What is intriguing about being born in post-war Bosnia and Herzegovina and being raised by generations who have endured wars and political systems is the mentality that cherishes discarded objects and leftovers developed from scarcity. Parental figures in my life would keep small items like a tiny ribbon, pieces of cloth, buttons, nails and screws, and bits of metal or wood, sometimes for years, in hidden places like drawers or basements. I would try to understand this behaviour and appreciate the level of material intelligence at play; these items are stored away until their purpose is found again, allowing them to be reused.

I want to differentiate this mentality from the culture of scarcity, as their values are separate. People feel they have enough, are grateful, value what they have, and develop their problem-solving skills by utilising what is available. Travelling, living abroad and outside your community bring out this specificity by comparing what one is used to and the attitudes and beliefs one finds in a new setting - wearable clothes and shoes thrown away, heaps of food ending up in the bins… The treatment of the other [thing/kind/species/race] carries more profound meaning and concealed statements about ourselves. I attempt to bring out the similarities rather than socially constructed differences and bring attention to what I consider universal truths.

When I say "universal truths," I refer to the commonality of humans and other living beings, those core experiences that bind us all. I often touch on the themes of belonging, fear, mortality, how we interact, and where we (strive to) belong. Fear and anger, negative emotions that can drive positive changes, fascinate me; ergo, the struggle for identity becomes an inevitable subject/ingredient of my work, regardless of how silently or loudly it is portrayed.

Life isn't merely black or white; it is everything in between. Every experience, in economic and social terms, shapes a person's lifelong journey, and art takes on a personal note to express these experiences. Travelling the world and residing in the UK heightened my awareness of the cultural, historical, social, and behavioural differences between a Westernised society and my ever-evolving homeland. Constantly operating between English and my native tongue, I became increasingly attuned to language and the concepts embedded within it, becoming captivated by dualities such as "positive and negative", "east and west", "right or wrong", "absence and presence", "self and the other" and many possibilities for their understanding found in between. 

The shortening of the present moment brings us a step closer to the insanity called instantaneity: instant soups, instant connections and gratifications, ready-meals, overnight millionaires, same-day delivery, 24/7 availability, fast growth, quick weight loss, zero to 100… the list goes on. Automation meant giving us more time, but it seems to have stolen our patience. 

Throughout my process, I engage in actions that may seem futile — doing and undoing, sorting the pieces, finding materials and four-leaf clovers, or any activity that demands time and patience. Patience itself may be an intangible medium, yet it is evident and ever-present. Improvisation serves as a way of connecting the dots and staying in the moment. And while mistakes are possible and even favourable, patience and improvisation show you are actively thinking. 

Take the freedom to consider it a form of child's play or an instinctive urge to fight back against broader societal conditions.

I often revisit pre-industrial societies and think about their ways of sustenance, organisation of living spaces and daily activities. Were there food, tools, and clothing that could have been considered excess or rubbish in prehistoric society? Perhaps not, but today, in our contemporary society, besides the wheel, steam engine and printing press, one of the greatest human inventions is rubbish - in volume, at least. 

By finding discarded materials and collecting and storing them until needed, I reinforce my ideas of slow living and art-making. The process requires presence and discernment when assessing an object's potential use, letting you exercise the innate survival skill of improvisation. As a result, you engage the imagination and consider the object's past lives while cultivating empathy and material intelligence.

The prose or poetic expression is one way of talking to people; it establishes a connection with whoever is reading. I make it stream-of-consciousness, retaining thoughts' authenticity. If handwritten, it adds to the personality and the tone, and the connection becomes more human and imperfect than printed text. I enjoy the ambiguity of this property the handwriting has: while it is sole, it doesn't speak of one's identity directly; hence, it can appear as anyone's thought. It subtly binds to the idea of "universal truths" where one's experience can be highly relatable to the experiences of the other. I am fond of connotations and wordplay — they all add value to this ambiguity in communication, from the encoded message to understanding(s) of it.

And I am delighted to think of all the good handwritten prose has the potential to achieve in people; it goes by the snowball effect. A thought can spark many others.

There's no benefit in telling the audience what to think; combined visual and verbal overstating often dulls more than it clarifies. As long as the work is honest, there will be space for the audience's stories to enter the work; otherwise, when art lacks sincerity, people can sense it. 

My goal is to create moments of thought, recognition, or even discomfort — anything that slows people down just enough to truly feel. An image or a phrase can be a striking disruption to the soothing passivity of everyday life, and if my work stirs one's memory, then it has done its job. I am grateful to think my work brings out empathy, reflection, a quiet sense of solidarity, or a messy reaction. It is all reasonable, as life is too layered for sterile takeaways.

My late history professor from primary school, Ms Bahrija Ćehajić, taught us early on that if you didn't have the right tool, you could improvise with what was around you. A ruler could be anything with a straight edge, she'd say — a notebook, a book, whatever worked. 

My story began with chalk, crayons, watercolours, clay, Windows Paint, and pencils, but evolved to Adobe Photoshop, InDesign, Premiere Pro, sewing, knitting, woodwork, coding, and AI tools. Today's makers have access to a wide range of tools; I prefer to remain open-minded and diverse with my choices—anything from a found wooden block serving as an improvised measuring tool or a new software skill that helps bridge conceptual thinking and hands-on making.