There were two kites lying on the grass.
Abandoned, almost done; the edges were reinforced correctly, the spars were taped down in place, the cover art just a couple of strokes from perfection – but the tails were missing, the bridle was not set yet, and they were both a bit crumpled. Say they were 70 % completed.
Those two … well, 1.4 kites prevented us from reaching our goal.
Only 499.4 kites were made.
We were aiming for 500.
Damn.
“No, Timotej – not every kite workshop is like this!”
– Gregor to Timotej, echoing the no, Timotej – not every kite festival is like this from two weeks back
Welcome to KAP Jasa kite workshop. This is not the birds-singing, butterflies-fluttering, kittens-purring, rainbow-unicorn-dancing, kids-beaming-with-joy type of kite workshop Žuža and Žare – or Daniela and Gerhard, or basically every sane kiter – make. Here is no order, no discipline, no logic, no breaks, no pampering, no coddling, no cuddling. Just kites.
In our workshops we listen to this:
This is how we roll …
The steam rolling kite workshop never stops – unless it is forcibly stopped. It took a platoon of battle-hardened Art kamp security guys – and Eva – to convince the crying kids and belligerent adults that the workshop will pause for lunch.
We had it in an aptly-named Vietnamese restaurant: Good morning, Vietnam!
“Get. All. The. Tape!!!”
– us, to Eva
Our type of unbounded, unhinged, punk rolling kite workshop can only end when one of the crucial kite ingredients is used up completely. Paper, spars, tape, tails, string. It’s a race to the bottom and usually at least two of those go neck to neck in the “which item will be lost first” race. Last year it was the tails narrowly winning over the spars.
This year it was the tape.
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in a beautiful city park. 40 kids were sitting at the tables making kites, their parents and siblings helping (and “helping”). 150 people were buzzing around the workshop, more were coming by the minute, and the three of us plus Anika were on the verge of mental and physical breakdown.
“Can I borrow the tape?”
The ominous tiger sparkle in the eyes of Anika told the humble borrower that while she might have some tape, she’s ready to fight for it till death.
At that point we had three kite berserking islands, constructed of seven large tables with enough benches for 40 kids (Timotej had to ask for more tables as the endless river of eager kite making kids was threatening to flood us). And when one island runs out of something and has to beg others for it, it means trouble: such a plea is a harbinger of The End. And it wasn’t even 6 PM! It got urgent: we need more tape! The kids need it! It’s about the kids! Help!
And the good people of Maribor, driven by Eva the Devil’s Apprentice, went on a scavenger hunt on a Sunday, entering empty offices, breaking down doors, smashing storefronts, invading warehouses, mugging passers-by (“Gimme tape, or I shank you!”) … and bringing every roll of anything sticky they could grab to the unstoppable Monstrous Kite Workshop.
And the Monster had regard for them and their offerings, devouring the tape with great pleasure and spewing out one kite after another …The bright-eyed kids were running madly across the meadow in every direction, carrying the good message to the city and the world.
Let it fly, bright eyes!
The punk workshop rolled on … and on and on and on …
“And I’m on fiiiiiiiiiireeeee!”
– Vučko feat. Kasabian
We stayed at the immensely cute and pleasant Hostel Pekarna, located in the middle of a … well, ex-squat slash youth culture centre slash concert venue slash the epicentre of joyful insanity in Maribor.
The already chaotic place was celebrating the 31st anniversary of the takeover of a former Yugoslav People’s Army bakery (bread factory would be more precise) – hence MC Pekarna, Bakery – with a very loud lineup of various punk and rock bands, Croatian band Jonathan topping the list.
Not everything went smooth tho – a concerned citizen locked both doors leading to the terrace where we were enjoying a couple of cold ones, and it almost spelled disaster: nobody had a phone (commendable!), one of us really needed to pee (understandable!), and we were just out of precious liquid (disappoint…able!). Locked out on a hostel terrace – men never really leave puberty, right?
Luckily a good-hearted crew was just below us; we got their attention, threw a key down, and they rushed up to the rescue! Hurrah for Maribor!
After all that commotion we went for a karaoke … morning.
No sleep ’till kite workshop!
“Take the whole bloody spool!!!1!!”
– Saša gently and calmly explains to a kid that a kite flies higher if on a longer string
It was a smile, so bright and so sincere nothing else could be seen; like a Cheshire cat’s grin it enveloped and outshone everything else. A smile of a kite maker, a grin of a kite flyer.
And it was not a kid – it was a woman. Her daughter had made a kite, and she made one too. She cut the paper into a square, reinforced the edges with a tape, coloured the front, set the sticks, taped the tails, attached the bridle – and ran across the meadow, nothing but a smile – and a kite.
Pure, unadulterated joy.
“Let it fly higher!”
And she did.
“…”
– Aljaž, to no one in particular
And then it was over. The security guys in full body armour finally managed to disperse the kite crazed crowd with baton charges and copious use of water cannon. There was no more tape. There were three tails in the tail bag, all green. The bamboo screen roll had just a couple of pathetic sticks left. The sun was setting, the longest day (literally, it was a day after the Summer solstice!) was coming to an end.
There were clumps of discarded rice paper, lost tails, dropped crayons, broken sticks, empty spools of thread. An overturned bench. Two abandoned, unfinished kites.
And sunburnt, exhausted, hurt, practically immobile, and totally happy workshop leaders.
“It’s like that Biblical story ..:”
“Which one?”
“You know, about Kite and Abel.”
All around the park, around the city of Maribor, around the world hundreds of kids were running, immersed in joy, holding a thread leading up into the sky, to a dancing, flying kite: a kite they made themselves.
We were treated to a cold one.
We deserved it.
So … again, we owe so much to Narodni dom Maribor, Festival Lent, and the good people of Maribor. To Eva and the Art kamp organising crew; to Anika, Bernarda, Aljaž, and all the valiant volunteers (we wouldn’t do so much without you!). To the official photographer Dejan Bulut whose photos we stole so shamelessly. To V okovih for the pure, unadulterated punk, to Kontradikshn for electro-rock, and to amazing Jonathan. To Sarita, Vučko, and Zen. And of course to all of you who came to our kite workshop – and made a kite …
Thank you! 🙂
Great activity.
How fantastic it is to create something big and don’t care about order, discipline or logic.
👌😊🍀🪄
It is! :-)))
Lubica, you got the point. More mess more Happyness.