| There is an artificial island in the bay of Kotor, off the coast of Montenegro, which is being built by the townspeople of Perast (population: 360). It is very much a work in progress, begun in 1452. They began building this island to accommodate a church, Gospa od Skrpjela (Our Lady of the Rock). Both the island and the church, which are built of stone, came into existence because of one rock in the ocean where a sailor found a painting of Mary. Rocks were thrown into the ocean at this site and eventually the pile of rocks became an island, growing large enough to build the church on it. The people of Perast continue to throw rocks into the ocean at this site. | 
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There is an artificial island in the bay of Kotor, off the coast of Montenegro, which is being built by the townspeople of Perast (population: 360). It is very much a work in progress, begun in 1452. They began building this island to accommodate a church, Gospa od Skrpjela (Our Lady of the Rock). Both the island and the church, which are built of stone, came into existence because of one rock in the ocean where a sailor found a painting of Mary. Rocks were thrown into the ocean at this site and eventually the pile of rocks became an island, growing large enough to build the church on it. The people of Perast continue to throw rocks into the ocean at this site. That is 554 years and counting’s worth of rocks. The church is filled with devotional offerings, objects, paintings and tokens of thanks from survivors of disasters—starting with sailors who had lived through storms. Our Lady of the Rock has a collection of splintered masts of ships, broken lanterns, frayed ropes and ripped sails, which hang from the ceiling and are propped against the walls in the hallways of the church. There are gifts from widows of sailors and a tapestry made by a woman who waited 25 years for her husband to return from sea—woven with her own hair (the stitching turns white in the sections that she finished on her death bed). On the terrace are ancient Greek amphorae bleached white by the sun. But, the collection of objects doesn’t stop there.
Some background on this lesser-known country: Montenegro exists as an independent nation since June 5th, 2006. It is one of the former republics of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. The country of Montenegro does not have one single Starbucks or McDonald’s. There are, as far as I saw, absolutely no chain stores, and things continue to be hand-made or handpicked, often sold by the side of the road. People drive old Yugos and Zastavas. In larger cities, such as the capitol, Podgorica (formerly Titograd), there are many reminders of the Socialist Republic days, but smaller towns maintain their Old World appearances with old stone buildings combining architectural styles from the various cultures that conquered the region, reflecting its historical turbulence.
Approaching the island from a small boat, there is an absolute idyllic quality to the tiny church, which appears to be floating, toy-like, on the water. Glacially carved mountains surround the bay and the water is clear and still.
The main section of the church displays a traditional iconographic alter-piece and painted ceiling, but what is most immediately striking are the small silver plates, which line the walls. Numbering in the hundreds, these handmade reliefs depict sailboats that, up until made defunct by the steam engines, sailed from this port. Sailors made the plates as offerings to the Lady of the Rock and as prayers for protection. The fascinating part of the island is what followed after sailing died out— how, as people adapted to industrialization, the church never lost its purpose. In the other sections of the church, where various other sailing artifacts from the collection fill walls and ceilings and crowd sections of the floor, one begins to see modern objects. This is what is important: it evolves. A broken gun hangs on the wall—evidence of a soldier living through a battle. A shattered airplane window is also present—brought by the survivor of a plane crash. The fender of a car is here, a remnant from an accident that someone, against all odds, walked away from alive. Venetian paintings dating from the late Renaissance are hung directly side by side with modern and contemporary paintings all depicting events people have survived. Objects are collected here in a continuing act of building—somehow an expression of the human need to believe, to have faith, in a very basic sense.
Generations of people believed that they could build an island and create this exhibition, people who want to survive storms, wars and disasters. The objects installed in this artificial landscape are not curated and there is no pretension. It is not quaint. It is authentic. It is a continuing monument to survival in a region of the world that has survived extreme political turbulence and war for hundreds of years. It does not claim to show the aftermath of a specific war or event, and the objects displayed are haphazardly jumbled together without chronological order, the effect being that the idea of survival becomes more of an abstract concept—an internationally spoken language.
Perhaps the making of this work in progress is unfathomably long; nonetheless Gospa od Skrpjela captures the contemporary zeitgeist with honest integrity rooted in centuries of experience. Caught in the marathon of innumerable contemporary art fairs and biennales, sometimes taking the road less traveled can lead to discoveries of greater relevance.
Hannah Dougherty is an American artist living and working in Berlin. She is represented by Klara Wallner Galerie.
