Tolkien in Triest

I recently had the opportunity to visit the Tolkien exhibition in Trieste. The exhibition was dedicated to the life and work of J. R. R. Tolkien and showcased not only his literary world, but also the huge cultural impact his stories have had to this day. I was particularly impressed by three large walls that were completely covered with bookshelves. They contained numerous editions of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit from all over the world in a wide variety of formats and designs. (It would be interesting to look at the book covers from different countries and analyze the background and cultural influences on the illustrations.)

At the end of the exhibition, there were also many illustrations by artists and fans who were inspired by Tolkien’s stories. These works ranged from classic drawings to modern interpretations and impressively showed how differently the same world can be visualized.

And again Books

All of this reminded me of a bookshelf at my parents house. For years, it has held several illustrated books dealing with conceptual art and illustrations for the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit films (of course Harry Potter as well). Now, during the Christmas holidays, while I am back at my parents’ house, I went to this shelf and took another look at the books.

One book in particular caught my attention: “The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug Chronicles – Concept Art and Design,” published by Hobbit Press. The first edition was published in London in 2013. The main author is Daniel Falconer, supplemented by forewords and texts by other authors and contributors who were directly involved in the film production.

Concept Art at Middle-earth

Conceptual art plays a central role, especially in film adaptations of books. As already mentioned in the blog post about the Harry Potter exhibition in London, conceptual art forms the visual bridge between text and film and helps to translate abstract descriptions, moods, and places into specific images. This work is particularly sensitive and challenging when it comes to a literary source such as The Hobbit, which many readers already associate with their own inner images.

In the case of The Hobbit films, the screenwriters provided numerous ideas that were strongly based on the book. At the same time, The Lord of the Rings already provided existing locations, characters, and visual rules that had to be followed. This made it all the more important to develop the new locations that play a major role in The Hobbit for the first time including Mirkwood (Düsterwald), Esgaroth the lake-town (Seestadt), and Erebor, the Lonely Mountain.

Weta Workshop, which also co-published this book, played a central role in this process. Weta Workshop is a New Zealand special effects company founded in 1987 and based in Wellington. It provides services for film productions, including design drafts, makeup effects, props, creatures, puppets, miniatures, models, and large sculptures. The company also produces merchandising items. For The Hobbit trilogy, Weta Workshop was instrumental in the visual development of characters, costumes, environments, and fantastical creatures, working closely with the director, screenwriters, and other creative departments.

Back to the Book

The illustrated book is structured along the sections of the film and shows the concept art for specific scenes, locations, characters, costumes, and mythical creatures. At the time of publication, many of the artists involved had already been working on The Hobbit trilogy for four to five years. Every day brought new challenges, as concept designer Alan Lee describes in the book’s introduction.

“The book shows only a relatively small part of the enormous amount of work that went into the visualization and production of The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug,” says Lee.

The creation of Beorn

The first section of the book is about Beorn’s house. Beorn is a man who can transform himself into a bear. According to the author, this character posed a particular challenge, as he had to be portrayed convincingly in both human and animal form, visually credible but at the same time consistent with Tolkien’s description and the existing imagery of Middle-earth.

I am particulary interested in how artists create fantasy characters, especially those with an ambiguous or hard-to-define personality. Having read the book as well, I can imagine that Boern was one of the most difficult figures to design, because its never entirly clear wheater he is good or bad. His bear form in particular needed to appear frightening and monstrous.

The many pictures in the book are showing how difficult is was, and how many attempts they needed to finding a clear direction. I think its always really calming when you see that talanted artist like the one who contributed here in the films are also struggeling sometimes. Its interesting to see how it works on big sets like this. Many artists work on the same subject at once, each starting with a different vision, and then gradually discussing, refining, and combining these ideas.

John Howe mentoined that for two weeks he made a scribble of boern on his diary every evening. Each day he tried a new approach. Some of these drawings can be seen on the right side of the upper image. For me, this highlights how important it is to keep going, to think differently, and to have the courage to experiment and try things out.

After large number of artworks had been created and presented to the Weta Workshop, the team began developing 3D Modells and exploring anatomical possibilities. Their aim was to push the design in a bit more brutal and extreme direction, which can be seen on the left page of the lower image. In the end, all these ideas come together, resulting in the creation of a truly unforgettable character.

The Elevnking’s Hall

Besides character design, I can imagine designing settings almost as difficult, maybe even more so. Because, as mentioned in the book, you have to think about so many things like light setting, perspective and the story behind it. Across eleven pages, the book shows how the Elvenkings Hall and the Throne room were created. These are two of my favorite locations in the movie because they combine a sense of magic with a darker atmosphere. According to the Conceptartists, one one the Challanges was to continue the Mirkwood but in a more magic way. They wanted to build an entire cave system out of trees that looks very natural.

In the images above you can see a few of the artworks they did. Another important thing in the creation was the deepth the rooms should have. Gus Hunter, one of the designers at Weta Workshop, worked with many columns, trees, and roots to shape the space. When thinking about the lighting of the hall, he came up with the idea of using stalactites in which the elves could place oil lamps. In addition, he used water reflections to help illuminate the entire setting.

To come to an End

Overall, it is incredibly interesting to see how these different departments and artists work together to bring such complex worlds to life. What I have written about here is only a very small glimpse into the book, which itself is just one part of a much larger series documenting the creative process behind The Hobbit. Once again, it highlights how essential concept art and strong visual storytelling are for building believable and immersive worlds. This topic is especially important for my future academic work, as it directly connects to my interest in the visualization of storytelling and in creative development processes more broadly both of which I eventually plan to explore further in my master’s thesis.

Sources:

https://www.wetanz.com

Falconer, Daniel (Hrsg.): Der Hobbit: Smaugs Einöde – Chroniken. Kunst und Gestaltung. Hobbit Presse, London, 2013

Visiting the photography exhibition of Milorad (Milan) Pešić in Cetinje felt less like attending a cultural event and more like stepping into a collective family album. As a girl born and raised in Montenegro, I did not walk into that space as a neutral observer. I walked in carrying memories, inherited stories, and a deep emotional connection to the landscapes and faces that Pešić captured through his camera.

Cetinje itself already carries a special weight for me. Old royal capital has a quiet dignity, a sense of endurance that mirrors the Montenegrin spirit. Seeing Pešić’s photographs displayed there felt right — as if the city and the images were speaking the same language. From the very first photograph, I felt recognition. Not just recognition of places, but of emotions. These were not distant historical documents. These were scenes I felt I had lived, even when they belonged to a time before I was born.

What moved me most was how familiar everything felt. The faces in Pešić’s portraits reminded me of my grandparents, my neighbors. The men — strong, reserved, shaped by the land — carried expressions I have seen my entire life. There is something uniquely Montenegrin in the way people stand, look, and exist in space, and Pešić captured that without exaggeration or romanticism.

As a woman, I found myself paying special attention to the images of women in the photographs. They are rarely posed or idealized. Instead, they appear real — working, waiting, carrying burdens both physical and emotional. Their strength is quiet, almost understated, yet undeniable. Looking at them, I felt a deep respect and a sense of continuity. These women are the reason our traditions survived. They held families together, preserved customs, and endured silence when words were not allowed.

The landscapes, too, stirred something deeply personal. Montenegro is a country of extremes — harsh mountains, calm seas, isolated villages, and narrow streets filled with history. Pešić’s photographs do not simply show these places; they remember them. The mountains feel heavy with time, the villages feel intimate and vulnerable, as if they could disappear if not preserved through images like these. Standing in front of those photographs, I felt gratitude that someone cared enough to document our world before it changed forever.

What makes this exhibition especially powerful is its honesty. Pešić did not try to beautify poverty or dramatize hardship. He simply observed. And in doing so, he allowed dignity to emerge naturally. His work reminded me that our history is not only written in books or political events, but in ordinary lives — in daily routines, in work, in silence, in perseverance.

Leaving the exhibition, I felt both proud and emotional. Proud of where I come from, and emotional because so much of what I saw belongs to a Montenegro that is slowly fading. Yet thanks to photographers like Pešić, it is not lost. It lives on — not as nostalgia, but as testimony.

This exhibition was not just about photography. For me, it was about identity. About seeing ourselves clearly, without filters, and accepting both the beauty and the hardship that shaped us. As a Montenegrin woman, I left with a renewed sense of connection — to my past, my people, and my place in this long, quiet story we call home.

Klanglicht 2026 war für mich ein richtig angenehmer Startpunkt für meine Recherche. Es war zwar erst mein zweites Klanglicht, aber diesmal bin ich ganz anders hineingegangen. Ich habe mir bewusst Zeit genommen und versucht, nicht nur zu konsumieren oder „schön zu finden“, sondern genauer zu beobachten, wie Licht, Sound und Raum eigentlich Emotionen erzeugen. Genau das ist ja auch der Kern meiner Arbeit: Erinnerungen spürbar machen – nicht nur zeigen oder erklären, sondern fühlbar werden lassen.

Was mich bei Klanglicht besonders fasziniert hat, war diese Mischung aus Staunen, Ruhe und gleichzeitig einem totalen Überwältigtsein. Man bewegt sich durch die Stadt, die man eigentlich gut kennt, und plötzlich wirken Straßen, Plätze und Gebäude komplett anders. Vertraute Orte verlieren kurz ihre Alltäglichkeit und bekommen etwas Fremdes, fast Zeitloses. Das hat mich stark daran erinnert, dass Erinnerungen nie fix oder abgeschlossen sind. Sie verändern sich ständig – je nachdem, aus welchem Blickwinkel man schaut, in welcher Stimmung man ist oder welche Atmosphäre gerade entsteht.

Viele Installationen haben genau dieses Gefühl verstärkt. Sie haben nichts „erzählt“ im klassischen Sinn, sondern eher Räume geöffnet, in denen man selbst etwas gespürt hat. Ich hatte oft das Gefühl, dass nicht das einzelne Werk im Vordergrund stand, sondern das Zusammenspiel aus Licht, Klang, Architektur und den Menschen, die sich darin bewegen. Dadurch wurde mir klar, wie sehr Erinnerung auch etwas Situatives ist – etwas, das im Moment entsteht und nicht einfach abrufbar ist wie eine Datei.

Ein Moment, der mir besonders hängen geblieben ist, war eine Projektion, die wie schwebende Lichtpartikel gewirkt hat, begleitet von einem extrem minimalistischen Sound. Es war nichts Lautes, nichts Dramatisches. Viele Leute standen einfach still da, teilweise minutenlang. Niemand hat geredet, niemand hat gefilmt. Das Ganze hatte etwas sehr Intimes, obwohl man von fremden Menschen umgeben war. Es war fast wie ein kollektives „In-sich-Hineinhorchen“. Genau solche Zustände finde ich extrem spannend, wenn es um neue Formen der Erinnerung an Verstorbene geht: Situationen, die automatisch entschleunigen, ohne dabei traurig oder kitschig zu wirken.

Mir wurde bei Klanglicht auch sehr bewusst, wie stark multisensorische Gestaltung Emotionen beeinflussen kann. Licht kann warm oder kühl wirken, Geborgenheit erzeugen oder Distanz schaffen. Klang kann Nähe herstellen oder einen Raum aufspannen, der fast leer wirkt. Und zusammen können Licht und Sound eine Stimmung erzeugen, die ganz ohne Worte auskommt. Das ist für mein Thema besonders relevant, weil klassische Trauer- und Erinnerungskommunikation oft sehr sprach- und bildlastig ist. Man erklärt, beschreibt, zeigt Fotos. Vielleicht müsste man Erinnerungen viel stärker erleben lassen, statt sie zu erklären oder zu archivieren.

Das Festival hat mir außerdem gezeigt, dass Emotionen nicht nur im Inneren einer Person entstehen, sondern stark vom Raum und von anderen Menschen beeinflusst werden. Die Stimmung zwischen den Besucher*innen, das gemeinsame Schweigen, das langsame Gehen – all das trägt zur Erfahrung bei. Erinnerung ist damit nichts rein Privates, sondern etwas, das auch kollektiv entstehen kann, ohne laut oder aufdringlich zu sein.

Was ich vom Festival konkret mitnehme:
-Erinnern kann interaktiv sein, ohne dass man aktiv etwas bedienen oder steuern muss – manchmal reicht schon Bewegung, Licht und Atmosphäre.
-Emotionen entstehen oft im Raum zwischen Menschen, nicht nur in ihnen selbst.
-Erinnerungsdesign könnte viel stärker mit Raum, Stimmung und Zeit arbeiten, statt sich nur auf Objekte, Texte oder Bilder zu konzentrieren.

Klanglicht war für mich damit weniger ein Event und mehr eine Art Denkraum – und ein sehr stimmiger Einstieg in meine weitere Recherche.

Links:
https://www.klanglicht.at
Analysing the Multi‑sensory Elements of Immersive Experience for Art Exhibitions (PDF)
https://www.mdpi.com/2075-5309/15/8/1393?utm_source=chatgpt.com