Between Roots and Wings: An interview about the In-Between

Exile does not simply mean being in a new country or filling out forms. It is about the feeling of having lost one's roots—searching everywhere for familiar sounds, smells, and images, for a home that no longer feels like home. "Once We Were Trees, Now We Are Birds" tells the stories of artists grappling with themes of home, loss, and new beginnings. From February 21 to June 8, 2025, 47 of these works will be presented in a joint exhibition. The performative counterpart to the exhibition is the festival, taking place from June 6 to 8, 2025. Anna Karpenko, a co-curator of the exhibition and festival alongside Emrah Gökdemir, Muhammad Salah, Thibaut de Ruyter, Ludmila Pogodina and Kholoud Bidak, accompanies this journey and helps make it visible.

By Emrike Knoche 
 

What inspired the title “Once We Were Trees, Now We Are Birds”? How does it reflect the themes of the exhibition and festival?

Anna Karpenko: The title “Once We Were Trees, Now We Are Birds” was inspired by one of the project's co-curators, Emrah Gökdemir. During a brainstorming session, we agreed that we wanted a title that felt primal while avoiding the term "exile," which we all dislike. Emrah who is originally from Antakya—an ancient region in southern Turkey—shared a beautiful poetic belief from his homeland. According to that belief the dove sings: “Once we were trees, now we are birds.” We found this deeply resonant with the exhibition topic covering themes of belonging, displacement, and, most profoundly, the existential state of being in transition. It also captures our own feelings of being uprooted yet not fully settled, existing in an in-between space where the familiar has been left behind, but the new has yet to become home.

How does the festival complement the exhibition? What experiences do you hope audiences will take away from it?

The exhibition is the first part of the project, and we will continue with the festival which will be co-curated my Emrah Gökdemir, Ludmila Pogodina and Kholoud Bidak. The project brings together not only visual artists, but writers, poets, musicians, filmmakers, everyone contributing equally.

The exhibition itself follows a specific architectural and curatorial concept. We were fortunate to collaborate with curator and architect Thibaut de Ruyter, who, from the beginning, proposed an approach centered around posters. We found this idea compelling because, in today’s art world, many exhibitions are backed by large budgets, when the “package” of the project is much more than honorariums for artists, curators, mediators, gallery back office and etc.  but given the sensitivity of our themes, we wanted to take a more minimal and discreet visual approach.
Posters, as a medium, carry their own history—they’ve been a powerful tool in public protests and demonstrations. Inside the exhibition, we started with posters displayed within the traditional "white cube" gallery space. But we didn’t want them to remain confined to those walls. Instead, we printed them for visitors to take home, making them accessible beyond the exhibition space, allowing people to collect, carry, and integrate them into their own environments. This reflects the broader question of how art connects to current social and political realities.

The festival continues this idea. It’s not just an entertaining event—but rather the extension of the topics of the exhibition in different forms. We envisioned the festival as a sheltering space, kind of a “birds’ nest”, where people come together, share songs, stories, and just be present for some common time. I guess, it’s valued nowadays, when one has the chance not just to scroll Instagram feeds, read news and argue, but to meet real people in a real place, where the trees are green, and the air is full of summer warmth. It’s a completely different experience to feel the physical presence of another human being.

The festival features performances, readings, films, and DJ sets. Could you highlight a few key events or artists that you find particularly impactful?

The program is really intense, and there are other curators involved in the festival. Ludmila Pogodina, for instance, is responsible for the musical part. Among the artists she selected there is Zeyo, a fascinating musician—born in Sudan, raised in the United Arab Emirates, and now living in Germany, dealing with hip hop as an instrument of healing. Even just looking at the biographies of the artists, one could see the themes we’re dealing with: exile, migration, transition, alienation.

Another highlight is Zinhle Pure Mkhize, who will be performing one evening. She’s a really exciting and vibrant musician, blending music with research-based performative practice. The literary section is curated by Kholoud Bidak, who has invited some incredible writers and poets. One of them is Ma Thida, an internationally renowned author. She was previously the head of PEN Myanmar and is now in exile in Germany as a member of PEN Germany. Another notable poet is Ali Abdollahi from Iran.

Our film and performance program is curated by Emrah Gökdemir, who is both a performer and a filmmaker himself. One of my personal favorites is a deeply moving film by Iranian filmmaker Vahid Zare Zade. It’s dedicated to people who fought in the Iran-Iraq war and are now in a psychiatric hospital. The film tells an incredibly emotional story about how war leaves deep scars—not just physically, but on a deeply personal and existential level.

The final part—though not in chronological order—is the discursive program, where the audience will have the chance to meet the head of the Martin Roth Initiative, GI in Exile, as well as representatives from partner hosting institutions and former MRI scholarship holders. They will share insights—and hopefully some hopes—on how to continue providing artistic support in these turbulent times.

Many of the participating artists have experienced exile or displacement. How does the festival create a space for dialogue around these experiences?

Many people talk about exile and displacement, but it is always hard to define, what it truly means. That’s why, at festivals like this, when you hear real people stories about their very personal and deep experiences of being displaced or being chased by authoritarian authorities or being imprisoned for a poem or a performance in a public place, that has different dimensions, of what to call as “exile”.

Some of our participants had to leave their homes forever, but they still carry a piece of their land or a key from family house in the pocket because, sometimes, that’s the only thing they could take when you are displaced. We can exchange and share our thoughts and stories, of how we deal with that, but it’s like grief—it always remains deeply personal and unshared.

You have worked in Belarus, Germany, Poland, France, Luxembourg, and beyond. How has your own curatorial practice evolved through encounters with artists in exile?

I’ve been working with different German institutions since 2015, but I also lived in Poland for quite a while, making a research project on avant-garde with amazing team of Muzeum Sztuki in Lodz. The Eastern European perspective in contemporary discourse is personally important to me. We've been discussing topics like “not Western enough” or the “former West” in the context of Eastern European art for decades, yet within this discourse, there are still unclear areas—especially when it comes to defining what exactly counts as Eastern Europe. My country, for instance, has always been treated as a “black hole”, but after 2022 it became even more isolated and excluded as not “European” enough from even the Eastern European practices. At the same time, it’s always been crucial for me not to get stuck in the cultural context of my origin. For the last 5 years I have been working a lot with the topic of “East”, referred to the Mediterranean region, the early Christianity times. In Beirut or at Pathos I feel myself as happy as at home in Minsk.

How do you hope Once We Were Birds, Now We Are Trees will contribute to discussions about migration, political repression, and resilience?

I really like one of the amazing texts written by Edward Said, called “Reflections on Exile”, where among others he stated, that when we are living in a home country, we usually take everything for granted, including our native language. It’s something you never really reflect on—it just exists, and it feels completely natural. But once you lose it, it becomes a painful experience, forcing you to reflect on your personal feelings, fears, and search for a new form of identity. Sometimes, this process turns into self-stigmatization. When exile as E. Said stated, becomes also kind of “protective dogma”.

I think we are all smart enough to understand that, for first-generation migrants, you will never fully become a natural part of the society in the country you move to. But if to keep in mind the idea of Romanticism and Novalis definition of philosophy as a homesickness and the desire to be everywhere at home, then I think the existence far from your roots could be a bit more bearable.

I once had an amazing conversation with one of the participants in the exhibition, who said, "I started my artistic project here in Germany, because I wanted to know where exile begins in my body." It’s that complex feeling—you try to understand what’s happening to you, to your mind, your soul, the muscles in your body. Why you don’t like something that made you happy before, what can calm you, what can feed your soul etc. Our lives are damaged in a way, and you can’t just easily and quickly fix that. Even if you earn enough money (which never happened in Germany) and feel safe, your life has already been altered by the experience of exile or displacement. It's not an easy story. It’s not a fairy tale that can be shared casually in numerous artist talks or panel discussions. That is something that people are living with every day. A trauma that one can’t ignore. That's why it’s so important to remain sensitive to other people’s traumas. To recognize the fragility of the experiences we are all going through.


Anna Karpenko was born in Minsk (Belarus) and currently lives in Berlin and Leipzig (Germany). She is a curator and author. Karpenko studied Philosophy at Belarusian State University (Minsk), Visual Studies at European Humanities University (Vilnius), and Curatorial Studies at the Academy of Fine Arts (Leipzig). Additionally, she is a member of the International Association of Art Critics (AICA). As a curator, she organised projects with Badischer Kunstverein (Karlsruhe), Museum of Contemporary Art, GfZK (Leipzig), Halle 14 (Leipzig), Museum Sztuki (Lodz), Gallery Arsenal (Bialystok), Labirynth Gallery (Lublin), Future Laboratory (Luxembourg) and others. As an author, her texts have been published in Springerin magazine, BLOCK magazine, Dwutygodnik, RTV magazine, Magazyn SZUM, Kulturaustausch magazine, and Berlin Art Link.