Friday, 28 February 2014


For there's no mask
without the purple blame.
which cuddles into soft erosion,
a wise man whispered in the morning,
in an oblivious, but yet soared motion.

I looked around me.
And at myself.
And realized the stage I'm on.
'cause there's no mirror and no stones.
But only masks to look upon.

I searched for answers
and I was told:
"Despair not at their heavy tone,
and keep your mask forever on".

Thursday, 27 February 2014


Yesterday I saw a snail jumping out of a window. He was happy. Happy to finally try out the sensational bungee-jumping. I met him afterwards at a dinner table. He was sitting right next to Robin Hood. He told me that he had given it a lot of thought and decided upon joining a different kind of Army. I asked him if he really still believed in the power of good. Snail told me he was fed up with such a question, turned on his spirally coiled shell and flew off using his stalked eyes.

Since then I have been hearing about various attacks upon rich people. And about snails.

Wednesday, 26 February 2014


A few years ago my nephew used to call any lighted bulb as moon.
Christmas is almost here and whenever I hear carols, I remember the lights of the Christmas tree from my uncle's house. I do not know why, but the lights installation in his house seemed magical. I used to watch it in silence while I was perking up my ears, hoping to catch uncle G. slipping the present right in my hands. I loved spending Christmas day in uncle G.'s house. Maybe because of the happy face my father had when together with his brother, my uncle, started caroling. They usually sang old carols, honoring the memories they had together.
People are always talking about Christmas spirit, about the goodness and joy, about giving, and most of all about cherishing. I cannot say for certain if I truly understand the Christmas spirit, but I surely have memories to keep it alive.


Tuesday, 25 February 2014

A figure of dance

Around me people are dancing. And their moves are characterized by despair, longing, hope and sorrow. I am muttered by their courage, and also by their suffering. But it is a dance and I cannot and must not interfere. I must respect their choice of moves, no matter how much it torments me. Still, I hold on to the most impressive of them: he gently caresses her cheek, looks her deep in the eyes, takes her hand and presses it onto his chest, where his heart beats so fast. He then brings her closer to him, he touches her forehead, playing with her fringe and before letting go of her hand (with tangible pain) he softly presses his lips on her left shoulder.

Monday, 24 February 2014

Snow with chances of… Are there chances?

I think my upstairs neighbour lives in Siberia. He must be. Otherwise I cannot explain the noise going on in his room late at night and very early in the morning. And the cold gets so heavy that he pulls to his bed all the furniture in the room: bookcase, table, chairs, desk etc., to keep him warm during his sleep. Early in the morning, when he wakes up, he pushes them all to their proper places, and rushes to the bathroom. Typhoons and lightnings must fight for his attention, while he clumsily reaches for the comb. That must be his first worry: One must look incredibly handsome! Then he goes to the kitchen and, against a dreadful earthquake, he manages to drink his coffee while sitting.

Oh dear, and I thought the heavy snow outside is the most horrible meteorological phenomenon.

Sunday, 23 February 2014

Beautiful People

All around the globe people are complaining about the worsening of human relationships. Almost no one believes anymore in the kindness of others, and fewer talk about beautiful people they once met and were impressed with. And so I thought about taking the initiative and give my thanks to perfect strangers that gave me a grain of hope in the goodness of people. I chose to thank unknown people because I consider their gesture even more uplifting.
I would like to thank:
- the manager of Edu Publishing House.
- the lady in Amsterdam, which I stopped on a Thursday night two years ago, and who helped me arrive at my destination. Not only did she took the map of the city from her purse, but she took the time to look over it with me and helped me localize the street I was looking for. When we said goodbye she gave the map to me, explaining that she knew how to get home and I was in more need of it.
- the lady in Vienna who, noticing our lost look, stopped and without us asking "Please, can you tell us where this street is?, she gave directions and wished us a happy trip.
Irene for being an inspiration in order for me to start writing. 
Suzana Bantas, which I met in September 2011 at one of her own exhibitions in Casa Armatei, and who encouraged me not to give up on painting. 

P.S. And the list remains open J

Thursday, 20 February 2014

In search of an anthem

There are moments in life when your perspective changes and you desperately need motivation for your newly found goals. In such troubling times there is only one alleviation: your own anthem. As they say: if something ain't, you ought to invent it. And so I did. I made up an anthem to sooth my quivering. I gave it life and I pinned it on my window pane so that anytime the sun rises or goes down, its reflected light could gently caress the ribboned spare of my thoughts.

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

The Social Contract

"Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains."
After more than 200 years since Jean Jacques Rousseau uttered the aforementioned saying, I feel that nowadays we are in the same situation as then. There are strict social limits to live by and few are encouraged to do more or to embrace their calling.
My social experience until now has brought me to the conclusion that it is more important to have an opinion of my own regarding certain things than to "inherit" it from others. I met people who were so much indulged in living by the others' life standards that they did not even realize how miserable they were. And how could they be aware of that when all of their lives they were "helped" to feel anything except their inner feelings, needs and aspirations?
It is the same in Plato's Allegory of the Cave, only if one wants, can one come out in the sun and see the shapes as they really are.

I think that every one of us should engage once in a while in "absolute subjectivity" and try to understand who she/ he really is, the direction she/ he needs to take in order to be happy (so that the others could be happy. I always thought that happiness occurs due to a chain reaction. It cannot come out of nowhere. It can only be felt, lived and "transmitted" to the others around). I think this is how we should raise the young generation. I reckon this is the basic knowledge the youngsters should have when they set out on the journey of life.

Tuesday, 18 February 2014

Grandpa! Grandpa! Grandfather!

A granddaughter's cry for attention. Grandfather was engaged in a conversation. Rose (let's call her this as she was wearing a red jacket) was happy. She was experiencing a breathtaking moment. She yelled something. But it was too loud to understand her. And then she turned to her grandfather, knowing that he will understand and share her happiness.

Grandfather gave her a glance while he was still talking. He was trying to find out if this was not one of her usual moments of effusion. He was very used to that. Surprisingly, he was very used to sadness and rage, too, as I could make up from his conversation. Between Rose's cries, grandfather looked her again in the eyes and he found that this was something different. So he stopped talking and embraced her. Gratefulness. Happiness. I saw them both in Rose's eyes and it was such a splendid sight that it made me wish I could only see it more often.

Monday, 17 February 2014


There is a tree outside your bedroom. A tree once indulged in silence. Now, all is swish. Branches, leaves, buds, flowers, all whisper. The murmur has been ignored. Until now.
Suddenly, a woodpecker has changed the tune. The murmur has been transformed into a constant hammering. A scared hedgehog was seen running for its life, while a squirrel snarled at the noisy intruder. 'Cut the coat according to the cloth', said the hedgehog, and kept running until it disappeared behind a rose bush.

Sunday, 16 February 2014

White frogs dancing in the sky

White frogs dancing in the sky.
I saw them once, when I was ten.
It’s just a game of you and I
And a remembrance of then.

They’re holding hands, and jumping,
And laughing at the noisy birds.
Don’t bother now restructuring
What you believed when you were kids!

White frogs dancing in the sky.
Be still, and breathe the current view.
And all you have don’t question why!
Just taste the courage of the few.

They’ve started yelling at the rain,
But then again, rainbow would come.
And clean the blisters and the pain,
And weave the future with a comb.

White frogs dancing in the sky.
Be sure to find what you expect.
And all in all, they’ll bear you out,
Then it is you who must you not neglect!

Saturday, 15 February 2014


Why must I not
ask about
diamonds and rats,
castles and hats?

No Jack of diamonds
Is going to believe that
You’ve stolen the parrots,
and suddenly got mad.

I’ve seen all the feathers
dropped in the sand.
You’ve tickled the bearers,
Then grubbed the land.

Spades, hearts and decks.
The jumble of feelings
Goes out of hand
And all out of meaning.

Imagine the dices,
The poor Queen of hearts.
Then tell me your vices
And their form of art.

Friday, 14 February 2014


I am standing here.
And unabridged
you want your letters
to be heard.
I’m saying: That’s a lovely dress,
but loose those wrinkles in your hair.

I might have been
mistaken, unaware.
And then again,
I must collect no flaws.
By darling, you must mean novette.
I know that now and I accept.

Correct illusions. Don’t suggest!

Repel and scream and disconnect.

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

My dad wanted me to be a dressmaker

It seems I have given signs of artistic skills ever since I was a little girl, and my dad was convinced - until a certain point - that I will grow up to be a great dressmaker. It is true, though, that my closets are filled with patches of fabric that were once cut, sewed and abandoned only to think that one day I will be just inspired to continue the work of art I once began.
My whole life has been marked by the existence of women talented at tailoring or sewing clothes. Mom was the first woman that seems to have started the movement. Then, it was my sister's turn. She took it to another level. Once a month 'Burda' magazine would enlighten our house. The floor in our bedroom would be filled with patterns, fabrics, centimeter, spools of sewing thread and scissors. My sis used to tailor wonderful costumes, jackets, dresses and skirts. I still remember the red tie she made for herself, with the help of the magazine. But the clothing item that still lingers in my mind after so much time is the skirt-pants. It was made of two different pieces of fabric. One for the front and another for the back. Well, and how am I suppose to not have gained such taste for clothes when I had so many inspired creators around me?!

Just yesterday my experienced eye noticed a tweed jacket. Well, it fits but no so much in the shoulders area. I must make some adjustments. It's an honorable challenge. So I got ready by arming myself with two scissors, one small and one big, a needle and thread. I took a minute to thoroughly analyze what I had to do. I slipped open one of the sleeves. I cut a little from the fabric of the shoulder and then I started sewing the sleeve back on. It was the same as in the story of the great tailor. Only it was completely different. I made sure that the thread was tightly sewed. The final result? The sleeve presented unwanted folds. 'Ok', I said to myself, 'I will slip it open again'. And so I had and sewed it back on. I finished the job and tried it on. It looked like the first time. Only worse. And just about then I had my Evrika moment. I should have prepared the sleeve for edgestitching and then sew it. It was by far a very complex cognitive process. So I had to stop and take a break. There's always tomorrow.

Tuesday, 11 February 2014

A scent of self-consciousness

Today I read an interview. Regardless of the identity of the public persona, I could not understand how the woman telling the story of her life (a very sad one, actually) did not go out of her mind when reading the draft of the interview. She recollected how she had given up work and settled for being just a housewife, how she spent all of her life alone, while her husband was away, working, and her children busy with ignoring her.
In a nutshell, it was the saddest story I have ever read. What puzzled me the most was that she did not question her existence, no matter how frightened she was of financial instability and being alone (besides her marital status, she was actually alone).
And even though she could not realize it in the past, when she read the interview, was she not horrified? Was not she sad and embittered that she lived her life without being loved, cherished, respected and cared for? And so I remembered what a genius Plato was for writing the Allegory of the Cave.
A few days ago I was talking with one of my friends about the few models of womanhood we had had as little girls. I had an aunt that was very stylish, but the thing about her was her scent. I remember when she came to visit and everything she touched would smell like her. Her scent was a mix of chamomile and nicotiana alata on a summer night. She did not have to say anything as she was enchanting everybody with it. She used to laugh differently and initiate different kind of conversations. But most of all, I cherish her and her memory as she was the one that introduced me to the novels of Vlad Musatescu.
I have rarely seen women paying attention to themselves, their lives and their needs, women that could be proud of the way they lived their lives, women that dared to smile, women that were able to look at a calendar and not divide the calendar year into periods for doing the holiday cleaning and cooking. I hate it when Romanian women choose how to understand getting ready for holidays. They engage themselves in a “general cleaning”, as they call it, and in cooking more than everybody can eat. And they stop at that, rightfully tired.

And thus, I cannot see this interview but an important “do pay attention”. Maybe instead of religious icons Romanian women insist on putting in their houses, they should frame this interview. And keep it as a token of self-esteem.

Sunday, 9 February 2014

One little green chair

Those who are dead, are not dead
They’re just living in my head.
                                                                “42”- Coldplay

I saw two chairs yesterday. Two parched, brown and old fashioned chairs. They were left outside a bistro. And just for a brisk moment I had the feeling of using the time machine. And going back in the past.
My grandparents’ courtyard. My grandpa and I are sitting on the porch, waiting for grandma to come to lunch. It is summer and the weather is terribly hot. Which is why grandpa decides to go in the house after lunch. I am invited, too. But I have to refuse, no matter how nice and chilly the bedroom is. I ought to stay outside. Grandma never sleeps around noon, and moreover I must inspect the fruit trees and see if I find another colorful dragonfly in the vineyard.
Grandma was amused. She saw me going to the poultry yard to check if the poultry laid eggs.
Grandpa’s chair was outside, in the sun. I looked at it while I was sitting under the pear tree. Once green, now the chair had an indefinite color. It was small and old and I never knew why grandpa kept it.

Now I do.

Saturday, 8 February 2014

Beautiful Mind

1. Mind your fears. Mind your projection on others. But most of all, mind yourself.
2. Thought comes to mind like waves to a shore. Mind the tide!
3. When out of one’s mind, one must be careful to find an adequate receptacle.
4. To give you a piece of my mind would mean to actually tell you the truth about something that you cannot handle. But then again, I’d mind you not minding.
5. Make up your mind. Don’t make up excuses!
6. To have a creative mind is to remind others what they already know.

Friday, 7 February 2014

Moon River

Pink leaves on a riverbank. Moonbeam gently caressing the silent sleep of a deer. The grass slightly moving by the touch of a misty wind. A star flickering on the top of a fir. A rabbit perking up its ears in order to hear where the other rabbits have run to. A cloud smiling at a firefly. A butterfly sleeping on a yellow mushroom. Two owls flying in the sky. A hedgehog and a turtle stuck on a path in the woods.  

There is such a world to see…