Lebibe Topalli: Our murals oppose the gloom of concrete
MuralFest co-founder discusses visual art and its intersection with urban and gender identity.
I always thought of Ferizaj as a city where you go to get things done — a place of transit. Coming from the city of Lipjan, I remember that our connections with Ferizaj were mainly for business and, to some extent, for health care. The railway line from Fushë Kosovë to Han i Elezit was a vital link between the two cities. By 7 a.m., the Lipjan train station would be bustling with travelers — women, men and children, Albanians, Roma and Ashkali — all heading to Ferizaj to get things done.
Some traveled to trade, others to earn a little money and some to access the free public health services offered in Ferizaj that Lipjan lacked. I also had to take this route a few times when I was a student. The train to Ferizaj always left a bitter aftertaste — sullen faces rushing, weary people barely able to make it to their seats, which looked as if they were assigned to separate Roma and Ashkali passengers from Albanian ones.
For a long time, I associated Ferizaj with overwhelming feelings and shades of gray. However, the city’s landscape has transformed, thanks to artists like Lebibe Topalli, the co-founder and leader of MuralFest. This organization serves as a platform for expressing social causes through vibrant wall art. Now in its ninth edition, MuralFest has grown into an annual festival. As a result, Ferizaj is now home to around 150 murals created by this dedicated collective.
French researcher Michel de Certeau argues that when members of the public walk through the streets of a city, they are engaging in a powerful act of resistance against the rigid urbanism imposed by those in power. These structures build metropolises designed to observe society from above, but walking, as Certeau notes, has the potential to elude such scrutiny. It becomes a way to challenge the urban map. MuralFest has encouraged these steps, transforming walking in the city into more than just moving from point to point — it’s now a pleasant, enriching journey of observation.
In 2016, a group of Ferizaj artists formally established this collective, building on several community initiatives driven by a hope and desire to reshape the local urban identity. Working from an office above the well-known Ferizaj bar N’dritare, a creative team of young men and women came together under Lebibe Topalli’s leadership. Since then, they have woven their street art into Ferizaj’s daily life and social fabric.
K2.0 met with Lebibe Topalli, to see the work behind creating these threads of artistic expression and to explore the intersection of identity, urban space and gender with visual art.
K2.0: How did a 17-year-old refugee girl from Ferizaj develop a desire to express herself through visual art?
Lebibe Topalli: I connected with art during the war, as a refugee girl from Kosovo living in a camp in Turkey. All I could do while we were there was find pencils or watercolors and paint the reality around me. Like many others, I think I was looking for a way to distract myself from the war. I painted the tent, the camp and the objects that surrounded me. The municipality and camp staff organized my first public exhibition, showcasing the work of a refugee artist. That was an incredible experience for me, being the first public presentation of my art.
Since then, I have remained devoted to art, even though it often takes a backseat during and after wartime. I also painted the horrors I encountered when we returned to Kosovo after the war.
I painted the buildings that KFOR was guarding in Ferizaj. People looked at me strangely; they didn’t understand what I was doing, being so young and out in public spaces. It was a very sensitive context.
After a while, you enrolled in the Faculty of Arts in North Macedonia. How did this decision come about?
I wasn’t accepted into the painting program at the University of Prishtina, but I was determined to pursue my passion for art. Seeing my resolve, Nana encouraged me: ‘There’s talk about a university in Tetovo. Why don’t you give it a try?’
There was a period immediately after the war in 1999 when it wasn’t possible to issue documents, and my Yugoslav passport had expired. The UNMIK [United Nations Mission in Kosovo] passports weren’t available until 2000. So to go to Macedonia, I used my sister’s passport. I curled my hair like she did, so I could travel to Tetovo alone, right after the war, using her documents.
I ended up getting accepted to university and traveled with those documents for two years, until I finally received a Kosovo passport long after the war.
How did you start making art in Ferizaj? How did people react when they saw you climbing scaffolding and working in public spaces?
Even as a young artist, I quickly found ways to channel my work. After the war, businesses in Ferizaj boomed and people began investing in advertising. Many members of the diaspora returned to Ferizaj and started investing in the city.
Even though I had a job, there were times when I felt very depressed because dealing with the local mentality was difficult. I faced provocations and prejudice, I endured insults, harassment and rude comments. When I think about it now, I realize how strong I was.
There were moments when I considered quitting my job altogether. I had to constantly remind myself that I was just working hard to support my studies. I found the strength to climb scaffolding and cranes, I never stopped, despite the harsh words.
My focus has always been on Ferizaj. I still remember the first mural I created, which was the largest of its kind. It was a mural for the municipality, celebrating the first New Year after the war. Next to the painting, I also worked on a large poster that read “Happy New Year in Freedom.”
The goal was clear from the beginning: to bring color to the city of Ferizaj.
Then you co-founded MuralFest. How did MuralFest come together, both as a team and as a cause?
Before MuralFest was established, we had already launched several small artistic initiatives in public spaces. In the early 2000s, I was leading an artistic association in Ferizaj called Zef Kolombi. We gathered a group of young artists and began painting in various parts of the city, such as the old electrical transformer and concrete structures around the roads.
Our goal was clear from the beginning: to bring color to the city of Ferizaj. This initiative was well-received both inside and outside the city, which motivated us to move from small projects to creating larger works of art in public spaces.
While planning the festival, I told Naim Ferati, the then-municipal director for culture, youth and sports, about my dream of working on five walls simultaneously, and removing five scaffolds at once, to see how the city could transform. That dream came true and now we are working on ten scaffolds at the same time.
This is how MuralFest began. We started with a team made up of organizations and individuals, primarily artists, some of whom are still part of the MuralFest collective. I was chosen to be the director. The first edition was managed by the Zef Kolombi artistic association but we became an independent nongovernmental organization in November 2016. The founders also included Pranvera Sylejmani and Antigona Heta.
We have dedicated ourselves entirely to this collective, driven by our love for art rather than material gain. MuralFest emerged from these small initiatives and from the coming together of the artist community, especially thanks to the persistence of my colleagues and fellow women artists.
How much has MuralFest’s identity been shaped by the causes and annual themes you’ve chosen for each edition? From the outside, it seems that MuralFest is often seen as an activist collective that blends civic activism with visual art. Is this the image you aimed to create with your team?
We work very well together as a collective of artists. We refer to the young members of MuralFest as Artivists — activists through art. They are always ready to take action; just call them. They are highly focused on bringing art to the community. I notice this especially among the female artists from Ferizaj who are part of MuralFest. It seems that interventions in public spaces through visual art offer them a way to express themselves and a way to support each other through their creative revolt.
Of course, I don’t believe artistry is defined by gender. However, from my experience working with female artists in Ferizaj, I’ve noticed that they are often more eager and persistent in combining activism with art, whereas the boys seem more hesitant in this regard.
Male artists seem more comfortable in their current roles within society and may not feel the same urgency to react or to support something as female artists do, given their more vulnerable position.
In the absence of horizontal space dedicated to women, we use vertical space to center them in our art.
In a country like Kosovo, where public spaces for women are extremely limited, both in design and in practice, what is it like to be a female visual artist working to reshape these spaces?
We have challenged gender stereotypes beyond just the gendering of public spaces. Seeing girls climbing scaffolds was once unthinkable in Ferizaj’s social context. Now, it’s no longer extraordinary — we’ve broken that barrier. However, someone always has to bear the burden of change. I’m pleased that I have overcome the criticism and prejudice. Today, young girls can create art under somewhat easier conditions, though they still face sexual harassment. At least in Ferizaj, I can say that our work in public spaces has become normalized. This is not necessarily the case for female visual artists in other municipalities, where they continue to experience sexual harassment.
We also aim to challenge gendered urban planning by portraying women in surreal forms in murals, since we don’t see enough real-life representations of them. In the absence of horizontal space dedicated to women, we use vertical space to center them in our art.
How does your identity as an artist connect with your gender identity? Does the social and cultural context, which often confines women to the private sphere, limit creativity in the field of visual art?
Navigating as a woman artist in our society is challenging, with our gender identities playing a significant role. However, each individual must decide what their priorities are.
Fortunately, my children have their grandmother to look after them when I am away. Once, my daughter asked me if I loved my work more than I loved them. I didn’t answer her, out of sadness. At that time, I worked hard to keep the pressure I felt at work from affecting my home life.
Now that several years have passed, I often think about stepping away from the festival thinking I’ve done enough. But then I ask myself, what else can I do? Art has become such a core part of my identity that I can’t separate it from who I am. Moreover, I wanted the struggles and long-term challenges faced by women artists to be recognized when discussing artists and their experiences.
Practicing a specific art form like street art in a country with limited art culture, especially in a city with a narrow mindset, is challenging. Being a female artist in a society that often resists cultural change makes it even harder. There are obstacles at every turn.
Is your art reaching the consciousness of the people of Ferizaj?
Our festival aims to engage all citizens, both men and women, gradually raising their awareness through art. We understand that social changes take time. Our art reflects the ongoing transformation of Ferizaj’s cultural and social identity. As Ferizaj has evolved, so have we. When we compare our current work to our earlier pieces, we can see how much we have grown. Members of the public are also evolving and being shaped alongside our art. Art everywhere mirrors society and its changes.
Philosopher Henri Lefebvre emphasizes that city spaces are dynamic, constantly shifting between idea and reality, thought and practice, much like a work of art rather than a mere product of economic or political structures. Is the city becoming a work of art for the MuralFest collective, serving as a counterpoint to these structures?
Our goal was to use art to fill Ferizaj with the stories of its citizens. Historically, Ferizaj has lacked identifying landmarks that attract people and tourism. It was an industrial city and is still recognized as a business hub. The city has been, and continues to be, dominated by concrete and construction. We have not had a significant collective reflection on our cultural heritage. While we have had the mural of the waiter at the Lybeteni hotel since 1961, we have constantly wondered, what else?
How can we help people identify with their city and find visual comfort? Our goal was to transform Ferizaj into a city of stories, surrounding its residents with inclusive art that everyone can relate to and enjoy.
Ferizaj is already known as the city of murals, and the mural of the waiter has become a prominent symbol of the city. Some of your murals will likely become part of Ferizaj’s cultural heritage, expressing the city’s cultural identity. How much does commercialism and bureaucracy threaten the transformation of art into collective heritage?
The local awareness of culture, especially regarding art and cultural heritage, still needs further development. We’ve had five instances where the waiter mural was covered by advertising and promotional materials, including earlier this year. Fortunately, this year we acted collectively and the owner of the property where the mural is located removed the advertisement. We have become more assertive as an artistic collective in protecting art in society. However, I sometimes feel that our efforts are not enough.
We still feel as if we are invisible, we lack the strength to contest such actions, both private and institutional.
While we recognize that not all of our murals qualify as spiritual and material heritage, some, due to their location, have begun to fade over time. Certain murals hold spiritual value and should be evaluated by professionals for potential preservation. For example, the mural created by Pranvera Sylejmani for the HOME edition of Mural Fest, located at the railway station in Ferizaj, should be preserved. This mural depicts the train station where Kosovars left as refugees and returned after the war ended. They left in sorrow and returned with hope. For murals like these that tell important stories, it would be beneficial to establish a conservation practice.
We want our murals to resonate over the city's constructions and concrete, challenging their gloom.
How do you choose the spaces for your art? Since each edition embraces a cause, do you deliberately select highly visible locations to encourage public discourse?
Not necessarily, because sometimes we don’t even get permission from residents to create the murals. Usually, the artists themselves select the locations, considering the infrastructure necessary to create the mural. This process has become almost obsessive; we walk through the streets, scanning for potential sites for our art. There have also been instances when we have chosen specific public spaces to spark discussion on certain issues. This decision often depends on the concepts we are working with.
What do you see as the essential purpose of your murals?
We believe that the city reflects its citizens; it is an extension of us. Therefore, we want our murals to resonate over the city’s constructions and concrete, challenging their gloom.
Our goal is to capture the gradual change in both ourselves and the city, sometimes through art that is rebellious and sometimes through art that celebrates various civic, cultural and gender identities.
We aim to bring art to every citizen of Ferizaj and transform the city into an urban gallery. We believe that everyone should have access to art, including the homeless who live in the underpasses of Ferizaj. We created murals in these underpasses thinking about them too. The message has reached the people: connect with our murals, protect them and do not damage them. This is what we want — for everyone to enjoy our art as a right. Our “Fragments of Utopia” edition was inspired by this vision, seeking to transform Ferizaj from a city with a utopian dream into a vibrant, livable city for all.
Feature Image: Archive of Lebibe Topalli.
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- This story was originally written in Albanian.