by gonadotropin, oocyte-like cells are not fully oocyte cells. However, they can potentially be represented in a clinical amphitheatre, as an in vitro system for the study of the alternative production of human oocytes in the future. Šutić and I believe these alternative potentials are extremely important, as the ability to produce our own reproductive cells from menstrual blood outside of our body disrupts the power relationship between the subject – usually an IVF doctor, a gynaecologist, a biotechnologist – and the object of representation – a female patient approached through her reproductive system, while her individual subjectivity is not half as important. A reproductive cell obtained this way is therefore an ontological catalyst, producing an explicit agency that would not be able to emerge any other way. Furthermore, in this process, the notion of menstruation as the phantasmic and molecular “wonder” that has so much potential to be transformed into capital, also gets disrupted. And, last but not least, menopause steps into the game to introduce a non-fertile body as a biopower agent. Another important parameter of the reProductive Narratives art-sci research outcome was the communication of this knowledge to the public. During the process, Šutić and I recognised the importance of developing a public workshop, one that focuses on a specific human hormone, popularly called “the pregnancy hormone”. Menopausal bodies have the highest concentration of gonadotropin, and the latter is extracted from their urine to be used within the IVF process for injecting male and female bodies. In women, these injections help treat infertility, while in men, they improve testosterone efficiency. However, it is important to mention that, while this hormone is mainly reduced to fertility because it serves the convenient 96 pharmacological industry narrative, gonadotropin also has the role of restoring our physical well-being and thus maintaining our internal homeostatic processes. Šutić and I therefore devised a workshop framework that stems from a discursive context which introduces the idea of freely exchanging hormones using low-budget citizen science tools and proposes civil strategic alliances by using our own bodily fluids as agents for employing certain pharmacological tools in non-invasive biotechnologies. As part of the City of Women festival, we carried out a two-day workshop entitled Fertilize Me. It took place at BioTehna, a laboratory for artistic research of living systems at Kersnikova Institute in Ljubljana. The participants were able to learn the protocols for extracting gonadotropin from their own urine samples. They received the Fertilize Me Kit designed especially for the workshop that contains a transdermal patch onto which the participants coat their own gonadotropin-hormone-rich monolayer that they produced during the workshop. They can then wear the patch for twelve hours on their body as a stabiliser of their internal homeostatic processes. In conclusion, since our visible body is only one of the parameters of our subjectivity, the reProductive Narratives research project seeks to communicate to the public our collective hormonal metaposition, which addresses all genders by examining the performativity within our many bodies, their organs and fluids. By exploring the alternative role of a specific hormone which is usually presented to the public as having a single role, the Fertilize Me workshop calls for a perspective that opens hormonal complexity beyond this hegemonic position with the following position: even though the contemporary body is often portrayed as a passive living matter, its ontological status reveals the contexts of this same body as a techno-living system segmented by different data-processing, biochemical, physical, technological, scientific and political technologies. Maja Smrekar is an established name in the international art and science milieu. Her practice has allowed her to lead collaborations in developing cross-conceptual productions that include performances, installations, site-specific art, videos, workshops, lectures, talks, and texts. She has been using her artistic voice to speak about ecofeminism, interspecies relationships, technology and ideological structures in society. 97 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND KRISTINA BOŽIČ BUILDING CONVERSATION Portret platforme Ta portret sta z nami delila avtorica in platforma Mešanec, www.mesanec.si, kjer je bil tudi prvotno objavljen. VSI LAHKO SODELUJEJO, A POGOVORI NISO NIKOLI VARNI V okviru 27. festivala Mesto žensk se je oktobra 2021 odvilo šest pogovorov mednarodne platforme Building Conversation. Njihovo delovanje že slabo desetletje opozarja na nujne spremembe, potrebne tako v medčloveških odnosih kot tudi v našem odnosu do okolja ter drugih živih bitij in organizmov. Živimo v času, ko se zdi, da se vsepovsod izražajo mnenja. A umetniki in sodelujoči v okviru platforme Building Conversation opozarjajo, da je danes morda bolj kot v preteklosti pomembno, da ozavestimo, kaj vse lahko povzroči in omogoči pogovor ter kaj pomeni, če kot družba vse manj slišimo in razumemo sami sebe. »Vsi lahko sodelujemo v pogovoru. A sistematične, sistemske ovire nam preprečujejo, da bi se zares pogovarjali. Lahko gre za ovire sistema kapitalizma ali patriarhata,« je našteval Peter Aers v ljubljanski Stari mestni elektrarni. Za njim so pred opečnatimi zidovi nekdanje elektrarne nemo, a še vedno mogočno in ponosno stali nekdanji stroji. Belgijski filozof in igralec je poleg nizozemske gledališčne umetnice Lotte van den Berg in vizualnega umetnika Daana ‘t Sasa tretji član umetniške skupine znotraj mednarodne platforme Building Conversation. Skupina poudarja pomen pozornosti in poslušanja, ki sta v pogovorih vsaj tako pomembna kot govorjenje. Kot ustvarjalce, ki prihajajo iz gledališča, jih zanima izgradnja prostorov, ki omogočijo, da vanje vstopi pogovor. Tudi 100 subtilnost besed, s katerimi se pogovori začno, da jih lahko nato sodelujoči soustvarjajo. Nesodelovanje je legitimno, pomemben je korak nazaj, ki prepusti prostor drugim, so opisovali okvire svojih praks. Članica kolektiva je tudi Sodja Lotker. Rojena Beograjčanka živi v Pragi. Poudarila je, da skozi pogovore ne iščejo rešitev. »V vsakodnevnem življenju se pogovarjamo na različne načine. Vselej se niti ne zavedamo, kako govorimo in kaj vse to ustvari. A govorjenje ustvarja resničnost. In obstajajo različne ravni poslušanja, deljenja in razumevanja resničnosti, ki jih gradimo.« »Vemo, da oblika sodoloči misli, ki ustvarjajo resničnost,« je prikimal tudi Peter Aers. »Nas zanima raziskovanje mej možnega,« je dejal in naštel štiri oblike pogovorov, ki so jih razvili: Parlament stvari, Nemi pogovor, Misliti skupaj in Nemogoči pogovor. »Zanima nas tudi ritual pogovora. Pri čemer ni pravega ali napačnega,« je pojasnil. Ena od Slovenk, sodelujočih v daljšem procesu, iz katerega so v dveh dneh nastali pogovori, je Ana Pavlič iz Inštituta za proučevanje enakosti spolov. Pravi, da ji je izkušnja omogočila, da jasneje vidi pomen tako tega, kar je izgovorjeno, kot tega, kar ni izgovorjeno. »Zanemariti ne gre niti moči misli ter kdaj, zakaj in kako te materializiramo,« je opisala. V vsakdanu prepogostokrat govorimo s svoje pozicije, v katero smo se vkopali, je dodala. »Čakamo zgolj, da drugi neha govoriti, da mu nato dokažemo lastno prepričanje, da se moti ali ima prav. A to ni pogovor. Komunikacija je v resnici nekaj drugega. Je to, da se vsi, ki smo del pogovora, zanašamo drug na drugega.« V tem pa sta tako pogum kot tveganje. »Pogovori niso nikoli varni,« je Peter Aers zavrnil misel, da je za takšno sodelovanje potreben občutek varnosti in zaupanja. »Prav to mora biti jasno – da je mogoče, da postane ne varno. Pomembno je, da nam je mar, da nam ni vseeno in da smo pripravljeni ob stati drug ob drugem.« Zaradi specifičnih lastnih zgodovin lahko vsak od nas že s tem, kdo je, drugemu ustvarja in predstavlja nevarnost, je prepričan. »Pomembno je, da smo, da ostanemo, da poslušamo in poslušamo spet in spet. Ne varnost bo vedno obstajala in bo možna.« Pomembnejše je, kako nanjo odreagiramo. Ana Pavlič je prepričana, da lahko prav s pogovorom na nek način ustvarjamo varnost in da lahko nato vanj vsak prinese tudi svoje negotovosti. 101 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND »Varnosti si ne moremo nikoli prilastiti. Ne moremo je posedovati,« se je strinjala Sodja Lotker. »Bolj kot moč v pogovoru nas zanimajo robovi pogovora.« Prepričana je, da se je skozi prakse, ki jih ustvarjajo, naučila, kako govoriti bolje – kako pojasniti, da govori o svojem prepričanju in ne nujno o splošni resnici, ki naj bi veljala za vse. Svoje razmisleke zdaj vidi kot del mreže misli skupaj z mislimi drugih ljudi. Zato, poudari, je pomembno tudi tvegati, zaupati drugim, prepustiti mesto in predati odgovornost. »Prav to so bili zame trenutki, ko sem v pogovoru začutila demokracijo. Ko sem videla, da lahko zaupam skupini, da so drugi člani pametni in občutljivi ter da bodo – morda drugače kot jaz, a neredko bolje – poskrbeli za naš pogovor … da se bo nadaljeval.« V pogovorih je pomembno, da priznamo svojo ranljivost in tudi neuspehe, omejitve – da prepoznamo, kaj lahko naredimo sami in kaj lahko naredi ali pove nekdo drug, se je strinjal Peter Aers. Ne gre niti za monopol niti za nespremenljivo uniformnost. »Zame je posebej pomembna pretočnost med različnimi vlogami, ki jih imamo. V sodobnih družbah je ravno ta preplet različnih vlog včasih najtežje obvladati. Nismo samo eno, naša pozicija ni nikoli čista.« Med pandemijo so pogovore izvedli tudi prek interneta, govorili so o privilegijih. Tudi belskosti. »Pogovarjali smo se z ljudmi iz New Yorka, Indije, Južne Afrike, Singapurja, z vseh koncev Evrope,« je Peter Aers opisal sposobnost komuniciranja, ki je v vseh ljudeh. A ko pride do privilegiranosti, se Sodja Lotker strinja, da je takšna tudi njihova pozicija. »Imamo čas, da to počnemo,« je dejala. A nato dodala, da je hkrati skrajni čas, da si v zahodnih družbah priznamo, da situacija ni idealna. »Kapitalizem dela probleme zgolj manj vidne. Pretvarja se, da je resničnost, a kapitalizem je v resnici le ideologija. Tega noče priznati,« je naštevala praznost življenj, krivice in trpljenja, ki nas obkrožajo. Ustvarjalcev platforme Building Conversation ne zanimajo spretnosti prepričevanja in manipulacij. Nimajo ciljev in nalog. »Kapitalizem je osredotočen na in pogojen s tem, da nastane končni izdelek ali da se prepriča določeno ciljno skupino,« je pokimala Ana Pavlič. »A pogovor ne potrebuje ne zaključka ne rezultata ne rešitve. Je kot življenje – včasih ne moreš doseči zaključka, ne moreš vsega nadzirati in končati stvari, kot bi si želel.« 102 Producentka platforme Yola Parie je doma v Utrechtu. Opisala je, da v mestu sedaj vsi govorijo, da je treba graditi na novo, da potrebujejo nove zgradbe. »Moj odgovor je, da ne potrebujemo nujno novih prostorov. Naučiti pa se moramo ponovno živeti skupaj.« Prav na Nizozemskem z zavedanjem o podnebni krizi raziskujejo načine razmislekov o odnosu med ljudmi in okoljem. V Belgiji raziskujejo drugačne, bolj vključujoče modele demokratičnega soodločanja ljudi. Peter Aers je pojasnil, da sami želijo skozi pogovor osvetliti tudi omejitve, ki so v vseh nas kot ljudeh. »Razmislek o omejitvah je pomemben,« je omenil tudi omejitve, ki so v predstavniški, volilni demokraciji kot trenutnem modelu soodločanja. »Zanimajo nas domišljija, možnosti, kam vse lahko pogovor gre.« V sodobnem času prilaščanja pozornosti in manipulacij postaja največja vrednost čas, se strinjajo. Čas in energija za razmišljanje. Za prevpraševanje. Za razmišljanje o še neobstoječem. »Neenakosti, ki jih sistem ustvarja, dejansko kradejo naš čas. Razlike, ki se jih poudarja in vzpodbuja, okupirajo čas, ki ga imamo,« je opozorila Ana Pavlič. Pravi, da jo skrbi. Občutek ima, da se prostor za pogovor krči. »Obstaja prostor za točno določen pogovor – ki se ga lahko vnovči, kapitalizira, ki je poln kratkih sporočil, ki ugrabljajo pozornost, a ne vzpodbujajo razmisleka in poslušanja. Bojim se, da si ta govorica prisvaja vse večji del resničnosti, ki jih ljudje živimo.« Po več letih ustvarjanja praks pogovora je Peter Aers prepričan, da se marsikdaj stvari preprosto zgodijo. In se dogajajo. »Nedvomno lahko gradimo boljši pogovor. Glede tega imam upanje. Kako daleč se to upanje razteza, če govorimo o celem svetu in globalnosti, pa je drugo vprašanje.« In morda tema za naslednji pogovor. Kristina Božič je novinarka. Diplomirala je iz prava, pisala za vodilne slovenske medije, predvsem poglobljene in raziskovalne članke, njeno delo je bilo objavljeno tudi v London Review of Books in Kosovo 2.0, piše za portal Mešanec. Zanimajo jo zgodbe ljudi, ki se borijo za svoje pravice in opozarjajo na sistemske krivice. 103 *Conversation without Words Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND KRISTINA BOŽIČ BUILDING CONVERSATION Platform’s portrait This portrait has been shared with us by the author and the platform Mešanec, www.mesanec.si, where it was originally published. EVERYONE CAN TAKE PART, BUT CONVERSATIONS ARE NEVER SAFE Six conversations, facilitated by the international platform Building Conversation, took place during the 27th City of Women festival. For almost a decade, the platform has been proposing urgent changes needed in our interpersonal relations – how we treat each other – as well as in relations that we build with our environment, with other beings and organisms. Our time seems to be brimming with expressions of opinion. Yet the artists and collaborators working with the platform Building Conversation point out that what we need more than ever is to understand what initiates and enables conversation. And what it means if we hear and understand less and less of us as a society. “We can all participate in conversations. But we are faced with systematic and systemic barriers, hindering us from really talking with each other – these can be part of the system of capitalism or patriarchy,” said Peter Aers at The Old Power Station in Ljubljana. It was a few hours before the official programme began. Machines, muted, yet mighty and proud, stood behind him inside the brick walls of a former power plant. Belgian philosopher and actor Peter Aers, Dutch theatre artist Lotte van den Berg and visual artist Daan ‘t Sas are members of an art group with the international platform Building Conversation. The platform emphasises the importance of attentiveness and listening, which are equally important as speaking in a conversation. With a theatrical 106 background, their artwork focuses on building spaces that are open to conversation. The subtle, welcoming message of words used to start a conversation; the legitimate choice to not take part; stepping back so others can fill the space – these are some of the starting points of their practices. Another member of the platform is Sonja Lotker. She was born in Belgrade and lives in Prague. Her aim is not to find solutions, she said. “In our everyday lives, we converse in specific ways without being aware of how we talk or what effect this produces. So experimenting is important. Speaking creates reality. It creates common realities, and different conversations play out on different levels of listening and sharing. And we can start to understand what realities we build as we speak with others.” “The way in which we communicate also shapes thoughts,” Peter Aers agreed. “We want to explore the possibilities and limits,” he said. They have developed four modes of conversation: The Parliament of Things, Conversation without Words, Thinking Together – An Experiment, and Impossible Conversation. “We want to create the ritual that comes with a conversation. But there is no right or wrong conversation, it is always reshaped by what participants do together,” Peter Aers said. Participating in the process precluding the six conversations was also Ana Pavlič from the Slovenian Gender Equality Research Institute. She said the experience had allowed her to better understand what is said and what remains unsaid. “The power of thoughts means I can reflect on how, when and why I materialise certain thoughts,” she said. “In everyday life,” she added, “we often communicate to defend our position. We wait for others to stop talking to prove them wrong – because I am right. But this is not communication. Or it should be something different. Communication means we can also rely on others, on their thoughts.” This poses a risk and takes courage. “Conversations are not safe,” said Peter Aers. He believes conversations do not require a sense of security or trust. “But it has to be clear that conversation can sometimes be unsafe. Conversation is more about caring for each other, about being there for somebody else.” Our specific histories make each of us potentially threatening for someone else, he said. “It is important to be there, to not run away, to stay and listen and listen again and again and again. But having a conversation is unsafe. There is always a risk.” 107 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND So what can we do when faced with unsafety? Ana Pavlič said it is conversations that can actually, even though they are unsafe, build safe spaces, so anybody can bring their own insecurities, talk about them and rely on others – or refuse to participate and set limits. “We do not own safety. And we cannot give something we do not have,” said Sonja Lotker. “As artists, we are interested in the fringes of a conversation, not in the power that it can yield.” She described how she had learned to speak better through the practices they create. She always says that it is her beliefs that she is conveying, not the general truth. Her thoughts are part of a network of thoughts, she said. They do not belong to her alone, and through new conversations, they are ever-changing. Therefore, she said, it is important to take risks, to trust others, give them space and even surrender ‘managerial’ responsibility. “It was these moments when I let go that I felt democracy in conversation. I saw that I could trust the group, that others are equally intelligent and equally emotional. And this made me feel safe. They might have said things I would never have said, but it was good. These are the fringes you have to allow to happen.” In conversations, the artists said, our vulnerabilities, failures and limitations need to be acknowledged. What can we do ourselves and where can someone else step in? A conversation is never a monopoly, nor does it follow a fixed uniformity, said Peter Aers. “For me, the fluidity between different roles is particularly important. In modern societies, it is very difficult to acknowledge our different roles. We’re not just one.” During the pandemic, they have built conversations online. They talked about privileges. Including the privilege of whiteness. “We had conversations with people from New York, India, South Africa, Singapore, and from all corners of Europe,” said Peter Aers. He believes that the ability to communicate is universal. But we are in a privileged position, said Sodja Lotker. “We have time to do this.” However, she added, it is high time for an acknowledgement in Western societies that the situation is not ideal. “Capitalism makes problems less visible. It pretends to be the only reality, when it is in fact just an ideology,” she said. “Behind it are empty lives, injustices and suffering.” The creators of the Building Conversation platform are not interested in the skills of persuasion and manipulation. They have no goals or missions. 108 “Capitalism, on the other hand, is product- or target-audience-oriented. And this reflects in how we talk,” said Ana Pavlič. “But conversation doesn’t need a conclusion, it doesn’t need a result, it doesn’t need a solution. It’s like life – sometimes you can’t control everything or find closure.” Platform producer Yola Parie comes from Utrecht. She said that, in the city where she is from, everybody seems to agree that building anew is needed. New buildings. “I don’t think we really need new spaces. But we must re-learn to live together.” It is in the Netherlands where forerunning projects are developing, rethinking the human-environment relations in light of the climate crisis. In Belgium, more inclusive models of democratic decision-making are explored through practice. Peter Aers said that conversations bring to light our limitations as human beings. “Reflections on limits are important,” he said. But limitations of our current representative democracy are only part of his interests. “We are more interested in imagination, in the possibilities where the conversation can go.” They all agreed that in these attention-grabbing times, the greatest trophy is time. The time and will to think. The energy to question, to consider the yet-non-existent. “The differences the system creates, highlights and encourages steal our time. They occupy the time we have,” Ana Pavlič said. She is worried because she feels time is not plentiful, and the space for building conversation is shrinking. “Presently, it seems there is room only for specific conversations, which can be capitalised on and profited from. Short messages hijack our attention but don’t encourage reflection and listening. I fear this presents an ever-growing part of people’s realities.” After years of conversation-building, Peter Aers believes that sometimes, things simply happen. “There is no doubt we can build a better conversation. I am hopeful about that. But how far this hope extends, if at all globally, is another question.” Maybe a question for another conversation. Kristina Božič is a journalist with background in law. She has worked for the leading Slovenian newspapers, writing mostly in-depth, investigative pieces. Her work appeared also in London Review of Books and Kosovo 2.0, she contributes to portal Mešanec. She is interested in the stories of people fighting for their rights and bringing to light systemic injustices. 109 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND MAY ABNET KOLEKTIV ATLAS: SLED MESTA Rezidenčni ostanek Kolektiv ATLAS je začasni in fluidni kolektiv približno petnajstih participativnih umetnic_kov, kulturnih delavk_cev in umetniških kritikov_čark. Na rezidenčnih umetniških gostovanjih si izmenjujejo prakse in soustvarjajo skupno prakso. ATLAS je njihova platforma, na kateri razpravljajo o družbeno angažiranih in participativnih umetniških praksah v kontekstu specifičnih prizorišč in občinstev, pa tudi različnih razmerij moči in političnih premen. V času vse težjih delovnih pogojev ATLAS nudi prostor za ustvarjanje in refleksijo, skupne obede in druženje s kuratorji_kami, mladimi ustvarjalci_kami, študenti_kami in kulturnimi delavci_kami. Oktobra 2021 se je Kolektiv ATLAS na povabilo društva Mesto žensk potopil v rezidenco v Ljubljani. Devet dni so na način »žive prakse« skupaj živeli v Ljubljani, da bi videli, kako se lahko njihove prakse ukoreninijo in medsebojno prepletejo v novem mestu. Vsak je uporabljal svoje orodje, za nekatere je bila to hrana, za druge pisalo, oder, igla in nit, za druge glas, … V Ljubljani so zgradili portret, morebitno mesto, sestavljeno iz vtisov iz okolice. Povezala so jih naključja, gnala jih je radovednost. Kako zbrati vse te različne vtise, dejanja in misli? Kot delovno metodologijo kolektiv ATLAS redno uporablja tako imenovane »bezinksels«: pod tem si lahko predstavljamo skodelico hladne kave po koncu delovnega dne, ostanke vijaka v žepu ali hitro zabeležko v zvezku. Ti »bezinksels«, ki jih lahko prevedemo kot »ostanke«, dajejo vpogled v različne poti kolektiva. Njihovi izidi niso dokončani ali konkretizirani, temveč intuitivni in organski odzivi na dogajanje. S povezovanjem, združevanjem in zbiranjem vseh teh ostankov se nenadoma izoblikuje pokrajina. Po rezidenčnem bivanju s člani umetniških in angažiranih pobud v Ljubljani se je Kolektiv ATLAS na zaključnem večmedijskem javnem dogodku v sklopu 27. festivala Mesto žensk predstavil z uprizoritvenimi, vizualnimi in zvočnimi deli, pa tudi z besedili, pogovori in druženjem ob hrani. 112 »Bezinksels« Sem hči arhitekta. Rodila sem se in odraščala v mestu po imenu Bruselj, kjer je »upognjeni arhitekt« pozabljena žalitev v izgubljenem narečju. Ta kletvica je še iz konca 19. stoletja, ko je celotna priljubljena soseska izginila pod najbolj monumentalno palačo pravice na Zahodu. S svojimi številnimi kolegi arhitekti, sedečimi na pisarniških stolih, moj oče oblikuje visoke stanovanjske stolpe in bivalne soseske. Zgradbe brstijo kot ohrovt v bruseljski pokrajini, ciljajo na kupce višjega srednjega razreda. V fazi zarodka je etažni kompleks videti kot konstrukcija iz lego kock ali kocke sladkorja nepravilnih oblik. Cukrček, cukrček, sugar, sugar, moj oče gradi sladkorne stolpe. Revitaliziramo gnile postindustrijske dele mesta! Postavljamo bleščeče nove konstrukcije za inovativno tehnološko prihodnost! Če vam to ni všeč, vam ni všeč prihodnost! Ko sem bila otrok, sem mislila, da moj oče ve vse o svetu. Višja, kot sem bila, manj je vedel. Starejša, kot sem bila, bolj sem dvomila. Začela sem gojiti svoje znanje, povezovati sledi in kmalu razmišljala: Zakaj, Ô, zakaj, oče, se vsi obnašamo, kot da ti varuješ vrata resnice? Zakaj si ti edini ponudnik tehničnih nasvetov v družini? Zakaj si ti nočni voznik na poti na počitnice? Zakaj si ti davkoplačevalec? Potrebovala sem petindvajset let, da sem statističnim dejstvom dala svoja krila, da sem razvila ideološke mišice, neodvisne od očeta. Ko sem razumela več o procesih gentrifikacije v mestu, 113 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND sem se dvignila nad njim in vprašala: Hej, oče, rada te imam, ampak zakaj gradiš jebene kocke sladkorja? Zakaj vsi vi ne zgradite več socialnih stanovanj v mestu? Bolj, ko ga izzivam, bolj on izziva mene. Oh, veš, jaz sem samo arhitekt. Če imaš težave z gentrifikacijo, se moraš pritožiti višje v hierarhiji. »Higher-archy«, kjer se oblikovalci politik in nepremičninarji vozakajo naokrog na pisarniških stolih. V Ljubljano sem prišla z zahodnimi sončnimi očali, da bi iskala isto urbanizacijsko dinamiko. Toda Slovenija ima drugačno zgodovino. Primerjave o sedanjosti lahko delamo le z roko v roki s preteklostjo. V Ljubljani smo spoznali zelo zanimivo arhitektko, strokovnjakinjo za socialistično arhitekturo. Imeli smo srečo, da nas je popeljala na zasebni ogled več mestnih socialnih stanovanjskih kompleksov, zgrajenih med 60. in 90. leti. Ko je bilo socializma konec in je Slovenija postala samostojna kapitalistično usmerjena država, so lastniki stanovanj začeli obnavljati svoje fasade, kot so sami želeli: izbrali so lastno vrsto balkonov, dodali so zidove, predelne stene, polkna, kjer se je zdelo prav, svoja rjava okna so pobarvali v belo ali rumeno ali roza! Z vsemi sortami kul dodatkov so stavbe izgubile svoj prvotni videz. Videti so bolj divje, preraščene z individualnostjo. Za lastnika je morda to način izražanja lastnega okusa in edinstvenosti, Za arhitektko je to škoda: zavzema se za vzdrževanje in ohranjanje izvirne kulturne dediščine. Po njenem mnenju bi morali lastniki spoštovati začetno arhitekturo teh stolpov. Fasade bi bilo treba obravnavati kot skupno dobro. Občudovala sem njeno znanje in izjemno uživala v branju zgradb skozi njene oči. 114 Stanovanjske bloke pastelnih barv motri kot sodni zdravnik ali arheolog modernega časa. Kot čarovnik stoji pred dvema stolpoma in kaže na originalne linije, primerja krivulje izvirnega okna na prvem stolpu s spremenjenim oknom na drugem. Zgradbe so zaradi posegov uničene. Skupaj smo se spraševali: Kaj je naše tako imenovano skupno dobro? Kako upravljamo s skupnim? Bi se morali vrniti v socializem? Je individualna svoboda pomembnejša od kolektivne blaginje? Ali smo lahko kolektiv svobodnih posameznikov? Ali lahko organiziramo svobodo????? Če pogledate skozi eno od oken očarljive hiše, pokrite z vinsko trto nekje na obrobju Ljubljane, boste našli mene in Tejo, kako se pogovarjava o ženskah preteklosti. Pred nekaj dnevi sem sedela na njenem kavču, ko je s prekrižanimi nogami kadila cigarete in mi živo predavala o feministični zgodovini Slovenije. Povedala mi je o ženskah, ki so sodelovale pri antifašistični osvoboditvi. Povedala mi je o ženskah, ki so delale v času socializma: skrbele za otroke, skrbele za starejše, delale za svoja gospodinjstva, delale na svojem videzu. Opravljale so celoten proces vzdrževalnih del: od vzdrževanja družbe do vzdrževanja lastnega telesa. Teja mi je povedala o Mestu žensk, o anarhistkah Ljubljane, o Rdečih zorah, o Lezbični četrti. Povedala mi je o času v sedemdesetih, ko so zahodne feministke zažigale svoje modrčke, da bi proslavile osvoboditev žensk, medtem ko so Jugoslovanke delale ravno nasprotno: končno so si lahko izbrale nedrčke in želele so jih ponosno nositi! 115 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND Je modrček okno v zgodovino? Je koža fasada telesa? Ali lahko preberete dušo mesta, ko odprete rjavo ali belo ali rožnato ali rumeno okno? V središču Ljubljane je veliko Airbnbjev. Airbè’n’bè. Lepa, baročno opremljena stanovanja, a tam dejansko živi malo ljudi, razen turistov, kot smo mi. Ponoči ostaja veliko oken zatemnjenih, kot da v tistih hišah nihče ne živi. Nekatere fasade stojijo kot hollywoodski okras. Tako je povsod, v večini prestolnic, v katerih vlada Airbnb gospodarstvo. Včeraj je bila v našem Airbnb stanovanju, ki smo ga najeli za čas bivanja, prijetna nedelja. Teden smo preživeli skupaj z lastničinimi duhovi. Poslušala sem klepet svojih kolegov, ko so se v improviziranih duetih menili o svojih poslih. Lieselot in Chris sta želeli splesti dolg dolg dolg dolg rokav. Chris je omenila lastnico: Ta gospa mora imeti pletilne igle nekje, in šla je iskat igle. V kuhinji sta Jaco in Samah pripravljala dve različni vrsti juhe. Slišala sem njune domneve o lastnici-duhu: V njeni kuhinji ne najdem sladkorja. Mogoče je na kakšni veganski prehrani ali kaj podobnega. Sinoči sta Lieselot in Jaco opazila, da sem si na veke dala rožnato senčilo. Odločila sem se za videz »zaradi posegov uničena«. Minuto pozneje sem ju našla pred ogledalom, kako se ličita kot otroci. Iz mojega nahrbtnika sta vzela nekaj bleščic in maskaro. Tako sem se smejala, da sem izgubila fokus. Ujela sem se v skupinsko energijo in pozabila bistvo. Želela sem narediti primerjavo med zahodno gentrifikacijo in socialistično arhitekturo, 116 med okni in modrčki! Raztezati koncepte od enega stolpa do drugega, organsko, ker sem se tako počutila. Stoječa na zemljevidu tega novega mesta, deset dni gledajoč dol, v svoje noge, sem imela ravno dovolj časa, da sem se prepojila z nekaterimi zgodbami. Toda premalo časa, da bi zbežala iz površnosti in se ukoreninila: Osvobodila sem se grožnje, ki sem jo videla v očetu, upognjenem arhitektu, ki živi pod vladajočim palcem hierarhije na kolesih pisarniškega stola. Skomigne z rameni, ko se obnašam, kot da vem vse o vsem, ko ure in ure pridigam, maham s kazalcem pred njegovim nosom. Sem veliko dekle, ki piše mali tekst za črno škatlo. Verjamem, da sem svobodna ženska! S političnimi mnenji o načrtovanju mest! Moje prednice so trdo delale zame, da mi ni treba nositi modrčka! Toda včeraj sem bila zaposlena z družinskimi zadevami: srebanjem juhe s kolegi umetniki, barvanjem naših obrazov in lovljenjem duhov. ATLAS soustvarjajo May Abnet, Leontien Allemeersch, Dominique Collet, Evelyne Coussens, Akın Fatih De Vos-Şahan, Elly Van Eeghem, Samah Hijawi, Marieke De Munck, Niké van Os, Chris Rotsaert, Andy Sarfo, Lieselot Siddiki, Michiel Soete, Robin Vanbesien in Matthias Velle, vselej v sodelovanju z lokalnimi partnerji_kami in umetniki_cami. May Abnet je študirala zgodovino srednjeveške umetnosti na ULB v Bruslju in trenutno študira družbeno oblikovanje na KASK School of Arts v Gentu. V svoji poetični raziskovalni praksi, ki vključuje pisanje, vizualna dela in performans, se osredotoča na urbani ekosistem. 117 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND MAY ABNET ATLAS COLLECTIVE: A HINT OF A CITY Residue of a residency ATLAS Collective is a temporary and fluid group of around 15 artists, cultural workers and art critics, each with their own practices related to participation. In the course of several residencies, they have shared their practices and collaborated on a common practice. ATLAS is their platform where socially engaged and collaborative art practices are discussed in the context of specific sites and audiences as well as changing power dynamics and political shifts. In a time of worsening working conditions, ATLAS offers the space for artistic work and reflection, shared meals, and having fun together with other curators, young artists, students and cultural workers. In October 2021, the ATLAS Collective dived into a residency in Ljubljana at the invitation of the City of Women association. As an example of a “living practice”, Atlas members lived together for nine days to see how their practices can take root in a new city and how to relate them to one another. Everyone using their own tools – for some that was food, for others a pen, a stage, a needle and thread, their voice, etc. During their stay, ATLAS built a portrait, a potential city made out of the impressions of the place surrounding them. Linked by coincidences and driven by curiosity. How to gather all these different impressions, actions and thoughts? As a working methodology, the ATLAS regularly shares “bezinksels”: you can think of the cold coffee in your cup after a day of work, the leftover screw in your pocket or a quick scribble in your notebook. These “bezinksels”, which can be translated as “residues”, give insight into the different trajectories of the collective. All these outcomes aren’t finalised or concretised but rather intuitive and organic reactions to what is happening. And all of a sudden, by bringing together all these residues through connecting, combining and collecting, a landscape emerges. The collective’s residency with member of artistic and socially engaged initiatives in Ljubljana concluded with a public multimedia happening at the 27th City of Women festival featuring performative, visual, audio, and text-based works as well as conversations and food. 120 “Bezinksels” I am the daughter of an architect. I was born and raised in a city called Brussels, where “bent architect” is a forgotten insult in a lost dialect. This curse word dates back to the end of the 19th century, when a whole popular neighbourhood vanished under the most monumental palace of justice in the West. With his many architect colleagues sitting on office chairs, my dad designs tall apartment towers and housing blocks. The buildings sprout open like cabbages in the landscape of Brussels, targeting upper middle class buyers. At foetus stage, a condominium complex looks like a Lego-block construction, or irregular sugar cubes. Sugar, sugar, cukrček, cukrček, My dad builds sugar towers. We are revitalising the rotten post-industrial parts of the city! Erecting sparkly new constructions for innovative technological futures! If you don’t like it you don’t like the future! When I was a child, I thought my dad knew everything about the world. The taller I grew the less he knew. The older I got the more I doubted. I started to breed my own knowledge, connecting clues, and soon I was thinking: Why Ô why, Dad, do we all act like you are the guardian of the gates of truth? Why are you the only provider of technical advice in the family? Why are you the night driver on the road to vacation? Why are you the taxpayer? It took me twenty-five years to develop my own wings of statistical facts, To grow ideological muscles, independent from my father. When I understood more about gentrification processes in the city, 121 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND I rose above him asking: Hey Dad, I love you, but why the fuck do you build sugar cubes? Why don’t you all build more social housing in the city? The more I challenge him the more he challenges me. Oh you know, I’m only an architect. If you have a problem with gentrification you have to complain higher in the hierarchy. Higher-archy, where policymakers and real estate developers wheel around on office chairs. I came to Ljubljana with Western sunglasses, looking for the same kind of urbanisation dynamics. But Slovenia has a different history. Comparisons about the present can only be made hand in hand with the past. In Ljubljana, we met a very interesting architect, an expert of socialist architecture. We were lucky to be taken on a private tour of several social housing complexes of the city, built between the 1960s and the 1990s. After socialism was over and Slovenia became an independent capitalist-oriented country, owners of apartments started to renovate their facades the way they wanted: They chose their own type of balconies, They added walls, partitions, shutters wherever it felt right, They painted their brown windows white or yellow or pink! With all sorts of funky additions, the building lost their initial aspect. They look wilder, overgrown with individuality. For the owner, it might have been a way to express their taste and singularity, For the architect, it’s a pity: She is pushing for the preservation and conservation of the original cultural heritage. According to her, the owners should respect the initial architecture of these towers. Facades should be treated as a common good. 122 I admired her knowledge and had a great time reading buildings through her eyes. She gazes up to pastel-coloured apartment blocks like a forensic doctor or a modern-time archaeologist. Standing in front of two towers like a magician, she points to the original lines, comparing the curves of an original window on the first tower to a modified window on the second one. The buildings are ruined by interventions. We wondered together: What are our so-called commons? How do we manage the commons? Should we go back to socialism? Is individual freedom more important than collective well-being? Can we be a collective of free individuals? Can we organise freedom????? If you look through one of the windows of a charming house covered in vines somewhere on the outskirts of Ljubljana, you will find me and Teja talking about women of the past. A few days ago, I sat on her couch as she smoked cigarettes with crossed legs, and she gave me a vivid lecture on the feminist history of Slovenia. She told me about the women participating in the antifascist liberation. She told me about the women working during socialism: caring for children, caring for the elderly, working for their households, working on their appearances. Doing the full-circle maintenance work: from maintaining society to maintaining their own bodies. Teja told me about the City of Women, About the anarchist women of Ljubljana, about the Red Dawns, the Lesbian Quarter. She told me about a time in the seventies, when Western feminists were burning their bras to celebrate the liberation of women, 123 Z ROKO V ROKI / HAND IN HAND while Yugoslavian women were doing the exact opposite: They were finally able to choose their bras and wanted to wear them proudly! Is the bra a window to history? Is the skin the façade of the body? Can you read the soul of the city as you open a brown window or a white or pink or a yellow one? In the city centre of Ljubljana, there are many Airbnb’s. Airbè’n’bè. Beautiful baroque-furnished apartments but few people actually live there, Apart from tourists like us. At night, many windows remain unlit, as if nobody lives in those houses. Some of the facades stand like a Hollywoodian decor. This is how it is everywhere, in most capital cities ruled by the Airbnb gig economy. Yesterday was a cosy Sunday at our Airbnb apartment rented for the duration of the residency. We spent the week living with the ghosts of the owner. I listened to the chatter of my colleagues as they were going on about their business in improvised duos. Lieselot and Chris wanted to knit a long long long long sleeve. Chris mentioned the owner: This lady must have knitting needles somewhere, and she went looking for needles. In the kitchen, Jaco and Samah were making two different kinds of soup. I heard them making presumptions about the ghost lady: I can’t find any sugar in her kitchen. Maybe she’s on some kind of vegan diet or something. Last night, Lieselot and Jaco noticed that I had put pink eyeshadow on my eyelids. I had decided to go for a ruined by interventions-look. A minute later, I found them in front of the mirror applying make-up like kids. They had sneaked some sparkles and mascara out of my backpack. 124 I laughed so much that I lost my focus. I got caught up in the group energy and lost my point. I wanted to draw a comparison between Western gentrification and socialist architecture, between windows and bras! Stretching concepts from one tower to another, organically, because I felt like it. Standing on a map of this new city, looking down at my feet for ten days, I had just enough time to be infused with some narratives. But not enough time to escape superficiality and take root: I’ve liberated myself from the threat I saw in my father, a bent architect who lives under the ruling thumb of a hierarchy on office-chair wheels. He shrugs his shoulders when I act like I know everything about everything, when I pontificate for hours, waving my index under his nose. I am a big girl writing a little text for a black box. I believe I am a free woman! With political opinions about city planning! My female ancestors worked hard for me to be able to not wear a bra! But yesterday, I was busy with domestic issues: Eating soup with my fellow artists, painting our faces and hunting for ghosts. ATLAS is co-created by May Abnet, Leontien Allemeersch, Dominique Collet, Evelyne Coussens, Akın Fatih De Vos-Şahan, Elly Van Eeghem, Samah Hijawi, Marieke De Munck, Niké van Os, Chris Rotsaert, Andy Sarfo, Lieselot Siddiki, Michiel Soete, Robin Vanbesien and Matthias Velle, always in collaboration with local partners and artists. May Abnet studied Medieval Art History at ULB in Brussels and currently studies Social Design at the KASK School of Arts Ghent. In her poetic research practice, she is focused on the urban ecosystem, and uses word, image and performance as her tools. 125 SEZNAM FOTOGRAFIJ KOLEKTIV ATLAS: Atlas Večmedijski dogodek, rezidenca in pogovor, foto: ATLAS, str. 8–9, 118–119, 126–127 LOREDANA BIANCONI: O vratih in puščavah, Film, 2021, foto: fotografija iz filma, str. 16–17, 23 TATIA SKHIRTLADZE: Slava kraljici! Film, 2020, foto: fotografija iz filma, str. 34–37 ŠOLA IN VRTEC SKOZI OGLEDALO Strokovni posvet, foto: Nada Žgank, str. 48–49 ANNETTE KRAUSS: Prikriti kurikulum Razstava, foto: Nada Žgank, str. 56–57, 64–65 NATAŠA ŽIVKOVIĆ, SARA ŠABEC: Vse je v redu Gledališka predstava, foto: Nada Žgank, str. 71, 72–73, 80–87 MAJA SMREKAR, GJINO ŠUTIĆ: Fertilize Me (Oplodi me/Pognoji me) Delavnica, foto: Nada Žgank, str. 93, 98–99 BUILDING CONVERSATION Performativni pogovori, foto: Nada Žgank, str. 104–105, 110–111 128 LIST OF PHOTOGRAPHS ATLAS COLLECTIVE: Atlas Multimedia happening, residency and talk, photo: ATLAS, p. 8–9, 118–119, 126–127 LOREDANA BIANCONI: Of Gates and of Deserts Film, 2021, photo: film still, p. 16–17, 23 TATIA SKHIRTLADZE: Glory to the Queen Film, 2020, photo: film still, p. 34–37 SCHOOL AND PRESCHOOL THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS Expert meeting, photo: Nada Žgank, p. 48–49 ANNETTE KRAUSS: Hidden Curriculum Exhibition, photo: Nada Žgank, p. 56–57, 64–65 NATAŠA ŽIVKOVIĆ, SARA ŠABEC: Everything is Alright Theatre performance, photo: Nada Žgank p. 71, 72–73, 80–87 MAJA SMREKAR, GJINO ŠUTIĆ: Fertilize Me Workshop, photo: Nada Žgank, p. 93, 98–99 BUILDING CONVERSATION Performative Conversations, photo: Nada Žgank, p. 104–105, 110–111 129 MESTO ŽENSK: Refleksije 2021/2022 CITY OF WOMEN: Reflecting 2021/2022 Založnik / Published by: Mesto žensk – Društvo za promocijo žensk v kulturi City of Women – Association for the Promotion of Women in Culture Urednica / Editor: Jasmina Jerant Transkripcije / Transcriptions: Anja Čekada, Kaja Rakušček Prevodi / Translations: Anja Čekada, Kaja Rakušček, Jedrt Lapuh Maležič Lektura / Language editing: Sonja Benčina, Špela Bibič Grafično oblikovanje / Graphic design: Vesna Bukovec Izdano leta 2022 v Ljubljani / Published in 2022, Ljubljana, Slovenia Elektronska izdaja / Electronic edition PDF verzija na cityofwomen.org/sl/content/publikacije PDF version at cityofwomen.org/en/content/publications Izdano s podporo Ministrstva za kulturo, Mestne občine Ljubljana in Veleposlaništva Švedske v Sloveniji Published with the support of the Ministry of Culture, the City of Ljubljana, and the Embassy of Sweden in Slovenia. Kataložni zapis o publikaciji (CIP) pripravili v Narodni in univerzitetni knjižnici v Ljubljani COBISS.SI-ID 110064643 ISBN 978-961-95753-1-4 (PDF) cityofwomen.org XX