ART AS A LEADING FORCE OF SOCIETY

ART

In any language known on this earth ART is spelled the same. In any language ART means the same thing. Therefore ART has no need for translation, and it might be the only true universal word in any of the languages on earth.

Once taking ART as a universal expression we all understand the same thing. ART is a medium to expresses human emotion, beauty, suffering, need and frustration: things that characterize us as human beings: therefore ART is the only way we can interact as humans despite our language differences, different cultures or different traditions.

The whole idea makes me think that the answer to our problems is a society built on ART and I wouldn’t be the first to think that as other successful civilizations have been known to humanity to have been built on ART, and only been destroyed by the promoters of war, those ignorant to beauty and disciples of mediocrity.

The Ancient Greek society was built on ART, and been destroyed by politics, that’s why all that’s left of it is ART. Romans built theirs on the same topic and destroyed it once evil thoughts of politics mess up the harmony of beauty.  Still all that’s left of their civilization is ART.

We interact as nations through this universal language.  As a macro society we have to find new forms for moving on and come out of the dark ages, renaissance, pop and abstract were just steps back to perfection. Our society has not yet gotten rid of kitsch, it yet transformed it, accepted and evolving is moving out of the equation.  We built tools to help us communicate and call it now technology. Steve Job’s contribution to the computers world was calligraphy, which is still a form of ART. I guess there could have never been an invention in this world without the need of ergonomic, or something that needed the implement the hand of a skilful artist taking advantage of a form, colour and beauty.  There would have never been a war in this world if politicians would have tried exchanging money for ART and not for weapons or petrol. Hm.. I know I sound juvenile, but those are all slogans that help me raise up.  The 1980"s, 90"s and present future propaganda. We keep dreaming at a society where politicians would be ART lovers and not mediocre uneducated beings who believe that wearing a suit is all that makes you look good. (Although that suit is still an artist’s work of art).

ART is the most prized value in this world. More prized than gold and any currency that man has ever known or used. Therefore ART has been taking many forms to this day, some of which makes ART a bad name, but still, ART in its real form is the highest prized thing in our society. Once again I am thinking that ART should be the main answer to a perfect society, and valued as the main currency for that matter.

ART in its pure form is also incorruptible; therefore it should stand as the best example for any individual in a modern society. A true artist never thinks of material profit what ever his condition of life; some rich stabilisation with the help of other individual who calls himself an agent, a lawyer, or a talent scout, some die trying and are prized later. Examples are many in the history of arts, as starving geniuses worked for only one reason; reaching spirituality though ART, yet humans learn their siblings to appreciate ART but do not encourage them to take that path, claiming the poor existence of an artists should be a lesson, ignoring the fact that through history this is the repercussion as it was their ignorance to ART a part of life blocked to themselves and as a repercussion brought them to this decision in the first place. But then again, humans despite their sensibility, they all appreciate ART to a level or other, no matter of their level of culture. Somewhere there is a . (point). All society bends in front of a Mona Lisa.

Some say technology only made society even more ignorant. And it did to a level. Now people think that they are all entitled to ART because is in their genes. Humans now think one should turn on his TV set and is entitled to see a program - he pays cable - no matter how long that program took to get made, no matter how many brains were involved, no matter how much it cost, after all, that’s why they invented the TV: to have things to see on. 

Some still consider painting as the true form of ART ignoring the fact that not manufacturing is the strong asset of ART, but the IDEA.  The change came with society once with the socialist doctrine of “Work sets a man free” where they considered that a worked out piece is stronger than a simple made IDEA.  That can be very easily exemplified against, once seeing Picasso’s latest works, where one can see how little is put into the work and how much is into the IDEA. Those artistic attitudes although socialist orientated freed half of the world of the early socialism, nationalism and brought society closer into unions. Democracy triumphed as ART pervailed.   

Some less educated towards art, resume themselves to ordering, giving opinions and pay for it. They think digital ART is made by the computer not taking into consideration that what stands up first into a digital work is the IDEA. The time the artist himself took to develop the piece is mostly irrelevant.

In fact no piece of form would exist if there wouldn’t be an IDEA in the first place, as the computer would not be able to think. All that spirit is also coming out from the neo-socialist developed society at our present day where the slogan has developed to: “work hard and you achieve wealth and power", unfortunately another advertising IDEA that infected the world, although not the whole world has ever been turned to socialism, but for socialism is part of democracy and here to stay forever as all the other forms of state.

The IDEA which claims “Work sets you free!”. I am not messing up… The Natzi’s who promoted that slogan were a socialist party called the National  Socialism Party and they had a strong impact on our society, maybe as strong as any other socialist system that is still accepted to this day, but only bares a different slogan and would definitely remain into history.

This is not a political analysis of the left wing, it is not propaganda towards the right wing either, is trying to find ART's place into the modern history.  Some say that what's keeping this society into distress is only the fight between the two sides... the only two remaining sides into modern politics... This is an observation of where we are, again as society. We grew in power and erased other doubting part, we sharked to a structure of two mediocre powers, which became the only options we have. As in the 21^st Century we eradicated racism towards blacks but we still consider that we are different among the whites, and live in a world full of hatred.  Here on the old continent, we still believe that we are different and need different treatment from each other nation, because some of us are superior to others, most civilised and act as eraser to the poorer species.  All these just because politics have been sweeter to some of us and bitter to others a few centuries ago.

Humans in our society still interact by emotion for that matter. Some think that the economical state we are in as society, is the fault of the entire world, and we are told to understand, that the choice was not ours or neither to one particular bad guy in the story, an evil dictator who took us down,“ruled us”.

The entire political Europe was built on never bother to give a thought on those  who suffer, and they played their political game on, as kings played their on their subjects some centuries ago. Power is an old habit humans can't get rid of.  Religion did it before politics were the star of society. Power builds egoism and all that takes to material personal interests, and the wealth is always to blame, always first, despite race, color or nationality. Mess-ups always come about when some egocentric guy thinks he is better than others, and spends one nation’s money on his bad IDEAS, being them weapons, porn or any of his other individual interests. Moves like this bring to war, silent kind of wars, but still weights that pull society down or at least it slows its way to evolution.

As a personal description, I am a grown man, with enough experience in all the systems. I was born in a time of changes and named with my siblings “The Forlorn Hope Generation” by the own nation. That name stoked to today. This generation grew up with a strong collocation in their mind, and a big question: Why Them? The consolation slogan is trying to make one mature, and become responsible, understanding that one has to pay for the mistakes their parents did, and the bill is huge, just because the world is full of differences, despite the fact that we claim we are the same race.  In fact we are animals that enjoy devouring each other, playing a form of ART to cover our primal behaviour. 

If ART is the only universal language that brings us together and BEAUTY is what pleases us all,  therefore why no go for a society based on culture, on ART, and not on political differences. Politics should be what it was meant to be, the technocracy who get payed to count the bill, raise the budget and pay back for society to have a administration system.

As naïve as it might sound, there are people in this society who still live proud for still remaining a free spirit, people who who believe ART in its pure form and not material matter is the answer to happiness.


It is funny when people who never dreamt about anything else in their life, other than being rich come out to an artist with the quote: “I want my child to be an artist!" To some it comes out as a cry for help, but most are just thinking at the business of it. 

Those think their child should be a successful artist and think their money could help. They take it hard when told that ART is the only occupation in the world that money can’t buy... if he lacks the talent all that money is lost... success is not granted... It is a shock, but that is what makes ART the perfect form of spirit to lead a perfect society. It's incorruptibility.

The Picturesque in Modern Art - (English)

The Picturesque in Modern Art

An essay

By Th. Halacu-Nicon

 Although this essay might raise some voices, doubting my observation, from those who claim that art is free of forms, and styles for that matter, (new artists usually) and other claiming that the new age is demanding a pure form of expression (indoctrinated artists), I am not intending to talk about the way society changed the perception of art altogether, for has it always been the other way around, then more about how the lack of artistic expression in our modern life is changing our modern society, the future we are building for ourselves and for next generations, looks like a more appropriate subject.

One of my first observations though, will be that looking into history we experienced the same phenomenon many times before, once we came into the dark ages, then after a long time of distress we came up with the renaissance in order to free our souls of the ugliness those ages brought on us. This attitude we have as a society comes from the lack of knowledge of the mass, from poor education, from the lack of art history lessons in our schools, from the ignorance the governments take in art history while conceiving school programs. Democracy has taken over aesthetics, and the line which most use now a days as an argument to our lack of culture is: "Aesthetics is an individual matter of taste". Well it is not, for taste in art is defined by culture.

Ajanta Fresco


Ajanta (Ancient Shiva site), near Bombay, India
2nd Century BC
This ancient painting shows use of different shapes and curves. The curves are tumultous.

I was born at the Black Sea, Romania, in the winter of 1970, when communism was at its pick and didn’t show any sign yet like it will ever fall, but it did.  I got to live until now almost equal amount of years under 2 forms of society and seen some others as I traveled most of my life and kept observing.  I spent my early years as a painter, began as a native talent and studied the world of arts, and the arts in this world since.

My disappointment grew with age and understanding that what I was told when I was a child by almost everyone around me came to be true: “The life of a true artist, is a life of sacrifices and sufferings, generated by a world who is not ready to understand the artist’s sacrifice; Life keeping men focused on the everyday material part of life, therefore taking art for granted.”

Idealized peaceful communist woman and man by Sabin Balașa

I didn’t give it much thought at the time, because I didn’t feel that an artist makes sacrifices for the creative act, that system taught me art is coming from deep inside. And it does.   My belief was that all that defined the artist’s true reason of existence was to help make the world a better place. Then help people enrich their dreams with the help of your imagination, and sometimes fight against the unfair decisions of this society with this elegant weapons called: metaphors, subliminal arguments, symbolism, all given to you by the mighty power of God, who chose you to be the angel of spiritual rightfulness into this world, once you were born with a talent. The entire world of art was walking that way on the other side of the wall, we here were holding tight.

emmanuel snitkovsky Portrait of Salvador Daly

I took the straight foreword conclusion: “Look at how art has been developed thru time, observe just how a handful of artists got recognized during ages of tormented history, see how many of them only got recognized after their death!” Although my mind could not argue against the thoughtful advices coming from people that cared about my future, and spoken with compassion, I also observed that all these people were not concealing a definite point of view, or a stronger argument, except that of the poor material existence of an artist.

Still Life in the kitchen - THN 1997

As an individual with passion, I decided I should take it as a challenge, I thought of the energy art is generating over me once in front of an artistic act, looking at a painting in a museum, a statue in a park, or even look at your own creations, were much fulfilling moments paying off against any other juicy stake, and therefore I carried on. I still blame that on the power art exercises over the every other human spirit, both as in the respect it generates for the ordinary individual, and the passion it thrusts in an artist’s soul itself, or he/ she goes to a spiritual state of mind of such proportions that eventually makes this world turn around and true artists continue to emerge from the unknown every other decade, or society phase.

As a nonpolitical individual, I resumed to observing, get inspired and try to create.  During the last years into the Communist system, people were complaining a lot about the censorship it had over the ones who wanted to express themselves and mostly blame that on only one man: Ceausescu. I did this too, as I wouldn’t know better.

After stronger powers of this universe decided the instauration of globalization we’ve seen an unexpected change into the borders of the free world, and so the place I call home became a free land where people got their freedom of speech but lost their sense of beauty, for as with my getting-to-age story and facing the responsibility of adulthood, the eastern world on its own, got rid of a few strict rules and with the new international crisis got to being left alone to survive by its own choices, shaped by each individual's "taste", after his own will.  Get that you reader!

http://www.youthvoice.ro/politica/campania-online-pentru-nicusor-dan-/

I don’t know if it is entirely true, but since the fall of the “oppressive system” there are rumors that our civilisation's school systems went rotten, our health system got broken, we came fresh on the free market with aids infested children, out of the east gypsies shook the old continent of Europe with their uncivilized way of life, all of the sudden, throwing away their guitars and get to living. The whole package just makes the world look like it is a God forsaken underworld, re-discovered by the western conquistadors in the late 20^th Century and once with its growing to age it infested the true civilized world. Plague moves faster then technology.

The freedom, me for one, lusted for so much, brought upon us hatred, racism, strange illnesses, hunger, suicidal tendencies, illegal drugs, and even though communism was known to be the system of the people as it is based on socialist beliefs, it seems as the democratic one gave the commoner the true freedom to bring kitsch to the state of art, both in the day to day existence and in the visual perspective of artistic expression, raising it to a high state of value. It is weird, no one thought it will turn out this way...

Out of a comparison, I tried to observe how both systems worked. And my look was: In the old system, an individual had to make a choice early in his life of what he/ she would want to become and in a sense, they ware forced by law to prepare for that and indulge: the youth could not bail school up to a certain age when work was proper, for school was obligatory and free, the different nationalities had to bare each other because they had no choice but living next to each other.  The health system could not refuse services to anyone, because it was free and without perspectives of enrichment for its employees, people could not envy each other for the difference in the riches they possessed, because everybody was supposed to be equal, so there was none of the hatred that brings people today to crime. Back east underground “manele” gypsy music was played only in closed circles, at some weddings, fairs, specific programs, so the so called cultivated music had a market and was respected worldwide. Simple citizens could not paint the façade of their own houses by their own choice, because they didn’t have to bother with that at all as the system was taking care of that. There were no drugs addicts, mothers could not have an abortion every time they pleased, but just under strict circumstances. Corrupted comrades who were performing such abortions illegally for black money were taken to jail, because the system cared about the limits of its country's popularization, and definitely none could advertise prostitution, violence, or bad taste on the open streets.

In fact all these and many other laws were not written anywhere, they were just implemented into the people’s conscience by the fear that they will break the system and be punished for it? Do you think so? The we tern world was banning more then a kiss on their silver screens.

Back East, the country jails were almost empty comparing to present days when they are forced to build more, the population was increasing and flourishing in most parts of the country, there was no such a thing as aids infected children, nor as many bums on the street, nor hookers for that matter, the violence was minimal, the gypsy had to behave, and even though there are some voices that will rise to remember me about the hunger, it is an observation that mostly were luckily and they manage. 

In fact, coming back to our sheep, arts were at their pick during that system.   That system, despite its cruel atheist surface helped reviving Constantin Brancusi into the nation’s memory, inspired Emil Cioran, inducing him all the hatred he transformed in philosophy, and got Mircea Eliade begin his quest for understanding religions, and look for lost civilisations. Onto the art scene were painters like Corneliu Baba, Ion Salisteanu, Sabin Balasa, and praised the ones before their times like Grigorescu, Tonitza and Pallady, and even those who exiled themselves for a better life like Victor Brauner were recognized and taught in schools for future generations to be proud and learn from their art.

"Girl Portrait" Corneliu Baba

A young and passionate artist had to study hard as I remember.  Art was taken seriously.  One had to begin with preparing himself and learn about universal art from a very young age. For the time one was ready to present himself in front of the examination jury at the Art Academy (as it was called at the time), he would mastered all skills of the trade and especially his spirit would have grown into the spirit of a true artist.

It had to though, because at that time, there were only a few Art Schools in the country, mostly in the largest cities, and each was opening only a limited number of entries each year; not more than 5 on each specialty; the competition was tough.

After the examination the ones that failed, had to make a choice: they either gave up, and head towards a different profession which suited them better, or continue learning, hiring themselves as apprentices under already recognized artists. The lower level were working in small work shops, painting banners, decorations, and still keep learning until the next year opening entry.  In fact there were candidates who tried to pass the art school examination for long numbers of years and failed.
For some took up to ten years, most of whom came so far gave up trying anymore, not because they got tired of trying, but even in a strict system like that, after all that time, they were finally recognized as artists for their years of study on a parallel market which was there to bring them content; the “amatory market” as it was called. It had its own galleries which in fact were more at the reach of the everyday people who needed art to decorate their places. So there you have it, a school system based on experience, for artists available for everyone. 

Summarizing all that here, I will also have to remember to answer the voices who will remind me that even though that system was so selective there were still individuals who passed the examination of the art schools resorting to acts of corruption as paying bribes to the jury or so. No one can doubt that didn’t happen, but all these subjects were later on rejected by the system and by the public itself, as they could not face the competition and later on, they would resume to the amatory market themselves in order to make a living out of their skills, and so on, only the ones that deserved being called true artists prevailed, as museums walls are yet to be decorated with fakes.

Now, the system was similar for all schools, here from: the great eastern engineers working now a days for big companies abroad, great scientists, and so on. 

It seems that there is no one to blame, we are taking the course of history, repeating it as humans tend to do and maybe this is our dark age from which light will prevail once again.

But than again, observing the human nature it seems as though man was always much creative when under control, censorship, or dictatorial systems.  Renaissance came along from under a system where inquisition was killing anyone who dared dream to be creative. Impressionism appeared when artists felt the need of expressing purity under a world ruled by hunger, and modern war, or surrealism came out of a world dominated by drug abuse. We came to a time where reality is our new religion we are in need of metaphors to find hope once again and regain our sense of beauty and lust for life.

Technology is out there as a tool for us all who want to learn it and master it. Computers are in the world of modern art as brushes were for Caravaggio, as sand paper was for Brancusi, as acrylics were for Warhol or as Technicolor was for Chester M. Franklin.  The need for money, for all of us to survive should not shackle our imagination and the true artist should continue to find ways to express himself through artistic metaphors and improve the art dictionary with new art tendencies for future generations to grow smarter and much more spiritual.

Judith Beheading Holofernes by Caravaggio

The 21^st Century artist, should look ahead, and follow the example of artist as Jan Saudek, Annie Leibovitz, David LaChapelle, Tim Burton, Tarsem, James Cameron and study composition, color, symbolism, and all the other tools in order to fulfill the people's need for story, drama and beauty, for they are success cases who followed their dream and the success they have with their work it stands as a witness for all audiences.  The sincerity of a true artist does not come from his minimal way of expression, it comes from the way he masters the sensitive; shape, color, sound, the way he sends our messages to the world and build dreams for us all.

Ask anyone who lived in communism and dreamed of freedom and they will tell you that freedom is in the colors of the rainbow.  Eventually the Picturesque is the true definition of art as after long studies, profound artists as Rothko showed us by bringing out picturesque from the deepness of his colors to the level of spiritual.

Mark Rothko

Th. Halacu-Nicon

June 23, 2011 - June 10, 2012

17 - O călătorie într-o stare de spirit - (Romanian)

Cuvânt Înainte:


Mini serialul "17-O poveste despre destin" a început ca un proiect - în căutarea metodelor ce pot ajuta un regizor să stăpânească și să modeleze expresia dramatică.  


Ideea de a realiza un proiect vandabil dar în același timp și unul ce poate ține locul planșei de schițe pentru propria-mi pregătire profesională nu este una originală. Venind din lumea artelor plastice, am învățat să mă folosesc de fiecare pânză la maximum. Nu este o noutate imaginea pictorului care trăiește la limita existenței. Situația precară a artistului autohton este generată, ca în toate celelalte domenii, de cerere și ofertă, de prețul mic al artei pe piață cât și de iregularitatea obținerii profitului. Toate acestea duc artistul plastic din România la limitarea sa și a spațiului său de lucru, precum și la scăderea productivității sale pe piață. 


Sună tare rău când un artist încearcă să formuleze astfel de fraze, știu... Acest gen de cuvinte își au rostul numai atunci când vin din gura vreunui analist politic sau politician. De aceea frazele de mai sus pot reprezenta în acest blog un prim exemplu al modului de lucru pe care mi-l propun ca regizor, începând prin a observa o tipologie, prin a-i analiza elementele ce o definesc, pentru a le putea transmite mai târziu actorului care le va interpreta.    


Acest studiu este un "job description" ce se găsește în definiția: "Regizorului". Nimeni nu neagă că primul rol al regizorului modern este să "măiestrească" actori.  Indiferent de specialitatea sa, pe platou, pe scenă sau la centrala de apă caldă din cartier, regizorul este perceput de societate ca un psiholog care mânuie bine hamurile tuturor departamentelor implicate în proiectul său, pentru ca apoi să își poată etala expresia artistică sau de cele mai multe ori comanda.


Regizorul


Regizorul modern este o reminiscență a artistului plastic din vremurile apuse. El a apărut pentru început ca o funcție administrativă în industria cinematografiei, dezvoltându-se până la nivelul de autor. Deși procesul de schimbare, definire, a regizorului a necesitat o perioadă destul de lungă pentru a fi observat;  de la inventarea cinematografiei la începutul secolului XX... până la apariția filmului independent, acesta și-a urmat destinul, dezvoltându-se odată cu societatea și schimbările sale.  


Altfel spus, regizorul și-a câștigat dreptul la părere personală în industria filmului, în timp ce civilizația noastră își găsea libertatea, sexualitatea, dreptul la alegeri și dreptul la liberă alegere. Aceasta definiție poate fi găsită în orice manual de istorie a artei, întinsă pe mai multe paragrafe explicative. Apare atunci când istoricii încearcă să definească curentele din artă (sau curentele artistice?) Tricky? (Vânturi care au modelat societăți?), modul în care acestea au apărut și ce au generat la rândul lor.   


Regizorul însărcinat la început cu bunele demersuri pe platou a câștigat teren odată cu creșterea interesului pe piață pentru produsul numit film și cu creșterea bugetelor. Odată ajuns "the man in charge" acesta a început să împartă responsabilitățile muncii sale altor asistenți dornici de promovare. Perioada aceasta coincide cu emanciparea societății ce a avut loc odată cu schimbarea de secol, industrializarea și eliberarea sclavilor. De altfel, într-o limbă foarte apropiată nouă, termenul de "régisseur" încă se mai traduce "stage manager" sau "producător". 


Atunci când regizorul s-a găsit mai liber, a început să se simtă creativ. Odată cu emanciparea regizorului s-au limitat pozițiile. A scăzut numărul locurilor de muncă în domeniu, regizorul devenise șef și șefii sunt mai puțini într-o companie. Cei ce au prins microbul și și-au dorit să continue au fost nevoiți să devină independenți.  Aici începe o eră nouă dar încă nici nu ne-am apropiat de condiția de autor.  Odată ajunși independenți, nu toți regizorii independenți au ales să se exprime artistic, majoritatea au devenit producători de film comercial pentru piața guvernată de cei ajunși moguli. Dar fără doar și poate, s-a deschis un nou domeniu de muncă pe piața privată. Mai mulți dintre cunoscuții artisti plastici ai timpului au cochetat cu cinematografia. Apropierea dintre cele două activități artistice s-a făcut în timp, mai precis odată cu apariția filmului color, unde artistul plastic își găsea sensul. Activitatea cinematografică apropiindu-se de artă, s-a molipsit, apoi filmul și-a găsit locul în societate existând de atunci pe două piețe: cea comercială și cea de autor. Atenție: Deși cuvântul "comercial" și-a asimilat în timp definiția de ieftin și prost, nu neapărat există numai sub această formă. Comercial înseamnă într-un fel: "pe gustul publicului", cerință de care și regizorul autor trebuie să țină cont, deoarece căile artistice de manipulare vizuală sunt multe și stăpânite numai de securiști bine antrenați în manipularea maselor și de cei mai îndemânatici regizori. 


Astăzi industria continuă să fie împărțită în două categorii: Filmul de Studio și Filmul de Autor. Exemple de acest gen pot fi găsite în toate cărțile dedicate studiului cinematografiei, începând de la lucrarea lui John Alton "Painting with light" până la cele ale lui David Mamet precum "On Directing" și "Directing - Film Techniques and Aesthetiscs" a lui Michael Rabiger. 


Artistul


Cum omul de afaceri își structurează un plan de business, producătorul unui film este nevoit să își pregătească un plan pentru dezvoltarea proiectului, de la concept și până la profit. Omul de afaceri pornește la drum la rândul său cu un concept, se va folosi de unelte și mașini pentru a prelucra materialul brut într-un produs finit pe care îl va transforma în profit.  Artistul urmează exact aceeași cale, singura diferență fiind "materialul" care aici se transformă în expresie artistică menită să atragă piața (audiența), dar cu același scop final: Profit. 


După un studiu de acest gen, a luat ființă compania care a produs proiectul "17", dezvoltarea proiectului ajungând într-un final să își atingă țelurile propuse, unul după altul, mai puțin ultimul: Profitul.  


Prin structura sa, planul prevedea lansarea și exploatarea proiectului până la epuizare. Din plan au făcut parte toate etapele cunoscute: documentarea vis-à-vis de piață și cerințele ei, dezvoltarea scenariului pe tipologii existente în spațiul cotidian, realizarea unui pilot dintr-un fond propriu, pentru a crește  interesul  celor în cauză (TV), realizarea proiectului în limita unui buget, promovarea proiectului la standardele unei piețe moderne, împotmolindu-se acolo unde posturile de televiziune de pe piața autohtonă au întotdeauna de câștigat, prin intimidare, obligând producătorul independent să renunțe la toate drepturile conexe ce pot genera profitul scontat.  Îmi aduce aminte puțin de monopolul lui Edison.


Văzut din perspectiva unui analist economic, sistemul de lucru al televiziunilor autohtone blochează dezvoltarea pieței pe termen lung, aducând o categorie inferioară de producători, cei ce nu necesită cheltuieli majore pentru dezvoltare, în vârful piramidei, aceștia oferind publicului produse de proastă calitate.   


Televiziunile autohtone lucrează legal pe o piață unde competiția nu există nici măcar sub formă de concept.  Și-au creat propria piață unde cantitatea ia locul calității, ceea ce după regulile internaționale de marketing, se definește ca o metodă anti-profit și generatoare de non-valori.  Drept urmare, televiziunile autohtone arată mai rău decât cele din Albania (aviz amatorilor de satelit). Televiziunile românești oripilează prin culorile etalate prost și inestetic, decorurile prost făcute, prin infestarea lor cu personaje machiate prost (unele prezentatoare arată de parcă poartă perucă), îmbrăcate prost, indecent și neadecvat   cromatic, elementele din imagine sunt puse și mai prost în valoare de lumina necontrolată pusă amatorește pe grile ce des se văd în cadru din cauza decorurilor scurte sau a alegerii nefericite a obiectivului, de către același nefericit care a pus lumina și nu cunoaște setările unei camere de luat vederi folosind-o în modul Auto. 


Din păcate, același lucru se întamplă în mai toate domeniile de business din România: supermarketurile sunt pline de produse ieftine la suprapreț și magazinele de haine vând produse din colecțiile anilor anteriori la prețul celor recente. Ofertele de pe piața locală sunt întotdeauna fie produse nevândute pe piețele occidentale, fie produse la pragul limitei expirării. Cei ce controlează piața, o sufocă cu produse de proastă calitate la prețuri mici, iar după ce reușesc să monopolizeze piața, cresc prețurile în favorul profitului.  Acest gen de dezvoltare economică contrazice regulile unei piețe moderne. Dezvoltarea unei astfel de economii se bazează pe lipsa de comunicare. Comunicarea generează informație, informația generează interes.  Interesul se definește ca o stare de spirit ce singură reușește să genereze competiție.  Și toate acestea le-am învățat de la un mogul, un domn care la rândul său s-a vrut odată artist, dar care a eșuat și a ajuns în schimb milionar.


Eu


 ...mi-am început cariera cinematografică ca regizor secund în 1992 și am avut șansa de a lucra cu echipe și regizori de pe piața internațională, mai mult sau mai puțin pregătiți.  Cu aceste proiecte am învațat modul de lucru al producătorilor mari, metodele standard de dezvoltare, programare și organizare a unui platou de filmare. Am învățat ce înseamnă un buget, ce limite are și cel mai important cum să beneficiezi de el în aportul calității, ceea ce în marketingul internațional se consideră a fi "o investiție pe termen lung".  Eu consider această experiență un Profit.  


În 2002, am primit o primă propunere de a regiza. Proiectul "Râdeți cu oameni ca noi" se dorea un "Saturday Night Live" autohton și făcea parte din ideile directorului trustului pentru care lucram.  Am încercat și mi-a ieșit, în schimb am renunțat după 6 episoade realizate cu sudori; mi-am zis că nu sunt încă pregătit și nu eram.


M-am întors la secundariat iar în 2005 am încercat din nou: Băieți Buni - o idee colectivă, alte sudori, mai multă experiență. De aici, am luat-o pe drumul regizoratului. Trustul pentru care lucram a început să pompeze spre mine toate ideile noi, în general idei de tranziție și nu din cele mai bune.  Am început să lucrez la proiecte pe care nu le-aș fi ales în viața mea, încercând să le dau un iz de proiect serios. Aceste proiecte au văzut lumina proiectorului și au adus trustului profit, am înțeles că lucram în sistemul de studio, adică la stăpân.  Aceasta este încă singura metodă de a intra în lumea filmului românesc, asta dacă nu ai vreun tată bogat sau vreo rudă care a lucrat în trecut ca proiecționist.


Am acceptat sistemul până când am realizat că am învățat tot ce puteam învăța de la el.  Apoi am decis, la fel ca pionierii cinematografiei americare de acum 80 de ani, să o iau pe un alt drum, care deși anevoios are ca țintă găsirea vocii personale în film, găsirea stilului personal, așa cum am învățat eu că trebuie să facă toți cei ce vor să se detașeze de mase și să își aducă aportul la crearea unei concurențe pentru a stabiliza piața. 


Chiar dacă pot fi luat în râs, am decis să continui lupta mea Don Quixot-iană cu morile de vânt, perfecționându-mă pe o piață privată inexistentă, cu gândul la vremuri mai bune. În altă ordine de idei, după o anumiă vârstă e greu să îți mai schimbi năravurile și, dacă nu aș fi ales acest drum, care altul ar mai fi fost liber?  Aici m-am reîntors la lumea mea: expresie, culoare, estetică, stilizare.  Așteptam acest moment cu sufletul la gură.  Eram sătul de a juca rolul corporatistului în lumea corporatiștilor. 


Mi-am spus că arta plastică este primul generator de stil din această societate.  Nici o altă formă de artă nu are tupeul să i-o ia înainte.  Ați auzit vreodată de balet modern înainte de impresionism?  Sau de sculptură abstractă înainte de... Picasso? Curentele artei plastice influențează societatea și modul ei de dezvoltare. Influențează trendul anului în modă, în arhitectură, design, dărâmă guverne și crează noi ideologii.  
Pentru prima dată în istorie o altă formă de artă a reușit să îi ia locul.  Acum toate schimbările sunt făcute prin intermediul filmului, fie el comercial, documentar, propagandist, corporatist, cooperativist... sau artistic.  Filmul s-a dezvoltat beneficiind de regulile și descoperirile făcute în toți acești ani de arta plastică. Reguli ce au devenit canoane când au demonstrat că stăpânesc forța necesară mulțumirii audiențelor, informarea acesteia și manipularea maselor. 


Ca pictor, fiecare artist semnează un fel de juramânt al lui Hipocrate, un pact în care își jură că indiferent de ce se va întâmpla cu el, indiferent de situația în care se va găsi, artistul nu va folosi aceste "tricuri" ca pe o armă împotriva semenilor săi, ci numai în ajutorul acestora.  Fenomenul, deși nu mai mult de o înțelegere între artist și constiința sa, apare în nenumărate lucrări ale creatorilor vremurilor trecute, probabil de fiecare dată când acesta a ajuns să îi fie frică de puterea pe care o deține. De obicei toți acești artiști au ales simbolismul pentru a își ascunde secretul și majoritatea lucrărilor tratează ideea semnării unui pact cu diavolul, care aici simbolizează constiința: "Phantom of the Opera" etc... De ce ar trebui crezuți acești artiști că se vor ține de cuvânt?  Pentru că "arta cere sacrificiu" și cu toții știm că replica asta nu se referă la sacrificiul financiar ci la cel spiritual.  Artistul trebuie să fie sincer pentru a putea genera artă, cealaltă cale se numește plagiat.


17 - Întotdeauna există o: prima dată


Cu "17" mi-am propus să studiez narația senzorială și metodele prin care aceasta poate fi transmisă vizual,  folosindu-mă de toate celelalte tehnici inventate la rândul lor ca unelte ale regizorului pentru a-și putea atinge un astfel de țel.  


Aș minți să spun că m-am gândit la toate acestea înainte de a realiza mini seria "17".  La acea vreme  cochetam cu câteva dintre aceste idei, cunoscut fiind faptul că îmi desfășor activitățile artistice de mai bine de 30 de ani prin pictură și fotografie,  dar nu avusesem încă șansa de a le pune în practică, în film. Mai toate întrebările pe care le-am avut pentru arta plastică își găsiseră deja răspunsul.  Acum deschideam un nou capitol: Întrebări despre cum și ce în film.


Deși menționam mai devreme că "17" nu a adus un profit, personal pot spune că mi-am atins țelul final; profitul meu constă în ceea ce am învațat din "17", din dezvoltarea unui astfel de proiect independent, din reacțiile audienței ce mi-au întărit convingerile sau mi-au demolat dubiile pe care le aveam despre cum generezi expresie, senzație, despre culoarea în imaginea mișcată, modul în care culoarea, profunzimea, efectul sonor și muzica de film influențează percepția audienței; toate elemente studiate și stăpânite de marii regizori la modă și prea puțin împărtășite de cei din domeniu publicului larg, elemente ce nu pot fi descoperite decât prin studiu.  Am folosit "17" ca pe o planșă de schițe pentru propria-mi pregătire, încercând sa închei cu un produs bine definit, artistic, comercial și în primul rând original; țeluri demne de orice artist.


2007 îl petrecusem lucrând la un scenariu de film la cererea unui producător independent.  O idee originală, scenariul "Maria și Dolly" a devenit ușor o poveste de care m-am atașat enorm.  "Maria și Dolly" este povestea unei fetițe de 7 ani ce se pierde în subsolurile Bucureștiului și își întâlnește moartea. Experiența unică îi schimbă destinul. Este un film ce ilustrează o asfel de experiență direct din perspectiva copilului, folosindu-se de metaforă și simbolistică pentru a nara inocența, copilaria, dragostea părintească și pozitivizmul infantil generat de toate aceste stări și definește într-un final speranța. Maria și Dolly este drama reală traită de copiii secolului XXI într-o societate putredă, schițată cu ajutorul unor elemente fantastice demne de o minte inocentă ca aceea a unui copil ce nu s-a întâlnit încă cu greutățile vieții. 

Pe lista mea de casting a apărut Mugur Mihăescu, actor "menit" (în concordanță cu fantasmele imaginației mele) să joace un rol foarte controversat din film: "Regele Șobolan".

Cred că la rândul său a fost atins de forța dramatică emanată de acel scenariu, ceea ce l-a făcut să gândească mai departe. La un moment dat, finanțarea pentru filmul meu de lung metraj a căzut. E greu să pui un proiect independent de 1,5 milioane euro pe picioare în România. Mai greu decât își poate închipui orice producător occidental pentru care această sumă reprezintă cifrele unui buget pentru filmele de clasă B.  Mugur a fost inspirat de povestea mea și a creat "17".  În ciuda celor ce încercam să îi împărtășesc, a reacționat ca un român de bine și s-a aruncat cu capul înainte, semnând un contract ce avea să îngroape încă un produs de succes și să nu se aleagă nici măcar cu un profit. 

Așa a început "17" pentru care, la început m-am angajat doar ca supervizor al poveștii, dar pe care într-un final am ajuns să îl îmbrățișez ca fiind o stare de spirit, pentru că a devenit al meu în aceiași măsură în care era și al lui Mugur.  Ajungând să îl scriu cu Mugur, să îl regizez, să îl filmez, să îi gândesc decorurile, să îl produc și să îl montez - așadar, "17" a devenit un proiect personal sau cum altora le place să numească un astfel proiect: Un Proiect de Autor.

17 - A Tale about Destiny - Trailer

A Trip to Vienna 2 - (English)

Chapter II

(08/10/2010)

We checked in, the EuroStars Embassy Hotel. Booked in advance, 0.5 Km away from the location of the hospital where my Aunt was suppose to come to get cut. Four stars and well reviewed on the net. Lucky, we checked in before going to the doctor as we were set to. After a phone call to our link to the famous Viennese Private Clinic we found out that that was not it, and that was just the hospital he was working in as a Anesthesia Doctor, during the mornings. We also found out he spends the rest of the day in another Clinic which was truly private, but located on the other side of the town, and that was where we had to come later in the day, 6 hours after our flight landed, for my Aunt physicals. The whole story came down on me like an avalanche. I felt stupid and I guessed I played that way for the rest of the trip. You see: My plan was ruined, and it didn’t stop there, destiny continued to tear down my plans one after another till the end of the trip. Maybe I should’ve consulted my horoscope before and guide myself from it; I would’ve definitely had a much more organized and cheap trip.

I think is the money’s fault; you see whenever I see money I tend to change and act stupid. I guess every one of us does that to a certain level; I’ve seen it happening around me, and you gotta take my word: For the last 40 years I lived in all environments, beginning with super poor to filthy rich and back to misery a few times and I think the circle did not close yet.

That’s where from the attitude and the wardrobe, which didn’t help much during this trip either. The first impression is that Vienna is a large town. As you drive in, through the complex archipelagoes of motorways and tunnels that brings one from a distant world into the core of the city, you pass by the huge OMV refinery, mostly ugly, industrial, shiny, mechanical… as a prosthetic heart of the city, left aside to pump blood in the what was once the capital of the Hungarian – Austrian Empire.

As you drive in, the city’s slums disappear under the highway and you end up right in the city’s core,  Central Vienna, that blows you away at a first look. I say "at a first look" because if you live next to it for an entire week it kind of shows you the other faces of it. It is all like the first EuroStar Hotel we checked in. My girl who came later described it perfectly for a native Romanian who shares our age range: “It looks like Ceausescu never died to them.” I know is somehow complicated for the English reader, but the definition of this is based on long feeling that my generation had that Ceausescu will never die. Somehow my generation understood that subtle phrase, and still know that even though the glamour is there, the shiny cupolas, the Famous Brands streets, the Kartner Strasse, the bumbles streets, the old vehicles driving down the center, the poorly dressed people, the roughly Mozart boys selling opera tickets in front of the famous edifice, the huge Imperial palace that gets nowadays a clean out, back to a sweet tone of ochre from a very dark black, that one wonders how many centuries nobody bothered to clean it… And further on, the other side and over the Rosensteing towards the factory that makes the most famous Austrian beer; Ottakringen, in an immigrant inhabited neighborhood, where laws of parking do not apply, where at the entering corner, eastern European hookers display in the window of the Pussycat Piano Bar just like the ones in Amsterdam, where coffeehouses are places where no native Austrian would dare to adventure himself; opposite which I got us a room, the other day into a second Eurostars Hotel called Eurostars Vienna and solved the internet restrictions for hotels to pay back an internet reservation in desperate causes. Got another room in the right area at a hotel... under the same reservation...

The first night we spent at the Embassy, I got hooked to the net. Not wireless how it was presented in the Internet ad on booking.com, but by cable. We arrived at the hotel and as I checked in I presented myself, and my Aunt as being Mother and Son, for skipping the misunderstandings, and with the same family name that thing was easy. I told the nice receptionist, that we are here for her operation and they checked us in, in room 666.

I am not a superstitious guy, but I didn’t see that as a very comfortable door to open. Although still holding my insides with one hand and pulling on the luggage with the other, we went in. The room was exactly like in the picture, but uglier: Again one of those looks: “Like Ceausescu didn’t died yet.”

I found out later, or so I think I did, that this was a Spanish own business that we just happened to burst into. The first night at the Embassy, I only spotted a couple of Asians, perhaps as lost as I was. We went down to the restaurant, not hungry, mostly because my Aunt had to take some pills which required that her stomach has some food in it. In the absolute cold pop environment we were presented the menu: Sandwich, Shnitzel, and gulash soup. I had the sandwich, my Aunt the Shnitzel, both plastic frozen and reheated dishes on a bill of a four stars hotel. Next morning for breakfast we've seen all kinds of tourists and especially Spaniards. We had a poor breakfast, as especially made for those who are suppose to get caught in the trap, and right on, I stand up to put my next plan in motion. I was ready. I went to the receptionist counter and told the story of my operatible “mother” once again. The lady understood every word of it and even felt for it. With truly sorry eyes she told me that if I leave the hotel they will have to charge me for the whole 7 days of booking, with no refund. Later, my girl, who has hotel experience, told me that they are supposed to do that because I mixed up their plans and they could’ve give the room to some one else and not lose the money. That was a moment I felt stupid again and later I tend now to believe that most of the people live in that state and it doesn’t hurt.

Ok, I understood to charge you for the first night, if you didn’t show up, but next day you rent the hell out of the bloody room, the first time you get a chance. My response to that was: Did they get themselves into the church business? Shouldn’t they take a risk like every one of us living in this world and trying to run businesses? Well it seems they don’t take any risk, none of them, not even the taxi drivers who display all over their expensive leather seats, yellow stickers announcing the passenger that if driven to the airport the costumer has to pay an extra 12 Euros for the Taxi fair back. Don’t get me wrong, my girl was not happy with the Austrian traditions either, we were just observing together.

Money run out fast in Vienna, faster than I experienced anywhere else in Europe, and despite their poorly, cold, communist look, where everything is in its place but not quite, the place is more expensive than London, Paris or any other big capital of the old continent.

Armed, as I am always in this situations, I came up with the back up plan: The EuroStars Corporation has another hotel, bearing the same name on Ottakringer Strasse, a district much closer to the clinic I had to take my Aunt in for her operation. (All researched by myself on the Internet, the night before in the room 666, where the wireless signal didn’t reach.)

She said yes, and we got ourselves a taxi and drove to the other side of the town to the new location. Vienna is big, but not so big, and the taxi fairs will kill you. Even though we moved closer to the clinic the bill was not much lower, almost insignificant, but the idea that I moved out of room 666, made me dig in all of it.

A Trip to Vienna 1 - (English)

Chapter I

(05/10/2010)

I just came off a plane from Vienna from a quick run, planed as hell, with the knowledge of a guy who discovers a new territory. The proclaimed territory wasn’t Austria, or Vienna what so ever, was Neurosurgery, the reason I traveled and knew not much about the situation I was about to go fencing for the next week. About a year ago on a trip back from Mexico, my Aunt, the only living blood relative I have left from my mother's side of the family got her back frozen instantly and thought it was a cold or something she caught from the change of temperature while traveling across the continents. She came back home and by some doctors advice she began physiotherapy, working out the soaring muscles. For the following months she got worst and worst and heard lots of stories about what that could be, until she finally found out it was a double hernia on the back disks at the base of her spine.

I for one, told her to take action every other time we spoke on the phone, and finally she decided to take it one year later when the thing got to her so far, as to unable her to step on her left foot which felt as an electricity conductor, under a triceps muscle who fought hard for holding her uncontrolled weight from the right foot which was beginning to crack as well. In fact her right leg lost control too a few times in what was to be her last week of severe suffering, and convinced her it is time to get under the knife.

On the 26th of September, last month I got the call I was waiting for the last year, and promised myself, once it came I should not ignore it, no matter what other business plans are waiting me. On the opposite, I “Mobilize” myself and jumped into action as an action hero. "Mobilize" as understood here out of the Romanian meaning it had as I grew up: "In times of war the Romanian tropes were mobilized by the order of who ever commanded them, first the Germans then the Allies, and that was the term young soldiers’ mom’s, sister’s remembered it was called, when they were packed up and sent to open each battle as the first line of raw meat. Well, as a much simpler definition the term stoke to the Romanian vocabulary as “come back to reality and give yourself into the action”, and my bread use it when someone close to you needs your help, and you are not suppose to think back for a second, even if the power that is needed, overwhelms you.

Back in my family we were all like that, as the attitude is based on an old lesson of my grandma' who once tried to put the bases of a new family she was trying to create, after loosing most of heir’s in the war; 9 brothers on the first line, then a broken hearted father and a overwhelmed mother who left the knots loose, at the instauration of the communist nationalization, not far after the strike of the 23rd economical crisis.

On the 28th of September I was booked to fly off to Vienna with my Aunt and get her to a private hospital, operated, recovered as good as jumping back in the plane for the trip home and back to Romania in 7 days, today.

The trip reached its purpose, as my Aunty is well back on her feet, but nevertheless left a strong impression in my mind with its atmosphere, adventures and blank ending; with me sitting and writing about it at 5 AM, when the film of it still rolls in my mind, making me not sure if I am home in reality or my spirit is still there.

I realized I learned many things in my life, from hard experiences, angels who come my way to help and a little study on psychology that I picked up doing my later years of film directing. Perhaps the need to tell this story comes from the same place; the love for adventure set in a different environment from the one I am used with every other day. Much like a film itself.

Therefore I think this chapter can begin with receiving both my uncle and my aunt the night before we had to fly away. What followed was a serious lesson of patience and self control, for I am a man who knows what my powers are, next to considering the hernia I got on my belly from a former story some years back; So I got served with the Aunt I haven’t seen to be as worst as the hardest pains began a week after I visited her last in my hometown, Constanta.

As we settled on our way to the restaurant down the back alley, over of the parking lot in front of my block we stopped several times and walk the 100 meters in about 30 minutes: My Aunt trying as hard as she could to keep up her smiles, and sounds of lion yowling coming out of her twisted face each time she stepped further. I thought he future looked bright with handling her away to Vienna, and driving was out of my mind right away, as I knew she couldn’t bare the ride and a night stop with that thing eating out of her spine.

Next day in the morning we took the plane and got there quickly, Vienna is not far off Romania. Once you cross Budapest you are already there. The first interesting scene happened as we got to The Vienna International. The airport there is weird, old and very badly managed. It reminds me a lot of "Baneasa Airport" in Bucharest, a small halt mostly for internal flights, of course at a different scale. We came right out of the terminal and walk, our walk, towards the check out like everyone else, when a young Austrian wearing an orange jacket with the word “Services” on his back; a kid of about 20 years of age, with the look in his eyes as coming from a long bread of airport workers, encountered us with a question, making sure my Aunt was not faking the walk.

He asked if we need a wheelchair and we said: Yes! I froze still for 3 minutes as he went off to get the chair, balancing on my arms: My Aunt, My Camera bag, My Laptop bag and a plastic bag containing my Aunt’s radiographies from the doctors back in Constanta. He came quickly and sat her down. He disappeared for another minute asking permission in the same time as bumbling some harsh German in his walkie-talkie, dialogize with someone else from the Airport’s premises, and once back, he pushed the chair with the sick lady up to a counter where we had to wait for another 20 minutes to ask permission to use the chair.

The girl at the counter was good enough to mark the event on her computer screen and I was sent with the chair into the elevator where the young Austrian excused himself for leaving me alone, for he had to attend other important business on the arriving floor. I found my way on the complicated alleys, got my Aunt through the disabled people check-in booth and sat on to look for the luggage. Time did passed and all this little adventure to the pick up baggage rolling band got us more than a half of an hour as I had to guess after laying my eyes on the empty room. The spinner drove soundless with three lonely bags that quickly caught the eye of the security guys who announced that they are ready to pick up unattended luggage for security reasons. Me, action! Kept pushing on the wheels of the crying wolf, who got pains now even sitting on the chair, with my other eye looking for a trolley and trying to move the bags a little so they see is not unattended.

I wore a classic jacket, well cut as a short military trench with double rows of buttons, shiny strong booths and a cap to protect the brain from the weather change I knew I’ll have to go thru after checking the internet the day before. I guess as seen on a wide lens I looked like one of the Marx Brothers running from the chair to the spinner and back to the exchange office to ask for 50 eurocents coins so I could unlock one of the airport’s trolleys, that I already knew I wont be bringing back to claim the cents. The image was almost black and white, as airport lighting is best set to light the metal walls and the advertising panels bringing people to simple spots of contrast on the cold surface of the shot. I guess it looked funny. It was much funnier once I gathered the luggage and came close to my suffering Aunt and asked her to stand up and try to walk the rest of the way out to the taxi cabs on the street. All this because it was impossible for me to push a trolley with bags at the same time as I would push her chair. She understood and “Mobilized” herself out of the chair, got her weight into her cain, to the street and into the back seat of the first Airport Taxi Cab in line, while I brought in the bags. The ride in the cab was smooth, as the car was one of the latest models, an E Class Mercedes, and as I got a break, I thought: How good is to know to do that when ever necessary, not blaming no one, and on the path of reaching your final goal.

THE 40th BIRTHDAY 3 - (English)

Chapter 3: Great London


Morning was as usual in London. Some might think it’s moisture or foggy. No way Jose! I haven’t had better winters than the London ones ever in my life. And people here are very worry: if there is a centimeter of snow they immediately close that main airport; Maybe they know what they know?!

The sunshines followed us out to the Holland Park and where the English dig every other week: to change the grass, or the paddles… or just for the sake of having a beautiful city: That’s where every other mid-afternoon, Miruna takes her crap; Lately big piles of shit resembling human excrements. She’s eating a lot: actually at her 10 years old she’s eating as much as you give her, and we are trying to keep her alive for more, but we love her like our own sibling.

Well the day suddenly turned up side down as a disco night in the 80’s; as you were a rocker and end up in that joint; hate the music, but love the booze: then end up dancing Latino: La vida loca, etc… with a blonde cheek, who ever was she? That dance would stay on for months in your mind, actually, as long as the summer lasted… then back to black and white.

Holland Park was as we know it… a back alley that takes you to a summer theatre which is open only in the summers. That’s where Miruna takes her crap. We provide plastic bags ‘cause the fine is 500 pounds for those who let their dog crap on the street and don’t clean after.

17th of February, but the light was warm… we felt so good that we decided to take the dog back home and set for a longer walk. Miruna liked mid-day walks as well, but because she got blind and old… she takes her walks shorter these days.

High Street Kensington was full of people; like any other day actually. We walk fast to the bank to see if we could’ve afforded my special day. We could. Although in the middle of the world economic crisis, we could manage that for ourselves. And that was our best decision: By ourselves. Well, at least that afternoon.

Kensington can offer much of anything. Anybody who lived in London knows that. There might be Portobello for tourists, Piccadilly and lot’s of malls, but…. Kensington High Street offers all without you needing to get anywhere farther…

If going anywhere else in London, and then come back to Kensington… your heart slows down. For us, because we are home, for any other, because it is the most secure place in London; so secure in fact, that sometimes might even scare you. It is a wonderful red brick world peppered with a few brits left overs and lots of better-paid emigrants amongst whom cops with machine guns to their chests keep mingle in. Wonderful democracy. We like it there, because is secured. And if you keep blank, don't bother anyone and look at the terraces… one could go a long way if one could afford it.

Sad, isn’t it… Well!

To be Continued…

THE 40th BIRTHDAY 2 - (English)

Chapter 2: The hurly-durdy mind of a early morning man.

She loves waking up next to me. She doesn’t take the dog’s pee as for a dog’s pee. She looks straight into my eyes and I get the whole holiday thing.

I lay there imagining Me driving like nuts on the German Highway and my girl next to me, reading some cheap magazine and sending me the idea that she is not scared: Actually she’s not, although I like thinking that she might be… She’s done that road thousand of times before me and for as many times as I mentioned, with me. Well the music was different, but then so was she.

I was different too, if that’s the matter: I was there, where: calling “gorgeous” any girl I would meet on; My friends girlfriends, my cousins… just to make them feel good, after all, what did it matter? I didn't know what gorgeous means, and I thought: If they had a heart, it could’ve been sweetened or broken. I was best, all my life at doing that. Breaking hearts was my thing: I would break every women heart as long as I was not finding my happiness. Where did that thing I knew nothing about stood in my conscience? Don’t ask me!

Got to be a dreamer, all my life. Once again, don’t ask me if that's okay! I have no clue about it either! Got to put on dreams like… business, commercial and lots of moneymaking mixed with art deals.

Actually that’s all I tried to do all my life: See how you can cheat the money guys to put some art into it: Got my dream going… got my story out. What do I want from what I do? God knows…. Great projects?! Chopin’s works heard by Van Gogh? Like, what If…. real fantasy is made of…. dreams...(It works, there, where time does not count).

We got dressed up nicely, as for a special day. Not much more than what we are wearing every other day, but… nicely.

I did that because I decided as for lunch I was to take my girl out on this special day. Narcisa did it for she was, now in her every day glamour, but she felt she needed to take it a notch up and mark it down with a nice pair of flowerly - knocks-on’s: The nylon one’s we men hate when first meeting a day on a evening date: That cheer up our day… just by walking out of the house: They were flowerly.

And THERE - our day properly began.

To be Continued….  That's a nice sound for it!