Once upon a time there was a couple who had no kids.
They hadn’t married because of loving each other. One day the women had been said, “This man will be your husband. You must obey him and observe wife duties.”. As they had no children, people used to say to the man “Why don’t you repudiate her? She’s sterile...” They were not easy days...
But they took care of each other and mutual love sprout. After some time, a girl was born.
The girl had a normal life, in a normal family.
At home they used to speak a language, different than the one spoken on the television. In the streets they used to speak a language, different than the one on the television. She liked TV, especially movies. Movies spoke in foreign languages, with subtitles. She loved movies so much that she´d forget of anything around. Her grandmother was very upset, “Bucka, bucka!”, the granny would be calling, but the bucka would not pay attention. “This girl doesn't listen. You must take her to the doctor. Your bucka is deaf”. “Wait and see”, would say the mother, “just wait until the film is over”. And things went on. Life was normal.
One day there was noises. Strong noises. Then worried people. Our bucka was young, very young, and did not realice of stress around while watching movies. Noises were coming bigger, and closer. Then food began to be scarce. One night, they had to ran away. They gathered with others. There were tractors and noises. People seemed worried. After a long while under shelter, the dad said “Let´s go”, and they hurried from one place to another. While rushing the girl saw... a body... a body?... It looked like someone lying on the ground, in a strange position. The arm was not really on its place, and it was all covered by red paint. “What is that, dad?”, she said. “It´s a piece of art, my sweet. Come bucka, hurry up”.
“A piece of art...”. The girl was ten by the time. “A piece of art... art...”. The little bucka had seen a real piece of art...
They left the city and went to the mountains. There, women would take care of the kids and of the goods, the very few goods, and share out among the families, among the days. The kids would always eat first, as there was little to eat. Men -dad- would disappear during the day and would come back at night... not every night... with food... not every time...
One night the bucka said, “Dad, look what I found?” And dad saw a bunch of used bullets as children toys. “Kids we were playing downhill, and we heard txium txium txium. And there I found them in the floor just by my side, at the left and at the right. They were warm then. Now they are cold, aren´t they”. The father freaked out. There were discussions among the adults for the next few days. Then they packed whatever they had and moved away. Border was the word everyone was talking about. In their way, the saw a lot of art. Art here and there, everywhere. They met more people in the way. People of all ages in their same shame pitiful condition. They were a big crowd now. When approaching a small town, they were stopped by men speaking the same language of the television. With rude manners they were asked to enter a building. The bucka had never seen so many people under a same roof. She had never seen so many people washing their eyes with tears. Those speaking the same language as in the television seemed to be very committed with art work. People talked about renowned open air art museums: Sebrenica, Bosanski brod, Sijekovac, Kupres, Vukovar... Rumours said they were almost to create a new one in the city.
The war ended.
This girl survived, though it grew fed with hate. Hate against the ones who spoke the same language as in the television. Hate and fear. Fear and hate. She was very nationalistic. Nationalism out of hate... That girl, that teenager now... participated in an activity as this one. There she met people as full of hate as herself, from one and the other side. Watching the hate in everyone´s eyes, she reflected... what is the purpose of life?... what was the purpose of her life...? What is the kind of art we stand for?
And then she changed.
She realized hate can never be a healthy path. She devoted herself for another understanding of art. Whenever in time you feel lost, unable to move or to enjoy, sad and without hope... one can connect with the inner kid inside and remember how was it when we were happy, what made us enjoy in the old times... and do it. Our bucka thought of her childhood and remembered the joy of watching a movie. The fascination, the pleasure, the magic... After the war there was not a single cinema left in the city. In that divided city. One and the other language at one and the other side of the river. River who had been an art gallery hotspot during the hard times, and still keept remembrances.
There, on the bridge over the river where so much art had been seen, the grown up girl looked to one shore, her shore, her shore? Then she looked to the other one. Other one? Others one?
And took the decision of bringing the people together by the art of cinema. Bridging languages and cultures and her native city by the bliss of the seventh wonder.
The film festival is named “The Bridge”. It happens in Mitrovica, Kosovo, every September. You are more than welcome!
Story by Brais (dedicated to Neri)
