Inter-listening: Interview with Verica Kovacevska

Brandon LaBelle: We first met during The Listening Academy in Basel, in 2023. And we’ve continued to be in touch and exchange ever since, especially sharing interest in questions of disability and crip culture. These are issues that you have been working on for some time, and which led to organizing a recent edition of The Listening Academy in Skopje, on the topic of “crip listening.” I wonder if we might start by you briefly introducing yourself and your practice – where did you start and where are you now?

Verica Kovacevska: The Listening Academy in Basel was a very positive and enriching experience. Initially, I was hesitant to participate because my work isn't exactly rooted in sound art. However, the concept of listening intrigued me. Then, something interesting happened – I experienced a complete shift in my perspective regarding both my work and myself. This aspect caught me by surprise. I left the academy not only with inspiration but also with clarity. I believe this is one of the strongest aspects of The Listening Academy – it enables us to connect with parts of ourselves that are often quietly present but ignored, repressed, or forgotten. As artists, we need experiences like this to gain fresh perspectives. This is why I was thrilled we could have an edition in my hometown, Skopje.

I’m an artist and researcher now based in Zurich. With a background in visual arts and theatre, I became interested in constructing and deconstructing performance art when I first started out. Although performance art is inherently fluid, I wanted to push its boundaries further. My early performances were often invisible – either the audience didn't realise I was performing, or they were the performers unknowingly, or my work was mediated. The concept of “absent presence” became prominent in works like “The Walking Project” (2006–2011), where a remote audience tracked my movement through a city using geospatial technology. There wasn't much to see of the live performance, other than a moving dot on a map, which wasn’t always accurate due to limitations and delays in older GPS systems. Audience members sometimes found it challenging, but I loved creating a non-spectacle that both embraced and critiqued digital surveillance systems. Later, I shifted from focusing on the body to space and social practice, engaging with diverse communities.

In "Dual Reality" (2019), for example, I created an audio guide for sighted pedestrians in collaboration with visually impaired individuals, whereas in "Master Plan (children’s edition)" (2014), I challenged local authorities to consider children’s experiences in public spaces and incorporate their creative input. Recent projects, such as "Filling the Void" (2022), put a beloved neighbourhood on Split’s tourist map through geocaching. The piece is now part of a permanent collection at a cultural institution in the neighbourhood, allowing a diverse audience to engage with it beyond the usual short-term exhibition.

Other works, including "Across the Atlantic" (2020) and "The House We Grew Up In" (2017), meticulously document vernacular architecture that is an integral part of the city but is often erased or replaced for political or economic reasons. I find the simple, repetitive act of tracing incredibly important, not only for preservation but also for its healing qualities.

Questions of urban planning, therefore, become central to my work: How can we engage in the dialogue? How can we challenge the norm? And how can we bring the views and needs of the marginalised to the forefront?

This led me to pursue a PhD two and a half years ago, exploring the role of the artist in digital urban planning, particularly when working with visually impaired individuals. The aim isn’t just to produce an academic or artistic output, but to create a meaningful, real-world impact. I collaborate with the City Science Lab in Hamburg, as well as other local organisations, to highlight their needs, gain a deeper understanding of their perspectives, and challenge existing norms and systems. Disability has allowed me to reconceptualise the importance of the body, while still focusing on exploring complex urban issues. The work remains political, but it also feels personal and intimate in some ways.

Brandon: The concept of “crip listening” is central to your current research and work. Can you introduce us to the concept and what it does – in what ways is it meaningful?

Verica: Listening might seem like an intuitive way to explore disability – by giving individuals with disabilities a voice and deepening our understanding of different forms of hearing – yet “crip listening” aims to go further. It seeks to cultivate a deeper, more compassionate, and democratic form of listening that transcends the idea of disability itself.

In my research, for example, I have reflected on the experience of walking with a white cane. This mobility technique involves both micro and macro movements that create a connection between the cane, the body, and the environment. When walking, it is crucial to keep a steady rhythm; otherwise, injury may occur. Using the white cane is like a beat, or as you write, “a forceful exchange built from multiple inputs; a sliding back and forth, an expanding and contracting structure broken and remade by the frictions of the private and the public, of being in and out of sync. This relation in turn helps to locate the body, to place it within particular orders” [1]. In this sense, tuning into your body and surroundings and finding the right pace and rhythm becomes essential – not only for navigation but also for health, safety, and survival.

This lesson is fragile but vital. Today, many of us are pushed to our limits, juggling numerous responsibilities amid a constant stream of news and messages, leading to collective exhaustion. I see friends in Switzerland and abroad facing mental health issues like burnout, depression, anxiety, and chronic pain, often exacerbated by inadequate care infrastructures and systems of oppression.

I think that crip listening can extend to these broader issues of health and well-being, where listening becomes a form of (self-)care that helps us heal and cope with what you call “today’s debilitating environments”.

Brandon: We had the chance to collaborate in bringing the topic of crip listening to Skopje through organizing an edition of The Listening Academy. This included bringing together a group of participating artists and researchers, to reflect upon our diverse experiences, as well as how crip theory and issues of disability shape an approach to listening. Can you say more about this – what was your interest in creating such a gathering in Skopje?

Verica: In Skopje, we approached this idea more freely and creatively, without a strict definition. I felt it was important to explore it from multiple, sometimes conflicting perspectives. After all, disability is complex and layered. It requires patience and care, as well as moments of discomfort and diverse ways of knowing. Given the unstable political and socio-economic situation in Skopje, and its negative relationship with listening – often seen as a form of control and oppression – my hope was that crip listening could emerge as a form of resistance as well as solidarity [2].

Of course, I still think it is important to maintain a strong connection to disability within crip listening because, as much as the term may seem open, it should ultimately help promote disability justice.

Brandon: I wanted to come back to your current work in Hamburg and how you’re engaging with the City Science Lab, as well as developing possible ways of impacting the local environment. Could you say more about this? What is the City Science Lab, and have there been any results emerging so far, in terms of bringing access needs or crip listening perspectives into the urban environment?

Verica: The City Science Lab, affiliated with HafenCity University and led by Professor Dr Gesa Ziemer, is dedicated to improving citizen participation, knowledge sharing, and developing practical, digital solutions for the local community. They feature an interdisciplinary team that works with both local and international partners.

I enjoy collaborating with them because I strongly believe tackling urban issues requires an interdisciplinary approach. While it's common to criticise experts for overlooking certain citizen groups, as Aimi Hamraie questions, “When the goal is to design for everyone, who counts as everyone and how do designers know?” [3]. This question is especially relevant for individuals with visual impairments. Our world is hyper-visual, and our understanding of sight loss is often minimal and abstract. Although we can temporarily experience sight loss by closing our eyes or using simulations, we rarely grasp what it truly means to inhabit this world as a blind or partially sighted person. Listening, therefore, becomes vital. I listen to different things and on multiple levels, hoping to create a more nuanced understanding and connection. Often, the most meaningful insights emerge when I focus solely on listening, capturing those in-between moments of research. It’s an intense yet enriching experience that evokes both wonder and heartbreak, continually shifting my perspective on the world.

My research is still ongoing, so the results are outstanding. However, I hope that crip listening – both as a research method and a theoretical framework – can inspire others, especially experts, to rethink access and inclusion, move away from the visual, and reimagine what our cities (including our digital cities) could become.

Brandon: I appreciate hearing more about your work, and also your relation to listening. Currently, as part of The Listening Biennial, we’re looking to focus on how we might institute “structures of listening” within civil society, as a way to integrate listening within our institutions – what would these structures look like, or how could they behave? Could you imagine such a structure, perhaps within urban planning offices – or, what would be a possible “design” for a future listening culture, especially in terms of supporting diverse bodyminds?

Verica: We often focus on being listened to by others, especially within institutions where our interests are not represented. We might wonder: How can we get their attention? How can we effectively communicate our needs? How can we ensure that they not only listen but also take action? I believe we need to reframe these questions. Institutions are often severely underfunded and understaffed, sometimes lacking basic amenities such as Internet access. To establish a "structure of listening," we first need to understand how they operate. What resources do they have? What challenges do they face? Is there a gap in knowledge or skills? How can we communicate in a way that ensures they not only listen but also fully grasp our concerns?

Let me follow this with a recent example. I just completed a solo exhibition in Skopje, which extended beyond the gallery space into both local and national institutions [4].

As part of the exhibition, I re-enacted “Master Plan (children’s edition)” by organising a children’s workshop on urban planning at a local school. In Skopje, public spaces are highly politicised and often privatised, resulting in very few areas designed for children. Yet, children are among the most frequent users – walking, running, climbing, socialising, learning and imagining these spaces. Together, we explored the vicinity around the school, and they drew proposals for its use. Many of them pointed out the lack of playgrounds, sports halls, and access to drinking water in the neighbourhood. They also expressed a desire for more green spaces, colourful buildings adorned with rainbows, and a unique place called The Museum of the Turtle. The workshop was very successful, and the children’s drawings were exhibited in the National Gallery as part of my exhibition.

However, the school and local municipality were initially reluctant to partner, only agreeing to allow the use of the outdoor space. To engage them more in the project, I created a children’s exhibition guide. The local school utilised it and sent several classes to the exhibition, helping to connect them with broader questions of access, inclusion, design, preservation, and participation – topics addressed in both the workshop and the exhibition. The National Gallery also appreciated the children’s guide, which opened its space to a younger audience without requiring additional resources.

The next step is to present the children’s drawings to the local municipality, which has recently undergone local elections and is responsible for the area surrounding the school. For this, I want to use language the municipality is more familiar with, such as maps and 3D visualisations, integrating the children's ideas into a larger conversation about how public spaces designed for and by children can benefit the wider community.

In summary, to design spaces – whether public, private, or gallery spaces – for different bodyminds, we need to cultivate a culture of inter-listening. This means that listening must occur on multiple levels and between different actors, allowing us to create solutions that are both meaningful and sustainable.

Notes:

[1] LaBelle, B. (2019). Acoustic territories: sound culture and everyday life. Second edition. New York: Bloomsbury Academic. p.75

[2] In Macedonian, we do not differentiate between hearing and listening; both are conveyed through the same word, which also means “to obey.” For example, when I say “слушај ме” (slusaj me), it can mean “listen to me” or “do as I say.” Thus, depending on the context, listening can serve as a means to foster intimacy and connection, or it can be employed to establish power dynamics and control. Ultimately, it involves not only how we listen but also to whom we listen. Who gets the opportunity to speak?

[3] Hamraie, A. (2017). Building access: universal design and the politics of disability. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. p.12

[4] The exhibition titled “When Water Runs Dry” was held at a 600-year-old Turkish bath, Çifte Hamam, now part of the National Gallery of the Republic of North Macedonia.