Slovenian artist Maja Smrekar is suing the right-wing Slovenian Democratic Party (SDS), for misusing her work, a performance in which she breastfed her puppy, during a referendum campaign on pension reforms. In a video interview from her studio in Ljubljana, she speaks with Musa Igrek of Freemuse about how her performance on kinship and care, K-9_topology: Hybrid Family, was turned into propaganda when an image from the exhibition was appropriated by the party. Smrekar explains why she is suing to defend artistic freedom for herself and the wider artistic community, and she reflects on how artists are increasingly pressured to self-censor while institutions hesitate to defend them.
I want to hear about the nature of your artistic practice. How do you describe your works to your family and friends? And what can you tell us about K-9_topology: Hybrid Family, especially for readers who only saw the SDS billboard or just the photo?
My artistic practice is an exploration of the kinship between humans and non-humans, including nature and technology. Through my art, I want to research and expose the dynamics of power between social order and politics, using the lens of ecological statements.
Hybrid Family is a project that is part of my broader series of works under the umbrella title K-9_topology. These works, created between 2014 and 2017, a cycle of four works in which I examined the relationship between humans and dogs—beginning with research into our parallel evolution with wolves, and moving through scenarios that imagine dogs as family and reframe our relationship to wilderness in contemporary times.
Formally, Hybrid Family involved a four-month process that began in autumn 2015 and ended in winter 2016. During this time, I followed a strict diet and specific physical training in order to induce lactation in my body, without pregnancy. I carried out this process in seclusion, but it culminated in a public performance where I breastfed my puppy.
What message were you hoping to put forward with this act?
There are a few levels to the statement in this project. On a universal level, especially connected to Europe, the work reimagines the Roman founding myth, where the she-wolf breastfeeds Romulus and Remus, the twins who then survived thanks to her and were able to build the civilisation on which much of humanism is still based. Through my work, I wanted to reverse that myth: a human nourishing a self-domesticated wolf that through evolution evolved into a dog. In the ancient myth, humans depended on nature to survive. I wanted to suggest that now nature depends on us to care for it, for its survival, and consequently, for ours as well.
Maja Smrekar and Manuel Vason, K-9_topology: Hybrid Family, Berlin, 2016.I staged an act of kinship that moved beyond the human order: nourishing not for the continuation of the nation, family, or species, but as a gesture of solidarity across boundaries. This is where the resistance to the cynicism of our times lies. Hybrid Family insists that the maternal body cannot be captured or reduced to reproduction alone. It proposes a form of abundant motherhood that can extend into wider forms of care, solidarity, and co-creation among humans and non-humans alike.
I wanted to expand the notion of kinship beyond my own experience, beyond the nuclear family. Not as an opposition to the nuclear family, but as an extension of its possibilities. This expansion doesn’t only apply to animals, of course, but to everyone we consider as “the other”: migrants, for example, and people who are different from us in terms of class, gender, nationality, religion, and so on.
On another level, the work was also deeply personal. I grew up in a family that didn’t have much time together, to share conversations or emotions. But I always connected strongly with dogs. My parents bred them, so I grew up surrounded by dogs, and they became family to me. They were the ones who helped me survive emotionally, because they were always present, and so caring.
Your K-9_Topology: Hybrid Family won the Golden Nica in 2017 and Slovenia’s Prešeren Foundation Award in 2018. When did you first discover your Hybrid Family image on referendum posters, and what immediate impacts did you experience?
In both cases, celebration was very much intertwined with anxiety. Whenever a major award is given in the field, institutions generate a lot of PR, which usually reaches audiences beyond the usual “tribe” of artistic institutions, artists, and curators.
So, in both cases, my work found itself in the wrong place at the wrong time. The first was in 2017 in Austria, just a few months before the elections. Right-wing populists, the so-called Freedom Party of Austria (FPÖ), picked up on my work because they found the topic useful for their agenda. They even submitted parliamentary questions to the Minister of Culture at the time, Thomas Drozda, directly targeting my K-9_topology series.
In their nine-point document, FPÖ deputies Werner Neubauer and Walter Rosenkranz asked in Parliament whether my projects had been funded with Austrian public money. They had not. The prize I received (€10,000) did include Austrian money, and this deeply troubled them. Their narrative became: taxpayer money is going to a Slovenian artist who is breastfeeding dogs. What mattered was evoking disgust and very primal feelings in their target audience.
Instead of engaging with all the exhibitions, lectures, publications, even documentaries around the work, they chose, in Austria and also later in Slovenia, to strip it completely of context and focus on a single photo, taken from a much larger body of work. They weaponized it as propaganda.
So when the controversy reached Slovenia, how did it unfold?
In Slovenia, the first wave of attacks began with Janez Janša, the leader of the far-right, the Slovenian Democratic Party (SDS) for 35 years, in 2018, after I received the Prešeren Foundation Award, the highest national award for arts. The campaign also extended to my colleague, Simona Semenič, a performer and playwright. The attacks were amplified across social media and far-right newspapers.
Across more than fifty Slovenian towns, the SDS used Maja’s artwork to mobilise opposition to the referendum. Photo: SDS Jesenice, Facebook.At the time, I naively believed it was just a one-time event that would fade. But every time a new wave of attacks against Slovenian culture emerged, they brought out the same photo of mine, presenting it as “non-art”, alongside works of other Slovenian artists. They repeated this in Parliament, on television, even on the streets.
This year, things escalated further. What happened?
On February 20th, as part of an effort to block the left-wing government’s plan for a special pension for award-winning artists, they launched a referendum. They gathered the 40,000 signatures required for it to proceed. To mobilize support, they singled out a photo from my performance K-9_topology: Hybrid Family, along with my name, and made it the central symbol of what they called “degenerate art”. That phrase is a literal translation of the term the Nazis used when they staged their infamous exhibition of so-called degenerate art in 1937.
Without my knowledge or consent, they altered and degraded the photograph, appropriated it as a propaganda poster, and added an insulting caption. They then printed it in countless copies and displayed it publicly for over a month, in more than 50 towns across the country using it as a central propaganda poster to mobilise signatures against the referendum. Citizens were exposed to it daily, while party members and parliament representatives proudly posed with the poster and circulated those images across social media. You can imagine the atmosphere that created.
Faced with that, you felt you had to take action?
Yes, exactly. Because this was such a large, orchestrated smear campaign, everyone knew about it. For three months, the media presented my name and work in very distorted ways. Television repeatedly showed the propaganda poster. Even recently it was still being shown in debates. Those debates often came with insults and outright lies, presented without any context.
At one point, the leader of the right wing, speaking on national television, in front of the poster with my photo said: “Oh, she is suing us. Well, just wait, I am going to sue her for sodomy.”
For me and my family, it was devastating. The misogyny, the patriarchal tone…
What other forms did these attacks take?
On social media, I faced threatening and offensive comments, radical misogyny, and outright hatred. I received threatening emails and late-night phone calls. My mother, who has a heart condition, even received insulting messages… At one point, in a neighbouring street, a protester shouted into a microphone, calling me a “bitch.” I was working at my computer and could hear it. Then graffiti appeared in the city opposing “dog breastfeeding.”
The last straw came on election day. In collaboration with the right-wing party, the Catholic Church displayed posters outside churches, even though it was supposed to be election silence. The posters showed two elderly citizens talking, with text suggesting their pensions would surely be higher if they had breastfed a dog instead of working hard all their lives.
Maja Smrekar, K-9_topology: Ecce canis. Photo: Borut Peterlin (2014).As a result, people began recognising me everywhere. On the street, in shops, at the post office. This constant exposure, combined with a saturated atmosphere of hatred, created a deep sense of loss of control. Everyday tasks became unbearable, and the pressure led to total exhaustion. This escalation convinced me that the attacks would only intensify, and that my work would continue to be misused whenever politically necessary. That is why I decided to file a lawsuit.
Your open letter mentions legal action. What are the central claims, and what precedent are you hoping to set?
The lawsuit addresses several elements, as open letter points out, but at its core it relies on Articles 147 and 148 of the Slovenian Criminal Code, which concern violations of the moral and material copyright of artworks.
What they are violating is the moral right to the integrity of a work. The Slovenian Criminal Code explicitly ensures that an artwork cannot be distorted or devalued without the author’s consent. In my case, the work was deliberately altered, misinterpreted, and used in ways that directly contradicted both its meaning and my personal and artistic beliefs. The work was deployed as a tool of political propaganda, which made it a direct assault on the integrity of an artwork I had created over years of research and preparation.
What needs to be done is the recognition that great harm was caused, not only to me as an individual artist, but to the entire cultural sphere. I hope to set a precedent that establishes a firm boundary against political violence directed at artworks and affirms the defence of artistic integrity.
Which rights (artistic freedom, bodily autonomy, private/family life etc.) do you most want to see protected through this work?
For me, bodily autonomy is inseparable from artistic freedom, especially as an artist who uses her body as an artistic medium. When politics and religion attempt to dictate what a female body can or cannot do, they also attempt to dictate what art is allowed to do.
Across the EU, many women are still fighting for the right to control their own bodies, particularly in relation to abortion. Hybrid Family defends both: the freedom to reclaim our bodies for more than reproduction, and the freedom of art to imagine futures beyond control, fear, and anthropocentrism.
Where do you draw the line between legitimate political critique of an artwork and political weaponisation of art that violates artistic freedom?
I believe that politicians, like anyone else, can and should hold private opinions, including about artworks. But they should never use their political platforms to publicly pass judgment. In my case, they went so far as to claim that I should not be making the kind of art I do. That crosses the line from personal opinion into an abuse of political power. It becomes an attempt to impose censorship through smear campaigns and public pressure, and that is undemocratic.
In a democracy, we have institutions, councils, and professionals whose role is to evaluate and critique art within their field of expertise, always with a certain degree of respect. Politicians must respect the autonomy of these institutions and professional fields, regardless of their private tastes or ideological views.
And this is what is so problematic here, extremely problematic. When they were in power just three years ago, they dismissed the directors of seven national museums, simply because those directors had made statements that were left-leaning, or at least not right-wing.
But isn’t art always subject to public disagreement?
Of course, I know, and I fully support, that art should not belong only to institutions or to those educated in specific fields. My concern has never been whether the public or civil society likes or dislikes my work. There will always be people who support it, and others who totally reject it. That is absolutely their right.
SPASM; an ongoing project by Maja Smrekar and A/POLITICAL (2024).What troubles me is when politics turns art into a weapon. Here we are talking about a super well-funded machinery, built over 35 years, backed by powerful right-wing media and networks of followers, orchestrating attacks against a single person.
And it is also an abuse of power. They used taxpayers’ money to unleash this apparatus. They have a very strong PR department, extensive media support, and mobilized networks, all directed against individuals. They undermine the legitimacy of the entire cultural field.
Many artists fear that suing political actors can backfire. How did you weigh that risk?
On the very first day, 20 February, when I saw the propaganda poster on television, I immediately decided I would sue. I didn’t know any lawyers, but I knew I was going to sue.
Of course, I’m aware a lawsuit against these actors can backfire. I fully expect it will drain my energy, time, and resources. But from that first day, I kept asking myself: what is the alternative? And I realised I could not live with that alternative. If I watched my work, my name, and my integrity being degraded publicly, and I did not respond, that would mean accepting their narrative and allowing it to become normalised. It would also send the message that I agree with them.
It’s not that I’m brave. I’m actually scared. But I cannot allow bullies to bully me. That is simply not an option. And I also believe I’m not only defending myself, but also standing up for the wider artistic community. This is not just happening to me. It has happened to other artists too, even if, in their cases, it hasn’t yet reached such a concrete, physical level.
Your case sits within a broader pattern of authoritarian populism targeting culture. Do you see chilling effects on other artists in Slovenia or internationally?
Some other artists, poets and writers, are also being attacked in Slovenia. And I have to say, I admire them very much. It is important to see that there are others who also refuse to let themselves be attacked in silence. Some of them have even appeared on the covers of right-wing newspapers and magazines, sometimes alongside me, sometimes targeted on their own. When they have the possibility to reply publicly, they do it really well. They are very strong, and in many ways, they are my heroes.
But if only a few people resist, then we’ve already lost the battle. And sadly, the Slovenian cultural scene was more vocal in defending me and my colleague back in 2018 than it has been this year. The silence now is part of the chilling effect.
More broadly, you can see the effects in the themes being addressed at festivals, exhibitions and within institutions. Everything feels like it’s in regression, and many colleagues, artists, curators, philosophers, notice the same. That’s why I believe we must resist together.
Do you know the reason behind this silence?
Because of the current zeitgeist, everything is moving into regression. The more these attacks happen, and the more they meet silence, the more they become normalised. Those who are oppressed, or who fear they might become oppressed, grow passive. Artists, too, are increasingly pressured into self-censorship, and institutions hesitate to defend them.
Maja Smrekar, K-9_topology: Autoportrait. Photo: Anže Sekelj and Hana Jošić (2017).In February, 44 institutions in Slovenia signed a collective letter of support for me. Many colleagues and artists also called me personally. But while some personal support was happening in the private sphere, the daily attacks in the public sphere continued, and there was almost no real empathy there. A single letter of support does not counterbalance three months of public hostility.
The paradigm has changed. We need to mobilise ourselves in many different ways.
Thousands have followed your story; hundreds have signed in solidarity. How has international support helped you practically? And what still isn’t covered?
The legal action is expected to last at least five years, probably longer. If I were to lose, I would definitely appeal the decision, and I’m almost certain they would do the same. The projected expenses are €12,000. That is only possible because my lawyer is working pro bono, under the agreement that if we succeed, he will receive a percentage of the compensation. Otherwise, the costs would be at least three times higher. That figure covers court-related expenses and the documentation of more than 300 media publications mentioning me since 20 February, which I had to collect myself.
Apart from funding, what forms of solidarity have you experienced?
Not everything has been negative. After The Guardian published an article, colleagues across Europe, curators, theorists, producers, reached out. They offered me a free platform, Art Kinship, where we now design materials together to collect donations and signatures.
I’m deeply grateful for every signature and every euro. International solidarity gives me visibility, moral support, and practical resources. But perhaps even more important for me psychologically is the reminder that parts of civil society and the art scene are still capable of joining together in resistance. I see this as an exercise for the difficult times that may lie ahead, because I believe we will need exactly this kind of collective strength in the future.
Beyond the courtroom, what does “repair” look like, for you, your audiences, and the public sphere?
First of all, I hope my case doesn’t just end up in some report or archive, forgotten. At the same time, I think this case could set an important precedent. Everyone has the right to their own opinion about art. But what is crucial is that art must remain heterogeneous, from avant-garde to pop culture and everything in between. That is both the public’s right and the artist’s right.
For the wider public sphere, this case is about establishing boundaries that protect artistic freedom from authoritarian populist interference. If I were to win, it would be a small case, but one that could help ensure culture remains open. It would signal to the public and to the art field itself that artists must have agency. Too often, self-censorship happens almost unconsciously, without people even realising it at first. This case could serve as a reminder that art must remain a space for inquiry and imagination, rather than a tool of propaganda.
Art has always been a vital force in shaping public debate. It provokes critical thought, and only through critical thought can society defend its most fundamental rights: peace, security, the dignity of the vulnerable. That is why art holds the power to spark social change, and this is why it is so feared by the far right. Let us use this power, because repair is not only about defending the past; it is about reclaiming our future.