I don’t live in the past. I archive the past. I recently watched an old recording – remembering where I was, what I was doing. Those are parts of me, but I don’t live through them. I look at my daughters – how they think, how they function. I often ask them for advice. I’m not nostalgic. I only keep fond memories, and erase what was painful
Dragan Stojkov has forged his own artistic path from the very beginning – thoughtful, inquisitive, authentic. He continued his artistic education in Venice, and today his body of work comprises more than 180 solo exhibitions and around 350 group shows, both in Serbia and abroad. A recipient of numerous awards, including the prestigious Paja Jovanović Prize, one of the most significant moments of his career was his retrospective at the Gallery of Matica Srpska, where he donated his entire oeuvre as a legacy to the institution. His daughter, Sanja Stojkov, also lives art – through design and graphics – carrying the family’s creative spark into new media and forms.
Before embarking on a freelance artistic career, his first professional steps led him to the print and lithography institute “Grafika” in Novi Sad, where he worked as a designer immediately after finishing secondary art school. It was just a job – a regular, everyday job, but it gave him financial independence. During those four years he became self-sufficient, but increasingly felt he lacked something essential – knowledge, education, artistic growth. That’s when he decided to devote himself fully to painting.
He recalls his friendships with Miodrag B. Protić, then Director of the Museum of Contemporary Art, and with Milan Konjović. Those were the days of ‘Autumn Salon’, a cultural event that inspired him and shaped his artistic direction.
As a young man, he tried various jobs – working in printshops, doing design, taking part in trade fairs. One of his earliest engagements was at the Agricultural Fair. At that time he was already painting, drawing, writing, creating prints, and beginning to exhibit. Milan Konjović greatly influenced him and introduced him to many of the prominent painters of Yugoslavia.
The Autumn Salon was then the most important artistic event. When hard times came and it was cancelled, no one tried to bring it back. Out of pure stubbornness, he decided to revive it. He gathered friends and like-minded people, gained support from all sides – and succeeded. The Autumn Salon came to life once more.
What is it about Vojvodina that inspires artists? Is it the flatlands, the light, the scent?
— Probably all of it together. I have friends from Istria who say, ‘It’s so flat here, so boring.’ But when I return from Italy or long trips, I feel filled by that plain. My heart is full. That’s love – deep, quiet, genuine.
I believe the most important place is where you’re born – it defines you. Some people love rocky terrain, some forests, some the plains. I belong to this landscape.
What do you remember from your childhood? What ties you most to this region?
— I remember long, hot summers. I was born in a modest house that today would be called ecological: an earthen floor, walls made of rammed earth, a reed roof. Later I built my weekend house in that style – well, not from rammed earth, as it’s not moisture-resistant.
I’d step out onto the street, dust up to my knees. That’s where we played. Just a few houses away began the flatlands, farms, fields, flowers… That fragrant world of Vojvodina.
How do you remember your mother?
— She was wonderful. I miss her every day – to tell her something, ask her something, share good news. She was a wise woman, but raised with patriarchal values. She believed the husband was the head of the household – almost divine. What he said wasn’t to be questioned. That sometimes caused friction, but she was warm, caring, and kind-hearted.
Looking back today, how do you see the generational gap – the old family hierarchy versus today’s individualism?
My Academy was just 200 metres from the church of Santa Maria della Salute in Venice. I often went there. My professor’s studio was nearby, and another key spot was the Peggy Guggenheim Museum, where we often spent time thanks to our student cards
I’m a man of today and tomorrow. I don’t live in the past. I archive it. I recently watched an old video – remembering where I had been, what I had done. Those are parts of me, but I don’t live through them. I look at my daughters – how they think and function. I often ask for their advice. I’m not nostalgic. I keep only the good memories; the hard ones – I erase.
How did your education unfold – from art school to the Academy of Fine Arts in Venice, where you graduated in 1979? What did moving from Vojvodina to Venice mean for your artistic vision? How did that international experience shape your artistic identity?
— My life path is a circle: from Novi Sad to Zagreb for a year and a half, then Venice – four years. Then I returned, travelled… Today I’m in Belgrade, but my final return will be to Sombor. There, my neighbours will be Milan Konjović and Laza Kostić. That’s how the circle closes.
By chance, I learned that the house where Laza Kostić had lived was up for sale. I was in Paris at the time, had a studio there, and when I returned someone said to me: ‘The city is selling Kostić’s former house – some of his belongings are still inside.’ Out of curiosity, I went to see it. I liked it immediately and soon bought it.
The space immediately inspired me. I felt a strong connection with Kostić’s spirit, especially his poem Santa Maria della Salute. I soon began creating a series of paintings inspired by that poem. I made more than a hundred works – I didn’t even count them. Then I published a book in English, translated by the British as Santa Maria della Salute. The French version was translated by Professor Radović, and Ksenija Stijanović made a documentary film. All of it is now online.
That period of mine was entirely immersed in Kostić – in his poetry, dreams, longings, and love. My Academy was just 200 metres from the Santa Maria della Salute church in Venice. I often went there. My professor had a studio nearby, and another key place was the Peggy Guggenheim Museum, where we spent time thanks to student passes.
It was a privilege – having daily access to modern art, seeing the works of artists Peggy supported and promoted worldwide. Even before that, within the Academy itself, I visited one of Italy’s greatest museums – the Academy of Fine Arts. It housed works by Tintoretto, Titian, and other Venetian masters. My classrooms were next door. I’d leave class and go straight to admire those masterpieces. It was deeply inspiring.
From a rather grey environment, I entered a world where art breathed at every turn. It was a leap – as if I’d been catapulted into a different universe. Venice is not just the Biennale – there’s also Palazzo Grassi, the Correr Museum, numerous private galleries. When major exhibitions were held, we’d go to Milan – sometimes as a group, sometimes on our own. That intensity of information, exhibitions, artistic encounters – it inevitably affects your work. It forces you to ask: where do I stand in all this? What’s my place?
— That was the beginning of my serious artistic journey. I had friends who were directing students, cameramen, photographers – and through that circle I learned a lot. I remember buying a camera and taking up photography, then a Super 8 camera. At Protić’s suggestion, I made a film about Konjović – how he begins to paint, how he completes a piece. It was my own film. I edited it myself, added music, and took it to festivals. It was well received.
In the world of art, success is often measured by visibility and exhibition presence. Which moment or exhibition would you describe as your first major professional success?
— My first significant exhibition was at the Autumn Art Salon, an event founded by Milan Konjović in 1962. When my work was accepted, I felt fantastic. At the time, the best young painters from Yugoslavia were featured there. But when I saw my work displayed alongside theirs, I realised how much I still had to learn and how much space there was for growth.
That was my most honest encounter with the reality of the artistic vocation. It was then I decided to continue my education. I saw the gaps in my knowledge – and set out to fill them.
One of the key turning points was Italy. And of course, every return to Belgrade was an opportunity to visit major exhibitions, premieres, events. I made an effort always to be present.
Besides Milan Konjović and Laza Kostić, who has had the greatest influence on your art?
— I wouldn’t want to limit that to painters alone. There was a time when I frequently quoted René Magritte. His drawing The Kiss, among other works, had a profound influence on me. He was an artist capable of looking deep into the human being, of asking important questions. His visual expression guided me for years.
Naturally, over the years I’ve visited museums around the world, observed the work of other artists, and selected what resonated with me most. That’s how I’ve been guided.
Your oeuvre includes over 180 solo exhibitions and more than 350 group shows in Serbia and abroad. Is there one you consider personally the most important – and why?
— I couldn’t single out one as the most important. Each had its value. The exhibition in London was, of course, significant to me. In recent years, I had a retrospective at the Gallery of Matica Srpska in Novi Sad – on that occasion, I told the Director, Tijana Palkovljević Bugarski, that I wanted to donate all the exhibited works to the gallery.
That was my legacy – a gift to an institution with the longest tradition in our cultural landscape. The exhibited works had been carefully kept over the years, often hidden from buyers because I wanted to keep them for myself. And then – I chose to leave them in one place.
That gesture gave me more fulfilment than any award. Although awards did come. I received the Paja Jovanović Prize in Novi Sad – a great honour. But my true peace lies in the studio, working on a painting. When I succeed in transferring an emotion to the viewer, that is when I feel I have achieved something truly meaningful.
There is a thread that connects painting, music, poetry and spirituality. It feels dry to simply create a work, have a critic attend, open an exhibition… I need to weave something more into it
That is, in fact, my greatest reward. Sometimes someone tells me they’ve hung my painting on the wall and that it brings them a sense of calm every day. They tell me, “The longer we look at it, the more beautiful it becomes.” That’s what confirms that art has a lasting effect – that it keeps speaking even after the artist falls silent.
Your daughter Sanja Stojkov is also an artist, which suggests a strong family continuity. How do you perceive the passing on of artistic sensibility from one generation to the next? Have you exchanged ideas, collaborated, or had artistic dialogues through your work?
My daughter Sanja is an artist as well. Even as a little girl she showed strong individuality. When she was finishing primary school, she told me, “Dad, I want to enrol at the Academy in Belgrade; I’ll skip grammar school.”
She forged her own path – just as I did. Although her path resembles mine, every step was her own decision. At the beginning, I even advised her to consider fashion, as she had a great instinct for it. But she said, “I’ve decided on graphic design.” And of course, I supported her.
I never imposed my opinion. We talk as friends. And I must admit – sometimes I learn more from her than she does from me.
Sanja recently spent two months in Vietnam, working on studies, travelling, exploring. Her experiences are different from mine, and from those of my generation. My generation belonged to the time of Jura, but today is a different era, and everyone has to find their own place in the present.
Many people make the mistake of remaining in the past and trying to locate themselves within it. I believe one must follow the times. And I try to be part of the contemporary current.
Your wife Jasna was a great inspiration to you?
— That was 25 years of a beautiful marriage. But beauty has its span. Sadly, she passed away. And I miss her. But in the end – I believe – we’ll be together again.
A similar fate, I should add, has befallen my friends Dušan Kovačević and Matija Bećković.
Our elder daughter, Aleksandra, followed in her mother’s footsteps and now teaches languages in the school her founded.
— Your work is often described as a meeting of the traditional and the contemporary, as a ‘coloured autobiography’. What themes and motifs occupy you most today? How did the cycle dedicated to stone come about?
During a short break on the road to the seaside, I stumbled upon the Morača Canyon. There I saw pebbles – stones that completely captivated me. I began to collect them, carry them with me, return for more. They inspired me so much that I felt the need to paint them. That stone became my obsession, my symbol of natural simplicity and perfection. Art is everywhere – you just need to know where to look.
My greatest wealth is my friends. I’m proud of that mutual bond, love and respect. It is our shared love for art that connects us
At that time, I spent a lot of time with academician Dragoslav Srejović, one of our most important archaeologists and thinkers. He once told me: “That’s how civilisation began.” And truly, when one stone strikes another – both tools and weapons emerge.
This gave birth to the Civilisational Circle cycle, as well as the idea for a book that, unfortunately, Dragoslav never lived to write.
I kept returning to those pebbles, and in the end, I realised that this was a universal story I came upon entirely by chance. Vasko Popa even dedicated a poem to the book – The Pebble.
Then came the Labyrinths cycle, where I stepped into three-dimensional painting. I played a little – but again, it’s a universal theme, dating back to the ancient Greeks.
Does art represent a language of meaning for you?
— There is a thread that connects painting, music, poetry and spirituality. It feels too dry to simply create a work, for a critic to arrive, for an exhibition to be opened… I need to weave in something more.
In London, in addition to the exhibition, I presented my book Santa Maria della Salute in English, there was a theatre performance, and Mokranjac’s music was performed. The sum of all these elements makes the art stronger and more lasting.
What role does music play in your life?
— Music is always playing. I grew up with rock, then moved on to jazz, classical, ambient music… Cuban music warms me when the weather here is bitterly cold.
During my time in Italy, I regularly attended performances at La Scala in Milan. Thanks to a friend who heads the Scala Lovers’ Association in Switzerland, I always had the best seats and heard the greatest opera stars.
In Verona, I enjoyed the summer festival of Verdi’s operas. As a student, I would attend concerts for free, and La Fenice was a natural gathering point. We used to see Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo… it was a wonderful experience. Among our artists, the music of Aleksandra Vrebalov will always have a place in my heart.
What is the greatest wealth in your life?
— My friends. I am proud of that mutual connection, love and respect. A shared love of art binds us together.
That was especially evident at my most recent exhibition at the Zepter Museum. I’ve just published a book of recollections from that event.
What message would you like to leave for those who come after you?
— Faith, love, hope – that is what I would like to leave behind. I am also aware of the other side, of all that undermines us. I see that many people work against themselves. But our mission, as people involved in culture, is to tip the balance in favour of good. Hopefully, we’ll succeed.