D A V O R

MANTIKA

Mantika is the art of predicting the future, or divination, that was traditionally practised by throwing grains, reading residues from a coffee cup, observing natural phenomena and stargazing. In this work, the medium of divination is photography that helps to establish a relationship between the past and the future, between the things that have already happened, the things that remained and the things that will eventually occur. 

 The photographs on display require an active viewing, because they are not only evidence and traces of something that once existed but they rather show the permanent presence of elements of substance within the area of social relations. They are also the records of alternative histories that are often at odds with official and publicly imposed narratives. This work-in-progress is composed of three photographic series that Victor Burgin calls 'the elementary unit from which the chains of signifiers are formed and the hinge between movement and stasis, the motionless point of turning between unconscious fantasy and the real' (Streitberger 2009: 268).

CRITIQUE OF BORIS GREINER ON THE WORK OF MANTIKA, Conquered Territories Vol. 10
Gallery Cekao, Zagreb, November 29, 2021 – January 18, 2022

Mantika is the art of divination. Practiced since ancient times—through observing the flight of birds, the entrails of animals, casting cards or lentil grains—it was particularly prevalent in Ancient Greece, Rome, and Byzantium. Some forms, such as horoscopes, remain popular today, although true astrologers would argue that interpreting natal charts is not about predicting the future.

Such predictive possibilities have now been extended through technological advancements. For example, as depicted in the series *Devs* (short for "developers" and also the name of a supercomputer in the story), the concept of determinism is realized through a computer with access to all data. If all inputs are known—everything that has ever occurred—then there are no unpredictable outputs. However, there’s no need to fear; everything happens as it will, regardless of someone knowing the equation—unless, of course, *Devs* has another plan.

The theme of the future is not unknown in the photographic world. Initially, Darko Bavoljak contrasted the word's meaning with its fulfillment, materialized in shattered signs on broken factories. Later, Bojan Mrđenović tackled similar themes.

Davor Konjikušić also explores contrasts between past visions of the future and today’s reality of those visions—or, in other words, the questions once posed to the future and the answers it has since delivered.

Starting with the fact that the gallery is located within an educational institution, inherently focused on its users' future, and more specifically in a lobby outside a library offering history as a foundation for understanding the present and anticipating the future, Konjikušić sets up a ready-made installation as an introduction to the exhibition. This installation consists of books extracted from the library’s collection, all containing the word "future" in their titles. These range from fundamental works like Freud’s *The Future of an Illusion* and De Rougemont’s *The Future Is Our Business* to questionable methods and techniques of divination in *How to Predict the Future*. This selection, however, is not the author’s deliberate choice of pivotal books for understanding humanity’s perception of time but rather a caricature of Google search applied to a library, showcasing every title featuring that word. If the library represents history, this selection method represents the future of that history, suggesting a format for the future’s answers to past questions.

Ultimately, the role of the future is assumed by us, the present-day witnesses, who observe the unfolding, read book titles while knowing the outcomes of those past visions of the future, and live their aftermath.

The central part of the exhibition—three large-format photographs displayed in lightboxes—also engages us, the audience, placed by time in the role of judge or jury, as the cases have already concluded. We are presented with facts that the present turns into evidence, indicting a future that, despite the solid arguments of past visions, decided to go its own way.

The first image is an extraordinary photograph of the Sisak refinery taken one week before its closure. The photograph, captured at night, depicts a vast, illuminated industrial organism—an impressive human achievement. Yet, the refinery has become insolvent, and its power is turned off. This isn’t an ecological story applauding the shutdown but rather a tale of the demise of a vision. Framed in this manner, it might even offer a new vision of the future: one where the refinery could be repurposed as an illuminated monument to failed visions.

Unlike Bavoljak and Mrđenović, who document the betrayal of futures through apocalyptic imagery of shattered illusions, Konjikušić portrays them in the present—just before their significant arguments become part of the past.

The second photograph, far less spectacular, features an oil painting depicting a serene landscape: herons, ducks, grouse, and partridges by a lakeside overgrown with reeds and distant trees. In contrast to the social dimensions of the first image, this expands the focus to nature. Its real significance, however, lies in the context: the painting was photographed on Brijuni, in the Non-Aligned Movement’s meeting room. This once-promising geopolitical vision has long dissolved, as has the earlier vision of the United Nations as humanity’s conscience—a concept fervently supported by Albert Camus in his time.

The third photograph reveals crystalline white powder on a dark surface—amphetamine, commonly known as speed. Research indicates that Zagreb ranks second among cities globally in per capita consumption of this synthetic drug. Moving from failed economic and geopolitical predictions to a local level, this scene reflects a present-day reality characterized by a lack of vision. Instead, it seeks the temporary alertness, improved mood, and concentration provided by stimulants. However, this is no Zagreb-specific phenomenon but a reflection of global trends, highlighting how visions have shifted from future societal or industrial organization to the immediate organization of personal experience.

As a whole, the exhibition presents a symmetrical layout: three lightboxes at its center, flanked by low pedestals under protective glass. On the first pedestal, as an introduction, are titles of written futures, while the second, as a conclusion, displays photographs of the present. These images range from a man in a dark suit sitting on the steps of Meštrović Pavilion, to various construction sites and facilities, and even the surreal scene of a man in a light suit sitting on a sheet on the grass, gazing at a sculpture within a semi-circular wall reconstruction.

Viewed as a triptych, the lightboxes expose the futility of the art of divination. What the past predicted has been discarded by time, while the present acts like a Devil offering candy in exchange for forgetfulness.


From the Foreword to the POU Catalogue, Zagreb, 2022
Mantika – Davor Konjikušić

Written by: Maja Flajsig

The future is a space and time of the unknown. The past, however, represents a tangible, substantive dimension of how we perceive the future. As we imagine the future and predict the course of events from the space of the present, the experiences and narratives of the past shape our relationship with the future and our expectations of it. Between the two poles of utopia and dystopia lie the promised futures that never materialized. It is within these fissures that Davor Konjikušić’s artistic exploration takes place. Through his cycle *Mantika* (the art of divination), he examines the concept of the future and our relationship with it.

His photographs depict a full spectrum of futures that have simultaneously occurred—some we anticipated, some we did not expect, and some that are not futures at all but rather identical existences detached from time and space. Ethnologist Milivoj Vodopija wrote that the secret fascination with photography lies in its ability to offer a fragmented experience of time and the world we live in, as it aligns more closely with human perception of time. Humans measure time through emotions and memories, which resist the real perception of external time that is necessarily experienced in continuity.

In Davor Konjikušić’s photographs, memories of futures that never came to pass are revealed in scenes of extinguished industry, fleeting ideologies, artificial life, and escapist efforts—all of which collectively shape the contemporary moment. From this moment, we once again imagine and predict the futures that lie ahead. The entire spectrum of these possible futures is materialized through a series of books placed in the gallery. Each of these books offers its own vision and understanding of what awaits us.

Some of these tomorrows may already be here—improperly distributed, composed of fragments of the present.

The article was originally published in the publication of the exhibition of Davor Konjikušić & Olga Matveeva: Hereafter at Artget Gallery, Kulturni centar Beograda.
Miha Colner December 21, 2024

It seems that each generation, and each period in history, creates its own narrative about the present and future which usually derives from the understanding of the past. In the past twenty or thirty years the world adopted much more grim perception of reality than the period that preceded it. The 21st century broke away from the values and ideas of the postwar order that, despite ideological polarisation and tense political relationships, at least in theory, championed progress and prosperity. Currently, however, increasingly globalised societies, especially the ones of so called developed world, view the present and future as gloomy and dangerous. Majority of people do not believe that the future would bring better world and happier life. Instead, hopes for greater prosperity, equality, solidarity and safety are perceived as rather utopian and naïve.

But why would people in the period of history when, (at least statistically) despite many conflicts and catastrophes, most of them live better, longer, healthier and safer lives than ever before look into the future with such resignation and disillusionment? Is it historically implausible for a civilisation to retain period of peace and prosperity for a longer period of time? Is prosperity compatible with sustainability? Is the memory of devastating global wars in the 20th century fading away so fast that only eighty years later so many people are not aware any more of the dangers of global instabilities and conflicts?

The present-day in 2024 seems to be extremely precarious and complex. The world population is twice as big as it was fifty years ago, but it does not have any more resources at disposal. Politically, many societies turned against the model of social egalitarianism that actually made the population growth possible, and instead followed the trend of social Darwinism that lead to ongoing competition and power struggle. The second half of the 20th century was characterised with great hopes for brighter future, while the 21st century is infested with pessimistic prospects and cynical perceptions of the things to come. But is there a true reason and sound argument for such catastrophic prospects? In his book New Dark Age: Technology and the End of the Future (2018) James Bridle claims that human intelligence and knowledge are not always cumulative, and that human race may possibly already reached its peak of scientific and technological progress since increased levels of C02 in the atmosphere may cause serious reduction of people’s cognitive capabilities.

The artists Davor Konjikušić and Olga Matveeva address these complex and multifaceted questions in their own unique ways but there is unifying notion of unease that defines both their works. Their diverse and ambiguous images, marked by dark and eerie atmosphere, are undoubtedly narrative, but in a distinctly non-linear way. Instead, they communicate through metaphors in order to point out their concealed potential meanings, embracing current dystopian and dark perception of the world and its future. In doing so Matveeva refers to myths and legends of the past to understand the present, while Konjikušić looks into the history of future that (can) eventually turn into unexpected reality.

In the series Mantika (2021-2024) – the expression that describes the art of predicting the future – Konjikušić merges images of decaying industrial complexes, adoptable ideologies, artificial entities and possible escapisms. He tackles individual and collective memories from the turn of the 20th and 21st centuries that saw complete breakdown of former values that were replaced by hyper-nationalism, economic inequality and cultural provincialism. The demographic and economic experiments caused by free-floating international capital and willingness of national states to comply with it, can lead to the demise of humanity. Therefore, the image of modern industrial complex that in the 20th century represented the idea of scientific and technological progress, can only couple of decades later, in the age of deregulated economies and deindustrialisation, become at best a reminder of current environmental issues. With this piece Konjikušić addresses the phenomenon of once anticipated futures that eventually became present reality, but they rarely turned out as it was expected. In retrospect, now historic high hopes for the future appear almost naïve.

In a similarly dystopian manner Matveeva highlights the bleak prospects of the present age with visual means. In her ongoing series Intrusion (2017-2024) she combines images of artificial and man-made forms with visual narratives of folk tales. The gloominess of contemporary world which is, yet and again, ravaged by wars, tyrannies, and threat of the imminent environmental collapse, is metaphorically compared to the figure of a vampire. Nowadays, vampire can be a reflection of popular culture that worships an eternal youth, beauty, success and power, or a symbol of war-mongering bureaucrats and compassionless businessmen that mind only their own short-term interests. The photographs and video of Matveeva may showcase the remnants of a civilisation in free fall, the invisible hand of humankind that can be utterly useful, and at the same time painfully destructive. The architectural forms of urban and industrial structures, that could be understood as landmarks of civilisation or as signs of its downfall, and figures of people in seemingly symbolic roles, testify to her profoundly grim perception of the present and future.