Every time I look at birds, I die of jealousy. I would kill them all! It doesn't matter whether it's the flight of seagulls over the lonely catamaran transporting passengers from Kamenari to Lepetane, or the scrawny Belgrade pigeons flitting around an electric pole, making a mess of parked cars. Their wings, flight, and grace awaken envy, malice, and bitterness in me. Why can't I fly? Why wasn't I given that freedom? Is there cosmic justice in this? Fortunately, Danka Dimitrijević does not share my feelings. True, she sees in birds all that I see—grace, beauty, harmony—but these magical qualities of these wonderful creatures evoke much nobler feelings in her than in me. Even when they are petrified, as she has displayed them in our gallery, Danka’s birds carry a divine freedom within. Danka has recognized eternity in them, something not destined for miserable humanity. In Danka’s birds, the observer sometimes sees mythical beings from ancient civilizations, and sometimes the logo of the latest model of a car that the world has yet to mature for. They also reflect dreams and visions, movement and stillness, unrest and tranquility, just like those seagulls flying around the Bokokotorski catamaran. Danka's birds are both decoration and totem, something that, at one moment, reminds you of a fleeting instant, and at another, of eternity. People are different, just like birds, so it is normal that my perspective on them differs from Danka’s. Is it precisely because of that jealousy, which I carry within me, that man has turned against nature? Does man want to be both fish and bird, hyena and virus, all at once? Is there hope that man can be only human, or is that no longer enough? Perhaps he wants to, regardless of the cost, become a god? What is it that would grant man the inner peace that birds have? When you view this exhibition, you will realize that Danka will reach the answer to that question before I do.

Nenad Janković (dr Nele Karajlić).

Photographer: Duško Vukić