…The images of neglect and the attributes of industrial civilisation, the pictures of the core of the first five-year plan reveal to me something else, a time which has entered the memory. And which can only be reached through dreams or art. I can see Trbovlje as the destination of all expeditions, as the constant flow of light, a Trbovlje which to us seemed endlessly vast and limitless. A Trbovlje without the feeling of claustrophobia, a Trbovlje existing in the sky of our childhood. A Trbovlje one cannot imagine featuring in the title of a novel – A Black Valley – but rather in another title – How Green Was My Valley. And this strong and clear vision is ensured by Živkovič’s photographs, with great persuasion reminding me of the verse I recently came across. I do not remember the name of the poet. The verse goes something like this: »Whoever has not smeared himself with mud / Cannot hope to reach the sky.«

Uroš Zupan