The Prize I Didn't Win

Essay by Galina Bakinova

Award ceremony

Four of my works were selected for an international festival held as part of the Nikšić – European

Capital of Culture 2030 project. I wasn't surprised they had been accepted – works were strong pieces, and I believed in them. So when the list of selected artists was announced, it felt less like a triumph and more like the pleasant certainty that my CV was about to gain another solid line.

A week later, I received an email. One of my works had received a Special Mention, and the organizers asked whether I would be able to attend the award ceremony in person. I immediately checked what awards the competition offered. The only prizes listed were cash awards ranging from €300 to €1,000. I couldn't quite figure out which categories they corresponded to, but there was no mention of any other kind of prize. It seemed entirely possible that I was about to receive one of them. The thought wouldn't leave my head: What if it's actually €1,000? Then I corrected myself. Even €100 would make me happy. A prize is a prize, and being recognized is always a wonderful feeling.

I replied that I would definitely attend the ceremony. The organizers even offered to arrange transportation to Nikšić. At that point I became almost convinced that there had to be prize money involved. Surely, I thought, they wouldn't go to the trouble of organizing transportation just to hand someone a certificate. I politely declined the offer. Instead, we decided to drive there with my family. I wanted my husband and my son to be there and see the ceremony.

During the entire trip, I quietly rehearsed a short acceptance speech in my head, just in case I was asked to say a few words. I felt both excited and strangely calm.

The exhibition was held in King Nikola's Palace, a beautiful historic building in the heart of Nikšić. Inside were spacious white galleries with polished wooden floors. The participants' works filled two exhibition halls. By the time the ceremony was about to begin, quite a crowd had gathered. People wandered through the galleries studying the artworks while camera operators adjusted their equipment. The local television crew was setting up its cameras, and a reporter walked around with a microphone and a printed script, apparently preparing for the evening news.

Award ceremony

When the ceremony began, I deliberately stood a little farther back. It felt awkward to stand in the

front row, but I also didn't want to be too far away. I still don't understand spoken Montenegrin particularly well, so it helped to watch the presenters' lips. I didn't want to miss the moment when they called my name. After a brief introduction and the usual words of thanks, the organizers moved on to the awards. The recipients were invited onto a makeshift stage by the microphones. They handed me a certificate with someone else's surname on it. My certificate, meanwhile, had been given to another artist. Everything was happening quickly, in front of television cameras, and everyone was understandably nervous. After the official group photograph, we simply exchanged certificates, smiled at each other, and carried on. Then I gave my short speech in English. People applauded, and I stood there blushing furiously.

Meanwhile, one question kept circling in my mind: How do I know whether this is just the certificate, or whether there's also a cash prize?

The ceremony came to an end.

I looked closely at the certificate.

Special Mention.

Certificate

Well then.

In addition to another line about participating in an international festival, my CV would now also include the Special Mention.

Back home, I placed the certificate on a shelf.

And the cash prize?

The cash prize is still waiting for me somewhere in the future. I'm sure that one day, I'll win it too.