Still waters run deep

How Still Waters Carved a Mountain in Čačak

# How Still Waters Carved a Mountain in Čačak

If you had asked the people of Čačak before 2015 whether they would like you to paint something on their house or apartment building, you would have been met with deeply suspicious looks, questions about who you were and where you came from, and, above all, the question: “Why would we want something like that when we can’t even get rid of the tags that keep appearing over and over again?” Today, however, you don’t even need to ask. Chances are, people will approach you themselves and ask for their building to be next.

How did this happen? You see, the people of Čačak have always been known for their rebellious spirit, their somewhat reserved nature, and their small-town mentality, where it matters who you are and why you’re doing something. Results matter, too. You wouldn’t even sit down for a coffee in a café if you didn’t know the owner. Indeed, the famous saying “Still waters run deep” captures the prevailing mindset of this city’s residents. So, when a group of young people appeared wanting to build a skate park for themselves, organise a festival celebrating urban culture, and hold a graffiti jam at a local school, a few eyebrows were raised and more than a few puzzled looks exchanged. Fortunately, their answer to the questions of who they were and where they came from was so sincere and well-intentioned that suspicion quickly faded, and they were given their first opportunity to prove themselves. And so, the first DUK Festival was held, and the first skate park in western Serbia was built. The young people were euphoric, celebrating the day for what it truly was: a victory for a youth movement. But remember what we said: still waters run deep. The struggles of the heroes in our story were far from over.

In fact, they were only just beginning. Having proved to themselves that they could achieve something, built their own community, and set out enthusiastically to transform the walls of Čačak, they now had to find common ground with entire apartment buildings full of people from different generations. And we all know that the generation gap is one of the hardest divides to bridge. But don’t worry. As in every fairy tale, our heroes are about to encounter some unexpected allies: grandmothers, the greatest enthusiasts when it comes to interventions in public space.

## How Grandmothers Helped Build a Bridge Between Generations

Of course, this wasn’t easy either, but the moment of mutual recognition came surprisingly quickly. You see, these very grandmothers had once been the ones who kept their neighbourhoods thriving, planting flowers, fixing up benches, making sure everyone had somewhere to spend their time and socialise with their neighbours. We’re not entirely sure what they saw in murals and the DUK Festival, but we suspect that the grandmothers in one building started telling those in another how lovely their building looked now, how those young people painted and left everything clean behind them, and how they even encouraged younger neighbours to start taking care of their surroundings, too.

It is well known that in 2021, just after the pandemic, a small-scale war broke out between the grandmothers of three apartment buildings in Čačak’s Kolonija neighbourhood. The three buildings stood side by side and were painted simultaneously, sparking a competition over which mural was the most beautiful and who could offer the artists the warmest hospitality. Juice, coffee, sweets, and all kinds of homemade delicacies were brought out and offered to the artists every day. You can be sure that those days are still fondly recounted around the neighbourhood. After all, it was the first moment following the end of lockdown, and everyone was longing for community and human connection.

The very next year, one of these grandmothers once again welcomed a group of Swiss artists who were painting across from her building, and a few tears were shed when it was time to say goodbye. While Endo and Lumi were painting their mural, Grandma Milja waited eagerly to hear someone call her name so she could lower a cup of coffee, some water, or juice out of her window. Across the street, Grandma Ljilja tapped her walking stick against the cherry picker on the third floor, where Georgia Hill was working, so she could pass her some cherries and coffee.

## And So the Story Goes On...

If you bring spray cans or paintbrushes anywhere in Čačak and start applying paint to a wall, a few heads will soon appear at the windows. At first, you’ll receive quiet approval, followed by direct action in the form of refreshments offered by the old guard. And where there are grandmothers, there are younger neighbours and middle-aged ones, too. Because once you’ve earned the respect of those who have spent so many years caring for a place but can no longer do so as they once did, you become recognised as someone taking up the baton. And indeed, once the painting is finished, that baton is successfully handed back to the building’s residents, who proudly carry it forward, taking responsibility for bringing life to the spaces around their homes.

And that is the story of how Čačak went from being a city with a handful of graffiti pieces to a city with more than 130 murals. Behind this open-air gallery stands DUK Festival, together with all the residents of the buildings and everyone who recognised the value of caring for public space. It might sound a little grand, but it isn’t. This is a warm, human fairy tale and proof that, as we said at the very beginning, still waters run deep.

Perhaps it took more than ten years of festivals to lay the foundations on which this story stands, but those foundations are solid. They are clear proof that the generation gap can be bridged and that, although the tools we use may differ, our goal remains the same: to preserve public space as a shared space for everyone.