Due to a series of social and political circumstances, the situation in which we originally planned and arranged for our institution to participate in this project changed radically over a relatively brief period by the time the Čačak episode of the “walls” actually took place. The broader changes in society inevitably affect how we relate to culture and art, underlining — now more than ever — their role as “one of the four central pillars of any society,” as one city council member in Čačak pointed out during a session held shortly after the program. What began as a carefully planned artistic intervention in public space — officially approved in our institution’s annual program, with the intention of inviting citizens into dialogue and participation — suddenly became a focal point that laid bare the full absurdity, banality, and unsustainability not only of the political system but also of the distorted value system that has, with varying levels of aggression, been imposed on this region for decades.

The white walls in Čačak did not stay white for long. Already during the official “opening” at the newly renovated Nadežda Petrović Square, the walls were quickly surrounded by a large group of young people — high school and university students, young artists, street-art creators (who have earned Čačak recognition beyond Serbia’s borders), middle-aged and elderly citizens, and random passersby. “Curating a new reality”— as one of the most striking initial messages read — began spontaneously. There were beautiful drawings, mini-murals, clever thoughts, love notes, and meaningless signatures — everything, really. Of course, those markings didn’t last long —they were quickly covered by new, more aggressive ones, in more intense colors. Some slogans, directly echoing those seen at protests across Serbia, began to appear, so of course, special crews were dispatched to swiftly paint them over. Football fans — or rather, hooligan groups commonly referred to as “fans,” such a “significant” subculture in Serbian society — even they showed up to, ironically, “speak” in written form. All of this unfolded under the watchful eyes of city officials — literally beneath the windows of the city hall, in front of the high school, with a massive “BLOCKADE” banner hanging from a balcony — at the very epicenter of the city and the recent wave of civic unrest.

After two days, we brought the walls into the gallery and hosted a thought-provoking and content-rich panel discussion. The audience was not large, but it was genuinely engaged and active. In a Serbia where conditions were “normal,” this might have been the main focus of the text. But reality dictates other priorities. Our institution has a long-standing tradition of stepping beyond the gallery space — opening up to the public and encouraging civic participation. Some perceive this as provocation, as desecration of public space, as a thorn in the side of the people, the authorities, and tradition itself — and respond accordingly: harshly, verbally, and sometimes physically. This time, however, there were no such incidents — no acts of vandalism or destruction, not even the usual online outrage on local portals or social media. What was far more intense and uncertain were the days leading up to the action itself. We consciously changed the originally planned location — because the current political moment simply could not be ignored. As an institution that has, since its founding, promoted and engaged with contemporary artistic practices, we responded in alignment with our principles and preserved our integrity. Only those who are even partially familiar with the wider social context in Serbia in recent months can fully grasp how significant that decision was. And how courageous.

Until the very last moment, informal and semi-secret pressures were exerted on the institution to prevent the program from taking place. The system, which strategically marginalizes relevant contemporary and especially socially engaged artistic and cultural production, attempting to reduce it to mere 'creative industries’, while haughtily promoting a pseudo-national cultural model at all levels of governance, might, under ordinary circumstances, have even pretended to welcome such an artistic “extravaganza.” But under the conditions in which this project was unexpectedly realized, even the faintest hint of unfiltered, authentic, public expression was seen as a direct threat by the system. And that is true even in the cultural field — a domain into which this state continues to invest shamefully little. Still, no formal ban was issued and the program went ahead. The institution fulfilled its duty which is, incidentally, one of the key demands of the student and civic movement in Serbia. It may have taken on a responsibility that does not, by its nature, belong to it — but in a country where institutions are held captive, it redefined its role within the local community, defended the right to public space, and at least symbolically demonstrated that institutions can — and must — serve the citizens rather than a usurped state.

And so, the walls spoke in Čačak—and they did so at the right time, in the right place. The institution reached out to the citizens, and they responded, each in their own way. Painted over countless times, beneath layers of barely visible messages, one striking statement remained on each of the six wall surfaces. Stenciled in Cyrillic: CULTURE ≤ 1% OF THE BUDGET. Someone had the patience and forethought to suffer the kids and the football fans, and then leave their mark with intent and purpose. And if we truly want to keep doing this work — professionally, with the dedication that all of it really has some value—there is really no other way.

Predrag Živković is a curator and graduated film & tv producer and is employed as a curator, exhibition producer and assistant director at the Art Gallery "Nadežda Petrović". Until 2012, he worked in various positions in media production (radio host, journalist, production manager, producer, head of the production department) at RTS and Regional Television Čačak and since 2006, he has been working on the project "Interaction" (International Student Film Camp) as an executive producer. He is the founder and president of the Center for Media Development "CineCult" Čačak. He is also a member of the Council of the International Animated Film Festival "Animanima", the executive producer of the festival (2007/8), member of the Council of the Ambient&World Music Festival "Carousel". Furthermore, he is a member of the Council of "Spring of Dis", the Poetry Festival organized by the City Library "Vladislav Petković Dis" in Čačak. Živković is the initiator and curator of the biennial event "Sonja's September" (2019-) and a member of the project team and program coordinator for the project "Čačak - Capital of Culture of Serbia 2023". In 2023, he won the "Tori Janković Award" for his contribution to the decentralization of film art in Serbia. So far, he has curated and produced numerous exhibitions and participated in the production of over 60 documentaries, as a producer and executive producer.