From Utopia to reality in Latvia. (People: making a difference).

Right on the picturesque Baltic Sea shore lies a derelict and forgotten land of empty nuclear rocket storehouses, bunkers and abandoned multi-storey houses, shaping the landscape of Karaosta, the former sealed military zone in Liepaja, Latvia.

Karaosta (Warport) was set up by the Russian Tsar's army and then taken over by the Soviets. In 1994 the Soviet army left but people without jobs and starving dogs still live here today on Future Street and similarly named roads.

Carl Bjorsmark from Sweden and Kristine Briede from Riga, Latvia, first came to Karaosta as artists and documentary film-makers, and, enchanted by the place and its people, soon became part of its life. They found that their art was becoming `more than pictures hanging on a wall or showing your latest documentary on a screen'. `I wanted to create a vision of a Utopia that would become real,' says Bjorsmark. `I wouldn't have dared to do it on my own,' says Briede. `Carl's strength and belief was of great importance.'

In December 2000 they set up K@2, a cultural and educational centre in an old mansion which was the former headquarters of the Tsar's army and then of the Soviet Naval Forces. With its high ceilings decorated with angels and old stoves in every room, it lures local children, youth and pensioners. Artistic photos, conceptual installations and objets d'art, scattered around the building, are products of the creativity of the people, who come to the centre's weekly workshops and cultural events, led by professional artists.

The main purpose of the centre is to provide an alternative playground to the current situation with high unemployment, street crime and drugs problems. `By "alternative" we mean not a "one off", but a parallel variant of the today's situation,' says Bjorsmark. Through different projects, such as a new media project `Digital Kitchen', the visual art gallery `K Maxla?' (Latvian for `What is Art?') and even a `Circus', for children, adults and animals, they are realizing their main aim--`to break barriers and open new views, images and approaches to an everyday life that might otherwise seem extremely horizontal and flat'.

They also work on the hot issue of integration between Russians and Latvians, a legacy of the Soviet era when the Latvian language was only spoken at home and cultural traditions were not supported. Latvian nationals constitute only 54 per cent of the total population; approximately one million or 43 per cent are Slavonic or other nationalities for whom Latvian is not the native language. Latvian language courses, with outings to the theatre and cinema, are very popular among Russian-speaking locals. As a symbol of integration, an ancient Russian Orthodox Church, which used to be a sports hall during Soviet times, rings its bells inviting people from all over Liepaja.

With only two per cent of the centre's funding coming from the local authorities, Carl and Kristine have to battle constantly to raise money from overseas. `Without everyday struggle our centre might fall asleep,' says Carl. `As soon as you become an "institution" the edge seems to disappear.'

It is very hard for them to evaluate the changes that the centre has brought to Karaosta as they have integrated into the process themselves. `We are in the middle of the painting, becoming an object ourselves,' says Bjorsmark. `Though I have heard comments like "there is a new light in the eyes of the kids now ...".' Karaosta started to live again!' says Briede. `It's got much more confidence in its future--not only because of K@2, of course.'

As for future plans, they are both determined to strengthen the centre's infrastructure and move forward. `A process like this one can never be finished, only continued.'