În cautarea unui limbaj…
They say that at the heart of every artwork there has to be a conflict, an opposition between two forces…
I had a happy childhood, maybe too happy. I learned to dream… I was raised near to nature and for every child this is magical. I lived next door to a cemetery, but it was nothing nightmarish about it. It was filled with trees and I loved spending time there. It fascinated me – it was almost like an ancient jungle with many secrets. Every grave had its own story and it seemed like the trees were rooted into these stories rather than in the earth. The only thing missing was water…
There was a river there, but it was dry most of the time – my father used to tell me stories about a place where there used to be a lake where he had learned to swim as a boy, but that too ran dry.
With time, all these thing grew small, in fact, so small that they disappeared. Most of the trees were chopped down, and those that remained… well, they just ran dry.
I also remember of a small place in the back of the garden where in late spring grew strawberries. It was a delight, not that I was crazy about them, but all the other fruit were in abundance except for these strawberries. It’s like they grew from a magic bush… In time, they stopped growing. They too… ran dry.
They say about relationships that, some times, well… they run dry. Earth remains the same, but water just comes and goes – like tears.
I didn’t cry much as a child and if I look back, I could probably recall every single time I let my tears go… See, they also say that you never truly appreciate what you have until you lose it and I find that this is most true of tears…












