BEDTIME STORIES

In collaboration with Lana Čmajčanin
Original title: Priče za laku noć
6 channel sound installation
Sound recording: Adela Jušić and Lana Čmajčanin
Sound editing and music: Ognjen Šavija
Language: Bosnian-Herzegovinian, English
Voice over: Neda Tadić
Translation assistance: Mike Iacavone
Year of production: 2011
Special thanks to our friends for the stories: Leila Čmajčanin, Emir Kapetanović, Aida Vežić, Šemsudin Maljević and Jasenka Paralija.
Special thanks to: Haris Bilalović, Dejan Vladić, Sloven Anzulović and to Vladan Jeremić for finally making it happen.

The work is part of Collection “Besieged Sarajevo”, Historical Museum of Bosnia and Herezegovina (scroll down to read more about the Collection)

During the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina the people had to spend a lot of time sleeping and living in basements sometimes for days and weeks without leaving those spaces at all. Sarajevo was under the siege during 1395 days, longest siege of one capital city in the history of modern warfare. Living in apartments and houses was mostly impossible due to the constant grenade attacks.

Most of the basements in buildings had small spaces, one for every apartment. These spaces were transformed into sleeping rooms. The size of these spaces could be as little as one meter wide and two meters long, cause their natural function was storage. These storage places were usually full of old things or things that just don’t belong inside apartments. They were emptied as soon as the first grenades fell on Sarajevo. Because of the size of interior spaces only the bed could fit inside and nothing else. Most of these spaces had wooden bars and not real doors. Sometimes even three people slept inside.

The one can not easily imagine this life inside basement. People form special community with its own rules established.

Through written and sound interviews we are collecting the stories that happened in the basements during the war.

 

Photographs of the basement in residential building in Sarajevo by Dejan Vladić


(…) I envy those who tell the stories of friendship during the war, about the romantic love, and neighbors’ solidarity. I was neither a child nor the grown up. Confused teenage girl between 14 and 18 years of age.

I remember, for example, how I hated them because they didn’t allow me to sleep. It is 3 a.m. and I angrily put on the trousers over my bare legs, under the night gown which I try to tuck in the trousers but this old, blue, velvet night gown, makes wrinkles and bumps because of its length and creates discomfort around my waist. I am too lazy to take it off, so I put some old, woolen sweater over it and I grumble and protest, wanting to sleep. That is the reason I am quarrelsome and want to bite.

In the middle of the night when the dream is the sweetest, they are starting to throw shells on me. I am not afraid but my mom is and because of that, because of her, I am dressing up and exiting in front of the entrance of our apartment in the corridor, only 2-3 meters away from my bed. Apparently this spot is safer, even though this is not proven but only the result of our overnight gained knowledge of ballistics and military tactics.

I hate them, but have nowhere to release the feeling. I only have anger and powerlessness, so I listen to the detonations of the tank grenades of the biggest caliber, and I know their goal is not only to kill, but to torture with insomnia, restlessness and fear. I don’t remember how long the shelling continued that night, which was one of many with the same scenario but for some reason that night in particular is imprinted strongly in my memory.

I can still feel the anger, inability to act and that confusion, as well as physical sensation of the crumpled cloth under the layers of my clothes. I feel I have no voice while everything in me screams with anger.

The second fragment of my experience is the detonation of the shell, my first close experience with the heat of the explosion. It was hot summer day and we were sitting in the same spot in front of apartment door, in the same corridors and are waiting for hours. We can hear sporadic detonations, but they are in the distance, not close to us.

My building had 8 floors and a glass ceiling on top. It looked like a little glass house. Because of its position, the building is imprinted in the hill, so the stairs connect two streets and the building has two entrances, from the two street levels. I have no clue what the subject of the conversation was on that day and hour… sometime in the early afternoon, or maybe we were silent.

The thing I cannot forget is deafening explosion,  the sound of crushing glass and tumbles down and the terrible heat of detonation on my bare hands and on my skin. The shell fell on the street and the glass was broken. No one was hurt, but I was in shock. In shock over terrifying strength of the detonation that caused everything in me to vibrate and buzz, I hear nothing, understand nothing, and have no clue where the grenade hit. There was too much dust, and smoke.

The neighbor lady is screaming, some children crying… ohhhh… that was my closest explosion so far. As if the death has touched me with the rim of its cloak and I froze seeing its power. The swift of its sickle can touch anyone of us at any moment.

They say you never hear your own shell so you know you are alive when you are aware of the explosion.  There are so many of those moments in my memory. They often come to the surface by themselves, the fragments.

 

Exhibition view “I will never talk about the war again”, Fargfabriken, Stockholm, 2011, photos by Rena Raedle

Exhibition view “I will never talk about the war again”, Kibla, Maribor, photos by Rena Raedle

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Exhibition view Gallery 90-60-90, Pogon Jedinstvo, Zagreb, photo by Jasenko Rasol

“Za laku noć u POGON-u možemo čuti priču o dvoje osmogodišnjaka koji su uspješno organizirali podrumsku stripoteku koja je, osim djece, od dosade spašavala cijelu podrumsku zajednicu. Naoko veselu priču, presjeći će detalj o susjedu koji je za zlatno izdanje Zagora djeci dao vrećicu makarona. Tu je i priča o nesanici, “priča koja nije nikakva priča” kako kaže jedna od sugovornica umjetnica koja s posjetiteljima dijeli tek album metafora. Ili ona posve drugačija o “tri i pol godine u podrumu, pola djetinjstva otprilike” propovijedana kroz lica susjeda okupljenih u skloništu.”

Link to full text by Petra Novak

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Exhibition view, 51st Zagreb salon of visual art, 2016

Link to exhibition photos Fargfabriken
Link to exhibition photos Fargfabriken
Link to exhibition photos 51st Zagreb salon of visual art, 2016


Collection “Besieged Sarajevo”

Established: 2003
The collection about the war from 1992 to 1995 consists of material collected for the purposes of the permanent exhibition “Besieged Sarajevo”, which opened in April 2003. Museum curators began to collect material from all relevant institutions (hospitals, ambulance services, humanitarian organizations, theaters, festivals, and others). The Museum invited citizens to donate objects they made for everyday use; the collected material has exceeded the capacity of the exhibition, and grown into a special collection. This is a collection that witnesses human ingenuity, creativity, improvisation, and functionality, and consists of exhibits, such as war lamps, stoves made of cans, clothing, posters, and photographs. The museum has collected a considerable number of valuable artifacts from the period 1992 to 1995. The citizens of Sarajevo participated in the process of creating the collection. The exhibition and collection in the History Museum tell about the courage and creativity of the citizens in one of the darkest periods in the history of Sarajevo.

Bedtime Stories became part of the Collection in 2018, as part of the research project Art & Reconciliation: Conflict, Culture and Community, launched by History Museum of Bosnia Herzegovina, in collaboration with the University of Arts in London.

 

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