Bojana Radulovic, Separation, Vivid Dreams

I open the door of my Montenegrin childhood home, for the first time in 17 years. It is a single traditional house to survive a brutal political and economical transition, a fragile abandoned building facing a discount store. Inside, cellophane tarps reveal less my memories than the immanence of a repressed present, stuck between the past of civil war and a future with meager illusions. At each cardinal point, a territory opens, taking the viewer to the bloody East of Bosnia, to the West of Nato, to the South and Yugoslavia, to the commercial North. I situate myself within these boundaries, and question the place of the spectator in a global world where contemporary territories cartography has succeeded to that of countries or nations, with an ensuing alienation.