My dad's name is Željko Mitrović. Every time we stopped at a border he would exchange a smile, or some predictable joke with the policeman. His I sometimes used the identity to amaze and to enjoy that lie. But also the truth. Lasts just a few seconds until I confess, but for those few seconds I'm flying a drone plane to Paris eating only deluxe bites prepared by Jean-Jacques Philippea sa rupicom na bradi. Still, I'm just an ordinary student from a family of six going to the seaside. in Mala Dub and eats prunes when there is nothing sweet. I live the life of a man who I walk, I eat burek and the paper is greasy, I look for parking, I drink coffee... and then on the table, in the glass of water, I see something shining as if it were not of this world. I record such scenes on the phone, wanting to prolong the moment that was so magical. Through abstract forms and unexpected perspectives, I open space for different ones interpretations. With a mobile phone camera, alone and on the road, I take poetic notes frames of life. When I dive deep into reality it becomes unreal. Sometimes she is incredibly ugly, when I'm far from home, lonely, when I'm folding T-shirts for $11 an hour, when I live in cramped, strange accommodation. When I don't belong.
Galina Mitrović
07 – 26 July 2023.
