Milana Bikicki: Stories from Petrovaradin Fortress

[...] Within the row of art studios under the Varadin Hotel there was the studio of Dragan Kiridžić, a calm and quiet man who was fond of walking along the walls of the Fortress without paying much attention to the mischievous deeds of his fellow-artists, yet always willing to respond to their appeals to join them and to forget about problems; each of them had some. The Fortress artists were convinced that parties spent in singalongs and pleasant converstaions could infuse fresh strength for their creative endeavours. These people still gladly tell the following anecdote: Nikola Popržan, uncle to painter Bora Popržan, came on one of his birthdays into the studio of Dragan Kiridžić and complained of being short of money to buy some brandy and treat his colleagues. Wishing to help the man and make him happy, Dragan recalled a book-shaped ceramic vessel of his, kept in the studio. He then wrote out the word "Capital" in capital letters, filled the vessel with brandy and went to congratulate his friend. Popržan was very happy about the gift, yet looked at the interesting book suspectfully, without the slightest idea of how precious its content was. Hours went by before Nikola turned up in the studio of Dragan Kiridžić, somewhat in his cups, and told him: "Thanks for the gift, buddy. I'm here to thank you once again and to tell you that it was a great pleasure to read the book all through." Then he asked for volume two.

[...] Long ago, on a winter evening of 1967, Paja Radovanović, the sculptor, finished work in his studio at Petrovaradin Fortress and, quite resigned for the frequent moneyless periods, headed to the door. At the same moment, a knock sounded from the door. On his inquiry who was it, a kind female voice answered, asking for a look-around in his studio with her guest, Director of New Orleans Jazz Museum. Again, as hospitable as he ever was to visitors, Paja Radovanović opened the door and welcomed the unexpected guests. Mr. Clay Watson looked around and watched the sculptures, then told the lady, his interpreter, to ask the artists if he would sell the sculpture of "The Warrior" (welded iron) and at what price so.  Surprised and perplexed, Paja Radovanović answered 'Yes, of course'. The buyer offered dollars or dinars, and Paja Radovanović took the dinars he needed so much. At that very moment, painter Emil Bob entered the studio, for he was to leave the Fortress with Radovanović. Realizing what was going on, the witty Emil Bob took the sculpture of "The Warrior" and invited the guests to "the packaging department", that is, to his own studio. There, Mr. Watson bought three paintings from Emil Bob.

[...] Miroslav Antić, whom everybody remembers as an offbeat and restless poet and painter, has stayed in my memory as very pedantic and capable of making miracles with his hands. One evening, he came into our* studio and was happy to see me there, for he wanted to show us how he cleaned and arranged his own studio. We set out into the dark, into the rain that often sprinkled us in those autumn days; when we entered his studio, we felt as if all suns had shone on us, the suns Miroslav was so tenderly fond of. A perfect job. Miroslav painted his studio by himself, and furnished it in a typical style of Vojvodina. Some place in the midst of the studio he personally cut and trimmed a ladder which he painted white only in the top part, as is the custom in the gardens of our grannies; in the little garden, there was a big squash, and several pumpkins scattered here and there, some flowers, an old cart wheel, kneading bowl, jugs, plus a little bench to sit on and enjoy oneself listening to Antić so happy about having made all of it just by himself: in his studio he now had his "Vojvodina" [the long poem], visualized and written right there. And up there on the gallery, the photos of all the monasteries of Mt. Fruška Gora seemed to safeguard Miroslav's verse against oblivion, just as he demonstrated by putting them there that "his heart hides an ocean" – as his friend Ferenc Feher put it – and that the monasteries of the Fruška hills are kept in his soul like an inseparable relic. Pity, indeed, that the setting has not been preserved so that we could celebrate his birthdays in the studio which Antić himself designed and arranged, and to listen there to his "Vojvodina" resounding in full power and beauty on the very place it was born in.

 […] In the year 1978, painter Jovan Bikicki and ceramic artist Vladimir Rajčetić conceived an evening of synthesis of arts and named the event that was to take place at Bikicki's place "Open Studio". Thus, on May 26, an unrepeatable exhibition of paintings and ceramic works took place, with participation of musicians, poets and artists. It was an unforgettable night. The exhibition was inaugurated by Miroslav Antić who recited his verse thereby, then Ferenc Feher, Vladimir Bogdanović and Raša Perić read their poems while unassumingly accompanied by a chamber trio of distinguished musical artists. The exhibition was staged on the plateau outside of Bikicki's studio. It was a beautiful May night. This gathering was lit only by the Moon, that wonderworking attendee of merry and sad occasions alike. About 200 people were there, ladies wearing full-length skirts, thus paying special respect to this evening, and the soldiers from Petrovaradin's barracks stood leaning on the ramparts of the Fortress enjoying the wonderful night of the kind made possible only by memorable contributions of artists. I should not overlook the flower exhibition inside the studio organized by the "City Greens Co." and displaying the most beautiful specimens of May season flowers, arranged by the skillful hands of their staff. In late hours, the visitors went inside to see the flower exhibits, and the poets continued reading of their verse. The merry company stayed up at the 'exhibition' until morning hours, when almost every daily newspaper had a report on the peculiar "Open Studio". In mid-June, Miroslav Antić wrote an article entitled "Unlocking Human" ("Otključavanje čoveka") describing this event with great inspiration.

[…] One of the dear guests in the studios of the Fortress was guitar player Ilija Jovanović, a Romany, who performed in the restaurant of the Varadin Hotel. Short and with a round and chubby face, his eyes round and dark like the black soil of Vojvodina and casting gentle glances, he would enter the studio quietly, unassumingly, always ready to sing accompanied by his guitar. It was almost as a rule that he first sang the song he himself composed to the poem "Džana" from Antić's collection Garavi sokak (The Side-Street of Swarthiness). As a matter of fact, it was reciting rather than singing, the guitar accompaniment keeping soft: "Listen to me, oh God, Great Lord, / if you ever think of remaking me, / please see to it that I am not / a cop / or an emperor / or a Gypsy / Turn me into a big tree / so I can grow for a hundred years / and get felled down then / and be chiselled into a kneading bowl / dough to be kneaded in me for one hundred years / And finally burst apart with all that bread made."

[…] Many lines have been written about Miroslav Antić, but I think the fans of his verse should be reminded of his love for the Romanies and their music. It was a long time ago, the year evades my memory, when the grapevine spread among Mika's friends that nobody knew where Miroslav Antić had been for days on. His family and friends went around to all the places imaginable to be worth searching. All of a sudden, the happy news arrived: Mika was found somewhere in the Srem, in an out-of-the-way little inn, where Gypsies had been playing for him for four days and four nights. And Mika was all ears, stricken by the 'joy-disease'...