ALEXANDRU PAUL AN EXHIBITION Words by Florin Cojocariu Translation by Corin Toporaş
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Editura LiterNet, 2004
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AN EXHIBITION Photos ©2004 Alexandru Paul Words : © 2004 Florin Cojocariu.
Translation © 2004 Corin Toporaş All rights reserved to the authors.
Editors:
Răzvan Penescu rpenescu@liternet.ro Iulia Cojocariu icojocariu@liternet.ro
Editor for the .pdf Acrobat Reader: Iulia Cojocariu
© 2004 LiterNet Publishing House for .pdf Acrobat Reader version This book can be freely downloaded for personal use in this layout version. The free distribution of this book by other site, the alteration or the commercialization of this version without the written agreement of LiterNet Publishing House is prohibited and will be punished in agreement with the stipulations of the copyright laws. ISBN : 973-8475-79-1
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There are straightforward dishes cooked by your mom, which you enjoy all your life. There are sophisticated once-in-a-lifetime dishes prepared by skilled chefs. And then there are culinary experiments, usually made by inept cooks, which halt briefly in your stomach before they end in the sewer. That being said, the photographs in my exhibition are for those who love their moms.
Alexandru Paul Mini-résumé
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I am a cameraman and a geologist should you want to read the diplomas hanged on the wall, but photography is
what I do •
I had another exhibition at the National Museum of Art as well as other group exhibitions in Romania and abroad
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I also got some awards, yet they are not important as I hardly participated in any photography competitions, except
for those where others forced me to go •
I shot “Invitatie la masa” (“Invitation to Dinner”), a short film that won some national and international awards (such as the Grand Prize and the Critics’ Award at the 2000 Cinemaiubit International Film Festival, 1st Prize at the Palm Springs International Festival of Short Films)
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I worked for virtually every glossy magazine in Romania (Cosmopolitan, Elle, FHM, Unica, Olivia, Exces, etc.) and quite a few international ad agencies (I won’t name them as no sponsorship was provided by them for this exhibition either)
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I’m 30, I have a kid and a significant other, I did my stint in the army and I have no plans to live elsewhere.
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The brightness of your love and the darkness of my lust sketching you.
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Each night, the sun sneaks from behind your left shoulder.
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A pillar supports my perfection and yet another one reservedly approves of it. I am an oh-so-brilliant metal wire…
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You scared me – you forgot to shut the moon off again! 4
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The evening when the crickets grew silent, scared by your city boy laughter.
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A tête-à-tête of two young cherry trees in flower.
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The poet, for whom the Gods themselves built these gigantic columns.
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We stopped talking. Your closed eyes illuminated the Beyond.
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Through the grass, the stars.
Above, earthen clouds where the rain is sprouting. 9
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I was a cheeky dog – the shadow that was carrying me detested all that was abstract. 10
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I sowed this field with sunny dandelions to brighten up your rainy days...
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The sun is resting on the backside of a sleeping hill.
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Equine nightmare: dreaming of the shadow of a road.
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From the shelter of my ignorance
I was looking at a few ideas in my backyard…
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‘No reason to look at the sky, the window is within you’, you first told me. 15
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‘And the light, does the light come from within me as well?’ I asked you at a loss.
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‘No, from within you come only the tears wiping the dusty window...’
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Since the time I was but water I have revolted against the nature of things. I had a conscience.
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Your shoes got so scared when I told them you had left them behind…
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A pedestal taking itself for a sculpture (not unlike so many of us…)
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That day I disciplined my bike by deporting it on an ice-covered hilltop.
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Time was germinating motionlessly in those colossal rocks, taking roots among my wrinkles.
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You left without a word.
You left me alone with this horse carriage I loathe.
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A linear family portrait.
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My arm dreaming of your arm.
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