A massive spider now dominates the rooftop of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, its face twisted into a knowing grin. While it might evoke fear, it is accompanied by a small bird perched on one of its crooked legs, wings poised as if ready to take flight.

This duo creates a striking visual, but depending on your vantage point, they might blend into the skyline, becoming just another oddity in New York's vast landscape. During heavy rain, the smiling spider may be completely obscured.

The creator of this installation is Petrit Halilaj, a 38-year-old artist from Kosovo. His work is part of the Met's ongoing series of summer rooftop commissions, which feature different artists each year. While many previous installations have been extravagant and flashy, Halilaj's minimalist approach stands out as the most compelling.

Halilaj gained recognition for his large-scale sculptures, including a replica of his family home in Prishtina showcased at the 2010 Berlin Biennale. He has previously created another house-like structure for the Met, complete with a stick figure and a golden star, which visitors could walk beneath.

His latest installation, titled Abetare (2024), moves away from the more elaborate elements of his previous works. Much of the steel construction is understated, with semi-abstract components. Words welded into the sculptures reveal personal references, including "Runik," Halilaj's hometown, and "KFOR," the Kosovo Force, underscoring the work's connection to his experiences growing up in a war-torn country.

As a teenager, Halilaj was displaced to a refugee camp in Albania during the Kosovo conflict, where he was encouraged to draw by visiting psychologists. This artistic outlet became a crucial means of coping with his circumstances, and he continues to draw inspiration from those early sketches.

His current sculptures also incorporate drawings he discovered in schools across Kosovo, expanding his focus to include other Balkan nations. For example, the spider was inspired by a damaged desk in Skopje, North Macedonia, while another piece juxtaposes a heart shape with a phallus and the word "tiddies," reflecting a shared adolescent experience across borders.

By embracing children's doodles, Halilaj elevates these simple marks to artistic significance, despite the anonymity of their creators. Abetare conveys a sense of impermanence, echoed in the delicate appearance of the steel structures.

However, this perceived fragility is deceptive. The Met required that Halilaj's work withstand hurricane conditions. In fulfilling this requirement, he has transformed these children's drawings into monumental pieces that resist the ravages of time and climate change.

While Abetare offers a profound commentary on the fragility of national histories, Halilaj also injects moments of humor. Visitors are encouraged to look for whimsical elements, such as a cat person hanging from a flower-laden pergola and a playful cat leaning against a nearby bench.

One notable feature is a louvered screen set within a low wall, next to which Halilaj has placed the evocative word "HERE." This could refer to various locations—New York, the Met, or a specific part of the museum. Although this "HERE" originates from the Balkans, it fits seamlessly into its vibrant new setting.

Sayart / Sharon Jung guhuijeong784@gmail.com