Conversation of the Mahala of Rainbow Colors collective: Queer art is a breathing space.

Bojan, Abi and I created Mahala of rainbow colors, together believing that we can be more than just another collective - proof that in Bosnia and Herzegovina, art is born that speaks, defies, and heals. Our idea is to bring together artists of different sensibilities, but with the same need to express what society attempts to quiet down.

Jovana: Are we going to tell people what everyday life looks like in our collective?

Bojan: I don't think people would believe it; even when we think we are doing nothing, we are actually doing so many things at the same time. Our conversations, even on normal days, when it's not before an exhibition itself, start at 5:00 a.m., where we already exchange a ton of messages, mostly voice messages, only to start getting lost in them around 8:00 a.m. (with laughter). By noon, we manage to agree on everything, then destroy all those plans, then agree on everything again, so that by the evening, we finally have a full idea. So, everything is filled with dynamism, and there are never arguments. At some point, I realize that our communication very quickly goes from private to business, because Mahala is something that is both private and work-related to us.

Jovana: How do you think the public reacts to our exhibitions?

Abi: Some laugh while looking at the works, some tear up. I remember a woman who said: "Look, dude, how many of us are there in Sarajevo, even if it doesn't look like it. That's why we need events like this, to see truly how many of us there are." Those are the moments when you realize that art is not only on the canvas - but in what moves in a person. In the sense of community, recognition, like when we observed visitors being silent in front of a photograph. No one was talking, but everyone was breathing together. That moment of composure, as if everyone recognized something of their own, was... the world.

Jovana: And our authors?

Bojan: I would like to single out when, after the exhibition in Banja Luka, an artist contacted us whose works we exhibited, but who could not come in person, so he wanted to share with us the overwhelming emotions that he felt when his works were finally visible somewhere - and that Mahala was the one who made it possible for him. Then I felt immensely proud and beautiful.

Jovana: I can't help but mention the paper kite workshop. For me, it was one of the most poetic moments we've ever organized... Like an exhibition without walls.

Abi: And to us. That day, we inserted the heart of the exhibition

to the mountains. Kites with messages of support flew above heads that may have been bowed for years. It was a collective sigh – and a collective relief. Some were flying a kite for the first time, and all were flying something that had been pressing them for a long time. It was an exhibition - but one that gets under the skin, not on the wall. The moment I heard one of the participants scream with excitement as she released the kite, childishly so, I knew I was home.

Bojan: Yes, 'On the wings of the dragon to freedom' was a beautiful project that really connected people who are part of the community. Perhaps they don't attend other workshops from other organizations, but they really wanted to come to this one. Whoever was on the kite workshop back then and saw what was actually happening there would not believe how much good energy was there, and the effort we put in to make the kites fly high, running here and there, laughing, you have to see it with your own eyes and experience it with your body.

Kolektiv: Mahalom duginih boja

Jovana: And it all makes sense, because we are not a collective that only fights against the system, but also against the silence within.

Abi: Absolutely! Sometimes the silence inside us is a bigger enemy than the system. It tells you that you're not worthy, that you're not gentle enough, angry enough, enough of anything, while silence is on your side. On the contrary, it slyly goes along with it. Mahala is a place where we learn to listen to that silence, not to drown it out, but to recognize it and respond to it with presence. When you truly hear yourself, you begin to believe that your existence has form, color, and importance.

Jovana: What does queer art mean to you?

Abi: Breathing space. It is a way to free ourselves from the language that used to exclude us, and to speak with an image, a body, a texture, an atmosphere.

Jovana: It's like saying "I exist, and I'm not ashamed." Healing and witnessing.

Abi: Exactly. Personally, through queer art, I speak more concisely than I do in any conversation. It is only through queer art that I am actually honest with the people around me, and with it, I can truly accommodate friends into my heart.

Bojan: For me, queer art is freedom. On a personal level, it wasn't until I was in my thirties that I actually began to explore art as a form of resistance, which led me to recognize freedom as the ultimate act of a person's existence.

Jovana: Is art also an escape?

Bojan: Of course, it's an escape. Every time we create something, we actually escape into a creative process from which we sail into newfound freedom. In this darkness that has loomed over respect for human rights, art comes to us as another window from the opposite side, where we can once again see the sky and the rainbow.

Jovana: But it is also a return. Into the body. Into memories.

Jovana: If Mahala were a feeling, what would it be?

Bojan: Fulfillment.

Abi: Let's say it's like a sip of a cold, fizzy drink after a tiring summer day.

Jovana: Or the feeling when you take off someone else's shoes that have hurt you for years, and stand barefoot on the grass for the first time.

Jovana: And if you had to describe Mahala with one picture...?

Abi: An old tin gate is slightly open, and a child with a kite in his hand is passing through it. In the background – laundry on the line, clattering, and somewhere in the corner, someone in love, but without fear, is enjoying a cup of coffee. The picture does not say: “look at us” but: “you can do it too”.

Bojan: A picture of a chihuahua. Forever. Independent, combative, sweet.

AI-generated image depiction of Mahala

Jovana: Šta vi sanjate za Mahalu?

Bojan: My wish is for Mahala to grow into something big, because it has the potential to be something big. It is very important that the three of us agree around that potential, recognizing it and rocking it like our own child. I think that in the next year or two, we will succeed in achieving regional cooperation and that many more people will be able to see and even participate in their audio, video, digital, and canvas works.

Abi: I dream that one day Mahala does not have to exist as a place of struggle - but only as a place of play, presence, and joy. That people no longer ask "why", but "how can I help". Our dream is for exhibitions to move from walls to sidewalks, balconies, bakeries, for it to be natural to see love in all forms - because it was never unnatural.

Jovana: Well, we are nature. Society itself was trying to push us out of the landscape, but what is persistently regrowing from the ground cannot be erased. Hey, how about we get a permanent space? Some queer house, open to all of us from the margins.

Bojan: A house without hidden rooms. I like it.

Mahala: refers to a neighborhood, community, or residential area.

Written by: Jovana Ivetić

The content of the article is the sole responsibility of the Author and does not necessarily reflect the views of the Tuzla Open Center.