Slovenia is a rare gem. Snuggled between Italy, Austria, Hungary and Croatia, I flew into Ljubljana against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains that frame the city. En route to a workshop and somewhat forced into spending an extra few days in Slovenia due to Wizz Air changing their flights (again), I’ve been exploring Ljubljana by boot and Boris Bike. Only unlike London the Boris Bikes are free for an hour. Most of the bits you might want to see are within the sixty minutes, so I’ve been the the Museum of Contempary Art, various churches, and today an epic cycle to Zale which is the main cemetery for the city.
Much of Ljubljana is touched by the fingerprints of the architect Jose Plecnik, who designed the very lovely three bridges across the river, the market place, various National buildings and in the critical years of 1938/40, the monumental entrance to Zale Cemetery. I crossed the bridges, bought a curious green and red lettuce at the market and a delicious pork chop for my supper, and visited the cemetery. Plecnik and I have crossed paths.
Used by all and sundry to publicly mourn their beloved since 1906, the funerary architecture ranges from Art Deco to 40s & 50s brutalist headstones, which I find I have developed a passion for. Along with various angel types and Jesus. Just to be clear- my passion for Jesus lies only in ecclesiastical imagery and art. I love churches but not the church.
The sun was shining hard and I found most of my angels had their backs to it, which made for some interesting photography. For some reason I haven’t photographed the monolithic entry building that Plecnik built, which was an oversight. I was probably rushing towards an angel. For fools rush in, etc etc. After the tortoise-wrangling incident in the English Cemetery on Corfu (it’s a story for another day) I now do a quick shoulder check before I disrespectfully stand on the edge of a grave to find my angle, but I don’t mean it disrespectfully. If anything these images are taken with the greatest of interest and appreciation of form.
The great expanse of shiny black granite felt like a lake against the neat white gravel surrounding the grave. The cemetery allows people to plant trees, so throughout the grounds are wonderful mature conifers that add a soft edge to the hard lines of the headstones. It’s very beautiful. This headstone with its granite lake was huge. It struck me that the space delineated by the edges of the tombs are a both a public and private mourning space. Guy Cools wrote in his recent book ‘Performing Mourning’ (spotted and read for a while at the Ljubljana Museum for Contemporary Art) that grief is the private expression, and mourning the public expression, of loss.
I’d not thought about it in those terms. Applied, this might mean that headstones and their space are a public space, however that express very private emotions. The aesthetics don’t always parallel. I spotted the most beautiful, simple granite headstone that had been left with painted pebbles as votives. The pebbles were horrible. Acrylic painted hearts, badly done. Probably by grandchildren which is makes them more acceptable but visually, made me cringe. This subject of the need for family to adorn and decorate, to leave a visual and physical representation of their votive, whether it be flowers or pebbles or baby Jesus figurines, is something I circle back to.
There was a particularly simple and beautiful grave that caught my eye. It offered a balance and symmetry, the headstone simple, the form uncomplicated, and a large stone vase for flowers was built in at the bottom left of the grave space. It was perfect. There was a respectful distance of vase to headstone, a sense of space. Not one, normally, for colour, it seems an example of the relationship between understanding the architectural strength of simplicity and the need for personal responses by the mourner. I imagine the departed soul loved yellow and sunflowers.
I can’t resist an angel.
This one above has a Cubist feel to her although the next one is interesting. There’s a slightly naturalistic headstone, a female form that’s a wee bit angelic, then a Cubist block to the right of the plinth, closing the space down. And a strong sense of sunlight.
The natural form of this mother figure above resting her arm in the super-modern-shiny gravestone caught one’s attention. The visual jump between hard and soft, the colours and tones. It feels secularly angelic with its Eastern Europe Workers Union vibes. I love this more and more.
And then, near the exit, this. The votive lanterns and the reflections in the granite were irresistible. It was on a big scale for a private tomb. Expensive and beautiful. Bravo. I’m hoping to carbon print this one.
On dragons…
There were no dragons at Zale. Heironymus Bosch had the drop on early dragons with their wild connections to the underworld. Funerary artists are far too sensible to risk a crazy reptile with connections to Hell on a headstone.
In town, it’s a different story. The dragons are part of Ljubljana’s creation myth. This involved Jason and the Argonauts and the slaying of a swamp dragon. The tourist board obviously think it’s a good hook. Chocolates, the tourist shops, drainage covers and a bridge have dragons. They are rather fine things for a big reptile with wings.
On my travels around Ljubljana I also spotted this memorial with birch trees and three flagpoles. No dragons in sight. I now think it has the feel of Plecnik to it, or if he didn’t design it, it was something that would have spoken to the architect within him.
Unlike the rather pleasing domestic architecture along both sides of the river, there is also a lot of horrible architecture built around the outskirts which frankly deserves a good kicking. Like everything post war it served a cheap and functional purpose. I get very cross with more recent badly designed architecture. Urban planners should know by now that visual eyesores impact social behaviour and values.
And I don’t care if Ljubljana tells its tourists that the graffiti subculture is cool - it’s not. It’s visual pollution. And it affects those creating it and those forced to look at it. Think New York, people. Areas mended and tidied up had lower crime rates and an improved sense of community. It’s connected.
On a final note. Despite the attraction of granite and shiny stone at Zale, one of the most lovely headstones was this. Gregorin and Janez, on wood, with either a bit of an age gap if they were married (26 years) or she may have been his daughter born six years before he died aged 32. Or perhaps siblings. Janez died aged 31. They both died too young.
Either way, an angel looks after them now from the headstone and there are two huge cypress trees keeping them safe. One wonders if Gregorin died in the Great War. The story feels lost.
The final story of Zale is of Ljubljana’s people, not their cemetery. This wonderful cemetery is uplifting and celebrates the human form. In death, there is life.