We are Sobakaists. We didn’t join forces for political reasons and no propaganda brought us together. No chains of nationalism or religion hold us down nor do substances as insignificant as blood tie us together. We don’t bow down to money. We do not stand under one flag nor has the same star guided us to this very place. Our relations are purely existentialist in nature – we live for art. We are continually drowning in an ocean of everyday banality. This group represents our refuge, our very own islet, a harbour we land in to rest, for life is terribly long and the ocean is seldom steady. Each one of us reached this inlet relying solely on the sense of smell. We knew one another by a secret sign no one revealed to us previously. We heard music and traced its sound. Each one of us discovered a mark within, an odd emblem of fate, for we rest assured we are the chosen ones, prophets of a new world wherein art bears far more importance than television, more significance than fun, wherein it constitutes a dire need, a physical and spiritual necessity.
We are Sobakaists. We are hounds that furiously bite for art, we are the keepers of the riches of the world cultural heritage, and we guide the unaware down these paths. We are no postmodernists, we do not propose L’art pour l’art, nor are we solitary – we recognize our predecessors’ efforts. However, none of them have devoted themselves to art as much as all of us are willing to. We find in ourselves the traces of the early 20th century force, when literature partook in wars and bloody conflicts, when paintings bombarded and movies executed masses. We possess a degree of that commitment but we don’t crave new conflicts, the terrible inhumanity of the world. We merely want human kind to nurture humanism even in times of peace and question the meaning of life, which one may only accomplish through art. We do not consider a greasy sausage more important than Shakespeare nor do we believe that Shakespeare may sate an empty stomach, but we howl at those nose-diving into the triviality of existence, we snarl at fat guts not craving art.
We are Sobakaists and the creative process is our sanctity. We believe in Creation, in phenomena that endure corruption and destruction, that reach further than any periodicals and are not drowned in the silence of the centuries. We maintain either one of us can change the world with his or her creative invention. Timing is of no concern to us, as it may happen tomorrow or in thousands of years. To us, Altamira is a museum of mankind, the same as the Museum of Contemporary Art in Belgrade (inaccessible as the cave itself). Everything we’ve sown so far may grow at any moment throughout the eternity of existence, as we discovered our roots throughout the world. Our roots are embedded deeply in South America, the Incan and Mayan culture, in Africa and its abhorrent history, in jazz, Louvre, Russia and the East and deep in the very heart of the Balkans. More adherents are to find us in the same way we located one another in the dense forest of stupidity, for whoever seeks shall eventually discover.
We are Sobakaists and we do not fear mistakes, improvisations, honesty, attempts, grief and sweat. We do not fear being left outside the spotlight and we do not crave fame. Our goal is to change reality and we have opted for a difficult path in our mission. We aim to create a better world out of the existing one, instead of simply ruining everything in our present experience and recreating a new reality from the ashes of the previous one. Some of us have seen the future, while others are firmly aware that art will save mankind and that planet Earth will be our homeland. These Words represent a new beginning.
We shall work vigorously. And expand. We shall beckon each other and bond. We shall be no strangers to any kind of art and provide a new reality to each of them. Literature shall be our starting point, since in the beginning was the Logos.
We, the Sobakaists, swear to eternally serve Creation and proclaim eternal fidelity to Art.
Jovan P. Brajović