Neža Jurman, known by her artistic pseudonym Nez Pez, is a multimedia artist working across sculpture, light art, animation, drawing, illustration, and street art. Currently, she is particularly drawn to installations exploring sound and space, abstract drawing, and zines and prints. Her work and life alternates between Berlin and Ljubljana, including mural projects often inspired by the urban environment. We spoke with Neža about these murals as part of the GraFEM program, co-produced by RogLab and the Urbana Vrana Institute.
Neža, hi! You’re known primarily as an independent multimedia artist working at the intersection of many disciplines: installations, public space art, illustration, exploring space through sound. How did you end up working across all these fields?
I’ve been drawing a lot since elementary school. Choosing the Secondary School of Design in Ljubljana was an easy decision—there wasn’t really another option, I was very stubborn. Later, after a course with Dragica Čadež Lapajne, I discovered how much I enjoy working with clay and decided to study sculpture. That study introduced me to installations and conceptual project thinking. Drawing has always been my foundation, though—it’s through drawing that I’ve ventured into other media. Printmaking, for example. I remember during the introductory printmaking lecture at university, Professor Lojze Logar told us to make some sketches for a linocut. Of course, I left it until the last day. I made mistakes, crossed things out, moved on to the next page. When the professor reviewed our sketches, he focused on the errors and said, “Print these, and use them as a starting point.” That’s when I started thinking about the world of process—the work became more about the process itself rather than the final product you imagine in your head.
So the process itself is crucial for you?
Absolutely. Even when I’m making zines or prints, I try to use the copier as a medium. Only when you see the result do you understand what’s happening, and you start focusing on those elements. You notice how a line or surface changes, and you “push” the machine to get a different outcome. It takes you away from your original plan, and that’s the fun part. It’s a kind of deconstruction of what you’re doing—otherwise, it gets boring.
How did you get into graffiti?
I started early. I was always mischievous, liked being outdoors. When I was 13 or 14, my mom went to the store and bought me car lacquer. By then, we were already spending a lot of time outside. At first, I wasn’t good at all, but I really enjoyed it. Over time, you meet people who share your interests and start hanging out with them, although I was never formally part of any crew.
So you’re not a typical graffiti writer?
I was never interested in perfecting technique or making everything precise. I’m more fascinated by the process itself. That’s always been my focus. I didn’t develop letter styles but explored illustration, colour combinations, and painterly techniques. I’m also interested in how a piece interacts with the space around it and how it fits into the broader urban context.
Years ago, while working on the Ulična Galerija [Street Gallery] wall in Ljubljana’s Vegova Street, you said that the city already has elements you can manipulate. How does that reflect in your graffiti and murals?
For the Ulična Galerija project, I used a crack in the wall under poster frames as a space for small sculptural installations that passersby could take home with them. In other cases, I worked with elements that emerged from environmental research or responded to a specific situation. When observing my surroundings, I look for surprises, things that don’t belong, glitches or accidents. Liminal situations are fascinating to me. At the same time, I like to work lightly, intuitively, and playfully, without taking myself too seriously. For a direct answer, though, you’d have to ask the locals on the street where the work remains.
You’ve exhibited internationally and moved to Berlin earlier this year. How do travels influence your work? Has your graffiti style changed over the years?
Traveling exposes you to things you notice and remember. I see elements that I later incorporate into ideas on paper. Being out and about opens your perspective on what’s possible. Stylistically, I’ve been influenced more by the people I’ve worked with than by places. I always pick up something from friends.
How active are you in the graffiti scene currently?
I must admit I haven’t been very active in recent years. When opportunities arise, like now, or at parties where graffiti is involved, I join in—it’s fun and social. This community is quite strong; these are people who’ve been active for years. Personally, I feel there are fewer graffiti artists in recent generations, or maybe I just don’t know them. But recently I noticed new names, so perhaps the scene is becoming more active again. When I started, the scene was vibrant: 1107, Egotrip, Pony Mafija, Ovca, then Animals came along—they did a lot of street work. Trains were also very popular in Slovenia. Many foreigners come here specifically to see trains. At one point, with legal spots emerging, there was a gap in illegal works, so there were more concepts, jams, and opportunities to do things in organized way.
How do you view the newer legal spaces for graffiti?
There are different techniques and principles at play. There’s a distinction between political graffiti, visual aesthetics, and deliberately provocative “ugly” graffiti. Each communicates with space differently. Aesthetic graffiti can improve a city visually, but there’s also the issue of alternative tourism and monetizing independent culture that originally arose from rebellion. Personally, I enjoy exploring public space, the boundaries between public and private, and liminal spaces—transitional areas that aren’t typically seen as usable. Legal graffiti spots limit freedom in using the entire public space. Cities are increasingly designed artificially, often for tourists—they must be interesting, youthful, clean, friendly, safe. Public space today feels very different than when I was younger.
And Berlin, where you live now?
I was thinking about this yesterday. Many old European city areas are now tourist-focused and almost unusable for locals. Ljubljana is heading the same way. When I was younger, the whole city was alive, a gathering place for youth culture. Berlin is different—there isn’t a central hub. It’s divided into neighbourhoods, and the city’s strategy is different. I’ve always liked that Berlin is shaped and lived in by its people. Lampposts plastered with posters, flyers everywhere, chalk messages on sidewalks, benches for sitting and socializing—it’s more vibrant than living on a sanitized grid with strictly designated spaces.
GraFEM supports female graffiti and street artists, a scene stereotypically male-dominated. How have you experienced being a woman in graffiti and street art?
I don’t know if I can point to a specific example—like something happening to me just because I’m a woman. Perhaps, because I come from an independent cultural scene, people didn’t want to take me seriously. Since I often start projects with informal conversations, it seems to me that people treat me as if they don’t need to give me the same attention as they give to artists who take a more formal approach. I haven’t really experienced anyone rejecting me just because I’m a girl. Neither in graffiti nor in skateboarding. I support the newly established GraFEM program because, in general, I think it’s positive to create a new opportunity—a platform for creation, a platform that gives women artists the chance to come together, collaborate, and create. In the past, I was often in a minority at jams or organized mural events, but it seems to me that creating graffiti is ego-driven and, in our community experience, gender hasn’t been important. I haven’t felt excluded or unwelcome. I want to work in a field where the quality of work is recognized regardless of gender, status, race, etc. The idea that graffiti and street art are associated with men is stereotypical. It seems to me that this is no longer true; at festivals, we encounter women artists, and in groups of friends who have come to Ljubljana in recent years as part of the graffiti subculture, female friends have often been present as well.
Slovenia has more male than female graffiti writers. Why do you think that is?
In recent years, there are more legal graffiti spots, but the spirit of the subculture is illegality, guerrilla tactics, and anonymity connected to these.
Graffiti is ephemeral. Your RogLab mural will also be temporary. What are your thoughts on that?
Graffiti is indeed ephemeral, and that’s part of its charm. Even without cleaning, walls decay—plaster falls, content fades. It’s a beautiful reminder of processuality.
But some works become “adopted” by communities, making it hard when they disappear. Of course, it depends on where the graffiti are located and whether they become part of the life of a community or subculture.
It depends on how you move around the city, what you notice, what you use to orient yourself. Whenever we traveled with graffiti pals, we would agree: ‘at that graffiti, and then at that tag, turn left’—you recognize the city by certain keys. What interests you becomes your alphabet. If I travel with skaters, we talk about spots, about what the asphalt is like. The things people recognize are different. Every now and then, you notice something, smile, and remember it. In Berlin, at a friend’s door, it says ‘Have one good day’—just one, only one. Every time I see it, it makes me feel good. If it were erased now, I would be sad. As you said, you adopt certain pieces of graffiti. Sometimes you notice a new piece, take a photo, send it to friends, but then it disappears within a week and you think, ‘what a shame, that one was good.’ It seems to me that all urban forms strive to build a community. Besides creating graffiti, socializing, and going out, they extend an invitation to a younger population. Everything that is organized is often organized with the aim of ‘building a community,’ which I like.
It’s interesting that you mentioned that what interests you in the city is your alphabet, and that you navigate the city based on your interests. Focusing on graffiti and Ljubljana, which graffiti spots do you remember when talking about Ljubljana, or which ones should your friends from abroad see?
Our constant spot was Trubarjeva street. The street was also a starting point for orientation. Riviera, at the intersection with Resljeva Street, was for a while a meeting point for graffiti artists. You didn’t even need a phone—everyone knew you could meet there. The whole city is a network of orientation points, a kind of code we can use to communicate. My friend would jokingly say: “Don’t you know all the graffiti in your city?” From the train station, around Metelkova, Maistrova, Slomškova, Resljeva, to Rog, across the Ljubljanica toward the center, and on the other side around Soteska. All of this is tied to the spaces where we spent time, and then the path home at the end (laughs).
In recent years, graffiti has received a lot of attention from museums and galleries. How do you see the institutionalization of graffiti and street art?
Again, this is a factor where the culture splits a bit. One branch moves toward institutionalization and commercialization, while the other remains marginalized. I think that’s completely fine. Graffiti and painting techniques—like the use of sprays, different caps, stenciling, and then stickers—are all mediums that can be used in every way, and I think that’s okay. But people who want to stay on the street will simply remain on the street. There are some good anecdotes. When there was a graffiti exhibition at the International Centre of Graphic Arts (MGLC), which invited writers from Slovenia and abroad, someone wrote on the MGLC’s front façade: “Wouldn’t you like graffiti?” (“A grafite bi mel?”) It’s a mischievous gesture. It shows that no matter how much you place a medium in a gallery, institutionalize it, one side remains, and will always remain loyal to its original form. And then commercialization, monetization—this always happens with every culture.
Your graffiti and light installations are found in public spaces. How important is art in public space?
For many of my works, I feel I want to communicate with the public in an interactive way. Street art is inherently very interactive; you have a kind of dialogue with everyone who passes by. When I worked with the Svetlobna Gverila (Light Guerrilla) festival, my project was destroyed in a single evening, and I cried, thinking I would never make art in public space again. But actually, it’s nice to create something that draws people in.
Returning to your project in RogLab—how will you approach the mural?
I’ll start from a desire to explore painting techniques and the deconstruction of illustration. The container is a very active form, so I want to create a scene that runs across the entire container. It’s not just a huge wall that can be read as a sequence. I don’t want to make a typical sequence, but a deconstruction of illustration that suggests movement or activity. When thinking about the painting, I wanted to connect the work to the surroundings. Right now, I’m imagining a dragon deconstructing into a machine. And a little bit of wires, a little bit of resistances. Conceptually, it feels close to me, and visually and technically I especially want to develop the colour palette, the use of background, and the lines, so it’s not just a drawing with a black outline.
The factor of open–closed is also interesting. When the container is closed, you see the entire painting; when it’s open, only part will be visible.
That’s a good element to consider when thinking about what RogLab is, including the cube on top. I imagined that space at the top being filled. When we discussed it, you said that the cube is almost empty. Here again, a liminal space is created, something that sparks interest. It doesn’t need to be visible to the public; perhaps we simply create a language that shows I’ve done something in it. It’s also interesting conceptually, thinking about how this object can be used.