Missing the one

One of the principles which I’ve chosen to guide my evolution is trying not to regret anything that I do or don’t do. This is why I always have to make an agreement between my reason and my heart in order not to upset any of the two by acting in a certain way. Tonight, it seems, my heart has something to cast in my dish. Apparently, when there are plenty of offers and you have a hard time picking, you might just end up with an empty bag. Bucharest Days – museums opened during night, events in the old center, concerts, theater plays, fireworks, projections on the main historical buildings, readings, parades. What did I see from all these? Bryan Adams and some fireworks. Maybe the poorest choices. Names which I dreamt of seeing live in Bucharest: Metallica, Al Di Meola, Leonard Cohen. I’ve ended up missing them all. “Dance me to the end of love” was the first song which gave me physical, nervous, extreme emotional reactions. Connected strongly with its official video, the song became a personal weakness. This was 5 years ago. After discovering his other songs, I declared this man the ideal combination between poetry and its masculine articulation (the feminine one might be Tori Amos’s). Here I am, trying to convince my heart that listening to Cohen’s music is an intimate experience, just as listening to your beloved whispering a poem to your ears.

And you want to travel with him and you want to travel blind

And you think maybe you’ll trust him for he’s touched your perfect body

With his mind.

(Leonard Cohen)

Back and forth, up and down

When you take the same way to reach a destination several times, it happens that you don’t really pay any attention to the way anymore. The first time you go into a museum, you take a look at every painting that comes in your way, you read the descriptions, perhaps even take notes, visit all the rooms, including the toilet. The second time, you only look at a few, the more intriguing ones, you don’t read the descriptions anymore – not because you have memorized them already, but because it would take too much time to re-read them, and it’s fun the first time only -, you analyze more carefully the design of the museum, and you visit again the bathroom. The third time you go straight to the bathroom. The paintings are still there and you sure haven’t seen them entirely. Or who knows…maybe the paintings have been changed or they aren’t there anymore. And you will leave the museum thinking they are right where you knew them.

Yesterday, I was walking on the Magheru St., heading towards the University, on the left side. It was cloudy, around seven p.m., I was hurrying home. When I passed the Intercontinental hotel, I was blown away by what my eyes were seeing. All the buildings in the central area – the National Theater, the University, the Ministry of Agriculture, the Coltea Hospital were overlapped with a reddish purple, the result of the upcoming sunset and the rainy clouds. I don’t remember ever seeing those buildings look more poetic. You’d think that somebody had actually adjusted the light for that scenery – clear air, a bit darker shade at the street’s level and lighter above our heads. You could see the buildings’ brown contrasting the purple in various forms and angles which re-evaluated them completely. I sat there, on the stairs in front of the passage, for 10 minutes, smoking a cigarette and studying if the people around me looked up, towards the sky or the buildings. Some were waiting in extreme boredom, some were rushing. I didn’t see anybody looking in the right, lighted direction. I have the feeling that we are often looking in the wrong direction, that we prefer to take the dusty path.

Friends will be friends

This is an announcement. My 7-year old computer had almost died three days ago. I have been pushing this moment for months, I’ve tried to surescitate him – yes, him -, to tell him that everything would work out just fine… I got so close to losing him. But then the wonders of science enlightened me and took me to a recommended doctor, licenced to bring my pal back to life. The poor, bad managed computer had suffered a surgery or better said, several transplants. Lose the old, bring in the new. Now we’re telling each other jokes again and I couldn’t be happier.

Small changes

Perhaps I should have done this earlier, writing in English, but I was afraid of ruining my coherence and my tone (supposing I had them in the first place). But what else is the point of writing practice (which is the purpose of this blog) if not improving what you already have and finding better or more original ways of expressing an idea? So I’ve decided to give it a shot. The fact that I am to write a 50 pages paper in English this year must have had a contribution to my decision. I apologize for any faults, oversights, confusions in expressing myself in another language than Romanian. I have to obtain the specificity of my discourse and this exercise can only do me good.

I have a recommendation to make, so this post shouldn’t be completely wasted; it concerns a French adaptation of Victor Hugo’s “Notre-Dame de Paris”, turned into a musical first performed in 1998, in Paris. I don’t find it brilliant, I consider the female characters rather weak, the orchestration is elementary and gives an overall feeling of simplicity. But it has an impact through the masculine voices, massive set and suggestive choreography. The Romanian try of grandeur with the musical “Chicago” was too shy compared to this. You can find the entire show on youtube.

I hope there will be another post after this one

Ils – utopistii

Ilotopie si-a facut din nou treaba pentru care a fost chemata. Dezordine artistica s-a produs, oamenii au fost scosi din schema lor zilnica, ursuza si plictisitoare, si au fost pusi in fata faptului implinit: usile autobuzului se inchid si calatorii pornesc intr-o cursa mult mai interesanta si mai captivanta decat s-ar fi asteptat vreodata. Initial se temeau sa intre intr-un autobuz cu pamant pe podea, copaci in loc de bare si frunze atarnand, dar au facut-o si pe-asta si curajosii nu au iesit dezamagiti. Cu ochii mari, zambitori, cu o retinere initiala privind apropierea de actorii romani si francezi, care se transforma, pe parcursul calatoriei, intr-un drag reciproc, cu replici de tipul “cand aud pianul imi vine sa plang de bucurie”, “chiar azi trebuia sa plec la padure, dar a intervenit ceva, si uite ca a venit padurea la mine”, “azi-noapte am visat urat, va multumesc ca mi-ati transformat realitatea intr-un vis frumos” si multe altele. Viata oamenilor obisnuiti este atat de lipsita de farmec, de povesti frumoase, de speranta, incat nici nu stii cum vor reactiona cand vor intra aceste mostre de “high-life” in viata lor. Un proiect cu mare incarcatura emotionala, atat pentru pasageri, cat si pentru actori si organizatori. O experienta pe care am interiorizat-o destul de mult.

More photos here.