The KW Institute for Contemporary Art in Berlin is currently presenting Not A Love Song, the first institutional solo exhibition of Bosnian-Dutch artist Miloš Trakilović in Germany. The exhibition runs from February 15 – May 4, 2025 and features the artist’s most recent installation, 564 Tracks (Not a Love Song is Usually a Love Song) (2025), which channels the brutal and traumatic memory of the Bosnian War (1992 – 1995). The installation consists of an ever-changing, AI-controlled music score, accompanied by live-generated visuals, presented in a setting that resembles a dystopian music production studio. Not a Love Song is organised by Emma Enderby, director at KW, Léon Kruijswijk, curator at KW and Linda Franken, assistant curator at KW. Franken joins STIR for a conversation that explores Trakilović’s installation in depth.

Trakilović’s installation was previously shown in 2024 at the Rijksmuseum Twenthe in Enschede, the Netherlands. In Berlin, it has been adapted to fill the entire third-floor gallery space of the institute. Walking into the art exhibition, one is surrounded by tall speaker systems, along with 17 microphone stands that aren’t attached to anything. The windows of the large room have been covered as well. The majority of the light in the room seems to emanate from screens that play abstract monochrome visuals in response to a perpetually shifting musical score. The sound is dissonant and filled with ominous, guttural booms that plod on slowly, punctuated in sections by a more melodic ambience. The result is a deeply foreboding experience.

He is interested in how technology affects human perception, and focuses on contemporary warfare and how it is mediatized. - Linda Franken, assistant curator, KW on Miloš Trakilović's work

Talking about Trakilović’s process, Franken tells STIR that he trained an existing AI (artificial intelligence) model with a dataset of audio that was recorded in the ongoing Ukrainian War, as well as the wars leading to the dissolution of the former nation of Yugoslavia. Once the dataset was created and the AI model was trained to detect similar audio, he compiled a list of songs by Yugoslav artists that were composed between 1989 – 1992. This is music that was made just preceding the Bosnian War. Trakilović removed the vocals from the music he collected before using his AI model to find tonal similarities between the war sounds and the songs, eventually producing a library of 564 tracks. This installation’s title references this library.

Trakilović treats these sounds as samples for a new song. He then introduced a second AI model into the project to classify them broadly as choruses or bridges of a love song, before using the AI model to live-mix the samples. The mixing and playback take place in the open-source algorithmic audio composition software SuperCollider, while live visuals coded in the visual programming language TouchDesigner respond to the sound. The words ‘and’, ‘if’, ‘or’ and ‘not’ flash on-screen occasionally. Those familiar with computer programming will recognise these as common elements of coding, and as Franken tells us, “The artist once called them a condensed poem.”

The Bosnian War was one in a series of four wars that led to the dissolution of Yugoslavia, which existed from 1918 – 1992. Yugoslavia was formed in Southern Europe as a federation of republics following World War I and the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and was a homeland to four major ethnic groups—Serbs, Croats, Slovenes and Bosniaks—along with several smaller groups such as Albanians and Macedonians. The history of the nation was marred by ethnic strife. In 1991, the Ten-Day War took place between the Serb-controlled Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA/JHA) and the Slovenian Territorial Defence Force, following the Republic of Slovenia’s declaration of independence. The Croatian War of Independence (1991 – 1995) followed, and saw secessionists from the Republic of Croatia pitted against the JNA.

The Bosnian War unfolded amidst the Croatian War of Independence, between the Army of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina (ARBiH) on one side, and the JNA on the other, which became the Army of the Republika Srpska, championing Serbians within the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina. During this time, Yugoslavia (known as the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) would dissolve, leaving behind the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY). However, international recognition for successor states came gradually, and did not prevent the Kosovo War (1998 – 1999), between the Kosovo Liberation Army of the Republic of Kosovo and the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

These conflicts mark a dark chapter in contemporary European history, with the Bosnian War widely considered to be among its most brutal conflicts. Trakilović experienced this war firsthand, which left a lasting impression on him that eventually found its way into his work. However, this has never translated to an autobiographical account of the conflict. Instead, as Franken tells STIR, “He is interested in how technology affects human perception, and focuses on contemporary warfare and how it is mediatized.”

The installation artist also expresses his approach to examining warfare through contemporary art on his website, saying,  “I reflect on (war) more broadly through my engagements with topics such as vision and representation, violence and visibility; how they relate to one another and how these systems influence our understanding of what is considered (f)actual and virtual…the Bosnian War has significantly been expropriated by its constant circulation via images and global media channels which prompted me to keep questioning the power of images, their oppressive normativity and claims to truth.”

Trakilović’s installation art presents audiences with an experience of war that is deeply affecting, but is detached from direct visual representation of the horrific violence that unfolds in war zones. It is achingly human and scientifically antiseptic all at once, making it a strange experience. The sound art produced by 564 Tracks also leaves us with two compelling questions that it refuses to answer. The first is if (and if so, how) a prevalent sense of strife influences cultural production, such as love songs. The second is whether we can examine the music being produced in various parts of the world right now to predict the geopolitical conflicts of tomorrow.

‘Not a Love Song’ is currently on view from February 15 – May 4, 2025, at The KW Institute for Contemporary Art in Berlin, Germany.