Serbian artists picture life from the former Yugoslavia and beyond at 937 Liberty Gallery

Many of us take more photos than we know what to do with. We’ve mastered the art of documenting our lives, some of us taking thousands of photos annually. With so many photos, the idea of archiving our collection is unfathomable.

Despite the ease with which we can now capture our lives, there is a risk of undervaluing the significance of photography for preservation. Image makers understand the medium’s ability to preserve history, culture, and life, in times of crisis when intervention only follows witnessing. The photograph remains as powerful as ever, but it is through archiving that its power is appreciated and sustained.

The Wind Got Up in the Night and Took Our Plans Away, now on view through Sun., March 17 at the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust’s 937 Liberty Gallery, is a photography exhibition that is also a living, breathing archive of Serbian perspectives on Serbia, the former Yugoslavia, and America. Shaped by a mix of research, documentation, and image creation, the show —curated by Miroslav Karić and Sladjana Petrović Varagić, and organized by Rachel Klipa — features photographs and installations by several individual artists, as well as by collectives Belgrade Raw, Jednostavno rečeno, and Kamerades.

By delving into the artists' personal and collective histories, the exhibition bridges the gap between what is commonly understood about Serbia and what remains unknown, shedding light on perceptions and misconceptions. It delves into the complexities of how Serbians perceive themselves within their homeland and how the diaspora perceives itself. The exploration of these varied perspectives offers a nuanced look at Serbian identity and experiences. It strikes a balance, avoiding romanticization while also refraining from oversimplified categorization of experiences as purely good or bad.

The presentation of the artist's work is as varied as the perspectives. Some images are framed, some are secured with magnets or draped on vinyl. Some are encased in glass, some are scattered in cabinets, or projected on fabric. This dynamic arrangement evokes a sense of an evolving communal archive rather than a static gallery space. The exhibition transcends mere presentation, becoming a participatory experience where visitors play a role in nurturing and enriching the archive for future audiences.
The exhibition's title references a Chinese proverb that opened Museum of the Revolution, a 2021 documentary about an ambitious 1961 endeavor to construct a museum in Belgrade, intended as a tribute to Socialist Yugoslavia and a repository of the truth about its people. However, this lofty aspiration faltered, with the project stalling at the basement construction stage.

Here, within the exhibition space, artists, curators, and organizers meticulously craft their presentations, ensuring that their truths are accurately and thoughtfully conveyed, filling the void left by the unrealized museum project.

"The Morning of Our Dawn: Looking for a Factory, We Discovered a City," a multimedia installation by Jednostavno rečeno (Simply Put), features archival photographs scattered throughout the open drawers of a well-worn metal flat file cabinet pedestaled on a stack of wood pallets. A pair of white gloves sitting atop the cabinet invites visitors to explore the layers of black and white images. The many images are but a small selection from Murat Jukić’s 25,000 photo archive of the Automobile Factory of Priboj from the 1960s to the 1980s, illustrating how factory labor was synonymous with dignity and cultural progression.

The "Fototeka" installation by Vesna Pavlović captivates with its Kodak 35mm slide projector casting a rotation of 80 black-and-white images onto a gray curtain, a symbolic representation of the Cold War-era Iron Curtain. The curtain’s waves distort the images, reminding us of history’s tendency to distort over time.

The projector’s audible whirring and clicking as it rotates through the slides echoes throughout the gallery. The sound, juxtaposed with the silent projections, and adjacent to the file cabinet, not far from a table of books, work together in grounding us in an environment of study. Throughout the exhibition, references and depictions of archival storage appear, underscoring the significance of preserving collective memory.

"Flashbacks" by Belgrade Raw stands out as a nearly 11-by-13-foot vinyl banner cascading from the wall to the floor, presenting a montage of images depicting life in Belgrade. The vibrant images, varying in orientation, and pulled from the collective’s memories, evoke consideration for how, sometimes, it's the compilation of glimpses into our individual experiences that best represent our communities. It's like the media tab in your group chat after a weekend on the town or your neighborhood’s location tag on Instagram. A companion installation, also by Belgrade Raw, in the Tito Way alley a few blocks from the gallery features additional images, all large-scale depictions of moments outdoors, ranging from life-size to billboard size.
American Icons, a photo series by Milan Aleksić, captures facets of America that, as a Serbian artist, he found absent in mainstream media representations in the late 1980s. His work serves as a poignant reminder of the inherent biases and limitations of media portrayal, highlighting the skewed perceptions that can result. During a time when the media often overlooked certain aspects of American life, Aleksićs photography became a means of encountering and documenting the unseen, rural corners of the country. He embarked on a journey of discovery, and through his lens, shed light on a then lesser-known segment of the American landscape.

"I’m Going to Live a Hundred Years!" by Katarina Radović is a lovely tribute to the artist’s grandmother, complete with a salon-style display of intimate portraits, and an installation of narrative text combined with archive photos and handwritten notes, sheet music mounted on a shelf underneath the framed images. It’s a reminder of the importance of the stories we tell, and how it's our responsibility to do the rigorous work of documenting and archiving those who are essential to our history, ensuring that they aren’t forgotten.

There’s something warm and familial about the entire exhibition. It's akin to being at a friend's house when the family photo albums come out and candid stories are exchanged, breathing new life into old memories, and carrying them further into the future. It’s not a history lesson, but a sharing of perspectives across time and space. You leave with a deeper understanding of those who generously shared their lives with you, and you’re grateful for their vulnerability.

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The Wind Got Up in the Night and Took Our Plans Away. Continues through Sun., March 17. 937 Liberty Gallery. 937 Liberty Ave., Downtown. Free. trustarts.org/pct_home/visual-arts