Culture Therapy. Terapia prin Cultura. Editie bilingva Romana–Engleza - Calin Pintea

When you change the “normal keyboard of inner states”
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 de – sired 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.

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