This time, many are united not only by the joy of art and meeting again, but also by sadness. Both locals and visitors to the city admit that they do not want to see the end of this event.
The organizer of the event, Miks Magone, posted a picture on his social networks a few days ago with the inscription “Zemlika, Durbe, 2011-2024”.
On the first day of the event, he confirms that
this is really the last festival of its kind in Durbe.
When asked why he made such a decision, M. Magone explains: “The coincidence of various circumstances, probably. Some things were predictable. I mean, it couldn’t be easier to do. And not just financially, which is also a factor, of course. And it is clear that this year will be with losses.
But every year it did not become easier to do it in those places on which the festival depends. For example, the House of Culture. Each place has its own leader, each has its own niche. And that nick, I don’t know why, all these 13 years has come out again.
With gritted teeth and with great pain, we have come to the result that yes, we can show theater in the local primary school, but its difficulties and sometimes incomprehensible obstacles dampen the mood.
We realized that we cannot fight.”
He mentions that other factors also contributed to the decision. For example, the guest house, which has hosted festival visitors all the years until now, is not doing so this year.
M. Magone says that it was one of the first places where people looked for accommodation, but this year when they received a negative answer, many were scared.
“People have no place to physically stay anymore. They are afraid of it and don’t want to step into the unknown.”
The support of the municipality with the premises has always been there, however, the organizer does not deny that the negotiations have not become easier over the years.
This time we also had to pay the fee for holding the Saturday market. This is news for the festival organizers, because until now they have lived with the belief that the city is interested in inviting merchants.
“There is some bureaucratic moss growing, I think,”
the potter does not hide his thoughts.
“I hear that people complain that it is because the counties have been merged, therefore, the center is no longer Durbe and all the other parishes, except for Grobiņa, are on the periphery. Recently, we had to hear such sad stories from the locals. To be honest, I feel that way too sometimes.”
When asked whether the festival will probably be revived in time, M. Magone answers uncertainly. He admits that something similar could still happen, but not in Durbe.
He promises that if there is an opportunity to organize a concert in the summer without complications, he will definitely do it.
“We do this just for the fun of it. It is our passion, our hobby. If we feel that we can do something without complications, then it will happen.
There won’t be a festival like this again.”
Pianist Vicky Chow, who traveled the long way from New York, also visited Durbe for the first time. She says that Latvia is not a foreign place to her. Previously also visited Liepāja, Ventspils and Cēsis.
The musician laughingly admits that the smallest city in Latvia appeals to her a lot, because after living in the “cement jungle” she likes to spend some time closer to nature, especially in the beautiful autumn.
Durbe’s Lutheran Church was full of visitors during her and the Norwegian bass quartet’s concerts. Many had to stand, but some chose to sit on the ground. The warm drinks available there also helped to warm up.
Vicky has shown her piano playing skills all over the world, but what she likes most are exactly the kind of concerts that Durbé experienced yesterday – intimate ones, where the audience is close, completely immersed in the melodies and willingly sits on the ground to be closer to the stage.
The festival with a market, erudition game, film selection, theater and artists from Latvia, Germany, Canada, France, USA and Norway continues today.
Contribution of the media support fund from Latvian state budget funds. The portal liepajniekiem.lv is responsible for the prepared content.
The Last Hurrah of the Durbe Festival
Gather ’round, folks! It’s not every day you get to witness a festival waving goodbye like a kid with a broken kite. This year’s Durbe Festival is giving us not just the joy of creativity and a rendezvous with culture, but also a side-serving of sadness. Picture this: vibrant colors, joyous gatherings, and a heart-wrenching admission from both locals and visitors alike that they don’t want this to be the final curtain call. It’s as if the local art scene is announcing a breakup—nobody’s happy about it, and we’re all left swiping through old memories.
Our dear organizer, Miks Magone, has delivered the gut punch with a recent Instagram post that screams, “Zemlika, Durbe, 2011-2024.” A brief timeline with a few years that are the equivalent of ‘here today, gone tomorrow’ is probably more relatable than your last relationship. Miks confirmed what everyone suspected, stating plainly:
This is really the last festival of its kind in Durbe.
When asked why this funeral for fun is happening, M. Magone tossed out a mix of predictability and financial woes. “Some things were predictable.” Yes, those are words you want to hear from someone managing a festival—somewhat like a doctor saying, “I was kinda expecting the heart attack.” As if managing this annual theatrical delight was a walk in the park—which, let’s be honest, it’s more like a trek through a minefield every year. Could it be that the local primary school is not the ambiance you dreamed of for your grand festival? Shocking, I know!
We realized that we cannot fight.
We’ve all been there—stubbornly trying to make something work that’s clearly gone off the rails. Magone, with all the grace of a ballet dancer on roller skates, details the challenges of finding suitable venues—because, believe it or not, the local school isn’t exactly designed for thespians. Talk about a “Just wing it” approach!
But there’s more—the trusty guest house, the haven for festival-goers, has decided that it’d rather stay closed than host this year. I mean, who wouldn’t want to pass up a week of quirky art performances and nervous artists? Especially when the locals are scared and saying, “Nah, I’d rather not risk sleeping under the stars.”
You can feel the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a spatula. While the municipality has traditionally been a supportive friend to the festival—the type who brings chips to the party—they’ve started charging fees that feel like being picked clean by a group of piranhas.
“There is some bureaucratic moss growing, I think,”
Honestly, this sounds like a euphemism for government red tape strangling the life out of creativity. Magnone’s observations echo that all too familiar lament from artists everywhere: more bureaucracy, less art. Who knew merging counties could make you feel less like a part of your local community? Cue some sad violin music!
The optimistic sparkle in Magone’s eye fades as he admits that resurrecting this festival might not happen here in Durbe. But fear not! He teases the idea of spontaneous concerts during the summer, because apparently, art is like pigeons at a park—if you build it, they will come (as long as there’s not too much competition for the breadcrumbs).
There won’t be a festival like this again.
And if that’s not a punch to the gut, I don’t know what is. Enter Vicky Chow, a pianist who journeyed all the way from New York, but thankfully speaks fondly of the quaintness of Durbe. She finds charm in this “smallest city in Latvia” as she likens it to a breath of fresh air after living in a “cement jungle”. Is it sad that cities are becoming “options” rather than “homes”? She certainly embraces the intimacy that can only come from intimate concerts—like having coffee with an old friend, unlike that awkward lunch with your boss.
As the concert at Durbe’s Lutheran Church unfolds with full houses and some sitting on the ground, it feels almost poetic—though I can’t help but think about ticket sales. Too many standing, not enough seating. If that isn’t a metaphor for the arts struggle today, I don’t know what is! And yet, here we are wanting to soak up the vibrant atmosphere like it’s the last rays of summer sunshine. We’re not just losing a festival; we’re losing a slice of cultural life that binds us together.
This year’s festival, featuring everything from a marketplace to film selections and performances from international talents, will continue today. But let me tell you, folks, after this there’s a mere void left. A vacuum where creativity should thrive. Here’s to hoping Miks and his crew can rise again, like the phoenix from the ashes… or at least a slightly singed artwork!
So grab your friends, raise a glass, and toast to the beautiful mess that is local art. Because if we don’t, who will?
Contribution of the media support fund from Latvian state budget funds. The portal liepajniekiem.lv is responsible for the prepared content.
