Europe flows, a personal reflection on The European Pavilion 2024 in Lisbon

Nart Özel, a former intern at the European Cultural Foundation, focusing on The European Pavilion, reflects on the festival in Lisbon:

After attending the concluding festival of The European Pavilion 2024: Liquid Becomings in Lisbon on 7-9 November, I went to Faro, on the southern edge of Portugal, for a small retreat. Watching the furious Atlantic Ocean dividing Europe and Africa on a warm November afternoon made me think more deeply about water bodies as unifying and dividing elements.

However vague it may sound, Europe’s borders have traditionally been defined by the water that surrounds it. The Mediterranean Sea marks its southern edge, with the Aegean and the Black Sea on the East. To the North lies the Ural river, while to the West stretches the gigantic Atlantic Ocean, of which nobody knew what existed on the other side only a few centuries ago.

All these water bodies that form the contours of Europe are also where dozens of smaller rivers of continental Europe flow into, functioning – as the curators of Liquid Becomings coined it – like Europe’s ‘nervous system.’ For centuries, rivers were used to establish common identities, connect, trade, and dream. Rivers often transformed into poems, songs, inspiring myths, and reflections. The Bridge on the Drina, the famous novel by Ivo Andrić, delves into the historical interactions witnessed by an old bridge connecting the two banks of the Drina river in today’s Bosnia and Herzegovina. In Albert Camus’s novel, The Fall, the streams of the Amstel river running through Amsterdam symbolize the circles of hell, reflecting the dark existentialist philosophy that gripped Europe’s ports in the post-war era.

For some, Europe’s rivers are rather ‘red’: they were the starting points for colonialism, slavery, division, and remembered as helpful apparatuses to use by empires for new conquests. The Elbe river, which once served as a natural border between West –  and East Germany, remains today as a ghost of the cultural divide between these regions, and a memorial to the gloom of wars. Yet, rivers can also be seen as ‘green’: they are the passages of hope, sustenance, commerce, and unity, as the same Elbe river is today a hot stop for sustainable tourism and a crucial trade route linking Central Europe to Scandinavia.

As part of The European Pavilion 2024: Liquid Becomings, twenty-eight artists had the opportunity to explore and reflect on the stories found along four European rivers, the Danube, the Rhine, the Vistula, and the Tagus, which have shaped countless lives and witnessed the dynamic history of Europe as they flowed. The four groups of artists sailed the rivers in theatrical boats conceived and built by the team of MS-Fusion as “gates of communication, bridging the artists with the river’s public”, as Hanna Priemetzhofer, member of MS-Fusion and the captain for the sails on the Danube and the Tagus called it. Shortly after the last sail ended, all the artistic crews came together in Lisbon to share their journeys and experiences, coincidentally on a day that reminded us of Europe’s fluid futures, marked by the outcome of the US elections and the collapse of the German coalition government. As a ‘passenger’ of the festival, I felt committed to compiling their journals, and their attachment to the rivers, to the boats, and to their companianship which they translated into various works and performances presented in an exhibition held at Quinta Alegre, a baroque mansion in the eastern outskirt of Lisbon now turned into a cultural space.

The opening of the festival in Lisbon was sparked with a colorful street parade that took us from the port of Beato, where the boat used by the Tagus crew was docked, to the Clube Oriental. The three day programme offered a fast flight into the vibrant music community of Portugal, with the hypnotizing ‘batuku’ drum show of Batucadeiras das Olaias, the extravagant rave of NEVER STOP collective spicing up Lisbon’s queer underground culture, the experimental samba performance of Marija Balubdžić and Colectivo Gira taking me into another place for a night. We have also visited an elementary school for a school concert; where we saw roots of the passion for music deeply ingrained on the shores of Tagus. The cultural exchanges, migration paths, and urbanization expressed itself with the city in the form of harmonies.

At Quinta Alegre, an exhibition featured the works of the artists who took part in the sail. The exhibition was accompanied by a programme of performances, taking inspiration from the artists’ journeys. Maria Magdalena Kozłowska and Patryk Zakrocki from the Vistula crew performed an experimental song dedicated to women who have drowned, inspired by the sounds of nature, water, and the Vistula’s serenity. Later, Jaka Škapin from the Danube river interpreted a Croatian folk song to commemorate the losses of the Yugoslav Wars, using his throat singing skills commonly used by the mountain people to communicate with one another. It was fascinating to feel how the journeys on the different rivers raised distinct reflections that beautifully complemented each other – touching on various topics such as rivers as political borders, natural wonders or polluted commerce routes – which I could sense even more while talking with each artist and delving into their memories.

Ewa Ciepielewska, the founder of FLOW and curator of the Vistula boat, introduced me to Vistula’s romantic revival story, and how it became a symbol of hope. Once regarded as insignificant Poland’s occupiers, the Vistula remained largely untouched, which ultimately protected it from an unsustainable industrialization process during the 19^th century. However, the Communist era sparked a mining boom across the country, leading to heavy pollution of the river. It became dirty and unsafe for swimming, prompting people to distance themselves from it. This changed again after the revolution, which led to the closure of the mines and the river’s gradual retransformation. While the new Poland was reemerging from its ashes, the Vistula was also nurturing itself. Today, the Vistula is not just a crucial waterway connecting Warsaw, Krakow, and the Baltic Sea; it also orchestrates Polish nature, keeping the wilderness green and fertile.

Seeing the works of the Vistula artists, I noticed a strong emphasis on nature and organisms. Małgosia Markiewicz presented her mushroom knitted vest depicting her togetherness with nature, Patryk Zakrocki introduced the recorded serene sounds of nature appreciating the beauty of biophilic life, and Ewa Ciepielewska exhibited the abstract Vistula map that she is deeply attached to.

If the works of the Vistula crew were touching upon togetherness within nature, the works of the Danube crew were touching upon togetherness despite political borders. Arguably the most complex route among the four rivers, the Danube left the artists full of reflections. While kneading his clay to make ‘Danube passport’ sculptures, Niel de Vries fascinatingly told me how eye-opening it was to witness the heavy border traffic across the river due to the border checks between Hungary, Serbia, and Croatia. The crew, which included both EU and non-EU citizens, experienced different bureaucratic procedures at each checkpoint which they saw as an important part of the experience. Yet, despite the chaos, there was an established common identity between the artists of the Danube: when locals were curious about where they were from, they simply inquired, “Which part of the Danube are you from?”

The region of the Danube, shaped by many civilizations throughout history, is today at the heart of a crisis that is reshaping the ever-flowing Europe, the humanitarian and migratory challenge. In her poignant reading, Élodie Olson-Coons reflected on how the river is intertwined with the tragedies of refugees attempting to reach Europe. We listened to stories of people sleeping in sunflower fields on the shores of Danube, and the dire conditions of refugee camps in Serbia. For someone from Turkey, one of the country most impacted by the crisis, Olson-Coons’s reading was very emotional. I held my breath and listened as the waterways of the Danube carried countless struggles flashing before my eyes, much like in Jaka Škapin’s moving video installation, featuring photos from the journey in dark, somber tones, reflecting the Danube’s melancholy.

And then, there was the Rhine, Europe’s industrial heart I had previously met with the Rhine crew after they arrived in Rotterdam. On a cold rainy evening, the curator, Annette Mees, showed me a video of one of the performances the crew held in Arnhem, reflecting their profound attachment to each other. Despite the bond between the artists, Martin Schick and Mette Sterre also told me that there was something off about the Rhine that prevented them from fully connecting with nature. Artificial landscapes, traces of human intervention, countless merchant cargos, and a heavily regulated trade route. With the rapid industrialization along the shores of the Rhine, ‘the river reminded them more of a street’ rather than a natural wonder. Martin shared the story of a village near the Rhine resisting the construction of large coal mines in the region, a struggle that left a lasting impression on him during the journey.

The works of the Rhine artistic crew had a more urban, contemporary twist. Mette Sterre, Alicja Wysocka, and Martin Schick founded their own streetwear brand, ‘MS-Fashion’, using trash collected along the river that they used to produce clothes with a camp aesthetic. Isabel Soany, Romuald Krezel, and Alicja Wysocka presented an audio installation drawing on the patterns of communication they witnessed along the Rhine. Underground vibes, humanistic focus, and queer interpretations were manifesting in the works of this crew.

The Tagus was the last of the four sails and the crew arrived in Lisbon only a few days before the start of the festival. Hanna Priemetzhofer pointed out all the great people they met along the route: the fishermen who listened to the project of Liquid Becomings with great excitement, and the villagers who offered them food or a place to sleep. The Tagus crew explored a dimension that the other crews addressed more indirectly: solidarity, companionship, and teamwork. During their journey, they created a group publication by gelatin printing different materials such as leaves, coins, and discarded objects they encountered along the way. They explored what made them connected as a team and how they could build a sense of solidarity. According to Hanna, it all starts with assembling the pieces of the ship from scratch, feeling like you’re on the same boat, joining forces to achieve a common goal, and somehow, trying to survive together in a habitat that’s not meant for them. This did not only connect the team with each other but also all the Tagus goers to one another.

Wandering the exhibition and listening to the artists gave me clues about how the project’s legacy could inspire public policies. Why don’t we teach the new generation about team building and encourage them to embark on such journeys? Why aren’t more people assembling pieces of ships and creating common publications together? This was when I realized that Liquid Becomings could be regarded as a pilot for potentially larger projects in the future. I’d like to see how this method could be adapted by universities, high schools, or corporations to inspire togetherness and drive change in a world that is more polarized than ever. I’d like to see how these projects could foster tolerance in the new generation through interactions with ‘foreign’ fishermen, villagers, and merchants. I’d like to see how it could teach people to admire nature.

In a contemplative mood, I have cherished the power of The European Pavilion 2024. I witnessed how Liquid Becomings deconstructed Europe and made us confront its ever-flowing challenges – from financial inequality to pollution, the refugee crisis, and divisions. However, it also gave all of us hope, and showed us how rivers can help people to accept each other, whether through trade, nurture, or an abstract, common identity.

Now, it is time to use all these reflections to imagine the future of Europe – a piece of land interwoven with hundreds of waterways connecting and dividing countless communities. As long as the rivers flow, Europe will continue to flow. The future may lie behind thinking of rivers as givers, rather than takers. Despite everything, they can hack animosity and work wonders: by fostering harmony between communities with complex histories, creating more sustainable and fertile soils, or driving prosperity as tools for commerce.

In a time when we search for hope, rivers may offer it. Nonetheless, the future depends on our perspectives—on how we envision rivers as catalysts for unity, tolerance, and communication. As long as new projects thrive, ‘liquid becomings’ will continue to emerge. When these ‘liquid becomings’ inspire, questions evolve into solutions, solidifying into foundations for a better future.

And so, a longer journey will begin.

A Turkish version of this article was published in the Gazeta Oksijen.