Short stories inspired by the artworld and similar matters.

Translation from Macedonian to English: Nikola Gjelincheski.
Part of the stories were published in the publication Akto Speaking! 2006-2020, in the form of a dialogue with the art historian Vladimir Janchevski.

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Македонска верзија подолу ↓

Old-fashioned short story

We were once invited to a contemporary art festival. To give our expert and intelligent opinion on things. We answered in an old-fashioned manner. With short stories in the fashion of the previous century. Even the characters haven’t been changed, they too are from the previous century.

Contemporary festival about a short story

A good, an ugly and a bad artist went to a contemporary art festival.
Extreme Close Up:
The good artist made ugly works[1].
Extreme Close Up:
The ugly artist made good works.
Extreme Close Up:
The bad artist made bad works.
The good curator, who was part of the jury, whispered something to the Ugly curator, who was also part of the jury. The Bad curator, out of badness, did nothing until it was time for the main prize to be awarded. They just couldn’t decide who to award the prize to. The organizer struggled to keep the competition in order. All hell broke loose, until the cake arrived. Consensus was reached.

Modern festival about a short story

Once upon a time there were the Good, the Ugly and the Bad curator. One hundred years ago they went to a festival of modern art, where the curators of the time assessed their own competence.
Extreme Close Up:
The Good curator made ugly works[2].
Extreme Close Up:
The Ugly curator made good works.
Extreme Close Up:
The Bad curator made bad works.
The good artist, as a jury member, whispered something to the Ugly artist, who was also part of the jury. The Bad artist, out of badness, did nothing until it was time to award the competence prize. The artists began to argue over the term “work” – over when a certain thing could be called a work. They just couldn’t agree. The organizer struggled to keep the competition in order. All hell broke loose. Consensus wasn’t reached. The competition is still going on.

Pathetic short story

One morning I wake up as a cup of coffee. The curator takes a coffee spoon, stirs me and takes a sip. He grimaces after the first sip and continues writing. The next day I wake up as black tea. The curator takes out the teabag, stirs and takes a sip. Again he grimaces after the first sip and continues writing. On the third day, the mug of boza has been drunk before I wake up, and the text has been written.
A happy ending with one victim.

Bureaucratic short story

A superman went to an exhibition. He wasn’t allowed to enter because he didn’t have a N95 protective mask. He got mad, took all the drinks and snacks and left. The organizer had to close the museum.
There it is, still locked up. Now, they’re waiting for a new open call.

Cube-shaped story with a twist

A graphic artist was convinced that he was the best graphic artist in the whole wide world. He truly was very skilled, precise and meticulous in making graphics. His graphics looked like they’d been made by a machine. At home, all his furniture was cube-shaped. Everything he owned was cube-shaped, even his house was cube-shaped. His wife too was cube-shaped. He couldn’t stand the oval shapes; the oval people. Then he had a baby boy. The graphic artist went crazy. He’s now interplanetary renowned.

Short story with its head in the clouds

Every morning, after having his first morning coffee with his wife, the curator went to work. She, however, didn’t wash the cups, but turned them upside down so she could read them. She read how the curator was spending his time at work and if he had another woman on the side[3]. At work, the curator would sometimes spend hours looking at an abstract painting[4]. Seeing that in the cup of coffee, his wife interpreted all that as a love affair. Once, when the curator came home, his wife had broken everything in a fit of anger. He had to change his profession. Some say he now works in a quarry. Others in a mine. Yet others in a foundry.

The cooler discipline

There once lived two artists. One of them was a painter and the other one was a graphic artist. Every time they’d meet, they’d argue about which discipline was better. They kept on arguing for decades. Once, while they were arguing, a conceptualist popped by. This is where the short story ends.

Former short story

There once lived a former artist. He got on a former bus for the former “Route Five” at the bus stop near the former “Record” building. He went to the former museum of former contemporary art. There was a former exhibition by one of his former friends. All of those were his former ideas. He thought to himself, “I don’t give a damn, all of this is former time!” Then the former Superman came, took all the drinks and snacks, and left. The former organizer had to close down the former exhibition.

The idea for this short story has been stolen

One author had so, so, so, so many ideas, tons of ideas. She went to all the events all the time, paying attention if anyone was stealing her ideas. She’d even butt into private conversations, thinking that someone was talking about her ideas, and would warn them to be careful. In time, she hired several spies to eavesdrop on other people’s conversation in case someone wanted to steal her ideas. At one point it seemed to her that someone had “pinched” a piece off a bigger idea she had. She started a war. No one survived except the author, who happens to be a curator.

Una storia sulla più grande vittima

A certain person had a great passion for being a victim. Any kind of victim. Occasionally she’d pop up at places where there were fires, earthquakes, wars, and other disasters. She used every opportunity she got to play the victim. Her character made the front page three times. It’s the same person who had so, so, so, so many ideas, tons of ideas.

beta1 and alpha1 Sizes

alpha1, alpha1 and alpha1 were walking in а meadow. alpha1 said to alpha1: “Suck my mosaic tile, hee-hee!” The other one said to him: “You can suck my piece of stained glass, hee-hee!” The third alpha1, pointing with his finger, said to both of them: “You can suck my spatula, and you can suck my mouth atomizer, hee-hee!” Beta1 came, took out a bag of gelatin glue and said: “I can wax it if you want, so you’d suck it better, I have some refined glue here, HA-HA!” alpha1, alpha1 and alpha1 fled in all directions of the meadow.

Short story by the book

There once lived an artist. First he was a painter. He started reading, so he decided to become a conceptualist. When he overdid reading, he got tired of conceptualism, so he decided to start writing prose. He wrote a very nice short story, but with the intention of staying up to date, he finished the story without a full stop

P.S. The proofreader came and put a full stop to the short story.
P.P.S. The critic, satisfied with the correct punctuation and spelling, never found out that the story had been written without a full stop

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[1] It’s unclear what kind of works we’re talking about.
[2] It’s unclear what kind of works we’re talking about.
[3] Another thing to do.
[4] Inform yourself on everything and anything that could be an abstraction