Enough years ago, I carried with me my "photo jar" - Zenit, the classic East European photo camera - in the Danube Delta. I remember myself shooting carefully, the film was expensive at that time. Not being a fisher I had enough time to wait for the proper light. A few weeks ago I found the film slide scans. Looking at them now, after years of digital photo, I have realized the quiet tonality of the analogical photo. Old Zenit, I salute your gntle colors!
Contemplating a flock strewn on a hillside arouses the archetypal shepherd within us. Shepherd’s life is one of the Romanian intellectual’s Nirvana. I've heard leaders, teachers, engineers, doctors and academicians dreaming for it (no one left his job). I, personally, feel cleared by its simplicity and communion with the nature. Try it too, if you feel stressed. And if it still doesn’t work, count the sheep. And please tell me how many did you count before falling asleep. You can count the goats and the dogs too.
Happy counting!
At dawn, when the stag roars for the dear and the tiger chews the dear, a man has to do what a man has to do.
"Man is the measure of all things" said Protagoras. Indeed, he was right!
St. Paraskeva is the most venerated saint in Moldavia. Yearly, on the 14th of October, thousands of believers come to pray and pay homage to her relics. But first, they have to wait almost a one day long their turn, in a few miles long line. This rigor of waiting enhances the believer’s spirituality. Loosing himself in the long line, he cuts his links with daily rhythms. Little by little, he retreats in introspection, maybe he prays, gradually falling in sleepiness. Suddenly, a noise, a passing seller, or the line advancing a few steps, wakes him up. He shivers chats a little with his co-liners, look at his watch and gradually close himself again. His face, cleared from expressing the passing emotions, gains the mineral immobility of deep feelings.
Iasi, October. 2009
Photo's location on the map
Being the last visitor, I climb the minaret’s stairs by three steps at once. Up, the sun’s light is almost dazzling. I need a few minutes to adapt my eyes after the dark and narrow staircase. The red sun is still warm here, but, down there, the city is covering in shadow. I can understand, now, why muezzins feel so close to heaven. Well, being sunset, it’s time to hear his voice. I can remember this voice spreading over the city. Long time ago, in my childhood, my parents, coming to the seaside, used to stay at a Muslim in a small apartment nearby, above a restaurant, called “Pescarus – The Seagull”. In the evenings we used to get out in the bazaar: smoke, smells of grill, kebab, and anchovy and sand-coffee. And crowds, a lot of crowds.
I easy find the building entrance, but the restaurant has disappeared. Next, two fast-foods, side by side, remembers me that I’m in a tourist's city. But no smells, the exhaust is doing a good job. Too good, perhaps. And no bazaar, like it has never been there. Modern luxury cafes claim a decade tradition, but there is sand-coffee there. And no more crowds too. Near the Mall is deserted. Only tree attendances have a smoke break, and a lost grandfather is searching for the bus stop. Somewhere in the night I can hear the voices of some playing children. But, no muezzin’s voice.
Constanza, August, 2009
Mount Jidovina is near Ocoliş village. It is, for the time being, because it's going to be transformed in a stone pit. More you can find out here.
