Snowflake of Sarajevo: A Silent Designer's Legacy

I have always been fascinated by stories about the Sarajevo ‘84 Olympics. Not just because it was one of the most memorable weeks in the history of Yugoslavia, but also because it was the week during which I was born. I am an Olympic-week baby—and I am proud of it.

Here’s one of the best stories I have ever been told.

In the first days of the Games, the sports program was disrupted by extreme weather, and the events had to be delayed. Desperate to impress the gazing eyes of the world, the Olympic committee gathered a local imam, rabbi, and priest and asked them to pray for good weather.

And sure enough, four days later, good weather came. 

I thought they were lucky that Sarajevo was the Jerusalem of Europe, a place where God listened to prayers as much as he did in the Holy Land.

I don’t know how true this story is, but it is synonymous with the fabric of this city I have called home for the past three years. It is, as Abdulah Sidran writes, a city of poets and dreamers where every corner hides a story.

And now I am in search of another one: the story of Miroslav Antonić Roko, the man who designed the official logo of the XIV Winter Olympic Games, held in Sarajevo, Bosnia & Herzegovina, 40 years ago – from February 8 to 19, 1984.

Apart from listing him as the official designer of the logo, there’s scant biographical information online. Who he was, where he worked, how old he was, what he looked like—all of this information is missing. So I made a plan of research.

I headed first to the Sarajevo Winter Olympics Museum. If there’s going to be any information about Roko, it is bound to be there. After catching my breath, I asked the kind receptionist about him. She revealed to me that Roko was actually a lawyer. She then repeated the meager information I had already found online. Luckily, she directed me to email a colleague who may have more details in their archives.

I happily wrote down his details.

“Do you know anything about the logo?” she then asks. I nod, and she laughs. She ushers me before a large replica of the Snowflake on the museum wall and explains that the Winter Olympics were held in the Dinaric Alps—over the Bjelašnica, Jahorina, Igman, and Trebević mountains. The four squares in the logo represent these peaks, and the lines between them represent welcoming arms, symbols of Sarajevo’s hospitality.

As soon as she reveals this. I no longer see just conceptual lines. I see the mountains she speaks of and a vibrant human body with welcoming arms. It’s like a figure dancing the traditional dance called “kolo”, and it is so Sarajevan it makes me laugh.

Logos are meant to represent values. They need to point us towards a system of beliefs, and here, I finally see why Snowflake is still alive in Sarajevo today. Why it’s visible on almost every shop in Sarajevo’s old bazaar and the historical and cultural center – Baščaršija and why at night, it comes alive on every light post on the Obala Kulina bana, from the old town to Marijin Dvor.

Snowflake embodies the kinetic energy of this city; Sarajevo’s inherent soul is represented in its shapes.

At home, I search for more about Miroslav Antonić Roko, but I find little beyond what I already discovered. I first email the receptionist’s colleague at the museum, then I fire off emails to several contacts: a social media archivist, a historian, and a professor at the Academy of Fine Arts who kindly directs me to the Museum in Exile project. There I learned that Roko’s design was part of a team effort, which included an initial poster by Dragan S. Stefanović and a catalogue by Branko Bačanović. Later, when Sarajevo was officially appointed the host for the XIV Olympic Games, several new teams were formed to bring the brand to life for this significant event in the history of Yugoslavia, but sadly no further information about Roko.

I even called the Historical Archives of Sarajevo, where a young man told me that Roko, like Juže Trobec, who designed the mascot Vučko, maybe responded to an open call for the logo design.

Following a nationwide campaign that asked each state in the federation of Yugoslavia which animal should represent the mascot of the Sarajevo ’84, Yugoslavia chose the wolf.

And that’s how Vučko was born.

I began to wonder what Roko was like. Was he like other artists who had day jobs? Like T.S. Eliot, who worked as a banker at Lloyd’s Bank in London, or Marcel Duchamp, who worked as a librarian at the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève in Paris. Did Roko’s legal background influence his design work?

I reached out to my friend, Ajdin Bašić, a Sarajevo-born designer living in Ljubljana. He suggested that perhaps Roko was one of many silent contributors to Yugoslav society—individuals who made significant contributions but whose stories were not well preserved.

I started to think that perhaps Ajdin was right.

Maybe this was not a search for an individual designer, but a search for a silent contributor who brought something to the table for the masses to enjoy, and then disappeared as silently as he came.

But just as I thought I had reached a dead end, I received a response from Eldin Hodžic, the receptionist’s colleague from the Olympic Museum. I smiled as I read his email. 

Eldin confirmed that Roko was indeed a lawyer, but he was also a graphic designer. By day, he worked in the legal department of the company Energoinvest in Sarajevo. Eldin wrote that according to the stories of people who were directly or indirectly involved in the organization committee of the Olympics (some of them knew Mr. Roko personally), his hobby and great love was graphic design, folklore, and folk costumes. 

Roko was especially interested in the folk history of costumes and kilims that were handwoven in the villages on the outskirts of Sarajevo. One pattern he had seen on a kilim inspired our beloved Snowflake.

But sadly, Eldin wrote, Roko never saw his creation come to life. He passed away in 1980, four years before his beloved Sarajevo became an Olympic city.

Attached to the email, I found an article from the local newspaper “Oslobođenje” written by Ivan Štraus, dated February 6, 1984—a week before I officially entered the world.

Štraus, like me, wanted to honor and preserve the memory of Roko, writing that ‘years will pass, many new winter and summer Olympics will be held, but every visual encounter with Miroslav Antonić Roko’s snowflake will remind us of the unforgettable days of the Sarajevo Olympic festivities.’

Having worked in design and advertising most of my life, I have learned that the greatest logo is one you can draw by hand. Nike, Chanel, and Mercedes Benz are great examples of this illustration. Roko’s Sarajevo ‘84 logo is, no doubt, a part of this canon. I’m sure that every kid in Sarajevo would be able to draw its four squares and the outspread arms between them.

And so it should be.

Snowflake is a testament to the spirit and hospitality of Sarajevo, and a lasting symbol of Yugoslavia’s rich cultural legacy. And it was created by Miroslav Antonić Roko.

Remember his name.