And so we met at last. The three pioneers of art as it used to be when art was still starless. We had two large pieces of paper only, but we acquitted ourselves well. As we were putting the finishing touches on the second joint drawing or painting or collage, Orlando Mohorović exclaimed: “New collectivism!” At the time, the name of our fledgling movement struck us as just right, but Armano Jeričević started feeling uncomfortable about it by the time we were finishing our lunch. “Sounds kind of dated,” he mused, “kind of passé.” But we agreed on our next date, this time at Armano’s. Orlando will bring more paper next time around, and our collection will grow toward an exhibition. And a manifesto. In the meanwhile, we will reconsider the name of our group. As for me, it still strikes me as just right. As well as a tad whimsical, as is only appropriate when embarking upon things historical.

Addendum I (September 18, 2016)

For better or worse, our collectivism did not go very far. After a few delightful sessions, and delightful they surely were, we fell apart. To the best of my understanding, there was hardly any problem between us. In fact, we quite enjoyed each other’s company, as well as each other’s knowledge, skill, and wit. But we stopped meeting for some patently silly reason. If I remember correctly, we were supposed to gather at Orlando’s next, but there was some problem with the date. Orlando had something to do on the agreed day, and he promised to get back to us with a new date. Armano and I waited for him to contact us for a while, and then we gave up. Surprisingly, there was not a peep from Orlando, ever. In the end, there was no collection of our collective works, no exhibition, no manifesto, no nothing. What is worse, we met never again for any reason whatsoever. And all this because of a silly glitch that escapes me by now. New collectivism, my ass.

Addendum II (April 4, 2021)

Yesterday I told a friend about Orlando, Armano, and mine failed attempt at new collectivism. Armano and I waited and waited for Orlando to invite us for the third and crucial session, but in vain. For some reason that was beyond us, the invitation never came our way. And it was undoubtedly a great pity, for our two sessions were quite a joy. To the best of my recollection, all three of us were delighted to work together. To my surprise, this morning the friend I was talking to sent me a brief message about Orlando’s death. At first I thought that it was his death that put an end to new collectivism, but he actually died in 2018, eleven years after our last meeting. He was only sixty-eight, and he apparently passed away quite unexpectedly. In short, we will never learn what it was that put an end to our entertainment. One way or another, this strikes me as the most appropriate resolution to the conundrum. We will remain ignorant of Orlando’s silence for ever and ever. Requiescat in pace.