Dear readers, you have in front of your eyes a book about love. The love that strikes you when you least expect it, the love that engulfs and thrills a person not used with living as a couple, a woman who considers men „poor beings, with a brain lost somewhere down their pants
wandering Bedouins in the lands of the god Eros”. The love that erupts in the most dull and indifferent states, converting a world at peace used to the uselessness of time in an unexpected and unreal fulfillment; an escape that takes us out of the strict reality, and throws us straight into mystery. The main character, Maria Bart, lives a plain life without sudden changes or great expectations, used to wake up at noon, dress in style, not opening up her soul to anyone, an anti-romantic by definition – no weeping tears and no rose-petals, shells, pebbles or twinkling stars sprinkled on the usual roads of life, without self-deceiving in front of „the type of well-tanned, muscular male.” Maria Bart is an artist, one of those who do not seek immediate glory, nor the hurried and superficial ovations of the press and the public but is patient with her talent; one who can find her place within culture elites without coarse insistence, like the grass piercing through the asphalt, puny and majestic: „I despise the beaten paths, recipes, the canons of the ordinary crowd. I do not adjust to the world. I have my own.” She is a photographer with remarkable results in college and Master, graduate with doctoral studies at the University of the Arts in London. Maria Bart focuses on black and white photographs, especially those who capture the rain, benevolent rain, the rain that cleanses and rinses, paradoxically, a chiaroscuro you are tempted to look and assimilate. This woman who had not met „someone who is able to change the usual key board of inner states will fall in love, a love that looks like this: „I hung up the phone with my heart like a fountain of clear water, no, as a meadow filled with flowers. I had found myself in a new look, which had less and less of my old, withered content. I was smiling, with my eyes, with my body, with every gesture made without premeditation, like a child who rejoices that his desired dream has come true. I was living in a state that made me to hug trees, butterflies, and the evening wind. I was
alive at last.” – Ovidiu Simonca
Aveti in fata ochilor, dragi cititori, o carte despre dragoste. Dragostea care te loveste cand te astepti mai putin, dragostea care vine si tresalta peste o persoana neobisnuita cu traiul in doi, o femeie care ii considera pe barbati „sarmane fiinte, cu creierul pierdut undeva printre cracii pantalonilor”, „beduini ratacitori ai tinutului zeului Eros”. Dragostea care irumpe in cele mai plicticoase si indiferente stari, convertind o lume multumita cu zadarnicia zilelor intr-o implinire neasteptata, ireala, o evadare care ne scoate din realitatea stricta aruncandu-ne in mister.
Eroina principala, Maria Bart, isi traieste viata fara schimbari bruste, fara mari asteptari, obisnuita sa se trezeasca la pranz, sa umble eleganta, sa nu-si daruiasca sufletul nimanui, o antiromantica – fara gesturi lacrimogene, fara petale de trandafir, scoici, pietricele sau stelute stralucitoare presarate pe drumurile obisnuite ale vietii, fara sa se autoamageasca „in fata tipului de mascul bine bronzat, musculos”. Maria Bart este o artista, una dintre acele artiste care nu cauta gloria imediata si nici ovatiile grabite si superficiale ale presei si ale publicului, ci este rabdatoare cu talentul sau, care isi poate face loc, fara insistente grobiene, in zona selecta a culturii, asemenea firelor de iarba ce strapung asfaltul, firav si maiestuos: „Dispretuiesc potecile batatorite, retetele, canoanele multimii obisnuite. Nu ma conforomez lumii. Am o lume a mea”.
Este artista fotograf, cu rezultate remarcabile la facultate si la master, absolventa cu studii doctorale la University of the Arts London. Maria Bart face fotografii alb-negru, mai ales cele care surprind ploaia, ploaie-binefacatoare, ploaia ce curata, ploaia care limpezeste, paradoxal, un clarobscur tentant sa-l privesti si sa-l asimilezi.
Peste aceasta femeie, care nu intalnise „pe cineva capabil sa-mi schimbe pe nesimtite claviatura obisnuita a starilor interioare”, va veni indragostirea, indragostire care arata asa: „Am inchis telefonul avand inima cat un havuz cu apa cristalina, ba nu, cat o poiana cu flori. Ma descoperisem sub o infatisare noua, care avea tot mai putin din vechiul meu continut ofilit. Zambeam, cu ochii, cu trupul, cu fie-care gest facut ra’ra premeditare, ca un copil care se bucura ca i s-a implinit visul dorit. Traiam o stare ce ma facea sa imbratisez copacii, fluturii, adierea vantului de seara. Eram… vie! in sfarsit”. – Ovidiu Simonca
