Over the past couple of months, I’ve had the privilege to sit down with people and ask some really big, and sometimes really hard, questions. Questions about what it was like during the war, what they think of Kosovo today, and what they hope for in the future. These conversations haven’t always been easy — for some, it brings up painful memories, for others, it’s a reminder of how uncertain things still feel. And yet, each time I’ve asked someone to share their story, I’ve received the same unwavering response: “Anything for my country.” That phrase has really stuck with me. One of the things I’ve been especially curious about is how people my age — or even younger — connect to this history they didn’t personally live through. I’ve heard a range of answers, but one theme keeps coming back: it’s not about feeling weighed down by the past, it’s about feeling a responsibility to honor it. To do something with it. To help build something better because of it.

As I have begun brainstorming titles for my exhibition, I have been exploring various words to capture the complex story I wish to tell. The word forge has fascinated me. It shows up in so many different places — from blacksmithing to art — but two definitions in particular have really stuck with me. The first is to move forward slowly and steadily. The second is to move ahead with a sudden burst of speed and strength. They’re kind of opposites when you think about it — one is all about patience, the other about power — but both are about movement, about progress. That dual meaning feels like the perfect way to describe what I’ve been learning here in Kosovo. It’s a place that’s rebuilding brick by brick, conversation by conversation — but at the same time, when you zoom out and see how far it’s come in just 25 years, it’s honestly breathtaking. That’s why I’ve titled this exhibition Forging a Nation: Stories of Conflict, Resilience, and Identity. It captures both sides of the story — the steady climb and the sudden leaps forward.

Now, I’m getting ready to move into the next part of this project — the part where I start translating these stories and themes into visuals. That means creating photography, design, and media that reflects the complexity, strength, and emotion I’ve been lucky enough to witness in every interview. It’s a little intimidating, to be honest, but also exciting. This work isn’t just about putting images on walls — it’s about capturing lived experiences and finding a way to share them in a way that feels honest, personal, and human. I want the people who see this exhibition to feel something. To feel what I’ve felt here — that resilience isn’t always loud, that progress comes in many forms, and that stories, when shared, really do have the power to forge something new.