How do we introduce a festival, more than a year in the making, which this year alone suffered the loss of its founder; which was created during a seven-month closure of stages; which was almost completely severed from international stages? And yet, the upcoming festival Mladi Levi fills us with cautious joy and hope. It was envisioned on a grand scale, hoping to prove that the stage remains a relevant public space and that festivals endure as segments of time which create communities, provide space for international and local exchange, communicate with audiences – and give space, time, and attention to art.

It was also created as homage to Nevenka Koprivšek, the founder of the festival: Mladi Levi is her legacy, bequeathed to us all, including, we hope, our descendants. This years’ festival is a testament to importance of maintaining relationships, both in our small, local communities as well as on an international scale. Our inability to travel connected us in a way which demonstrated that, despite not being able to experience art together, we could still talk about it – beyond borders, lockdowns and isolation.

Nevertheless, our joy remains cautious. Ideas never translate directly into reality, but today planning seems to be the domain of the naive. This year’s festival is the corona edition, of course. But just as women authors at Mladi Levi do not merely produce female performances and refugee writers do not merely write refugee novels, we are trying to steer clear of the label. Even though our outlook, experience and creativity are inevitably marked by the spirit of the times, it would be too limiting to label an entire festival with a designation that only applies to a crisis of the last year and a half. How do we consider all the crises of today? Where do we find our intellectual bearings, signposts around which to organise our questions and answers: alternatives, utopias, revolutions, or a simple hanging on to things which are good, worthy of keeping alive, of maintaining, of caring for?