Presence Makes the Place
A journey through Dada, Ai Weiwei, and Margiela to uncover how presence defines art, fashion, and the moments that stay with us.
Summer’s almost over, and my favorite season is already in the air. The sun still shines bright, but the breeze carries that subtle chill that makes you reach for a second layer just in case you stay out too late or a surprise rain breaks the heat.
The end of summer always means one thing: a return to reality. But it’s never quite the same reality, is it? Each autumn greets a slightly different version of you. Each summer leaves its fingerprints behind, shaping the person now charged with running the last miles toward the reset of a new year.
For me, this summer kept coming back to a Romanian saying: “omul sfințește locul”, meaning “people give meaning to the place.” It’s not a revolutionary thought, but one that’s so easy to overlook. So, as the season winds down, I want to honor it, first on a personal level, then through the lens of artists who have explored the same idea.
It all started in early August when Milan grew quieter by the day, each street slowly emptying until the city felt hollow and warm. By the time I left for vacation, I felt like the only living person left behind. My first stop was Vienna, my second home. The city was alive, buzzing with energy, and every moment there felt precious because I spent it with people I don’t get to see nearly as often as I’d like.
Next was Bulgaria, and this is where the idea for the article really came to life. My family had booked a really cool resort, and while the place didn’t break our expectations even for a bit, the people there did. That’s when I realized how fascinating it is. You can be in the fanciest place, but if you are surrounded by the wrong people, it simply sucks, and the rule applies for the opposite circumstance. But I’m not referring only to the idea that being with the people you love shifts the circumstance you are in. I’m referring to the fact that your education shows how well you adapt to a situation, and here is where cultural differences also show.
Because here’s the thing, in Eastern European countries, people can often be more individualistic, and in social environments their behavior can feel disturbing. But before judging, it’s important to understand the history. Decades of political repression taught entire generations to live in a chronic fight-or-flight mode. The idea of community existed mostly in less fortunate, rural areas, and the first thought was rarely to help your neighbor. It was to find a way to survive on your own. While this survival instinct helped Romania overthrow a dictator and escape a socialist hell, society has radically changed in the past 30 years. The borders that kept us locked in our little cage have disappeared, but we’re still learning how to adapt.
And then you cross westward, just ten hours by car, and stumble into la dolce vita, where people take pleasure so seriously that Milan, one of Europe’s fashion capitals, has the luxury to stay empty, literally on hold, for the entire month of August as everyone flees to the coast.
So what does this have to do with “people make the place”? Well, think about it like this. If a freshwater fish suddenly found itself in saltwater, two things would happen. The freshwater fish would have to find ways to adapt, and the saltwater fish would have to accept the newcomer in its environment. The same rules apply to us. Every time you move to a different place, even for a short time, you first have to adapt to your surroundings, and the people around you have to accept your presence. Sadly, we still have lots of problems in this chapter.
Changing your environment doesn’t just change the scenery. It shifts your perspective. The people you meet along the way can transform how you experience a place. A warm, open encounter will make you want to return, while a cold, unfriendly one will have you packing your bags faster than you arrived.
And with all this being said, the train of thought brings me to Dada, an artistic movement that emerged in Zürich, Switzerland during WWI, as a reaction to the horrors of war and the conventional values of society. Mind you that Switzerland was the only neutral country during all that mess (if you live under a rock and you didn't know that already). Rather than creating beautiful or masterful works, Dada aimed to destroy conventional art and promote free thinking, often shocking or provoking audiences, as a protest against the bourgeois society, traditional art, and the logic that led to the war. In my opinion this is an exemplary representation on how presence defines space. Artists such as Duchamp, with his provocative readymades, showed how the value of a work could depend entirely on context and interaction. By placing everyday objects in a gallery, he forced viewers to confront their expectations and participate in the meaning-making. This approach perfectly illustrates how presence, both of the artist and the audience, can transform a space, making it alive, charged, and unpredictable.
On a more contemporary note, you have Ai Weiwei, whose installations and public interventions often invite interaction, turning viewers into participants and transforming ordinary spaces into charged environments of dialogue and reflection. Whether it’s through his large-scale sculptures, social activism, or exhibitions, Ai demonstrates how the energy, engagement, and collective presence of individuals can define the meaning and impact of a space.
A strong example would be Ai Weiwei’s Sunflower Seeds (2010) at the Tate Modern. Millions of handcrafted porcelain sunflower seeds filled the Turbine Hall, creating a space that relied entirely on the presence and movement of visitors. Just like Duchamp’s readymades, the meaning of the work wasn’t fixed in the object itself but emerged through interaction, attention, and collective experience, showing how people can define and transform a place.
And on a more fashionable note, Martin Margiela’s debut had such a magnetic impact that it pulled the entire fashion elite out of their comfort zones and into the outskirts of Paris to witness a completely new vision. New York Magazine described his early shows as “more like art happenings than the theatrical fashion productions Paris was known for.” In 1988, Maison Martin Margiela presented its first womenswear collection for Spring ‘89, blurring the line between fashion and performance. Margiela himself stayed out of the spotlight - no bows, no interviews, only collective statements signed with “we.” It was the work, the experience, and the energy of the audience that defined the moment, not the man behind it.