Vida Rucli / Forests of Resistance

Forests of Resistance1

Memorial Strategies in Forested Landscapes of Socialist Yugoslavia

Vida Rucli

Introduction: Landscapes of Resistance

Resistance represented the fusion between landscape and people.[2]

Italo Calvino[3]

Par­ti­san war is by def­i­n­i­tion char­ac­ter­ized by two spe­cif­ic ele­ments: the first is the emo­tion­al and phys­i­cal par­tic­i­pa­tion of the whole pop­u­la­tion, the sec­ond is the com­plete and suc­cess­ful exploita­tion of nat­ur­al fea­tures of the coun­try­side as a place of refuge, a place of abode, a place for ambush­es and war oper­a­tions in a dif­fi­cult coun­try, under the worst pos­si­ble con­di­tions”.4

The con­crete and sym­bol­ic bond between Par­ti­sans and land­scape in its entire­ty and com­plex­i­ty was an intrin­sic fac­tor defin­ing the par­ti­san expe­ri­ence expressed by many writ­ers and poets in their post WW2 works. In the case of Yugoslav Par­ti­sans, fight­ing the inva­sion of Yugoslavia by the Axis pow­ers between 1941 and 1945, the impor­tance of ter­ri­to­r­i­al knowl­edge and of its sym­bol­ic under­stand­ing is well doc­u­ment­ed, espe­cial­ly via the wide pro­duc­tion of par­ti­san art (main­ly poet­ry and graph­ics) con­nect­ed to the mean­ing of forests, val­leys and set­tled out­skirts as places of strug­gle, but also sym­bols of rev­o­lu­tion­ary cross­ing, from rooms to open space”.[5] Edvard Kocbek, a Slovene poet who fought in the NOB (nar­o­d­noosvo­bodil­na bor­ba, Eng. People’s Lib­er­a­tion War), wrote in his diary from WW2 (lat­er pub­lished under the title Tovar­iši­ja, Eng. Com­rade­ship) the fol­low­ing quote by Saint Bernard: Trust my expe­ri­ence, in the for­est you will find more wis­dom than in books”.[6]

The rela­tion the Par­ti­sans had to the places of their action is almost sym­bi­ot­ic and rad­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent to the usu­al (wo)man–nature rela­tion. Land­scape is no longer a con­tem­pla­tive horizon—which it could only be with the nec­es­sary visu­al and con­cep­tu­al dis­tance between man and nature—but instead coin­cides with action; it is felt in its total­i­ty when a par­ti­san enters and expe­ri­ences it. Land­scape is, there­fore, no longer a sta­t­ic view but becomes dynam­ic, strong­ly relat­ed to the Par­ti­sans’ actions in space. This per­spec­ti­val shift of land­scape perception—moving from the optic to the hap­tic—made land­scape a place of par­tic­i­pa­tion, shar­ing, per­for­mance and move­ment and influ­enced the pro­duc­tion of mon­u­ments in Yugoslavia, as in oth­er parts of Europe. 

This trans­for­ma­tion from con­tem­plat­ed land­scape7 to lived land­scape is inter­con­nect­ed with the new sym­bol­ic inter­pre­ta­tion of land­scape itself. Land­scape could be the metonymy of free­dom, as the Ital­ian writer Ita­lo Calvi­no states: The grass and the sun and they, walk­ing with their unbut­toned coats between the grass and the sun, were a new sym­bol, airy and enor­mous: what peo­ple call free­dom”.[8] It could be also per­ceived as a land­scape of death, as in the poem by Karel Destovnik Kajuh Preko smr­ti stopamo v svo­bo­do (Through Death We Walk into Free­dom), where land­scapes are landscapes/of death and dying”.[9] Land­scape, there­fore, is a poly­mor­phic and float­ing con­cept depend­ing on a par­ti­sans per­son­al perception.

The deep rela­tion­ship between the Par­ti­sans and land­scape is clear when read­ing Par­ti­san authors: land­scape becomes the exter­nal man­i­fes­ta­tion of inter­nal res­o­nances, its vis­i­ble form sym­bi­ot­i­cal­ly express­es one’s feel­ings, fore­bod­ings and sen­sa­tions. When a partisan’s aware­ness enters a cri­sis, this is often reflect­ed in lit­er­ary texts through the rela­tion­ship between them and land­scape becom­ing unsta­ble, as if the human fig­ure is no longer inte­grat­ed in space.

While fight­ing, the Par­ti­sans per­ceived them­selves as con­sub­stan­tial with land­scape, both sym­bol­i­cal­ly and strate­gi­cal­ly: they blend­ed into the land­scape, meta­mor­phi­cal­ly adapt­ing them­selves to the nat­ur­al envi­ron­ment. The chthon­ic expe­ri­ence of land’s depth, which hides and saves, espe­cial­ly dur­ing sweep­ing actions, has a strong mean­ing (and remains a strong mem­o­ry) since it is intrin­si­cal­ly con­nect­ed to the shock of almost touch­ing death.

These war expe­ri­ences were shared by many Yugoslav artists and archi­tects who in the post­war peri­od ded­i­cat­ed them­selves to design­ing mon­u­ments: the archi­tect Bog­dan Bog­danović, for exam­ple, was a Par­ti­san in the resis­tance move­ment, the sculp­tor Dušan Dža­mon­ja did not fight, but vis­cer­al­ly felt the war as a refugee in Ser­bia, the sculp­tor Vojin Bak­ić lost his three broth­ers dur­ing the war, etc. In their texts and inter­views these artists and archi­tects fre­quent­ly pay atten­tion to the top­ic of the monument’s space: the rela­tion­ship between mon­u­ments and authen­tic land­scapes of struggle.

Garavice Memorial Park by Bogdan Bogdanović in Bihać, today Bosnia and Herzegovina (inaugurated in 1981). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

Garavice Memorial Park by Bogdan Bogdanović in Bihać, today Bosnia and Herzegovina (inaugurated in 1981). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

Site-Specificity: The Site before the Form

A site-specific work might articulate and define itself through properties, qualities or meanings produced in specific relationships between an ‘object’ or ‘event’ and the position it occupies.

Nick Kaye[10]

To move the work is to destroy the work.

Richard Serra[11]

What char­ac­ter­izes site-spe­cif­ic art is that the site where the work is placed has a fun­da­men­tal role in how the work is con­ceived: it is con­ceived with the site in mind”.[12] With this spe­cif­ic atten­tion to the loca­tion of the sculpture/work of art, a change also occurs in the way the view­er is con­sid­ered. In fact, site-speci­fici­ty is not solved only with the spe­cial posi­tion the set­ting gains, but it also includes a dispace­ment of the spectator’s atten­tion from the work itself towards the envi­ron­ment the object and the view­er are part of.[13] If for the min­i­mal­ist sculp­ture of the 1960s this meant an atten­tion to the rooms where the sculp­tures were includ­ed and to the viewer’s posi­tion towards the room and the work of art,[14] for the memo­r­i­al pro­duc­tion of the same years in Yugoslavia, sim­i­lar­ly to the Amer­i­can Land Art pro­duc­tion, this meant a stronger atten­tion to the nat­ur­al envi­ron­ment and the land­scape into which the mon­u­ment and vis­i­tor were immersed, it meant defin­ing land­scape as the mate­r­i­al (one of the mate­ri­als) of the art­work, nature as part of a pro­duc­tion pro­ce­dure and the sit­ed­ness of vision[15] as the cen­tral point of some of the best memorials. 

With­in the cul­tur­al debate of the 1950s, 60s and 70s in Yugoslavia, the term site-speci­fici­ty was nev­er used. How­ev­er oth­er terms and sen­tences expressed the same inter­est towards the top­ic of sit­ed­ness: var­i­ous artists and crit­ics wrote about the rela­tion to the place” the mon­u­ment should devel­op,[16] or about the mon­u­ments as spa­tial sculp­tures that should com­plete the exist­ing ambiance”,[17] or about the cen­tral role of the observer’s point of view,[18] etc. In the fol­low­ing sec­tion I will ana­lyze dif­fer­ent voic­es from dif­fer­ent peri­ods, com­ing to the con­clu­sion that sit­ed­ness—or a monument’s contextuality—was one of the most dis­cussed top­ics of inter­est when design­ing and writ­ing about con­tem­po­rary mon­u­ment production.

In 1953 the Slovene archi­tec­ture jour­nal Arhitekt pub­lished a sur­vey on NOB mon­u­ments built from the end of the war until then, ask­ing three ques­tions: 1) What do the inter­vie­wees think about the present pro­duc­tion? 2) How should we view these mon­u­ments: with the eyes of those who will come after us” or should we be led by our present incli­na­tions? 3) What is the qual­i­ty of Slovene pro­duc­tion in com­par­i­son to mon­u­ments built in oth­er Yugoslav republics? Sev­en archi­tects[19] and one politi­cian[20] were inter­viewed, among them two of the most pro­lif­ic archi­tects in Yugosla­vian memo­r­i­al pro­duc­tion in the years to come: Edvard Ravnikar and Bog­dan Bogdanović. 

In 1953 the two archi­tects were in very dif­fer­ent sit­u­a­tions: Bog­danović had only built the Jew­ish Memo­r­i­al in Bel­grade (Spomenik jevre­jskim žrt­va­ma, 1951–52), while Edvard Ravnikar had already com­plet­ed sev­er­al memo­ri­als, includ­ing his best known project, Kam­por Memo­r­i­al (1953) on the island of Rab, designed togeth­er with Miloš Bonča, Savin Sev­er, Branko Koc­mut and Marko Šla­jmer (the last two were also inter­viewed by Arhitekt in the same sur­vey), and some of his most poet­ic mon­u­ments, like the Hostage’s Ceme­tery in Begun­je and Dra­ga pri Begun­jah (1952÷53), con­sid­ered at the time one of the best exam­ples of spa­tial mon­u­ments.[21] Edvard Ravnikar in his con­cise answer, and the young Bog­dan Bogdanović—at the time 31—with his elab­o­rate text, expressed very sim­i­lar ideas on how a mon­u­ment should relate to its context. 

Mon­u­ments should, when devel­oped spa­tial­ly, enable a real and gen­uine expe­ri­ence”, states Bog­danović,[22] while Ravnikar, stress­ing the impor­tance of cor­rect sit­ing, hopes for the pro­duc­tion of solu­tions which com­plete the exist­ing ambiance and cre­ate a new bal­anced envi­ron­ment”.[23]

Three years lat­er[24] Bog­danović writes a lengthy arti­cle regard­ing the impor­tance of posi­tion­ing mon­u­ments in space, describ­ing exam­ples from dif­fer­ent Euro­pean cities (Place la Con­corde in Paris, Piaz­za del Popo­lo in Rome, Kar­lův most in Prague, Amaliem­borg Slot­plads in Copen­hagen etc.) while illus­trat­ing some of the fun­da­men­tal prin­ci­ples of the rela­tions between objects and space. After describ­ing how ancient pop­u­la­tions dealt with mon­u­ments and con­sid­er­ing how Renais­sance and Baroque artists used to build mon­u­ments and what effects they could achieve, he points out that very often the qual­i­ty of a mon­u­ment depends on the way it is posi­tioned in space”.[25] More­over, he high­lights that at the cen­ter of his own reflec­tions there is always man, that every­thing should be con­sid­ered in rela­tion to his posi­tion in space and his rela­tion to the objects he shares space with.[26]

In the mid-1960s, creative freedom gave a new expansion to sculpture, including memorial sculpture, ‘the art of the free form’ brought new principles to the forefront: ‘instead of optic, a tactile sensibility, instead of a superficial image, penetration into matter’s depth, instead of a description of real form, forms in space...’ The new social climate and a reinforced humanitarian function of art helped in the stylistic changes and contributed to the creation of a new type of memorial sculpture.

Dušan Plenča[27]

In the 1960s reflec­tions around mon­u­ment spa­tial­i­ty became more com­mon and more advanced, as, for exam­ple, those reflec­tions of the art crit­ic Antoane­ta Pasi­nović and the art his­to­ri­an Eugen Franković, both from Zagreb and writ­ing in 1966.

In the jour­nal Živ­ot Umjet­nos­ti, Antoane­ta Pasi­nović pub­lished an arti­cle express­ing mod­ern ideas about the role of space in the design of memo­ri­als. Her arti­cle is strong­ly inspired by Hen­ri Focillon’s book Vie de formes: Éloge de la main (1939), new­ly trans­lat­ed in Yugoslavia in 1964 with the title Živ­ot obli­ka: pohvala ruci. Titled Spa­tial Analy­sis of the Mon­u­ment,” the arti­cle rec­og­nizes in the spa­tial project of the mon­u­ment the main char­ac­ter­is­tics for the monument’s qual­i­ty. Using Focillon’s quotes the space is the place of the work of art”[28] or the work of art is the mea­sure of space: it is form”[29], Pasi­nović stress­es the impor­tance of spa­tial­i­ty, devel­oped with­in memo­r­i­al projects. In the same arti­cle she states: Up until now we con­sid­ered a mon­u­ment through its tem­po­ral­i­ty, through its his­tor­i­cal deter­mi­na­tion. How­ev­er, ask­ing our­selves about the moti­va­tion and about the result­ing the­mat­ic func­tion­ing of the mon­u­ment, we over­looked its real­i­ty, its speci­fici­ty, its mode of being and exist­ing. The mon­u­ment, how­ev­er, exists as a form, as a sculp­ture, as a spa­tial real­i­ty”.[30]

Eugen Franković’s arti­cle, pub­lished in the same issue of Živ­ot Umjet­nos­ti as Pasinović’s, starts by ascer­tain­ing that mon­u­ment sit­ed­ness is usu­al­ly, in the major­i­ty of projects, espe­cial­ly in the case of minor mon­u­ments of local impor­tance, not con­sid­ered at all. He defines three ways in which the mon­u­ments do not take the con­text into con­sid­er­a­tion: 1) The mon­u­ment, seen as impos­ing on the land­scape” (orig. nametan­je pejza­žu”), cre­ates a con­flict with the envi­ron­ment. He gives the exam­ple of August Augustinčić’s mon­u­ment in Ban­ja Luka; 2) The mon­u­ment ignores the envi­ron­ment as if it was a stiff­ened scene show­ing to the view­ers its autonomous play, now— by chance—here, spir­i­tu­al­ly tem­po­rary, but phys­i­cal­ly per­ma­nent.” Here he refers to Van­ja Radauš’s works; 3) The third rea­son for the avoid­ance of a landscape/monument rela­tion is the sculptor’s self-suf­fi­cien­cy (orig. samod­o­voljnost kipara”). The best (actu­al­ly worst) exam­ple” is, again, Augustinčić’s mon­u­ment to Moša Pijade on the bat­tle­field of the Pro­le­tar­i­an Brigades.

The men­tioned prob­lem with space demands our atten­tion as it is an indi­ca­tor of cru­cial sig­nif­i­cance since the rela­tion between the space (envi­ron­ment, ambiance) and the mon­u­ment is the rela­tion between still­ness and change showed by the monument—here [on the rela­tion between the mon­u­ment and space] lies there­fore all the weight of the expe­ri­ence”.[31] Here Franković opens the top­ic of the monument’s expe­ri­ence, rec­og­niz­ing the pos­si­bil­i­ty of a com­plex rela­tion­ship between the mon­u­ment, the envi­ron­ment and the per­ceiv­er, and since com­mu­ni­ca­bil­i­ty is the func­tion of all pub­lic mon­u­ments,” the monument’s sit­ed­ness is what gives the mon­u­ment its char­ac­ter, the core of its appear­ance and significance.”

For the first time in Yugoslavia an art crit­ic and art his­to­ri­an writ­ing about memo­r­i­al pro­duc­tion con­sid­ers space, how a mon­u­ment deals with it, how it com­pletes it and how the monument’s char­ac­ter is also built by the con­text as a fun­da­men­tal ele­ment of the mon­u­ment. What at the begin­ning was con­sid­ered only by archi­tects as the vital ele­ment of the real monument’s expe­ri­ence, after the 1960s becomes a shared belief: the sit­ed­ness of the mon­u­ment is a way of mak­ing the expe­ri­ence of the mon­u­ment rich­er, of mak­ing the view­er, by means of per­cep­tion, the sub­ject of the work.

Giulio Car­lo Argan, an influ­en­tial Ital­ian art crit­ic and his­to­ri­an, describ­ing the opus of the sculp­tor Dušan Dža­mon­ja, address­es sev­er­al key top­ics about Džamonja’s NOB mon­u­ments, but also gen­er­al­ly about mon­u­ment sculp­ture in Yugoslavia notes that The mon­u­ment, before being a form, is a site”.[32]

Documentation of the building process of Spomenik na Šipku by Vladimir Braco Mušič, near Špitalič, today Slovenia (1958). Source: Arhitekt journal, 2, 1960.

Documentation of the building process of Spomenik na Šipku by Vladimir Braco Mušič, near Špitalič, today Slovenia (1958). Source: Arhitekt journal, 2, 1960.

Documentation of the building process of Spomenik na Šipku by Vladimir Braco Mušič, near Špitalič, today Slovenia (1958). Source: Arhitekt journal, 2, 1960.

Documentation of the building process of Spomenik na Šipku by Vladimir Braco Mušič, near Špitalič, today Slovenia (1958). Source: Arhitekt journal, 2, 1960.

Authentic Forests and Memorial Practices

While seeking an authentic expression of our relation toward the meaning of the war, the authentic traces of the conflict are of specific importance. We should understand this importance, and present it with a certain interpretative power, so that it can be understood by everyone.

– Eugen Franković[33]

Among all the dif­fer­ent rur­al land­scapes where the People’s Lib­er­a­tion Strug­gle was fought, forests—as places which are hard­ly read­able, wild and fragmented—had a cen­tral role in the Yugoslav par­ti­san war­fare. This role could be rec­og­nized from the fact that sev­er­al forest­ed ter­ri­to­ries where WW2 took place after the war acquired the sta­tus of nation­al parks, not only because they were char­ac­ter­ized by nat­ur­al beau­ty, but most notable because they con­tained impor­tant traces of the war, which the new social­ist state would pre­serve, as they were the exact loca­tions where the Par­ti­san war and the Social­ist Rev­o­lu­tion, which Yugoslavia rec­og­nized the need to nur­ture, took place: these areas were defined as forests with his­tor­i­cal char­ac­ter.[34]

Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja & co., on Mrakovica (Kozara mountain), today Bosnia and Herzegovina (1972). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja & co., on Mrakovica (Kozara mountain), today Bosnia and Herzegovina (1972). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

The authen­tic loca­tions of war events were not always of direct inter­est to peo­ple and pol­i­tics. In fact, espe­cial­ly in the years imme­di­ate­ly after the end of the war, to remove war marks” was one of the most repeat­ed slo­gans that could be inter­pret­ed by ver­ba­tim meaning—removing the traces of the war in cities and landscape—or as refer­ring to the peo­ples’ mem­o­rie of the war.[35] Only after 1948, with the Res­o­lu­tion of the Inform­biro[36] and the split between Tito and Stal­in, which had con­se­quences regard­ing the eman­ci­pa­tion of art pro­duc­tion, there emerged the need to pre­serve the sites of the NOB, objects and doc­u­ments. In fact, part of the Sovi­et strat­e­gy when deal­ing with WW2 events in Yugoslavia was to dis­cred­it the role of the Yugoslav resis­tance move­ment, incor­rect­ly giv­ing the Red Army cred­it for the vic­to­ry against the Axis pow­ers, since the Yugoslav resis­tance move­ment had won sev­er­al war cam­paigns four years pri­or to the arrival of the Red Army in Yugoslavia.[37]

Apart from the polit­i­cal moti­va­tions behind the grow­ing inter­est in the mark­ing and car­ing for authen­tic places of strug­gle, the top­ic of a place’s authen­tic­i­ty, espe­cial­ly when con­nect­ed to nat­ur­al con­texts, became an impor­tant poet­ic leit­mo­tif, for those authors—most of them architects—who derived the con­cepts for their mon­u­ments from the obser­va­tion and expe­ri­ence of the place”[38]

In the 1950s the top­ic of site-authen­tic­i­ty was not so wide­ly dis­cussed among sculp­tors, archi­tects and crit­ics. Stress was placed on a monument’s mate­ri­al­i­ty and dura­bil­i­ty[39], the monument’s mon­u­men­tal­i­ty[40], fig­u­ral­i­ty ver­sus abstrac­tion[41], con­tex­tu­al­i­ty[42], the monument’s neglect[43], mon­u­ments ver­sus art-mon­u­ments[44]; all these top­ics would remain of inter­est in the fol­low­ing decades.

An archi­tect who already in the 1950s devel­oped a sen­si­bil­i­ty toward the top­ic of authen­tic sites or war events, and con­se­quent­ly the idea of land­scape as a palimpsest of mem­o­ries that the mon­u­ment should try to inter­pret, was Mar­jan Šor­li. Šor­li was a Slovene archi­tect who took part in the resis­tance move­ment (under the name Janez Viher), built sev­er­al mon­u­ments, all of them upon the site of the event the mon­u­ment was commemorating. 

In the 1953 Arhitekt sur­vey, he affirmed, ful­ly in line with his prac­tice: To mark the his­to­ry of the NOB in the place where it hap­pened is for sure our most nec­es­sary task. It is a pity sev­er­al par­ti­san graves were moved from beau­ti­ful places in nature to ceme­ter­ies, where they drown among all the oth­ers”.[45]

The top­ic of the authen­tic­i­ty of a site was close to those archi­tects and sculp­tors who, beside rec­og­niz­ing the impor­tance of spa­tial­ly col­lab­o­rat­ing’ with a cho­sen monument’s loca­tion, built their poet­ics in rela­tion to the event that hap­pened in the spe­cif­ic place: beside Šor­li, who worked main­ly in the 1950s and ear­ly 1960s, the archi­tect Zdenko Kola­cio and the sculp­tor Zdenko Sila ded­i­cat­ed some of their best mon­u­ments to faire le site of a spe­cif­ic event. Sev­er­al mon­u­ments built in the sites of suf­fer­ing, through their spa­tial orga­ni­za­tion, with an archi­tec­tur­al or sculp­tur­al vocab­u­lary, tend to mark spe­cif­ic points in space, as if they were attempt­ing to explain and point out how the event took place or how the space was orga­nized at the time the event occurred.

The event is the basis. Sometimes even a fragment of an event can lead to the solution. This is why the impression of those who took part in it is precious”.[46]

In the cre­ative minds of Yugoslav artists and archi­tects who pro­posed mon­u­ments recall­ing spe­cif­ic WW2 events, forests became sources of deep poet­ic poten­tial, where the for­est itself, with its ver­ti­cal geome­tries, frag­ment­ed lights and irreg­u­lar grounds, played a cen­tral role in the monument’s design.

The fol­low­ing four exam­ples, very dif­fer­ent in form, size and (what kind of lan­guage? Mate­r­i­al, struc­tur­al, tec­ton­ic?) lan­guage, illus­trate how forests were inter­pret­ed as places where vis­i­tors could have an inti­mate expe­ri­ence with the mon­u­ment, devel­op a psy­cho­log­i­cal con­tact and build a per­son­al rela­tion­ship with mem­o­ry and commemoration.

Masterplan of the Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja (1972). Source: Author.

Masterplan of the Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja (1972). Source: Author.

Monument to the Revolution on Mrakovica
Dušan Džamonja & co., 1972

A for­est of high pines, dark light enter­ing between them, no grass or low bush­es, only the pines and the earth under them. The hill is marked hor­i­zon­tal­ly by three-meter-long low con­crete blocks, func­tion­ing as stairs and giv­ing a rhythm to the ran­dom growth of trees and to your walk­ing. On the top of the hill, at the end of an almost rit­u­al walk, a large light clear­ing and in the cen­ter of the eye’s focus a tall con­crete cylin­der, com­posed of dif­fer­ent ver­ti­cal seg­ments. The sculp­ture is encir­cled by con­crete blocks and walls and around them, again, the conif­er­ous for­est extends limitless

These words describe the vis­i­tors’ encounter with the Mon­u­ment to the Rev­o­lu­tion on Mrakovi­ca, one of the peaks of Kozara, a moun­tain in the north­west­ern part of Bosnia. The mon­u­ment, built between 1970 and 1972, was designed by the sculp­tor Dušan Dža­mon­ja togeth­er with the archi­tect Mar­i­jana Hanžeković and con­struc­tion engi­neer Miro Rak. 

The mon­u­ment memo­ri­al­izes one of the heav­i­est and most famous, using the words of Josip Broz Tito,[47] hero­ic and mov­ing, bor­row­ing Dušan Džamonja’s vocab­u­lary,[48] strug­gles of the People’s Lib­er­a­tion War in Yugoslavia. 

Map of the Kozara territory. Source: Gojko Jokić, Turistički vodič: Nacionalni park Kozara, 1986.

Map of the Kozara territory. Source: Gojko Jokić, Turistički vodič: Nacionalni park Kozara, 1986.

The foun­da­tion­al con­cept of the mon­u­ment was to evoke both the sense of oppres­sion of the Par­ti­sans and the local pop­u­la­tion being encir­cled and the mag­ni­tude of the strug­gle of those par­ti­sans who man­aged to fight, break­ing through the forced encir­clement and scat­ter­ing in the for­est. When speak­ing about this mon­u­ment, Zdenko Kolacio’s[49] words res­onate: The event is the basis. Some­times even a frag­ment can lead to a solu­tion”.[50] The inter­est­ing oper­a­tion Dža­mon­ja made is the trans­for­ma­tion of the descrip­tion of the events in the Kozara moun­tains in a spa­tial vocab­u­lary: the mon­u­ment, in fact, besides rep­re­sent­ing a sym­bol in the his­to­ry of the Kozara epopee, trans­forms it into an expe­ri­ence­able space where the visitor’s liv­ing, mov­ing, react­ing body dis­cerns phys­i­cal­ly rather than opti­cal­ly.[51]

A mon­u­ment with­in a land­scape is a mark­er of the site’s speci­fici­ty that with­out it could not be leg­i­ble, it func­tions as a machine à observ­er, a barom­e­ter to read land­scape[52] in a phys­i­cal, his­tor­i­cal and sym­bol­ic way. A mon­u­ment with­in a land­scape is also a pause in space, it is what makes the mon­u­ment-space and site sig­nif­i­cant: it rede­fines the expe­ri­ence, refo­cus­es our atten­tion and calls to the his­to­ry of the place: a mon­u­ment brings time’s echo into space, which, through such a mon­u­ment as Džamonja’s—that bases its sig­nif­i­cance and trans­mis­sion of mean­ing on the inclu­sion of man’s bod­i­ly experience—becomes embod­ied, pal­pa­ble, phys­i­cal.

The rela­tion between Džamonja’s mon­u­ment and the sur­round­ing pine for­est con­sists of dif­fer­ent ambiances with spe­cif­ic atmos­pheres cre­at­ed by the way archi­tec­ture and the for­est correspond. 

The first for­est-defined ambiance is that of the entrance stair­case to the memo­r­i­al area. From the low­er plateau we see in front of us a com­pact stair­case in the shape of an amphithe­ater. Via visu­al exten­sion the for­est behind this first stair­case grad­u­al­ly thick­ens as the stairs pen­e­trate the veg­e­ta­tion while at the same time los­ing the com­pact form they have at the begin­ning. Here begins the first of the sev­er­al dema­te­ri­al­iza­tions: the stairs lose their mas­sive for­mal aspect, their well-defined form and pre­cise mar­gins, adapt­ing to the shape of the land, leave the space to the tree trunks grow­ing between them, emerg­ing as hor­i­zon­tal lines among a mass of verticals.

When first climb­ing the entry stairs the mon­u­ment is not in view, we are immersed in the dark atmos­phere of the for­est, walk­ing under the crowns of the firs. As Dža­mon­ja high­light­ed on sev­er­al occa­sions, this ini­tial ambiance is per­ceived by the vis­i­tor through their body while slow­ly ascend­ing; this ascen­dant move­ment func­tions as a psy­cho­log­i­cal prepa­ra­tion for the expe­ri­ence” of the mon­u­ment.[53]

At the end of the stair­case a clear­ing opens to the vis­i­tor. At its cen­ter and pushed towards the back stands a ver­ti­cal­ly frag­ment­ed cylin­dri­cal tow­er sur­round­ed by mas­sive con­crete blocks. 

Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja & co., on Mrakovica (Kozara mountain), today Bosnia and Herzegovina (1972). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja & co., on Mrakovica (Kozara mountain), today Bosnia and Herzegovina (1972). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja & co., on Mrakovica (Kozara mountain), today Bosnia and Herzegovina (1972). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja & co., on Mrakovica (Kozara mountain), today Bosnia and Herzegovina (1972). Photo by © Giovanni Emilio Galanello.

The main body of the mon­u­ment devel­ops around the cylin­der and behind it anoth­er forest­ed ambiance invites the vis­i­tor to the ter­mi­nal space of the com­plex. Behind the cylin­der are 13 radi­al­ly ori­ent­ed mas­sive con­crete blocks. They mir­ror the geom­e­try in front of the cylin­der, but here they are four-meters high, heav­ier and big­ger. They invite us to walk between them, with­in their dark­ness, and here the conifers start to appear between the con­crete. And as it hap­pened on the stair­case, where some con­crete slabs left space for the fir trunks and roots, in some spe­cif­ic spots the con­crete walls, even if fol­low­ing the geom­e­try of the radi­al lines, adapt their sur­face to the pres­ence of trees, becom­ing con­cave, host­ing the trunks. 

At this point the memo­r­i­al space becomes mys­te­ri­ous­ly labyrinth-like. Explor­ing this part of the mon­u­ment enables us to see that it is actu­al­ly quite diver­si­fied, char­ac­ter­ized by small ambiances which already intro­duce us to the inti­mate atmos­phere of the com­mem­o­ra­tive space. Behind these blocks lays the last stage of the itin­er­ary: a round wall enclos­ing part of the for­est. This inti­mate space serves the pur­pose of com­mem­o­rat­ing the 9,922 par­ti­sans who died in the fight­ing on Kozara moun­tain. The pres­ence of the conifers’ crowns above our head, fil­ter­ing the light that soft­ly acti­vates the ground are indi­rect and del­i­cate and are fun­da­men­tal in cre­at­ing the atmos­phere of expe­ri­ence. Here the rela­tion­ship between nature and cast con­crete blocks becomes near­ly sym­bi­ot­ic, mon­u­ment and nature share a mutu­al mime­sis.

Plan and section of the Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja (1972). Source: Author.

Plan and section of the Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja (1972). Source: Author.

Plan and section of the Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja (1972). Source: Author.

Plan and section of the Monument to the Revolution by Dušan Džamonja (1972). Source: Author.

Monument to the Fallen Fighters of the Pohorje Battalion
Branko Kocmut, Slavko Tihec, 1959

The event this mon­u­ment recalls is spa­tial­ly sim­i­lar to the one behind the Kozara memo­r­i­al. In the exact site where the mon­u­ment is locat­ed, on the 8th of Jan­u­ary 1943, the Pohor­je Bat­tal­ion lost all its fight­ers after being encir­cled by the much more numer­ous Ger­man forces. The mon­u­ment stands on the site of the Par­ti­sans’ last fight: high pine trees, an obscure silence and light that bare­ly reach­es the ground define the mon­u­ment-space – the site of the Pohor­je Battalion's base. Six­teen years after the event, when the archi­tect Branko Koc­mut and the sculp­tor Slavko Tihec were com­mis­sioned to vis­it the site and pro­pose a mon­u­ment, they found the remains of the sheds the Par­ti­sans used for liv­ing and sur­round­ing them the trench­es where­in the Par­ti­sans had fought their last bat­tle and died. The area is approx­i­mate­ly a 100m diam­e­ter cir­cu­lar shape. The first pro­pos­al by the two artists was to fell the trees that occu­pied this area and, with this void in the mid­dle of the for­est, to sug­gest to the vis­i­tors that they were in a par­tic­u­lar place, prepar­ing them for the encounter with the mon­u­ment.[54] This cir­cu­lar clear­ing recalls the cir­cle the Ger­man forces formed around the par­ti­san base, a spa­tial idea with sim­i­lar premis­es to Džamonja’s solu­tion for Kozara: in that case the sense of oppres­sion of being encir­cled was pro­duced by the con­crete blocks almost squeez­ing the bod­ies of the vis­i­tors when they would reach the cen­ter of the cylin­der, while in this case the sen­sa­tion of being sur­round­ed would be giv­en by the pines them­selves sur­round­ing the clearing.

Lat­er this clear idea, which would not need a sculp­tur­al ele­ment, was aban­doned and the memo­r­i­al place was con­ceived more tra­di­tion­al­ly, e. g., includ­ing a cen­tral sculp­ture and some small­er archi­tec­tur­al ele­ments. The remains of the bat­tle posi­tions are marked by thir­ty-one small stones of almost cubi­cal shapes posi­tioned in a circle—the idea of the cir­cu­lar clear­ing was there­fore replaced by these con­crete blocks. The names of the Par­ti­sans who died in the bat­tle are inscribed on one side of each of the blocks—one block for every fall­en Par­ti­san. With­in this cir­cle are four­teen larg­er stone plates that seem­ing­ly lev­i­tate over the ground. These plates mark the posi­tions of the trench­es where the par­ti­sans fought. And final­ly, on the site of the battalion’s com­mand lays the largest stone plate that serves as a pedestal for two bronze fig­ures, a work by the sculp­tor Slavko Tihec. 

Mark­ing spe­cif­ic loca­tions of small build­ings con­nect­ed with par­ti­san life with abstract archi­tec­tur­al ele­ments was com­mon prac­tice among archi­tects and artists work­ing with memo­r­i­al spaces. Big abstract con­crete stones mark the posi­tions of the build­ings of the Par­ti­san hos­pi­tal in Grmeć (a project by Ljubomir Denković, inau­gu­rat­ed in 1979), abstract shapes—recalling Robert Mor­ris’ beams from 1965—help the vis­i­tors under­stand the mas­ter­plan of Javor­ni­ca par­ti­san hos­pi­tal (project by Zdenko Kola­cio, 1980–81).

The entire memo­r­i­al com­plex exudes a sub­tle hor­i­zon­tal pres­ence among the high pine trees and allows the for­est to exist as an intact tes­ti­mo­ny to the events, high­light­ing only built struc­tures and trans­for­ma­tions of the place. It does not illus­trate what hap­pened, it sim­ply marks what might have been for­got­ten, com­post­ed and absorbed by the woods.

Monument to the Fallen Fighters of the Pohorje Battalion by Branko Kocmut, Slavko Tihec (1959), Slovenska Bistrica, today Slovenia. Source: Sinteza journal, 7, 1967 (photo by Jože Kovačič).

Monument to the Fallen Fighters of the Pohorje Battalion by Branko Kocmut, Slavko Tihec (1959), Slovenska Bistrica, today Slovenia. Source: Sinteza journal, 7, 1967 (photo by Jože Kovačič).

Memorial Cemetery in Dovar
Ružica Ilić, 1958

Where­as in the pre­vi­ous two exam­ples are locat­ed in for­est con­texts and devel­op a fer­tile rela­tion with it, here we’ll approach the con­cept of the liv­ing mon­u­ment (živ spomenik)—the idea that the mem­o­ry of the trag­ic events of WW2 should be kept alive not by con­ven­tion­al mon­u­ments, but by liv­ing mon­u­ments, i.e. mon­u­ments made of nat­ur­al ele­ments or nat­ur­al areas, usu­al­ly forests, which, because of impor­tant events that took place there, gain the sta­tus of mon­u­ments or, as in this case, the sta­tus of parks (spomen park). The idea of a liv­ing memo­r­i­al instead of an onject-based mon­u­ment became a pop­u­lar dis­course cen­tered around mon­u­ment prac­tices in the late 1950s, 60s and 70s.

Debates per­tain­ing to memo­r­i­al parks began to appear at the end of the 1950s. Some of the first arti­cles deal­ing with park-as-memo­r­i­al emerged in the jour­nal Crve­na Zvez­da in 1956.

One arti­cle[55] com­ments on the result of the com­pe­ti­tion for the memo­r­i­al ceme­tery (spomen groblje) of Dovar, the east­ern area of the city of Tito­vo Užice. Describ­ing the win­ning solu­tion by the archi­tect Ruži­ca Ilić, the author uses the expression—possibly used by the archi­tect her­self—green archi­tec­ture (zele­na arhitek­tu­ra), to define the solu­tion for Dovar park. 

In the area of the ceme­tery, a liv­ing tem­ple (živi hram) will be built. The walls of this liv­ing object will be formed by the high pine for­est, while the inte­ri­or will be a green and flo­ral mead­ow; in the high pine for­est there will be a belt of green paths. In the cen­ter of this mead­ow, a stone plate will be locat­ed with the names of the fight­ers who sleep togeth­er here. The most beau­ti­ful trees will car­ry the names of the dead, which will have, as the whole liv­ing tem­ple, a sym­bol­ic mean­ing: the mem­o­ries of the dead and their ideas devel­op and grow high­er and high­er”.[56]

Here the archi­tect uses poet­ic words to express­es how memo­r­i­al con­tent could be sym­bol­i­cal­ly made man­i­fest­ed direct­ly through the pow­er of nature. The stone plate at the end of the memorial’s path marks just the cen­ter of the memo­r­i­al site: the land­scape that is the har­bin­ger of mem­o­ry, and the metaphor of the trees as the grow­ing of mem­o­ry is the mes­sage offered by spomen park.

Participatory Movement, 1960s

The fourth exam­ple embod­ies the high­est stage of these mon­u­ments’ dema­te­ri­al­iza­tion, where even nature is not con­sid­ered liv­ing mate­r­i­al, but a pre­text for col­lab­o­ra­tive par­tic­i­pa­to­ry memo­r­i­al practices.

The Gorani move­ment is a move­ment of younger peo­ple which arose in Ser­bia in 1960 and, dri­ven pri­mar­i­ly by eco­log­i­cal ideals, first began to take care of the green­ery around mon­u­ments and lat­er designed mon­u­ment-forests, parks and tree-lined roads in places where sig­nif­i­cant events of the NOB took place. This move­ment shows that, simul­ta­ne­ous to the cre­ation of mon­u­ment parks and mon­u­ment ter­ri­to­ries that began dur­ing the same time, there was the emer­gence of dif­fer­ent memo­r­i­al prac­tices from below. 

Drawing of the Gorani movement made by the child Olga Očevski. Source: Četvrti Jul journal, 04.05.1965.

Drawing of the Gorani movement made by the child Olga Očevski. Source: Četvrti Jul journal, 04.05.1965.

The actions of Gorani some­times used spectacle—“In Požare­vac, on the Čačal­i­ca hill, for each of the 7000 shot patri­ots 10 red ros­es will be plant­ed. The hill will burn with red flames”[57]—while at the same time hav­ing a strong educa­tive ele­ment with the devel­op­ment of eco­log­i­cal and his­tor­i­cal aware­ness and the pro­mo­tion of the need to nur­ture rev­o­lu­tion­ary tra­di­tions. With the idea of green mon­u­ments they shift­ed the atten­tion from the mon­u­ment-object (already felt as just a fos­silized memen­to of the past) to the mon­u­ment-land­scape, which is dynam­ic, alive, demands your engage­ment, espe­cial­ly in cus­to­di­al sense, and even­tu­al­ly expos­es the signs of your neglect. The author dis­ap­pears while the focus lies total­ly on the par­tic­i­pa­to­ry moment of col­lec­tive­ly plant­i­ng trees or tak­ing care of a monument’s surroundings.

Here Robert Smithson’s words about Fred­er­ick L. Olmsted’s New York Cen­tral Park resonate:

A park can no longer be seen as a ‘thing-in-itself’ but rather as a process of ongoing relationships existing in a physical region—a ‘thing-for-us’”.[58]

Memorial Forests as Activated Nature

The art crit­ic Jure Mikuž, in his cura­to­r­i­al text writ­ten for the exhi­bi­tion of four mon­u­ments [59] ded­i­cat­ed to events relat­ed to the People’s Lib­er­a­tion War at the Venice Bien­nale in 1980 wrote: We can thus say that all these projects are inter­ven­tions into active nature [author’s ital­ics], which has its spe­cif­ic his­tor­i­cal char­ac­ter and whose ele­ments, sat­u­rat­ed as they are with sig­nif­i­cance, are in them­selves the most direct stim­u­la­tion of the spe­cial feel­ing of the place and its com­pre­hen­sion.” With the four exam­ples of forest­ed mon­u­ments and acti­vat­ed nature, through the analy­sis of the debates regard­ing the rela­tion­ship between the memo­ri­als and the places with­in which they are immersed, and while exam­in­ing the projects and scru­ti­niz­ing the ter­mi­nol­o­gy used to crit­i­cal­ly describe them, an extreme­ly com­plex com­pos­ite land­scape of the­o­ries and prac­tices unfolds in front of us—from expe­ri­en­tial mon­u­ments to eco­log­i­cal­ly aware par­tic­i­pa­to­ry experiments—which tes­ti­fies to the moder­ni­ty and in some cas­es even rad­i­cal­i­ty of Yugoslav memo­r­i­al practices.

  1. 1

    In Slovene: Goz­dovi odpo­ra. The title is a ref­er­ence to the film by Mar­ta Popivo­da and Ana Vujanović Kra­jine odpo­ra (Land­scapes of Resis­tance) from 2021, which nar­rates the sto­ry of the par­ti­san Son­ja Vujanović. I had the plea­sure to col­lab­o­rate with the two direc­tors in 2019, on the the­atre piece Kra­jine svo­bode (Land­scapes of Free­dom) at the Sloven­sko mladin­sko gledal­išče the­atre in Ljubljana.

  2. 2

    Ital­ian: La Resisten­za rap­p­re­sen­tò la fusione tra pae­sag­gio e persone”.

  3. 3

    Ita­lo Calvi­no, Pre­fazione di Il sen­tiero dei nidi di rag­no,” in Romanzi e rac­con­ti (Milano, Italy: Mediri­ani Mon­dadori, 1995 a).

  4. 4

    Jure Mikuž, The Char­ac­ter­is­tics of Some Recent Yugoslav Memo­ri­als to the Nation­al Lib­er­a­tion War,” in Cat­a­logue of the Yugoslav Pavil­ion, 39th Bien­nale of Venice, ed. Zoran Kržišnik (Ljubl­jana, YU: Mod­ern Gal­ley, 1980).

  5. 5

    Miklavž Komelj, Kako mis­li­ti par­ti­zan­sko umet­nost? (Ljubl­jana, Slove­nia: Založba/* cf., 2009), 369.

  6. 6

    Edvard Kocbek, Tovar­iši­ja (Ljubl­jana, Slove­nia: Držav­na Založ­ba Sloveni­je, 1949), 9.

  7. 7

    As not­ed by Mat­teo Gian­cot­ti, con­tem­plat­ed land­scape is felt by par­ti­sans as land­scape of inac­tion and is often relat­ed to peri­ods of deten­tion and impris­on­ment. Land­scape is usu­al­ly observed, stud­ied and interpreted—therefore not experienced—only for strate­gic rea­sons. Mat­teo Gian­cot­ti, Pae­sag­gi del trau­ma (Milano, Italy: Bom­piani, 2017), 160–164.

  8. 8

    Ita­lo Calvi­no, Angos­cia in caser­ma,” in Romanzi e rac­con­ti (Milano, Italy: Mediri­ani Mon­dadori, 1995 b), 245.

  9. 9

    Miklavž Komelj, Kako mis­li­ti par­ti­zan­sko umet­nost? (Ljubl­jana, Slove­nia: Založba/* cf., 2009), 243.

  10. 10

    Nick Kaye, Site-Spe­cif­ic Art (Lon­don, Eng­land: Rout­ledge, 2000).

  11. 11

    Richard Ser­ra, Titled Arc Destroyed,” in Writ­ings and Inter­views (Chica­go, US: Chica­go Uni­ver­si­ty Press, 1994).

  12. 12

    Robert Irwin, Being and Cir­cum­stance – Notes towards a Con­fi­den­tial Art (Lark­spur Land­ing, US: Lapis Press, 1985), 9.

  13. 13

    See: Michael Fried, Art and Object­hood,” Art­fo­rum, 5 (1967): 12–23. Ros­alind Krauss, Pas­sages in Mod­ern Sculp­ture (New York, US: The Viking Press, 1977). Ros­alind Krauss, The Orig­i­nal­i­ty of Avant-Garde and Oth­er Mod­ernist Myths. (Cam­bridge, US: The MIT Press, 1986).

  14. 14

    Nick Kaye, Site-Spe­cif­ic Art (Lon­don, Eng­land: Rout­ledge, 2000).

  15. 15

    The word sit­ed­ness was coined by Ros­alind Krauss when speak­ing of Richard Serra’s sculp­tures. Ros­alind Krauss, Richard Ser­ra: Sculp­ture,” in Richard Ser­ra, ed. Hal Fos­ter, (Cam­bridge, US: The MIT Press, 2000), 99–146.

  16. 16

    See: Bog­dan Bog­danović, O postavl­jan­ju spomeni­ka” Arhitek­tu­ra Urban­izam 10 (1961): 26–32; 47–48. Tonko Maroe­vić, Fore­word,” in Zdenko Kola­cio, Spomeni­ci i obil­jež­ja, 1953–1982, (Zagreb, YU: Globus, 1984), 13–21.

  17. 17

    See: Edvard Ravnikar, Arhitekt-ova anke­ta o spomenikih NOB,” Arhitekt, 9 (1953): 31. Dušan Dža­mon­ja, Spomenik — izraz iskust­va i uvjeren­ja,” Četvr­ti Jul 917 (1980): 14.

  18. 18

    Bog­dan Bog­danović, O postavl­jan­ju spomeni­ka,” 26–32.

  19. 19

    Mar­jan Šor­li * (1915–1975), Jaroslav Černigoj (1905–1989), Boris Gabrščik, Bog­dan Bog­danović* (1922–2010), Edvard Ravnikar (1907–1993), Branko Koc­mut (1921–2006), Marko Šla­jmer (1927–1969). * These archi­tects took part in the Nation­al Lib­er­a­tion War (NOB).

  20. 20

    Tone Faj­far (1913–1981), par­ti­san and politician.

  21. 21

    See: Berislav Sto­janović, Spomeničko obeleža­van­je znača­jnih događa­ja naše rev­olu­ci­je,” Arhitek­tu­ra Urban­izam 10 (1961): 48. Zoran Žunković, Naši spom­ni­ci danas,” Arhitek­tu­ra Urban­izam 10 (1961): 24.

  22. 22

    Bog­dan Bog­danović, Arhitekt-ova anke­ta o spomenikih NOB,” Arhitekt 9 (1953): 31.

  23. 23

    Edvard Ravnikar, Arhitekt-ova anke­ta o spomenikih NOB,” 31.

  24. 24

    The arti­cle was orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in the news­pa­per Delo (1956), n. 10, and par­tial­ly re-pub­lished five years lat­er in Arhitek­tu­ra Urban­izam (1961), n. 10, an issue ded­i­cat­ed com­plete­ly to mon­u­ments and memorials.

  25. 25

    Bog­dan Bog­danović, O postavl­jan­ju spomeni­ka,” 31.

  26. 26

    Ibid., 29.

  27. 27

    Dušan Plenča, Likov­na kri­ti­ka ćuti,” Četvr­ti Jul 717 (1976): 12.

  28. 28

    Hen­ri Focil­lon, Vita delle forme: Elo­gio del­la mano (Tori­no, Italy: Ein­au­di, 2002).

  29. 29

    Ibid., 4.

  30. 30

    Antone­ta Pasi­nović, Pros­tor­na anal­iza spomeni­ka,” Živ­ot Umjet­nos­ti 2 (1966): 25–29.

  31. 31

    Evgen Franković, Javnost spomeni­ka,” Živ­ot Umjet­nos­ti 2 (1966): 17–24.

  32. 32

    Giulio Car­lo Argan, Dušan Dža­mon­ja (Beograd, YU: Jugosloven­s­ka revi­ja, 1981), 9.

  33. 33

    Evgen Franković, Javnost spomeni­ka,” 17–24.

  34. 34

    Gojko Jok­ić, Jugoslav­i­ja. Spomeni­ci rev­olu­ci­je (Bel­grade, Yugoslavia: Tur­is­tič­ka štam­pa, 1986).

  35. 35

    Until the 1960s among 14.000 mon­u­ments, 3.500 were authen­tic mon­u­ments (“avten­tični spomeni­ci”), i.e. remains from the war, all the oth­ers were spomeni­ci u čast” (mon­u­ments in hon­or of some­thing). See: Heike Karge, Stein­erne Erin­nerung – ver­stein­erte Erin­nerung? Kriegs­ge­denken im sozial­is­tis­chen Jugoslaw­ien (Wies­baden, Ger­many: Har­ras­sowitz, 2010).

  36. 36

    Inform­biro: Ser­bo-Croa­t­ian word for Com­in­form, the Sovi­et Com­mu­nist Infor­ma­tion Bureau

  37. 37

    See: Jozo Toma­se­vich, War and Rev­o­lu­tion in Yugoslavia, 1941–45: Occu­pa­tion and Col­lab­o­ra­tion (Palo Alto, US: Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty Press, 2002).

  38. 38

    Zdenko Kola­cio, O pros­tori­ma, spomenici­ma, izvorima umjet­nos­ti,” Arhitek­tu­ra 155 (1975): 8.

  39. 39

    Mar­jan Tepina, O arhitek­turi spomenikov padlim borcem,” Borec 4 (1952): 100–103. Mar­jan Tepina, O tra­jnos­ti spomenikov, posvečenih nar­o­d­noosvo­bodil­ni bor­bi.” Borec 2 (1956): 85–87.

  40. 40


  41. 41

    Bog­dan Bog­danović, Arhitekt-ova anke­ta o spomenikih NOB,” 31. Vladimir Bra­co Mušič, Nekaj mis­li o spomenikih NOB,” Arhitekt 2 (1960): 29–31.

  42. 42

    See: Boro Pavlović, Spomenik i pros­tor,” Čov­jek i pros­tor 14 (1954): unknown page num­ber. Spomenik v skladu z okoli­co,” Borec 3 (1958): 141.

  43. 43

    F. Sušteršič, Sence na naših spomenikih,”. Borec 9 (1959), 444.

  44. 44

    Dra­gi Milenković, Spomeni­ci i umet­nič­ki spomeni­ci,” Crve­na Zvez­da 9 (1955): unknown page number.

  45. 45

    Mar­jan Šor­li, Arhitekt-ova anke­ta o spomenikih NOB,” Arhitekt 9 (1953): 29.

  46. 46

    Zdenko Kola­cio, Spomeni­ci i obil­jež­ja, 1953–1982 (Zagreb, YU: Globus, 1984).

  47. 47

    Jok­ić, Jugoslav­i­ja. Spomeni­ci revolucije.

  48. 48

    Argan, Dušan Džamonja.

  49. 49

    Zdenko Kola­cio (1912–1987) was a Croa­t­ian archi­tect and urban­ist, who ded­i­cat­ed a great part of his career to memo­r­i­al pro­duc­tion, doc­u­ment­ed specif­i­cal­ly in the pub­li­ca­tion Spomeni­ci i obil­jež­ja (Mon­u­ments and Memo­ri­als) from 1984.

  50. 50

    Zdenko Kola­cio, Spomeni­ci i obil­jež­ja, 1953–1982.

  51. 51

    Here we bor­rowed the ter­mi­nol­o­gy used by Ros­alind Krauss to describe Richard Serra’s spa­tial sculp­tures. Krauss, Richard Ser­ra: Sculp­ture,” 99–146.

  52. 52

    As Richard Ser­ra defines his work Shift,” which was con­ceived and built in the same two years as Džamonja’s Kozara mon­u­ment, between 1970 and 1972. See: Yves Alain Bois, A Pic­turesque Stroll around Clara-Clara,” Octo­ber 102 (1984): 32–62.

  53. 53

    Dušan Dža­mon­ja, Mem­o­ri­jal­ni spomenik na Mrakovi­ci — Kozara,” Čov­jek i pros­tor 234 (1972): 8.

  54. 54

    Andrej Ujčič, Spomenik bojevnikom pohorskega bataljona,” Sin­teza 7 (1967): 35–37.

  55. 55

    Berislav Sto­janović, O spomen­parkovi­ma. Spomen­groblje u Titovom Užicu,” Crve­na Zvez­da 2 (1956): unknown page number.

  56. 56


  57. 57

    Vladimir Dim­itri­je­vić, Veli­ka akci­ja gorana. Zeleni spomeni­ci,” Četvr­ti jul (1965): 18.

  58. 58

    Robert Smith­son, Fred­er­ick Law Olm­st­ed and the Dialec­ti­cal Land­scape,” in The Col­lect­ed Writ­ings, (Berkley and Los Ange­les, US: Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia Press, 1996), 157–171.

  59. 59

    Bog­dan Bogdanović’s Memo­r­i­al to the Vic­tims of Fas­cist Ter­ror in Jasen­o­vac (1960–66), Dušan Džamonja’s Memo­r­i­al to the Rev­o­lu­tion on Mrakovi­ca hill, Kozara (1970–72), Slavko Tihec’s Memo­r­i­al area in Don­ja Grad­i­na (designed in 1979 and nev­er built) and Mio­drag Živković’s Memo­r­i­al to the Bat­tle on the Sut­jes­ka in Tjen­tište (1964–1971).


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