Artist Statement R.A.T. (NL)
Lola Umarova, 2026

“Je duwt mij tussen de kieren, van de Rotterdamse straten
Ik mag er niet, toch in jouw zeggen is mijn zijn
Ik spreek niet jou, toch honderden verschillende talen,
Jij spreekt niet mij, toch over mij gaat het altijd
Het wordt eens tijd dat wij gaan praten
Of lukt dat soms niet zonder mij?”
- Sabina Lukovic

Rotterdam, the city of architecture, reconstruction, and looking ahead. Rotterdam celebrates, grows, and is constantly in motion. At the same time, my city is a place where inequality is not always visible, but deeply felt. My city is a controlled system: an environment presented as open and accessible, yet shaped by rules, power structures, and implicit norms. My city decides who is given space. Who gets to be heard. Who is allowed to stay. Who may be visible. Who must continually justify their presence. This tension forms the foundation of my work.

My perspective on Rotterdam is not neutral. It is shaped by my own position: a woman of color with a refugee background. I move through streets that were not naturally designed with people like me in mind. I constantly navigate the balance between taking up space and being reminded that I should never take up too much of it. Being present without becoming too visible. How do you navigate invisible borders when every step outside the lines is punished? I am allowed to exist, as long as I remain largely unseen.

In this work, the R.A.T. serves as a symbol for everything deemed unwanted. It is an animal that inhabits the margins of Rotterdam, surviving on what is discarded and continuously adapting to the urban environment. Yet the rat is also perceived as a nuisance: dirty, dangerous, something that should be removed. Everything that is not understood is pushed into the cracks of the city, into the darkness, where it learns to survive through enforced invisibility.

The way my Rotterdam deals with rats mirrors the way it often deals with people who fall outside the norm. Within this work, the rat therefore becomes a metaphor for the marginalized individual. For those who systematically have less access to education, employment, housing, and healthcare. People who help uphold the foundations of Rotterdam’s promise, yet are simultaneously pushed to its edges. Tens of thousands of households in Rotterdam live in poverty; the city remains one of the poorest in the Netherlands.

Mothers carry the weight of everyday life: from heavy grocery bags to a second shift that stretches late into the evening. They kiss their children goodbye while knowing, deep down, that the same relentless expectations and norms will eventually confront them too. Children enter sixth grade translating government letters for their parents. Nothing teaches reading comprehension quite like the language of bureaucracy. People without homes move between towers of capital, collecting deposit bottles, asking for spare change, and finding shelter on public benches where even rest is criminalized. When simply existing can lead to exclusion orders, fines, or a night in a jail cell, I see a systemic failure that continuously erases my people from the cityscape in order to preserve an aesthetic intended for those who stand far removed from these realities.

Oppression manifests itself far beyond visible forms of violence; more often than not, it remains invisible. It exists in policy, regulation, labor, housing, and urban design, but also in language. Language is never neutral. It carries judgments that shape how people are seen and treated. These structures and mechanisms reveal themselves through everyday experiences: in who gets stopped on the street, who knows their rights at fourteen years old, who gets searched, monitored, or questioned, and who moves through the city without ever having to think about it. Words such as multicultural, inclusive, and diverse often function as marketing tools for a city that has long ceased striving for true equality.

That is why I work with pink, a color that has historically proven unstable and politically charged. It evokes both attraction and rejection, and its meaning has shifted repeatedly over time. From a symbol of status and a unisex fashion color to an intensely feminized color and later one reclaimed within activist movements. By combining bright pink, glossy, visually seductive elements with subjects considered dirty or undesirable, I aim to create friction. I want to force you to look at everything that has been rendered invisible. I want to draw you in and push you away at the same time, allowing you to experience what that contradiction feels like in this context. It makes visible what I see when I walk through my city. Together we look at what is routinely erased. This time, however, we can no longer strategically choose to ignore it.

The title R.A.T. carries multiple meanings. Within this work it stands, among other things, for Reclaiming All Territories, Resistance Against Trash, and Radical Autonomous Thinking. These phrases refer to reclaiming space, making visible what is discarded, and critically questioning the systems that determine what is considered valuable and what is not. The meaning of R.A.T. deliberately remains open and fluid, much like the city itself. This multiplicity reflects the position of the work: layered, critical, and intentionally non-neutral. It emerges from a personal necessity to question the systems in which I live, not from a distance, but from within. Through lived experience, observation, and engagement. So that discomfort can finally be given a face, so that the conversation is no longer optional, and so that we may begin to ask ourselves: who is really the problem here?

Call to Action

How can you make a difference?

Lekkergeven.nl is a local non-profit organization based in the Rijnmond region, founded from the daily practice of street doctor Michelle van Tongerloo. Through her work, she witnessed how people fall through the cracks of society: the working poor, undocumented individuals, people facing debt, homelessness, or urgent healthcare needs. Not because they refuse help, but because systems are often too slow, too complicated, or simply inaccessible.

That is why Lekker Geven operates differently. No endless forms, waiting lists, or bureaucratic barriers, just direct support when someone needs it most. A bed for the night. A phone to stay connected. Medical care that is not covered elsewhere. A stroller. New clothing. A train ticket to see family again. Small amounts of money can make an enormous difference.

What began as one doctor personally helping those in need has grown into a network of committed donors who make direct, human-centered support possible. Especially for those who often remain unseen. If you believe that help should not get stuck in systems but should truly reach people, consider making a donation and make a difference today.