Dispatch: Between Pages and Borders – (post) Reflection on Summer School ‘Landscape (post) Conflict’

I opened my notebook and took a faber castell 0.3mm pen, which I found on the street of Graz, Austria right before my first day at IMMA. It was kind of a sign for me. The notebook was brand new, with that fresh paper smell you get when flipping through clean pages. My first thought in Dublin was ‘I am the youngest person here, I feel awkward not being on the same page’, and then I turned a page of a notebook. I had met a university professor from Canada who came here as a student, his name was Paul Landan. I shared my anxieties with him. He replied immediately ‘we are all students here. We are learning new ways of interpreting the world’. I didn’t really believe him and went to the first talk of the week.

Later this evening, as my notebook and camera testifies, around 5pm, we had a conversation in groups of four. We were asked to reflect on the vocabulary of post-conflict – words that felt distant, heavy, and unclear to me. I sat down, took a pen and wrote ‘nothing really makes sense to me yet’. I said nothing for the next 40 minutes and listened.

You know that feeling when you`re trying to grasp something and your brain goes into overdrive? In such situations I feel every word and sound as nothing. In Ukrainian we have a phrase «білий шум» which refers to a mixture of sounds reproduced simultaneously at all frequencies perceived by the ear. I was spaced out.

During the visit to Belfast, I began thinking across The Troubles and the war in Eastern Ukraine (not comparable, but still). I think about how collective memory and political narratives shape personal identity. Donbas and Crimea have been under occupation for over a decade. I left when I was eight years old, when my parents sought a better future for our family. But I still ask myself: is Donbas still a part of me, and will I ever be able to return? Some people made their choice, but for many there was no choice at all. The central question for me is whether, after de-occupation, the people currently living under occupation in Donbas and Crimea will want to reintegrate. Parallels with the long process of reconciliation in Ireland are relevant here – they make us wonder whether we too can maintain our faith in a ‘bright future’.

I questioned everything during the week and understood that questioning is a form of self-improvement. If I question, I learn whilst not necessarily getting an answer right away. I always had a rule in my head: ‘If you don't know, keep quiet.’ But summer school taught me to ask questions not only to people, but also to myself. I questioned everything I saw and heard about so-called values, concepts and theories.

I sipped coffee from my thermos cup and asked Giulia about her curatorial experience in Italy. I love trying new things, but often I get stuck at the starting point. So, she enthusiastically talked to me while we were crossing invisible borders.

Movies are screened in the museum’s grounds during the summer. The field looks like a picture from the ‘summer plans’ mood board. People come and watch films in the open air during the day. One day we had a workshop with Jill Jarvis. We discussed the work by Ammar Bouras that addresses In Ekker, the series of nuclear weapon tests carried out in Algeria by the French and which was shown at the 12^th Berlin Biennale. The artist positions the work as art, not documentary. This is a question that has been on my mind. Who defines the boundaries of art? I only recently realised that documentary filmmaking is an art form. This is because the audience observes the world as seen through the filmmaker’s lens. This implies that the artist has incorporated their vision and perspective into their work, which automatically reflects their point of view.

People have been an important part of the school for me. Momentary conversations during a break, on the way to the next location, over morning coffee, are so valuable and often overlooked. One of the conversations I remember was during our last task. We were eating Tayto chips, one packet made in the Republic of Ireland and the other in Northen Ireland (I figured out which was which easily).

Afterwards, we made our collages from cut-out newspapers. It was an absorbing process, everyone was immersed in their own collage, and together, we created a small universe.

Slinko was sitting across from me. Pain unites no less than common interest. Under these circumstances, I became more and more convinced that the desire to identify common origins had not disappeared. It’s like seeing a familiar face in a crowd. The day before, Slinko presented her work about Donbas. It was a story that prompted me to think about lands and landscapes. I shared with her my idea: ‘I want to create a work dedicated to my family. It has been haunting me for 11 years since I was born in Donbas.’ I often hear people saying things that make me believe that I am unimportant, that my family`s history is no longer relevant. Slinko brought me back to reality and I started thinking differently.

After an hour of work, we moved to a field under large trees. During this week, I thought more than once that IMMA would now become my special place in Dublin.

We sat and reflected on the week gone by. It’s weird, the feeling of wanting more becomes more intense when you come to the end.

Walking out of the museum gates, in the sunshine on the last day, my final thought was ‘the post-prefix doesn’t function yet’.