Johnny's Hill (as we call "Jankov vŕšok" jokingly) is a hill above a small Slovak village, its name originating from legends of a robber's treasure. During WWII, it became a hiding place for the partisan resistance movement against the Nazis in a state that was openly collaborating with Hitler’s Germany. A few years later, it became the epicenter of socialist regime celebrations. During this time, the monument of the Slovak National Uprising was built, along with Hotel Partizan, which became the center of my interest as a photographer—along with its immediate surroundings, full of contradictions, blending the marks of different periods and worldviews.
The hotel itself is barely functioning. Before COVID-19, it was still a popular spot for political meetings, especially for those clinging to past ideologies, but the pandemic plunged it into hibernation. Now it’s more of a reminder of a glory it seems unsure whether to be proud of, and if so, which part of it.
This place is a distilled image of our contemporary society within one square kilometer. We have discarded the idols of the past, only to replace them with others. They are, of course, no different, just dressed in the tattered clothes of our attempt at democracy and the illusion of progress. Could we have done differently? Each period demands to be coped with, yet there is never enough time. We move on, burdened by the weight of the past, scarred and confused. We are uncertain of who we are, where we belong, or what we truly expect from life. And until we stop to reflect on this, we never will be.
