Take your time

After one year, I have made some minor updates to the website. Added some pictures and quick galleries, as some people don't have the time to browse through the story, although I would really appreciate to take your time and read the texts so you can follow my thoughts and maybe understand a bit of my journey.

Vladimir C. - a ray of vision

Please leave comments regarding website in guestbook, especially for technical errors, but mostly for feelings.

Take your time

Uncertain without jour

Dead language

He said that he hated his country. Disgusted by the people which lived in it, he took his memories and language fading away in another dream.

There, in the brave new country, he realized that it was not home. But that was not a thing that could bother him, as apparently they were traveling. His home was not his country, as his country did not exist anymore, even in a dream of a dream.

He said that "country" was a concept so far and so abstract, that it lost its sense. Was just a world for play, just a name given to a land or some kind of strange social convention.

And so, the time passed. And all that he kept were the memories of his old land. Some old forgiven land, that had teach him how to run without looking back. He dreamed spreading the word that his country did not exist anymore and the language he spoke was a dead one.

His country's flag just stood for some things that happened long time ago, things that were done by people, not by the flags colors. He tried to invent a drug which could make him not see the colors that composed the flag. But taking too much of the drug, he went blind.

With time, he started to invent a new language, in order to leave aside all that he had left. He created some new words, but realizing that he was the only one who could understand the language, he just went mutely.

From time to time, he met with others that spoke the language which was dead for him. He built a strange ear device that could block those words, but using it he became deaf.

Without being able to see, talk and hear, he retreated in his memories. Memories which constantly reminded him of that land, but he could not erase those.

Quiet

I once had an Bonsai. At first he made flowers.

As my life started changing, his flowers started to fall.
Each day some new ones appeared, as he felt how I took care of him.

As I was starting to feel insecure regarding my ways, flowers stopped appearing.

Until the day I was tired and I started to resign. He started to fade.
In the end, he died. Even if again I had power, it was too late for such a delicate thing.

In my room, after some time, I found some dried leafs.

An older song

no connection between phrases, photographs or words; just some emerging and ordinary thoughts

I'm listening to an older song today, from "conquest of paradise".

Are we still trying to conquer it ? Or we struggle on a constant road between heaven and hell, or the way we should see them.

I don't see a different reality, I just make my own.

Trying to learn, I'm sometimes forgetting to pause and think. I will learn how to pause.

Sartre said existence precedes essence. He never said what precedes existence. It's probability essence.

I've tried counting the stars once. I gave up, there weren't enough stars. Then I tried to count the numbers. Problem was, I had no numbers to count with. I used them all on the stars.

I'm becoming more fascinated by thees stupid chairs all around. It's probability my lack of numbers.

The idea here is no idea. Or to many ideas.

Worlds

When I was little I was thinking that this world might be a world in another bigger one and the bigger one in another and so on. Then I’ve read a story (inspired from the myth of Iona) which ruined my dreams of innovation.

Now I’m thinking that this world might be part of many other worlds, bigger and more complex, created by us.

Some are ugly, some are sweet, some are shallow, some are erotic, some are contemplative. And maybe Iona, is looking and laughing, knowing that he seen them all. Inside a fish.

My world is just confuse. Incoherent, full of contractions, sometimes illogical, sometimes too logical, sometimes screaming, sometimes quiet. Maybe that’s why I still like the sea, somehow it resembles my general mood.

Overall, I’m just waiting.

Hot

It's so strange this country. Hot, I think I'm starting to understand Meursault in a way. Somehow, I always understood him and in the same time I felt so far from him. This stupid MPD sometimes gets me.

Sometimes I stare in dark places and imagine strange worlds in which abnormal things happen, without feeling my gaze.

It's so hot... at least the sea is here. I wonder how would Lynch see the world in this heat. Probably he would picture some strange red corner where deep and ancestral unconscious phobias and desires flow. Or he would throw Lacan's mirror and a million people would become aware of their childhood rupture.

I wonder, is anyone staring at us ?

From the "an awkward world" project

Super-me

Say cheese.

Or not.

Older story ...

... which continues, through a window, in a strange and far away room.

A chair from which something just departed, in a fuzzy atmosphere.

A blurry feeling is born, looking in that room. Was it a quiet slide in time and space, searching for a real island?

Miscellaneous

I realize more and more that the sun, the heat and the quiet tends to suck someone's life.

I will also shoot Holga from now. Because I want to show myself that technology should not matter that much (this being said by someone who shoots FE2). Because it's fun. Because size don't matter and because it's challenging.

Watch the movie Eastern Plays. It doesn't need any word.

I realized that if I will buy a Leica, I will stop photographing. When you have one, you don't need anything else.

I'm starting to understand employees which after 10 years shoot half of their colleagues in a sunny quiet morning.

As crazy as it might sound, I miss some places in Bucharest. Although not many ...

I'm starting to wonder why the smaller number of people saying something here. I see hits, I don't see words. Are my pictures that bad? Joking, I know they're not.

Are they ?

I would like to recommend a wonderful place where I jumped by mistake not so long ago. It is called the floating bridge of dreams and you will find a fascinating world of photographs and words there. An art that so few still know how to appreciate, in the contest for less noise, more sharpness and more flashes. I hope you will be reminded that photography feeds on imagination.

Floating bridge of dreams - Roxana Ghita

P.S. Roxana I hope you don't mind for my sudden recommendation.

Air vertigo

He floats into the air, forgetting the long way made until this point.

He doesn't remember what was on the road, being unable too see what will follow.

Just floating, into some kind of thin air, with a perspective so large that it becomes everything in a world full of perspective, where perspective is all and all is nothing.


He still cares for simple things, but passes by them quickly, amused.

Inside is air. Outside is air. And light passes through it, emerging in a simply ray that vanishes in infinity.

Seeking for something that is everywhere. Seeking for... a breath of air.

Suddenly, he realizes the irony. And breaths.

Appearances in a dark place

In dark place, in empty rooms and in void.

From dark light emerges, enters the room and blows away the void.

Creation takes place as the feeling is born.

We live in darkness. We only have our feelings which lightens our ways. The rest is useless, material nonsense.