Ares and the art of attention
In this TenTen, Prizren's own Ares Shporta reflects on (re)building a cultural institution in Kosova—not only as a fixed structure, but as an evolving space shaped by memory and collaboration.
There’s a certain subtle, but clear tone in how Ares Shporta describes his work—a bit methodical, a bit focused. As director of the Lumbardhi Foundation and a related cultural centre, he’s spent the last ten years navigating what it means to sustain a cultural institution in a place where the past is still considered unresolved and the future often seems uncertain. Lumbardhi building is now entering a long-awaited renovation, but Ares finds here a further proof of Lumbardhi’s story of persistence: of listening closely, adapting slowly, and creating a creative space so others can join in. Films are all about attention, and Ares has mastered this art of attention both in front and behind the big screen.
In this TenTen interview, Ares reflects on a decade of shaping a cultural space in Prizren, the hometown of Dokufest - and in the midst of a societal flux; his own slow entry into film production with his bestie Kaltrina Krasniqi, and the tough job of staying hopeful without being naïve. He talks about the forthcoming long(ish) renovation of Lumbardhi Cinema not with despair but with pragmatism, and when asked about heroes, he doesn’t name-drop but nods to the team of people who’ve worked passionately with him—and his own daughter Hidra, from whom he’s still learning.
Shporta doesn’t trade in absolutes. This might be a great strength, when operating in a political and cultural landscape that is so engulfed in absolute truths…
What’s your earliest childhood memory?
My grandfather’s deathbed.
Which work of art, book, or film has shook you the most in your life—something that completely changed your perspective?
The Man Without Qualities by Robert Musil.
What is your greatest fear?
Growing bitter.
You lead Lumbardhi Foundation, a relatively young institution. What does “institution-building” really mean in a fragile context like Kosovo? Is it architecture, networking, staffing or something messier and more invisible?
Lumbardhi is indeed young, it just turned 10, but then Kosovo itself is only 17. While both are young, neither of them came out of nowhere: they have unresolved pasts to figure out, enough experience to see their qualities, vulnerabilities, limitations and possibilities, and are in a critical phase of their pre-pubescent and adolescent development.
A cultural institution is many things and can be looked at from many prisms. In my understanding, the institution-building is in what it does and how it does it, its’ space, its surroundings, the clarity of its mission and its ability to follow it, as well as its dreams and desires. It is also, who it relates to and is interdependent with, how it asks and listens, as well as how it generates and negotiates its values, principles and its sense of autonomy.
I’d say more than networking, it is about getting acquainted, generating and keeping a critically engaged community locally and internationally. It is in making an environment for imagination, building a mindset and a culture of learning, as well as a commitment of a team to a long-term mission, way beyond our own mandates and periods of service.
You’re also a film producer. Your current film projects “Bleach” and “Thirst” sound like titles full of tension. What themes or obsessions connect the films you produce?
I’m very new at this and it's evolving, so I can talk about things I’m currently working on. 10 years ago I joined Kaltrina in shooting Sarabande, a road movie which followed our friend Petrit Çeku from Prizren in Kosovo to Avila in Spain - then it was curiosity and friendship. Nowadays, I think the possibility of working with a friend whose work and vision I admire and trust, diving into worlds of literature, underrepresented histories, women’s experiences and the contemporary changes of the society, is interesting and provides a chance to question and rethink myself and things around me. Also, I’ve grown in a city transformed by a film festival, spent a decade living with a cinema and love big collaborations, so being involved in the process of filmmaking itself feels at once fresh enough and familiar enough to work in.
Lumbardhi cinema is closed for renovation for few years. What will you fill the void with?
We’ve been waiting for this for way too long and suddenly it became real. The biggest optimists among us expect them to last a year, while the most pessimistic ones say it can drag for five years - I feel like I’m somewhere in the middle and will keep cautious and agile. In the next months we will publish a new book and open an exhibition, (re)launch an online archive and publishing platform, prepare the next production of the Lumbardhi Experimental Ensemble for DokuFest, put in motion a traveling program, set up a new space and supervise the renovation. Also, we will have to put together new commissions and programs that we will present once the restoration is complete.
What’s the last song you remember having on repeat all the time?
Big Cat Tattoos by Hamish Hawk.
Let’s flip it: what’s another innovative cultural initiative in Kosovo right now (not yours!) that you find hopeful, maybe even great?
Sure. Let’s double flip-it: I feel we are around a big momentum as a scene, from visual arts to film, from community based initiatives to music, and I work with many people and organizations whose work I value. We will all have to learn to improve the culture of working together. But, if I have to single out one, I’d say the process of Hajde Foundation around the House of Culture in Runik is promising and something I can relate to.
Who are your heroes?
I’m not big on heroes, but I’d say all family, friends and collaborators who bore with me in the past decade are heroes. To single out one, I’d name my daughter Hidra, from whom I’ve been learning a lot.
Do all heroes inevitably become fallen heroes?
Everybody falls. I’m more interested in what we do when we fall and the ways in which we get up.
