Mitar Simikić: What Goes Unseen

"Mitar Simikić is a documentary photographer from Bosnia and Herzegovina. He is affiliated with VII Photo through the VII Mentor Program. Mitar’s work has been awarded the VID Grant Financial Prize, Sarajevo Photography Award and the Rovinj Photodays. Additionally, his projects were recognized by The Everyday Project Grants, Felix Schoeller Photo Award, Kranj Photo Fest, Oko Photo Festival Bohinj, Kolga Tbilisi Photo and Serbia Press Photo. Mitar participated in the VII Masterclass as the VII Academy Scholarship Recipient and Magnum Scholarship Inside>>Out. His work has been featured in numerous publications around the world and was showcased at various festivals and exhibitions. Simikić is an assistant professor at the Department of Photography of The Academy of Arts in Novi Sad, Serbia."

source: https://mitarsimikic.com/about/

In the midst of the ongoing mobilizations that have been reshaping Serbia since last November, how do you, as an assistant professor at the Department of Photography in Novi Sad, approach to students who are navigating both their political awakening and their artistic expression?

Many students are experiencing a political awakening for the first time, and it’s deeply tied to their search for identity and meaning as artists. We encourage them to stay rooted in what feels personal and true, even when the world outside is loud and uncertain. The students have demonstrated their maturity and presence. They’ve shifted political perspectives and awakened a sense of awareness and empathy that many had forgotten. We talk openly about ethics, responsibility, and the power dynamics of storytelling. We urge them to document not just what’s happening on the streets, but how it shapes them from within. Artistic expression and political awareness don’t need to be separate; in fact, the most powerful work often emerges when the two meet in tension. The proof is in navigating that tension with integrity, curiosity, and care.

@ Mitar Simikić, Mila, Courtesy of the artist

Your work often brings to light realities and subjects that are marginalized or overlooked. In that sense, documentary photography can be seen as a form of activism, a way of making the invisible visible. Have you ever personally thought of your photographic practice as a form of activism, or been confronted with activism through your work?

Yes, I do see my photographic practice as a form of quiet activism—one rooted in presence, listening, and care. I may not always work with protest or direct action, but I believe there’s power in choosing to document what is often left out: the lives, landscapes, and emotions that are deemed unworthy of attention by mainstream narratives. Whether photographing a girl like Mila, a river like Janja, or a disappearing village, I try to create space for people and places to be witnessed with dignity and depth. That, to me, is its form of resistance.

@ Mitar Simikić, Mila, Courtesy of the artist

Speaking of visibility and human presence, I would love to talk about Mila which we had the immense honour to exhibit during LES BALKANNES 3rd edition last year. Even if not explicitly activist, your project Mila opens a rare and intimate window onto lives that are often invisible. How did you first meet Mila and her family, and what drew you to telling their story?

What drew me to telling their story was precisely that contrast—the strength that doesn’t announce itself, the complexity that unfolds only when you slow down and pay attention. Their life wasn’t shaped by spectacle, but by survival, grace, and choices made on the edges of society’s gaze.

Through them, I saw a chance to talk about visibility, identity, and the politics of care without ever needing to simplify or sensationalize. It was a collaboration built on trust, and I carry it with deep respect.

@ Mitar Simikić, Mila, Courtesy of the artist

In your project, we see how Mila and her family have had to give up comfort, social acceptance, and even certain dreams to build a life with dignity. Why, for you, is it so important to focus on these invisible sacrifices? And how did witnessing their resilience affect your own vision of strength and change?

Focusing on invisible sacrifices is essential because they reveal the quiet, often overlooked forms of resistance that exist in everyday life. Mila and her family don’t demand attention—they live with dignity, making difficult choices that speak to a deeper strength. These are not dramatic acts, but subtle, persistent ones: choosing integrity over acceptance, care over convenience, and truth over comfort. Documenting this helps challenge dominant narratives about power and success by showing that real courage often exists in the margins.

Mila is still a child, yet she already demonstrates a level of maturity and awareness that is rare for her age. Her decision not to show her face became central to your project. How did you navigate the ethical responsibility of photographing her, balancing artistic vision with her boundaries and agency? And how does her choice connect with your larger exploration of visibility and invisibility?

Photographing Mila required a deep sense of ethical responsibility and ongoing dialogue. From the very beginning, I made it clear that she had full control over how she was represented and that her boundaries were not only respected but central to the project itself. Her decision not to show her face wasn’t something I worked around—it became a powerful narrative thread that shaped the entire visual language of the work. Mila’s choice speaks directly to the themes of visibility and invisibility that run through much of my practice. She comes from a community often overlooked and unheard, and by choosing how she is seen—or not seen—she asserts her agency in a world that frequently denies it. Rather than diminishing her presence, her refusal to be fully visible invites the viewer to look closer, to listen more carefully, and to reflect on the power dynamics embedded in every act of looking.

@ Mitar Simikić, Mila, Courtesy of the artist

Mila’s choice not to show her face seems not just personal, but political — reflecting the pressures young girls face around beauty, worth, and judgment, especially amplified by social media. In her case, these pressures are even greater because she comes from an invisible community. As a photographer, how do you ensure your subjects, especially women and children, retain control over how they are portrayed?

As a photographer, I believe that representation must begin with consent, conversation, and care. I never photograph someone without first building a relationship and making sure they fully understand how the images will be used. Their comfort and agency always come before my artistic vision. In Mila’s case, her choice not to show her face is not a limitation, but a powerful statement. I work collaboratively with my subjects to ensure they feel seen on their terms. By listening closely and inviting them to shape how they are portrayed, I create space for stories that are not only visually honest but also emotionally true.

@ Mitar Simikić, Mila, Courtesy of the artist

You often commit to long-term projects that require patience and deep involvement. In a fast-paced world, why is it important for you to take your time? And how has working this way shaped your approach to photography and storytelling?

In a fast-paced world, taking time allows me to build genuine connections with people and places, which is essential for telling honest and meaningful stories. Long-term work creates space for trust, observation, and reflection, allowing the narrative to unfold naturally rather than forcing it to fit a deadline. This slower, more intentional approach has deeply shaped my photography and storytelling. It has taught me to listen more than I speak, to notice the quiet details others might overlook, and to understand that true change. Working this way grounds my projects in empathy, depth, and authenticity.

Interviewed by Emilia Trifunovic