2025, diptych, archival pigment ink, each 160 x 110 cm, framed, in total 160 x 220 cm
Reproduction shot: Charlotte Walter, KLEMM‘S, 2025
The local tour guide spoke with a routine rhythm, in simple, clear English: “As is widely known, the tragic 20th century began right here in Sarajevo: Franz Ferdinand was shot, World War I began, 17 million died. This was followed by the even more horrific World War II, and 60 million died. After that, the world was split into East and West. And, as you know, the consequences have lasted to the present day.”
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Standing in front of him was a big group of tourists. Educational travelers. In fact, I’d say, academics only. Going by spoken language, I’d guess quite a few Americans, some French, Brits, Germans. But also, three Russians? Two Chinese? I had wormed my way into this group of people, along the edge. The guide continued, “Maybe the 20th century never ended.” The Americans and Germans nodded knowingly. The faces of the Russians turned to stone.
We’d now arrived at the Eternal Flame, in the part of town influenced by the Habsburgs. Since 1946, this has been the place to commemorate World War II. According to the guide, the flame has never gone out since then, except for the time the city was under siege in the 1990s, “when the Serbs switched the gas off.” Almost everyone in this group will surely have remembered the TV images of people scurrying for cover from the snipers’ burst of gunfire. “We spent four years in this city just running. Everyone. All the time. To the grocery store, to work, to school. To your loved ones. Each day might have been the last. That is war.”
When I looked at the burst of photos later, it was as though I could see our shared breathing. As if we had first inhaled the fire, only to then newly kindle it through our collective act of exhaling. Sven Johne, Sarajevo, October 4, 2022 less
