MATERIAL

​The material from various archives include digitized film, television and photographic materials. Documentary materials are edited, remixed and rearranged into new units, and then merged in a multi-channel video projection (composition). Although the main significance of the archive material is historical-documentary, reusing it in a new context, the artistic potential of it was highlighted.

BOGDAN ARAMBASIC - CITIZEN KANE (1973)

It is yet to be measured precisely
When the day stops and when the night begins,
That shade, the line
Which marks the beginning of twilight of things
 
And the terrible emptiness of hours after work,
When idle hands start to wander,
Over the smoothness of cold walls,
 
The line
If which you pass you feel obsolete
 
In the world
Where there are many
As tiny
As you yourself are.
 
It is perhaps a cynical hand that lays
Onto the still blue sight,
The shell of stillness,
Which was until then covered with hasty shadows of engine and rotation,
 
So you lift it and shake it, then,
Inside the white flakey dust,
Disturbed by the blow,
Sways
Flickers
 
For a moment,
The image of a pleasant nightmare
Is the cover for nothingness,
 

Just for a moment, and then,
That instant, no one knows,
For before the last particle settles down,
Cold and unreachable,
Fatally keeping the end of restlessness
A man wakes from the slumber with a scream.
 
For whom have you been making tiny metal mirrors,
When the worlds are dying out not having seen the summer.
If never again you are to be small,
Calm in the circle
Dream quietly.
 
You start shaking the shell of stillness continuously
Savagely, painfully
With mechanical movements revealing the disagreement
With nature of things,
 
But later,
In a hopeless field of vision
You will seek the calm
 
Calm yourself
Oh, calm yourself.
Calm yourself
Calm yourself
Calm yourself
 
To raise a hand against the steel is naïve
And a bit ridiculous
For the mature man.

BRANA PETROVIC - CONSTRUCTION SITE (1968)

 Here come the builders who build flowers,
Who build water,
Who build lightnings.
Here come the builders who build the Sun,
Who build the air
Who build bees.
 
Here come the builders who build time,
Who build the light,
Who build the dark.
Here come the builders who build ships
Who build children,
Here come the builders who build hope.
 
They ripped out their tongues,
And liver from their guts
They are relentless with work,
True masters they are I tell you.
 
They are praised by bees, lightning and flowers,
They are praised by time unpassing,
They are the favorites of plague and time,
They own all the keys to the world.
 
 
The hellish terror of Projects and Blueprints:
My men have boiled away!
The rock uses their strength to prove itself
When the construction starts no one can die.
They who are dead have never been born.
 
The hellish terror of Projects and Blueprints:
My men have boiled away!
The air uses their skin to prove itself
When the construction starts no one can die.
They who are born get the warm welcome.
 

​The hellish terror of Projects and Blueprints:
My men have boiled away!
The Sun uses their eyes to be seen in the heavens
When the construction starts no one can die.
Those who are born and die simultaneously
Are filled with Energy
Those who instead of dying, are born twice –
They had whyfor to be born,
 
The hellish terror of Projects and Blueprints:
My men have boiled away!
 
Oh iron shovel of pure gold, take my hands.
Oh iron shovel of pure gold, take my hands.
 
The lime seethes in the lime pit,
With a bird the fireman smothers the blanket in the sky
The world is not out.
Take my hands.
 
When the True Material is no more,
Oh builders,
Use my bones,
Just add a few embers,
Some magnet,
Some damnation, Some light
 
My beloved,
My weary,
When the True Material is no more
Use my bones!