Spomenik Monument Database is a book I simply must have.

From the book.

This minor obsession began with a photograph I took very long ago at a rest stop during a bus trip from Dubrovnik to Belgrade, in what then was called Yugoslavia  ...

 ... followed by the helpful intervention of the internet 30 years later, enabling a positive ID.

UPDATE: "Tjentište War Memorial, Yugoslavia, then and now."

The two fractal walls of the memorial were erected in the 1970’s to remember Operation Fall Schwarz, otherwise known as the Battle of the Sutjeska. The military action took place during World War II and saw Axis forces attempt to rout a group of Yugoslavian forces and capture their leader.

If you're the Twitter type, the author of a new book about these memorials maintains an informative presence: Spomenik Database.

The Spomenik Database is an educational resource intended to catalog and demystify the abstract WWII monuments (spomeniks) of the former-Yugoslavia.

As for the book itself, this holiday season it would make the perfect gift for your favorite beer-slinging fan of brutalist monuments.

Spomenik Monument Database, a book by Donald Niebyl

Spomenik – the Serbo-Croat/Slovenian word for monument – refers to the pioneering abstract memorials built in Josip Tito’s Yugoslavia between the 1960s and the 1990s, marking the horror of occupation by Axis forces and the triumph of their defeat during World War II. Through these imaginative creations, a forward–looking socialist society, free of ethnic tensions, was envisaged.

This publication brings together more than 80 examples of these stunning brutalist monuments. Each has been extensively photographed and researched by the author to make this book the most comprehensive survey available of this obscure and fascinating architectural phenomenon. A fold-out map on the reverse of the dust jacket shows the exact location of each spomenik using GPS coordinates.

Jeffersonville's call to artistic creativity is a sad mirror held to New Albany's anchor-bound cult of personality.

It's so very telling that in Jeffersonville, artists are ASKED.

In New Albany, artists first must conform to Dear Leader's vision of dogs playing poker on every street corner -- and a Velvet Gahan above every hearth.

#FireGahan2019

THE STORY OF US: Jeffersonville asks artists to submit ideas for riverfront signage, by Jenna Esarey (That Jeffersonville Newspaper)

 ... During reconstruction of the downtown marina, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers issued a memorandum of agreement stipulating details like trees to be planted, among other things. “One of the stipulations called for the installation of interpretive signage,” said Dawn Spyker, Public Art Administrator for the city.

“I thought, could this actually be a piece of art? Let’s make it a sculptural interpretive sign. This could work,” she said.

On Dec. 22 the city issued a call to artists to create a sculptural piece to celebrate and interpret the city’s river heritag ...

UPDATE: "Tjentište War Memorial, Yugoslavia, then and now."

It wasn't until May of 2017 that I finally understood what I'd photographed back in 1987. It was the Tjentište War Memorial, glimpsed somewhere along the route of a 10-hour bus ride from Dubrovnik to Belgrade.

This essay is a far better explanation of the "spomeniks," a word that may not be the best choice to describe them.

The Misunderstood History of the Balkans’ Surreal War Memorials, by Darmon Richter (Atlas Obscura)

As viral images, the so-called “spomeniks” of the former Yugoslavia are often taken out of context.

The memorial house on Petrova Gora is one of many hundreds of unusual, oversized monuments that were built by the former Yugoslavia during the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s across the Balkan States. These Yugoslav war memorials—often dubbed “spomeniks” by Western media—have gained a lot of online attention in recent years. However, as viral images, they are increasingly taken out of context.

Here's the post from May 24, 2017.

---

It's just a few days shy of thirty years since I boarded a bus in Dubrovnik, bound for Belgrade. I'd already been to Ljubljana, Zagreb, Sarajevo and Mostar, which at the time were located in Yugoslavia. The country ceased to exist after the civil war, which began in 1992.

The bus trip took something like ten hours, traveling on roads that weren't interstates. Every few hours, there'd be a pit stop, and one of them was at the Tjentište War Memorial, in the middle of nowhere. My photo from 1987 is above, and a more recent one below (via Atlas Obscura's article).

At the time, I had no idea what this sculpture represented, only that it seemed strange enough to photograph.

The two fractal walls of the memorial were erected in the 1970’s to remember Operation Fall Schwarz, otherwise known as the Battle of the Sutjeska. The military action took place during World War II and saw Axis forces attempt to rout a group of Yugoslavian forces and capture their leader.

This and other monuments from defunct Yugoslavia now seem calculated to produce melancholy.

These structures were commissioned by former Yugoslavian president Josip Broz Tito in the 1960s and 70s to commemorate sites where WWII battles took place (like Tjentište, Kozara and Kadinjača), or where concentration camps stood (like Jasenovac and Niš). They were designed by different sculptors (Dušan Džamonja, Vojin Bakić, Miodrag Živković, Jordan and Iskra Grabul, to name a few) and architects (Bogdan Bogdanović, Gradimir Medaković...), conveying powerful visual impact to show the confidence and strength of the Socialist Republic. In the 1980s, these monuments attracted millions of visitors per year, especially young pioneers for their "patriotic education." After the Republic dissolved in early 1990s, they were completely abandoned, and their symbolic meanings were forever lost.

The view in the opposite direction, back in 1987? Just more of those seemingly endless mountains.

Tjentište War Memorial, Yugoslavia, then and now.

Previously in the 1987 travel narrative: 30 years ago today: (May 1987) Dubrovnik long before those trendy thrones and games.

It's just a few days shy of thirty years since I boarded a bus in Dubrovnik, bound for Belgrade. I'd already been to Ljubljana, Zagreb, Sarajevo and Mostar, which at the time were located in Yugoslavia. The country ceased to exist after the civil war, which began in 1992.

The bus trip took something like ten hours, traveling on roads that weren't interstates. Every few hours, there'd be a pit stop, and one of them was at the Tjentište War Memorial, in the middle of nowhere. My photo from 1987 is above, and a more recent one below (via Atlas Obscura's article).

At the time, I had no idea what this sculpture represented, only that it seemed strange enough to photograph.

The two fractal walls of the memorial were erected in the 1970’s to remember Operation Fall Schwarz, otherwise known as the Battle of the Sutjeska. The military action took place during World War II and saw Axis forces attempt to rout a group of Yugoslavian forces and capture their leader.

This and other monuments from defunct Yugoslavia now seem calculated to produce melancholy.

These structures were commissioned by former Yugoslavian president Josip Broz Tito in the 1960s and 70s to commemorate sites where WWII battles took place (like Tjentište, Kozara and Kadinjača), or where concentration camps stood (like Jasenovac and Niš). They were designed by different sculptors (Dušan Džamonja, Vojin Bakić, Miodrag Živković, Jordan and Iskra Grabul, to name a few) and architects (Bogdan Bogdanović, Gradimir Medaković...), conveying powerful visual impact to show the confidence and strength of the Socialist Republic. In the 1980s, these monuments attracted millions of visitors per year, especially young pioneers for their "patriotic education." After the Republic dissolved in early 1990s, they were completely abandoned, and their symbolic meanings were forever lost.

The view in the opposite direction, back in 1987? Just more of those seemingly endless mountains.

Update: For more on Tjentište and the war monuments (spomeniks), read this post from November 10.

Next: Passing through Belgrade, then on to Skopje, beginning with a digression about brutalist architecture on the heels of an earthquake.

At least Amy wasn't dozing during art appreciation class.

For Chris's complaint to make sense ("I don’t know what it has to do with our historic city"), he must be prepared to explain what art of any sort actually DOES have to do with our historic city -- and he can't cheat by asking his fellow literalist Bob "CeeSaw" Caesar, who believes that art is so important that it must be outsourced to Tennessee to truly matter.

At least Amy was around to offer the counter-point. Either of them, or preferably both, might ask the best available question: Why is there a fork painted on the road in front of the Cardinal Ritter House?

CHEERS AND JEERS — For Feb. 25-26

JEERS

... to the art display of a fork stuck in a piece of cheese along Market Street in downtown New Albany.

Who approved it and what is it supposed to signify — that we have a few restaurants in the downtown area? I don’t know what it has to do with our historic city. Maybe it would work better at the Carnegie Center. Unless I am mistaken, I don’t think we are the fork or cheese capital of the world.

— Chris Morris, Assistant Editor

CHEERS

... to the giant fork stuck in a piece of cheese sculpture along Market Street in downtown New Albany.

While I didn’t really plan to cheer the cheese, reading Mr. Morris’ preceding jeer reminded me of the chuckle I got when I saw the cheese for the first time last week. It’s fun and whimsical. So what if it doesn’t have anything to do with New Albany’s history?

Just let it be what it is. It’s art. Don’t you just love it?

— Amy Huffman-Branham, assistant editor