Zile bolognese (2)


So, we were in Osteria dell'Orsa last night.

People started to entangle their smiles and worries. To socialize.
The full of herbs crustini is mine. I tried something different.
I can't say that I got used to the city. It's too early to say that. After all it's been just a week. I still loose my way now and then cause the city might have served to Calvino's novel of Invisible cities. Everything is symmetrical and so alike that one cannot but get confuse. The yellow and dark wine red walls are part of an old city, part of an old world that lives palimpsestical together with the new one. Crowded streets full of students, huge doors and thousands of arcs cast their shadows upon the corridors of the forgotten steps.
Tomorrow I will start my Italian course. The frustration of not being able to properly communicate with the people will dissapera bit by bit.
Alora, ci vediamo presto!

Zile bolognese (1)

Sunt în a treia zi de la săvârşirea minunii. A treia zi de Bologna.

Până acum, venirea aici a reprezentat o problemă de responsabilitate: a hăladui prin oraşul labirintic cu o hartă în mână şi a descoperi unde vrei să ajungi, a găsi ce să faci cu timpul berechet aflat la dispoziţie şi mai ales a înţelege că e vremea lecturii nu ca vacanţă, ci ca bataie de ceas suprapusă bătăii de inimă.

La început a fost lipsa cuvântului. Oamenii tac, dar nu fiindcă ar fi morocănoşi, ci pentru ca amestecul neamurilor se face ca într-un creuzet, exploziv şi lent în egală măsură. Intri în vorbă cu străinii care fără excepţie te vor întreba de îndată ce apuci să-ţi tragi răsuflarea ce vânt te aduce pe melegurile acestea şi de unde vii, întocmai ca-ntr-o poveste. E obsesia asta a ţării ce te poartă, iar în cazul meu, din cunoscute pricini mediatice, ea se însoţeşte cu o sfiiciune neîmblâzită. Apoi plimbările lungi de recunoaştere în haita tânără abia formată, alături de alţi studenţi Erasmus. De stabilire cu precizie a locurilor ieftine cu mâncare, a sălilor de lectură, a scurtăturilor spre casă.

Azi am fost în Salaborsa. Oamenii dormeau cu cărţile în mână, lăfăindu-se în fotolii sau umblau tăcuţi printre şirurile interminabile de rafturi. Borges, bietul, s-ar fi simţit ca acasă.

Târziu, ostenită de umblet m-am întors acasă. Grădina are fazani şi iepuri şi pare aproape edenică, dar cladirea în sine, deşi are farmecul unui vechi teatru e la fel de silenţioasă ca un santoriu de recreere.

4 months in Bologna


Mai e o saptamana pana plec.
Inainte drumurilor am o stare de neliniste, un fel de asteptare voioasa si neastamparata. De data asta nu e deloc asa. Mi-e frica, un fel de frica pe care n-o pot explica, frica unui catelus care se gaseste pe un postament prea inalt si care-i retine saltul. E o calatorie cu o suma prea mare de aproximatii si de necunoscute. E o perioada dedicata studiului, dar si unei cautari interioare. Presupun ca in 4 luni imi voi lamuri o parte dintre dileme, deSi multe dintre raspunsuri le intuiesc.
Cele mai multe batai de cap le-am avut si inca le am inainte de a ajunge acolo. Birocratia si o nesfarsita mare de hartii care ma sufoca. Legi inumane, interpretabile, care-mi vor lasa vara fara sursa de venit deoarece inspectoratul scolar considera ca prefectionarea continuua se plateste doar spiritual. Oameni care ma saluta cu falcile inclestate, dar si prieteni dragi pe care i-am neglijat mult in ultima perioada in incercarea de a chivernisi, ocolind iesirile in oras. Desigur, nu m-as fi gandit inainte ca a-ti vedea prietenii inseamna sa ai sufletul deschis dar si buzunarele nefluturande.
Ii voi vedea pe A. , D. si B. odata ajunsa acolo.
Ma voi simti oare straina in mijlocul lor?

Poate ar trebuie sa ma gandesc mai degraba la gradina vilei asa cum o descria Cristina: cu iepuri, fazani si flori mirositoare in seri nesfarsite.

Ce va fi?

The sea made of paper






the waves of the sea made of paper...
*


To me words are dancing images,enticing forms of only for a second visible universe, never the same once you try to grab it again, reflecting mirrors, memories, distant sounds of a inner tune.
I wrote about one fo my favourite scenes of a movie a while back here and it is maybe the most clear vision someone had on them.

I love books. Their smell. Their covers.The feeling that the world stops right then like a magical elevator about to take you according to your command to the 11th floor up or down in a parallel universe.

This post is about some cover books that I love. Only about some of them. Crumbles to get me back home, to my labyrinth, to the " jardin de senderos que se bifurcan" (B.)

wardrobe diary

I am not that type of person that needs more than 10 to 20 minutes to get dressed and go somewhere. The number of minutes varies according to the place and people I am about to meet. A regular walk in the city does not equal a wedding, obviously.

I am not that type of person that likes to spend her time shopping cause shops make me dizzy and give me the impression that I am invaded by labels/tags and too many textures and patterns of the same kind. It's monotonous in a colourful way, which is paradoxical.
I have some favourite clothes which became my favs for colours, degree of comfort or becasue I bought them in a special day or in a special place.I think the same happens with everybody.
I have fix ideas about what suits me and I prefer simple clothes with just a bit of unique twist somewhere. I add scarves, beans, earrings,headpins, sometime a bracelet to my outfit and it is enough. Love combinations of green and red, grey and pink, violet and green, brown and orange, white and blue or black.I don't really like high heel shoes cause I walk a lot and stand for 5-6 hours per days which is extremely tiring.
I think I am not innovative enoughwhen it comes to clothes and maybe a bit too traditional and simple and sure of my comfort zone. It could be because of my serious job or simply because I am afraid of change. I don't know.
But I love to see shows in which people are transformed and I immediately notice what the others should wear to properly show their figure. I think when it comes to us it is always more complicated.

The link above and the picture belongs to
a woman who gave me the impression that the whole ceremony of dressing up is a simple play, a fun one and I simply loved her set in front of the yellow wall. She combines things, re-uses them and shows how we can communicate our mood and our concepts through what we choose to wear. Maybe that what she teaches us is that there is no receipe for looking good and no matter how many clothes or shoes you buy it won;t be enough unless you get to see them like pieces of a daily puzzle of expressive features, instruments and not a purpose in itself.

Blog Widget by LinkWithin