Last year I arrived in Belgrade, Serbia's capital, just in time for a canceled gay parade. The timing was coincidence -- I was going to visit cousins. The ad campaign for this non-event was, as they say in Britain, brilliant. It was also appropriate for an event that never was.
The campaign, as far as I saw, was four variations on one theme: The word "love", in Serbian (also known as Croatian or Bosnian) and in English, in a red-and-white or blue-and-white field (see top photo of my friend Jeff and me at the airport in front of the blue English version). The posters were in mechanical displays, so a red version would alternate with a blue one (see middle photo of this transition).
The graphic was in the style of 1960s and 1970s op art: Now you see the word, now you don't. Same-gender love is and isn't visible. It is and isn't emerging.
These posters worked on multiple levels and they derived their power from embracing the ambivalence they question. The message is so tender and soft that, once you realize its meaning, it's almost revolutionary. "Recognize me? Recognize me!" So revolutionary that the authorities refused to allow the parade to go forward. Various people, ranging from members of the Serbian Orthodox church, to soccer hooligans (no offense to my soccer-loving cousins), to right-wing political parties, threatened violence. The government, either honestly assessing the situation or in collusion with opponents, said that the parade goers' safety couldn't be guaranteed.
In 2010, the parade was allowed, there was protest against it, and the government intervened (on the correct side). Sometimes there is progress.
Two armchairs have been living in a storage locker since my siblings and I cleared-out my mother's apartment last year. They are identical and were last new probably in the 1950s, when my parents immigrated to Canada from what was then Yugoslavia. The chairs followed my parents to Chicago in 1959 or 1960.
My maternal grandmother, Milosava Petković (née Milić) lived with my parents and my siblings. She was a lifelong needlepointer. Probably after we visited Florence in the mid-1970s, my grandmother began needlepointing Bargello-style patterns, usually pillows. I don't know what made her take on such a large project, but she needlepointed enough to re-cover both armchairs (except the backs). The cushions are a little worn (see the rip, in the photo above, probably caused by one of my poorly-behaved nieces or nephew). They are to be refurbished next week at a local upholsterer.
These chairs synthesize memories and values important to me: The possibility of a new life, both for my family (in its escape from Yugoslavia) and for the chairs (with reupholstery); childhood; my grandmother; and the exhuberance and joyfulness of a jolt of color. They will be a powerful force for good in my new home.
The armchairs will also guide the color palette for the apartment ("dreamsicle" (orange and white) and blue). The palette is based on a theory I have about color. There are studies that have found that exposure to various colors can, slightly, change one's perception of temperature. As a result, I believe that in warm weather, to feel more comfortable, one should be exposed to cool colors (blues and greens). In cool weather, warm colors (reds, yellows, and orange). To cover the hot and cold weather in Chicago over the course of the year, I plan to have curtains and certain major pieces of furniture be orange, white, and/or blue. I have two dreamsicles already in place.
Last year I arrived in Belgrade, Serbia's capital, just in time for a canceled gay parade. The timing was coincidence -- I was going to visit cousins. The ad campaign for this non-event was, as they say in Britain, brilliant. It was also appropriate for an event that never was.
