SORRË (the Albanian word for “crow”) is the title of the site-specific installation created in the public school “Vaso Pashë Shkodrani” in Peja, Kosovo — the location of the ARKIV Institute of Contemporary Art in Peja, founded in 2018 by artist Sislej Xhafa.

Sorrë — the crow — is a powerful symbol that invites multiple layers of interpretation. By challenging misconceptions surrounding this remarkable creature and using it as a potent feminine voice, I invite viewers to question their understanding and perception of the Sorrë, as well as the broader understanding of women’s position within society. Although negative connotations have historically been attached to the crow, such beliefs lack scientific grounding and stem primarily from human fear. In many cultures, the crow actually holds sacred significance.
I am intrigued by the contrast between the crow’s dark associations and its extraordinary intelligence. Women have often been described through avian metaphors in disparaging ways, yet the crow is among the most intelligent species in the animal kingdom.
This exhibition aims to illuminate the figure of the “invisible woman.” Sorrë gives her a piercing and undeniable voice.

Upon entering the school, the audience is met by the deep, repetitive call of a crow, echoing through the space and urging visitors to pay attention to something hidden yet profoundly important — something that transcends superstition and fear, initiating a journey of introspection. The scream of the Sorrë becomes a metaphor for invisible and underestimated female power.

Using damaged sections of classroom walls and even parts of the floor as sites for artistic intervention, I invite the public to discover female faces — or fragments of them — emerging through cracks. These are portraits of important women from Kosovo, women in general, and even my own mother.

In addition to these interventions, women unexpectedly occupy spaces traditionally reserved for men. At the entrance of the school, next to the main plaque bearing the name of the pasha after whom the school is named, I install eight plaques with the names of prominent women and their professions — from scientists, gynecologists, and artists to parachutists. In doing so, I draw attention to exceptional female figures who may never replace the pasha nor have a school named after them.

On the second floor, where framed portraits of important men line the walls, I boldly place a row of empty frames bearing women’s names, without images. These frames timidly — yet insistently — seek their place among them.

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