Today I'm going to speak to you about the last 30 years of architectural history. That's a lot to pack into 18 minutes.
Danas ću vam pričati o poslednjih 30 godina u istoriji arhitekture. To je mnogo toga za 18 minuta.
It's a complex topic, so we're just going to dive right in at a complex place: New Jersey. Because 30 years ago, I'm from Jersey, and I was six, and I lived there in my parents' house in a town called Livingston, and this was my childhood bedroom. Around the corner from my bedroom was the bathroom that I used to share with my sister. And in between my bedroom and the bathroom was a balcony that overlooked the family room. And that's where everyone would hang out and watch TV, so that every time that I walked from my bedroom to the bathroom, everyone would see me, and every time I took a shower and would come back in a towel, everyone would see me. And I looked like this. I was awkward, insecure, and I hated it. I hated that walk, I hated that balcony, I hated that room, and I hated that house.
Tema je kompleksna, pa ćemo se samo upustiti u nju na kompleksnom mestu: Nju Džerzi. Ja sam iz Nju Džerzija, i pre 30 godina imao sam šest godina i živeo sam tamo u kući svojih roditelja u gradu Livingstonu i ovo je bila moja spavaća soba iz detinjstva. Na ćošku pored moje spavaće sboe bilo je kupatilo koje sam delio sa sestrom. Između moje spavaće sobe i kupatila nalazio se balkon koji je nadgledao dnevnu sobu. Tu bi svi provodili vreme i gledali TV, tako da bi me svaki put kada bih prošao od spavaće sobe do kupatila svako video i svaki put kada bih se istuširao i vratio se obmotan peškirom, svako bi me video. A izgledao sam ovako. Bilo mi je neprijatno, bio sam nesiguran i mrzeo sam taj osećaj. Mrzeo sam da hodam tu, mrzeo sam taj balkon, tu sobu i tu kuću.
And that's architecture. (Laughter) Done. That feeling, those emotions that I felt, that's the power of architecture, because architecture is not about math and it's not about zoning, it's about those visceral, emotional connections that we feel to the places that we occupy. And it's no surprise that we feel that way, because according to the EPA, Americans spend 90 percent of their time indoors. That's 90 percent of our time surrounded by architecture. That's huge. That means that architecture is shaping us in ways that we didn't even realize.
To je arhitektura. (Smeh) Gotovo. To osećanje, te emocije koje sam osećao, to je moć arhitekture, jer se u arhitekturi ne radi o matematici niti o podeli na zone, radi se o tim ključnim, emotivnim vezama koje osećamo u vezi sa mestima koja nastanjujemo. Nije čudno što se tako osećamo, jer po navodima Agencije za zaštitu okoline, Amerikanci 90% svog vremena provode unutra. To je 90% našeg vremena gde smo okruženi arhtekturom. To je ogromno. To znači da nas arhitektura oblikuje na načine koje nismo ni shvatali.
That makes us a little bit gullible and very, very predictable. It means that when I show you a building like this, I know what you think: You think "power" and "stability" and "democracy." And I know you think that because it's based on a building that was build 2,500 years ago by the Greeks. This is a trick. This is a trigger that architects use to get you to create an emotional connection to the forms that we build our buildings out of. It's a predictable emotional connection, and we've been using this trick for a long, long time. We used it [200] years ago to build banks. We used it in the 19th century to build art museums. And in the 20th century in America, we used it to build houses. And look at these solid, stable little soldiers facing the ocean and keeping away the elements.
To nas čini pomalo lakovernim i veoma, veoma predvidljivim. To znači da kada vam pokažem zgradu poput ove, znam šta mislite: mislite "moć", "stabilnost" i "demokratija". I znam da to mislite jer je zasnovana na zgradi koju su pre 2500 godina sagradili Grci. To je trik. Ovo je okidač koji arhitekte koriste da bi vas navele da stvorite emotivnu vezu sa formama od kojih stvaramo naše zgrade. To je predvidljiva emotivna veza i taj trik koristimo već veoma dugo. Koristili smo ga pre 200 godina da bismo gradili banke. Koristili smo ga u 19. veku kada smo gradili muzeje umetnosti. A u 20. veku u Americi, koristili smo ga za gradnju kuća. Pogledajte samo ove čvrste, stabilne male vojnike okrenute ka okeanu kako odbijaju vremenske prilike.
This is really, really useful, because building things is terrifying. It's expensive, it takes a long time, and it's very complicated. And the people that build things -- developers and governments -- they're naturally afraid of innovation, and they'd rather just use those forms that they know you'll respond to.
Ovo je veoma korisno, zato što je građenje zastrašujuće. Skupo je, traje veoma dugo, i veoma je komplikovano. A ljudi koji se bave gradnjom - graditelji i vlade - po prirodi se plaše inovacija i radije bi samo koristili one forme za koje znaju da će izazvati reakciju.
That's how we end up with buildings like this. This is a nice building. This is the Livingston Public Library that was completed in 2004 in my hometown, and, you know, it's got a dome and it's got this round thing and columns, red brick, and you can kind of guess what Livingston is trying to say with this building: children, property values and history. But it doesn't have much to do with what a library actually does today. That same year, in 2004, on the other side of the country, another library was completed, and it looks like this. It's in Seattle. This library is about how we consume media in a digital age. It's about a new kind of public amenity for the city, a place to gather and read and share.
Tako dobijemo ovakve zgrade. Ovo je fina zgrada. To je gradska biblioteka u Livingstonu koja je završena 2004. u mom rodnom gradu i znate, ima kulu i ovu okruglu stvar i stubove, crvenu ciglu i nekako možete pretpostaviti šta Livingston pokušava da kaže ovom zgradom: deca, vrednost nekretnina i istorija. Ali to zapravo nema puno veze s time čime se biblioteka danas bavi. Iste te godine, 2004, na drugoj strani zemlje, završena je još jedna biblioteka i ona izgleda ovako. Nalazi se u Sijetlu. Ovde se radi o tome kako konzumiramo medije u digitalnom dobu. Radi se o novom prijatnom mestu u gradu, mestu za okupljanje, čitanje i deljenje.
So how is it possible that in the same year, in the same country, two buildings, both called libraries, look so completely different? And the answer is that architecture works on the principle of a pendulum. On the one side is innovation, and architects are constantly pushing, pushing for new technologies, new typologies, new solutions for the way that we live today. And we push and we push and we push until we completely alienate all of you. We wear all black, we get very depressed, you think we're adorable, we're dead inside because we've got no choice. We have to go to the other side and reengage those symbols that we know you love. So we do that, and you're happy, we feel like sellouts, so we start experimenting again and we push the pendulum back and back and forth and back and forth we've gone for the last 300 years, and certainly for the last 30 years.
Kako je onda moguće da iste godine, u istoj zemlji, dve zgrade, obe biblioteke, izgledaju potpuno drugačije? Odgovor je taj da arhitektura funkcioniše na principu klatna. Sa jedne strane je inovacija i arhitekte stalno guraju ka novim tehnologijama, novim tipologijama, rešenjima za načine na koje danas živimo. I guramo, guramo i guramo dok se potpuno ne udaljimo od svih vas. Nosimo samo crnu odeću, postanemo veoma depresivni, mislite da smo simpatični, iznutra smo mrtvi jer nemamo izbora. Moramo da odemo na drugu stranu i ponovo koristimo te simbole koje znamo da volite. Uradimo to i vi ste srećni, a mi se osećamo kao da smo se prodali, pa počnemo opet da eksperimentišemo i guramo klatno nazad i napred i nazad i napred kao i proteklih 300 godina i svakako proteklih 30 godina.
Okay, 30 years ago we were coming out of the '70s. Architects had been busy experimenting with something called brutalism. It's about concrete. (Laughter) You can guess this. Small windows, dehumanizing scale. This is really tough stuff. So as we get closer to the '80s, we start to reengage those symbols. We push the pendulum back into the other direction. We take these forms that we know you love and we update them. We add neon and we add pastels and we use new materials. And you love it. And we can't give you enough of it. We take Chippendale armoires and we turned those into skyscrapers, and skyscrapers can be medieval castles made out of glass. Forms got big, forms got bold and colorful. Dwarves became columns. (Laughter) Swans grew to the size of buildings. It was crazy. But it's the '80s, it's cool. (Laughter) We're all hanging out in malls and we're all moving to the suburbs, and out there, out in the suburbs, we can create our own architectural fantasies. And those fantasies, they can be Mediterranean or French or Italian. (Laughter) Possibly with endless breadsticks.
U redu, pre 30 godina izlazili smo iz '70-ih. Arhitekte su eksperimentisale s nečim što se zove brutalizam. Tu se radi o betonu. (Smeh) Ovo možete pretpostaviti. Mali prozori, razmera koja lišava dimenzije. Ovo su zaista teške stvari. Što se više približavamo '80-ima, počinjemo da ponovo koristimo te simbole. Guramo klatno nazad u suprotnom smeru. Uzimamo ove forme koje znamo da volite i obnavljamo ih. Dodajemo neonska svetla i pastelne boje i koristimo nove materijale. I vi to obožavate. I ne možete da se zasitite. Uzeli smo klasične ormare i od njih napravili nebodere, a neboderi mogu da budu srednjovekovni zamkovi od stakla. Forme su postale velike, odvažne i pune boja. Patuljci su postali stubovi. (Smeh) Labudovi su narasli do veličine zgrada. Bilo je ludo. Ali to su '80-te i to je kul. (Smeh) Svi provodimo vreme u tržnim centrima i svi se selimo u predgrađa, a tamo, u predgrađima, možemo da ostvarujemo svoje arhitektonske fantazije. A te fantazije mogu biti mediteranske ili francuske ili italijanske. (Smeh) Po mogućstvu uz beskonačne količine kifli.
This is the thing about postmodernism. This is the thing about symbols. They're easy, they're cheap, because instead of making places, we're making memories of places. Because I know, and I know all of you know, this isn't Tuscany. This is Ohio. (Laughter)
To je stvar sa postmodernizmom. To je stvar sa simbolima. Jednostavni su, jeftini su, jer umesto pravljenja mesta, pravimo sećanja na mesta. Zato što znam, a znam da i svi vi znate, da ovo nije Toskana. Ovo je Ohajo. (Smeh)
So architects get frustrated, and we start pushing the pendulum back into the other direction. In the late '80s and early '90s, we start experimenting with something called deconstructivism. We throw out historical symbols, we rely on new, computer-aided design techniques, and we come up with new compositions, forms crashing into forms. This is academic and heady stuff, it's super unpopular, we totally alienate you. Ordinarily, the pendulum would just swing back into the other direction. And then, something amazing happened.
Arhitekte se onda frustriraju i počnemo da guramo klatno nazad u suprotnom smeru. Krajem '80-ih i početkom '90-ih počinjemo da eksperimentišemo s nečim što se zove dekonstruktivizam. Izbacujemo istorijske simbole, oslanjamo se na nove tehnike dizajna potpomognute kompjuterima i dolazimo do novih kompozicija gde se forme sudaraju s formama. Ovo su plahovite, akademske stvari, veoma nepopularne, potpuno se udaljavamo od vas. Obično bi se klatno prosto vratilo i otišlo u suprotnom smeru. A onda se desilo nešto neverovatno.
In 1997, this building opened. This is the Guggenheim Bilbao, by Frank Gehry. And this building fundamentally changes the world's relationship to architecture. Paul Goldberger said that Bilbao was one of those rare moments when critics, academics, and the general public were completely united around a building. The New York Times called this building a miracle. Tourism in Bilbao increased 2,500 percent after this building was completed. So all of a sudden, everybody wants one of these buildings: L.A., Seattle, Chicago, New York, Cleveland, Springfield. (Laughter) Everybody wants one, and Gehry is everywhere. He is our very first starchitect.
Godine 1997. otvorena je ova zgrada. Ovo je Gugenhajm Bilbao, autora Frenka Gerija. Ova zgrada iz korena menja povezanost sveta s arhitekturom. Pol Goldberger je rekao da je Bilbao bio jedan od onih retkih trenutaka kada su kritičari, akademici i opšte javno mnjenje imali potpuno isto mišljenje o zgradi. Njujork Tajms nazvao je ovu zgradu čudom. Turizam u Bilbau porastao je za 2500% nakon što je ova zgrada završena. Odjednom su svi želeli jednu od ovih zgrada - Los Anđeles, Sijetl, Čikago, Njujork, Klivlend, Springfild. (Smeh) Svi žele po jednu ovu zgradu i Geri je svuda. On je naš prvi arhitekta-zvezda.
Now, how is it possible that these forms -- they're wild and radical -- how is it possible that they become so ubiquitous throughout the world? And it happened because media so successfully galvanized around them that they quickly taught us that these forms mean culture and tourism. We created an emotional reaction to these forms. So did every mayor in the world. So every mayor knew that if they had these forms, they had culture and tourism.
Kako je onda moguće da ove forme - divlje su i radikalne - kako je moguće da one postaju tako prisutne širom sveta? To se desilo zato što su ih mediji tako uspešno podstakli da su nas brzo naučili da ove forme podrazumevaju kulturu i turizam. Stekli smo emotivnu reakciju na ove forme. Kao i svaki gradonačelnik na svetu. Svaki gradonačelnik je znao da ako ima ove forme, ima kulturu i turizam.
This phenomenon at the turn of the new millennium happened to a few other starchitects. It happened to Zaha and it happened to Libeskind, and what happened to these elite few architects at the turn of the new millennium could actually start to happen to the entire field of architecture, as digital media starts to increase the speed with which we consume information. Because think about how you consume architecture. A thousand years ago, you would have had to have walked to the village next door to see a building. Transportation speeds up: You can take a boat, you can take a plane, you can be a tourist. Technology speeds up: You can see it in a newspaper, on TV, until finally, we are all architectural photographers, and the building has become disembodied from the site. Architecture is everywhere now, and that means that the speed of communication has finally caught up to the speed of architecture.
Ova pojava pred svitanje novog milenijuma desila se i nekim drugim arhitektima-zvezdama. Desilo se Zahi i desilo se Libeskindu, i ono što se desilo ovoj nekolicini elitnih arhitekata u osvit novog milenijuma, moglo bi da počne da se dešava celom polju arhitekture, jer digitalni mediji počinju da povećavaju brzinu kojom konzumiramo informacije. Razmislite o tome kako konzumirate arhitekturu. Pre hiljadu godina, morali ste da odšetate do sledećeg sela kako biste videli zgradu. Ubrzava se transport: možete ići čamcem, avionom, možete biti turista. Ubrzava se tehnologija: zgradu možete videti u novinama, na TV-u, dok konačno svi ne postanemo arhitektonski fotografi i zgrada ne postane odvojena od mesta. Arhitektura je sada svuda i to znači da je brzina komunikacije konačno sustigla brzinu arhitekture.
Because architecture actually moves quite quickly. It doesn't take long to think about a building. It takes a long time to build a building, three or four years, and in the interim, an architect will design two or eight or a hundred other buildings before they know if that building that they designed four years ago was a success or not. That's because there's never been a good feedback loop in architecture. That's how we end up with buildings like this. Brutalism wasn't a two-year movement, it was a 20-year movement. For 20 years, we were producing buildings like this because we had no idea how much you hated it. It's never going to happen again, I think, because we are living on the verge of the greatest revolution in architecture since the invention of concrete, of steel, or of the elevator, and it's a media revolution.
Arhitektura se zapravo kreće prilično brzo. Ne treba mnogo vremena da smislite zgradu. Potrebno je mnogo vremena da se ona izgradi, tri ili četiri godine, a u međuvremenu, arhitekta će dizajnirati dve ili osam ili stotinu drugih građevina pre nego što sazna da li je ta građevina koju je dizajnirao pre četiri godine bila uspešna li ne. To je zato što nikada nije postojala dobra petlja povratnih informacija. Tako dobijamo ovakve zgrade. Brutalizam nije bio pokret od dve godine, već 20. 20 godina smo pravili ovakve zgrade jer nismo imali pojma koliko ih mrzite. To se nikada više neće desiti, makar mislim da neće jer živimo na ivici najveće revolucije u arhitekturi još od otkrića betona, čelika ili lifta, a to je revolucija medija.
So my theory is that when you apply media to this pendulum, it starts swinging faster and faster, until it's at both extremes nearly simultaneously, and that effectively blurs the difference between innovation and symbol, between us, the architects, and you, the public. Now we can make nearly instantaneous, emotionally charged symbols out of something that's brand new.
Moja teorija je da kada primenite medije na ovo klatno, ono počne da se klati sve brže i brže, dok ne bude na oba kraja skoro u isto vreme i tako se uspešno briše razlika između inovacije i simbola, između nas, arhitekata, i vas, javnosti. Sada možemo da stvaramo trenutne simbole nabijene emocijama od nečega potpuno novog.
Let me show you how this plays out in a project that my firm recently completed. We were hired to replace this building, which burned down. This is the center of a town called the Pines in Fire Island in New York State. It's a vacation community. We proposed a building that was audacious, that was different than any of the forms that the community was used to, and we were scared and our client was scared and the community was scared, so we created a series of photorealistic renderings that we put onto Facebook and we put onto Instagram, and we let people start to do what they do: share it, comment, like it, hate it. But that meant that two years before the building was complete, it was already a part of the community, so that when the renderings looked exactly like the finished product, there were no surprises. This building was already a part of this community, and then that first summer, when people started arriving and sharing the building on social media, the building ceased to be just an edifice and it became media, because these, these are not just pictures of a building, they're your pictures of a building. And as you use them to tell your story, they become part of your personal narrative, and what you're doing is you're short-circuiting all of our collective memory, and you're making these charged symbols for us to understand. That means we don't need the Greeks anymore to tell us what to think about architecture. We can tell each other what we think about architecture, because digital media hasn't just changed the relationship between all of us, it's changed the relationship between us and buildings. Think for a second about those librarians back in Livingston. If that building was going to be built today, the first thing they would do is go online and search "new libraries." They would be bombarded by examples of experimentation, of innovation, of pushing at the envelope of what a library can be. That's ammunition. That's ammunition that they can take with them to the mayor of Livingston, to the people of Livingston, and say, there's no one answer to what a library is today. Let's be a part of this. This abundance of experimentation gives them the freedom to run their own experiment.
Pokazaću vam kako se ovo odvija na projektu koji je moja kompanija nedavno završila. Unajmili su nas da zamenimo ovu zgradu koja je izgorela. Ovo je centar grada Pajns na ostrvu Fajer u državi Njujork. To je vikend naselje. Predložili smo odvažnu zgradu, drugačiju od svih formi na koje je zajednica bila naviknuta i bili smo uplašeni i naš klijent je bio uplašen, kao i zajednica, pa smo uradili niz realističnih prikaza koje smo stavili na Fejsbuk i Instagram i pustili smo ljude da rade svoju stvar: dele ih, komentarišu ili ih mrze. Ali to je značilo da je zgrada bila deo zajednice, dve godine pre završetka, tako da kada su prikazi izgledali identično kao gotov proizvod, nije bilo iznenađenja. Ova zgrada je već bila deo zajednice i tog prvog leta, kada su ljudi počeli da dolaze i dele zgradu na društvenim medijima, zgrada je prestala da bude zdanje i postala je medijum jer ovo nisu samo slike zgrade, to su vaše slike zgrade. I dok ih koristite da pričate svoju priču, one postaju deo vašeg ličnog narativa i vi zapravo pravite kratak spoj na našem kolektivnom sećanju i pravite naelektrisane simbole koje mi razumemo. To znači da nam više ne trebaju Grci kako bi nam rekli šta da mislimo o arhitekturi. Možemo jedni drugima reći šta mislimo o arhitekturi, jer digitalni mediji nisu samo promenili veze između svih nas, promenili su veze između nas i zgrada. Pomislite nakratko na bibliotekare u Livingstonu. Kada bi se ta zgrada gradila danas, oni bi prvo otišli na internet i potražili "nove biblioteke". Preplavili bi ih primeri eksperimentisanja, inovacije, pomeranja granica onoga što biblioteka može da bude. To je municija. To je municija koju mogu da uzmu i odnesu do gradonačelnika i građana Livingstona i kažu, ne postoji jedinstven odgovor na to šta je biblioteka danas. Hajde da budemo deo ovoga. Ovo bogatstvo eksperimentisanja daje im slobodu da sprovode sopstvene eksperimente.
Everything is different now. Architects are no longer these mysterious creatures that use big words and complicated drawings, and you aren't the hapless public, the consumer that won't accept anything that they haven't seen anymore. Architects can hear you, and you're not intimidated by architecture. That means that that pendulum swinging back and forth from style to style, from movement to movement, is irrelevant. We can actually move forward and find relevant solutions to the problems that our society faces. This is the end of architectural history, and it means that the buildings of tomorrow are going to look a lot different than the buildings of today. It means that a public space in the ancient city of Seville can be unique and tailored to the way that a modern city works. It means that a stadium in Brooklyn can be a stadium in Brooklyn, not some red-brick historical pastiche of what we think a stadium ought to be. It means that robots are going to build our buildings, because we're finally ready for the forms that they're going to produce. And it means that buildings will twist to the whims of nature instead of the other way around. It means that a parking garage in Miami Beach, Florida, can also be a place for sports and for yoga and you can even get married there late at night. (Laughter) It means that three architects can dream about swimming in the East River of New York, and then raise nearly half a million dollars from a community that gathered around their cause, no one client anymore. It means that no building is too small for innovation, like this little reindeer pavilion that's as muscly and sinewy as the animals it's designed to observe. And it means that a building doesn't have to be beautiful to be lovable, like this ugly little building in Spain, where the architects dug a hole, packed it with hay, and then poured concrete around it, and when the concrete dried, they invited someone to come and clean that hay out so that all that's left when it's done is this hideous little room that's filled with the imprints and scratches of how that place was made, and that becomes the most sublime place to watch a Spanish sunset.
Sada je sve drugačije. Arhitekte nisu više ta misteriozna stvorenja koja koriste komplikovane reči i komplikovane crteže, a vi niste bespomoćna javnost, potrošači koji neće prihvatiti bilo šta što do tada nisu videli. Arhitekte mogu da vas čuju i vi se ne plašite arhitekture. To znači da to klatno koje se njiše napred i nazad od stila do stila, od pokreta do pokreta nije više bitno. Možemo se kretati unapred i pronaći relevantna rešenja za probleme naših društava. Ovo je kraj arhitektonske istorije i to znači da će zgrade sutrašnjice izgledati dosta drugačije od današnjih. To znači da javni prostor drevnog grada Sevilje može da bude jedinstven i prilagođen načinu funkcionisanja modernog grada. To znači da stadion u Bruklinu može biti stadion u Bruklinu, ne neka istorijska mešavina od crvene cigle koja predstavlja ono što mi mislimo da treba da bude stadion. To znači da će roboti praviti naše zgrade, jer smo konačno spremni za forme koje će oni proizvoditi. To znači da će se zgrade prilagođavati hirovima prirode, a ne obrnuto. To znači da će garaža za parking na Majami biču u Floridi moći da bude i mesto za sport i jogu i čak ćete moći tamo da se oženite kasno u noći. (Smeh) To zači da tri arhitekte mogu da sanjaju o plivanju u reci Ist river u Njujorku i onda da skupe skoro pola miliona dolara od zajednice koja se okupila oko njihovog cilja, a ne samo od jednog klijenta. To znači da nijedna zgrada nije premala za inovaciju, poput ovog paviljona za jelene koji je mišićav i žilav kao životinje koje treba da nadgleda. To znači da zgrada ne mora biti prelepa da bi je neko voleo, poput ove ružnjikave zgradice u Španiji, gde su arhitekte iskopale rupu, nabile je slamom i onda oko toga nasule beton, i kada se on osušio, pozvali su nekoga da očisti tu slamu tako da je sve što ostaje nakon toga ova odvratna sobica ispunjena otiscima i ogrebotinama od toga kako je to mesto nastalo i to postaje najuzvišenije mesto za gledanje španskog zalaska sunca.
Because it doesn't matter if a cow builds our buildings or a robot builds our buildings. It doesn't matter how we build, it matters what we build. Architects already know how to make buildings that are greener and smarter and friendlier. We've just been waiting for all of you to want them. And finally, we're not on opposite sides anymore. Find an architect, hire an architect, work with us to design better buildings, better cities, and a better world, because the stakes are high. Buildings don't just reflect our society, they shape our society down to the smallest spaces: the local libraries, the homes where we raise our children, and the walk that they take from the bedroom to the bathroom.
Nije bitno da li naše zgrade pravi krava ili robot. Nije bitno kako gradimo, već šta gradimo. Arhitekte već znaju kako da prave zgrade koje su ekološki čistije i pametnije i više prijateljski nastrojene. Samo smo čekali da ih svi vi želite. Konačno, više nismo na suprotnim stranama. Pronađite arhitektu, zaposlite ga, radite s nama na dizajniranju boljih zgrada, boljih gradova i boljeg sveta, jer su ulozi visoki. Zgrade nisu samo odraz našeg društva, one oblikuju naše društvo sve do najmanjih prostora - lokalnih biblioteka, domova gde podižemo svoju decu, i njihovih šetnji od spavaće sobe do kupatila.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)