Simon

Simon is one half of small but dangers. The other half is Mateja, his partner. In all fairness, this post might be mostly about both of them, but its titled Simon because I did not interview Mateja, so feel a little uncomfortable putting her on the title without really knowing that much about her background. So, sorry Mateja! Your lack of mention on the title stems only from my respect for you.

Just so we are clear, Mateja and Simon are the main reasons why we are (were, as I am actually writing from Metelkova at the moment) in Cerkno. They are fellow artists and met Klaus and Tina -Im not sure when. Maybe last year or the year before- and invited them to do a village in Cerkno. I truly hope they knew what they were getting themselves into.

Simon is not originally from Cerkno. He grew up in Skofia Loka, which is on the other side of the hills from Cerkno, but from the way Simon talks about it, might as well be the other side of the planet. It is a larger city, and Simon describes it as a living museum. In my imagination, that can mean just about anything: Quaint houses, big neoclassical palaces, or some sort of never-changing, beautifully  stagnant architecture. It can also refer to a human quality. People so traditional and stuffy that they appear to belong more to a museum diorama than regular life. This stuffiness, of course, is not only a physical, external quality, but also a reflection on the local society’s psyche: Who needs new when old is so romantically beautiful, and grand? Or simply: Who needs new when we have bucket loads of old stuff already. Bin the new and stick with the old till it rots, then we’ll finally be able to live in peace.

I think Simon’s description of Skofja Loka may have had a little of all these ideas in mind. Apparently the hills that divide Skofja Loka from Cerkno form some sort of border. On one side of the hills, the rivers flow to the Adriatic. On the other, they flow to the Black Sea. The border is not just geographical. It divides ideas, cultures and idiosyncrasies. It sounds rather strange. So much difference within a small country. But then who am I to judge. The border that separates Chile from Argentina is outlined in the same way. If the river flows from East to West, it’s Chile. From West to East, Argentina. I get those differences. We can be at each other’s throats with Argentinians. We can make fun of each other’s accents, driving or barbecuing habits, but at the end of the day, I won’t let any third party speak ill of them, and I suppose/assume that they would defend us too. It does not matter what side of the mountains people are from, they are still relative neighbours and that’s why they have this love/hate relationship. Similar to sibling love, I guess.

Simon told us that he always liked Cerkno. Even before he met Mateja and moved there. He used to come to the village and crash in a hay barn on the outskirts. Covered from the rain and cosy in the soft, dry, warm hay, everything was perfect. Except during the winter. Then not even the hay was enough. It was just plain freezing, but he still did it. He was still constantly trying to reach Cerkno, despite the snow and rain.

When he left for university in Ljubljana, he met Mateja. They both went to art school together. Simon is very proud of the fact that before they were a couple, they were friends. During uni they started working under the tag small but dangers (thanks to a pair of misspelled red pants), and have been working together since. They sometimes work collaboratively, sometimes separately but always as small but dangers. And I think that’s what is so special about them. They are not only a couple who work together. They are a team, and a pretty cool one at that.

After finishing university they moved back to Cerkno where Mateja opened a restaurant with her brother. For what I gather, he was front-of-house and she was in the kitchen. It lasted about three years before they decided to close. It was just too much. The pressure of running a kitchen with hardly any staff, making everything fresh from scratch for sometimes forty covers, got to be too much, and for what? To spend 70 hours per week cooped up in a kitchen just so you can be your own boss? It does sound wonderful in the beginning, but lets face it: being your own boss means that you are also in charge of a much larger job, which is running a business, and making sure it doesn’t sink. You can give yourself a 25 hour week, but that does not mean that you’ll get one. So what’s the point of being your own boss when there is no time left for your artwork? Mateja felt the same way, and after three years closed up shop.

It truly is a shame, because Mateja really is a great cook. She fed us the last few days in Cerkno, and although our excuse was that we had to set up the gallery and pack the kitchen away, I think that by the third day we were just a bunch of greedy house cats who just wanted nice food. And we got it. Loads of it.

Mateja and Simon are also the reason why we ended up connected to CMAK as well. It turns out that Mateja is one of the people who started it. When she met Simon, he got involved too. It’s really refreshing to see two thirty-something year-olds so invested in helping CMAK (their former youth centre) out so that the new generation finds its way and carries on the torch. It’s also incredible to watch them work for their community in spite of not being part of a community organisation any more. Case in point: us. They invited Nomadic Villege to Cerkno. They then had to partner up with CMAK and the church (eek!) to achieve it. When we ask them how often they try and do stuff like this, they say that they try to make something different happen every year. EVERY YEAR!!! What is it with these Slovenian people! They are so active and ready to be active within their communities, its incredible! I need to take some of them back to Chile and teach us a few things about waking up, sticking with things till the end and getting them done!

The more time I spend with them, the more I realise how special they are. They really live this active/ist lifestyle which a lot of people think they want but at the end of the day are not willing to make concessions. And yet their environment is very similar to ours in Chile. They are going on a holiday now, but then in the fall, who knows. Who knows where the next pay check will come from, or how rent money will make it to their landlord’s account. The plan is to get a studio. They haven’t had one in ages. But then again they also need to find a way to make money. This seems terribly familiar, I need to sort the same things out when I go home. And the thing is that you’ll never know how you’ll make it to the end of the month. You can’t know, because if you do know, it probably means that you’ve given up on what matters to you the most. And small but dangers are not giving up on anything anytime soon. We should all be so brave.