“Urlatoarea” Waterfall (“The Howler”) in Bucegi mountains. The fine-tipped marker gives a type of line I am very fond of. Apparently, I found the big boulder on which people climb to make photos more interesting than the waterfall itself, which is less of a view than the Romanian Ministry of Tourism’s clumsily put together nation branding site would like you to think it is. “One of the most spectacular” my ass! But now, through the peculiarities of capitalism, you can buy a bottle of coke right there. The merchant camping there has brought even a branded umbrella. Now there are two things you can find anywhere. Coca-Cola. And garbage. I thought the mountains were the place to go when you want to get away from it all. Coca Cola. And garbage.
Ciolanu Monastery. Somewhere near the… Mud Volcanoes. My friends kept saying “hurry up!” and now look at those poor fir trees! Left as mere outlines, half-born in front of the building.
There’s some words I wrote on the page: “Cars come and go. There’s no visiting fee. Many black dogs. When we leave, two busses full of kids will come. A mob of black dogs pin down a white one. I regret not taking a picture of the scene. Makes me think of racism”
From other notes related to the image itself, you find out that the sky is gray and cloudy, the monastery roof is red and pink and gray, the tower wall is gray, and the vegetation is dark green.
I have no idea where this is (exactly) from. The same trip to the Mud Volcanoes. Enjoy the volkswagen and the utility pole. The rest is conveyed through convenient single words. Or mere letters. The sign is red. The volkswagen is a grey-green Golf model. The person near the car is dressed in black. The other person (a girl) climbed on top of some heavy (gray) concrete border on the edge of the road. Behind the concrete border there are yellow-brown bushes, and behind those, a valley dissolves into mist. Electrical wires on top. The road keeps climbing on the right side. As we look farther away, there are nondescript buildings, and a lake between some big hills. Everything is enveloped in mist this cold autumn day (in case those long coats, the brown bushes and the mist didn’t gave it away already). All that in a sketchy drawing which pushes you to reconstruct the whole image yourself. Much like a haiku. And that’s what I like about it.
Could look great if I would add some color. Or should I?
Bitter-sweet poetry. There’s nothing special about IOR Park in Bucharest, nor about that tree and the island it grew on, or about that person who drown right where the cross is. A sad grey wall of communist apartment flats surrounds this large park on all sides. Yet… I feel at peace. There’s nothing special about this drawing either. Yet… I’m quite fond of it.
Near Mogosoaia Palace there’s a lake where on a small island this big impressive leafless tree caught my eye. It’s summer, and that means the tree is actually dry. Dead. Only trees can have such impressive corpses. I think I should stop now. This is getting weird.