Friday, 5 February 2010






In the sound of heartbreak there is no form or shadow;
Painting is made without sound and is also heartbreaking.

Huang Tingjian (1045—1105)
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29 comments:

  1. Adelino Marques5 February 2010 at 01:38

    Yeah, but your photos are sound, they have way they have shade. . . !!!... they have light to brighten the souls

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  2. m5 February 2010 at 07:03

    copaci-papadii, plutind fara sunet... daca ma las dusa, ma iau si pe mine.

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  3. Anonymous5 February 2010 at 10:10

    Hallo, ich bin neu hier (komme von Roberts Blog) und muss gestehen, dass ich nicht oft und nicht lange hier verweile, da es mir meist zu düster und traurig ist, aber das Foto und die Zeilen heute haben mich doch auf eine eigenartige und tiefe Weise sehr betroffen gemacht. In ihnen ist eine fremde und mir doch so nahe Schönheit enthalten und das wollte ich einfach so mal sagen..!
    Danke Roxana!
    Renée

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  4. swiss5 February 2010 at 19:11

    like frosted glass. lovely

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  5. iosif bogdan5 February 2010 at 22:29

    foarte buna! imi place tare mult...de mult incerc sa gasesc un loc cu asa potential cu asa lumina cu asa stare...hmm...cam greu!
    ferice de tine!

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  6. Prospero6 February 2010 at 00:12

    i can't think of when white ever struck me this forcefully. This unduly serves to batten on my
    senses. It is mournful, yet graceful enough to wheedle joy from humble onlookers who
    gather in silence.

    The bridge is sometimes a garden. Sometimes, it is a dark forest replete with bright secrets.

    The sough and sigh of a thousand trees (Nabokov).

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  7. Unknown6 February 2010 at 11:48

    Painting haunts and whispers like those trees do.

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  8. Shuddho6 February 2010 at 15:06

    this has the mystical magical qualities of nasmith or howe's paintings of middle earth...

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  9. Anonymous6 February 2010 at 19:11

    A Carpaccio in Venice, la Berma in Phèdre, masterpieces of visual or theatrical art that the prestige surrounding them made so alive, that is so invisible, that, if I were to see a Carpaccio in a gallery of the Louvre or la Berma in some play of which I had never heard, I would not have felt the same delicious surprise at finally setting eyes on the unique and inconceivable object of so many thousands of my dreams.
    Guess who?

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  10. James Owens7 February 2010 at 20:02

    Are these birches, these strong, swift brushstrokes on your canvas, this dream-haunted wood, where I long to lose my way? … You have mentioned before that you used to paint. We will have to see some of that work, someday. There is no other way. You should know us -- those addicted to the Floating Bridge -- well enough by now … once you have mentioned it, it is inevitable that we will have to see….

    Such joy in this heartbreak!….

    … and all art is about heartbreak … because it is about time … because it is a glimpse of the world where we are not, even the most autobiographical of constructs, even a self-portrait … one who paints a picture, or takes a picture, or writes a poem … is already a ghost ….

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  11. Anonymous8 February 2010 at 04:05

    fragments upon a mountain

    speed made me rise
    tumble in the air
    falling to the ground, upon the back
    crack - two rips break
    one pierces the lung.

    stumbling, wanting to get up,
    couldn't find my feet,
    raising arms we are told
    would help
    towards the light.

    trees of colour white
    throughout day and night
    providing hope
    this damned hope
    to reach its top, one day.

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  12. Peter8 February 2010 at 19:40

    i really love the vertically elongated fantasy of the white birches!

    where is the place?
    are they just in your backyard??

    feel so grave..
    however i see a hope of silvery purity.. at the same time.

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  13. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:10

    Adelino, what you said here brightened my soul, indeed :-)

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  14. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:10

    copaci-papadii, Manuela, ce frumos, nu m-as fi gandit la asta :-)
    multumesc ca ai venit.

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  15. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:18

    Hallo, Renée, ich bin sehr froh, dass du mich hier besucht hast, ich "kenne" dich auch von Roberts Blog, ich lese Deine Kommentare, die immer aussergewoehnlich herausfordernd sind und beweisen, dass Dein Blick ein tiefer und aufrichtiger ist, der hinter die Oberflaeche geht.
    es tut mir leid, dass Du keine Lust hast, hier laenger zu verweilen, die dunkle Stimmung kann schwer ertraeglich sein, ich verstehe das.

    ich bin um so dankbarer, dass Du heute ueber dieses Bild und seine Wirkung auf Dich geschrieben hast.

    sei ganz lieb gegruesst...

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  16. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:18

    swiss, i hadn't thought of frosted glass, i was too busy to think of Chinese paintings :-) but i see why.

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  17. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:19

    multumesc, I.B., ma bucur mult! este pe undeva prin Carpati, pe drumul de intoarcere de la Mures la Craiova, dar nu mai stiu nici eu exact unde. am facut-o din masina, de fapt.

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  18. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:24

    Prospero, you heard that music, the sough and sigh of a thousand trees in the mournful yet graceful silence of one heartbeat. i knew you would.

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  19. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:25

    merc, haunting and whispering, i have learned that from your paintings...

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  20. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:27

    Zuma, hello!

    i must say i was not familiar with the names you mentioned and had to make a research on them - but then everything became clear :-)

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  21. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:51

    James, i think they are birches, yes... how much i love them - we love them, don't we? i can't imagine you wouldn't...

    when you say: all art is about heartbreak, because it is about time ... - you capture the essence of the Bridge. i could have this as Motto here :-)

    another Romanian poem for you, a little difficult but not impossible as the Barbu one with the Mushroom King, i don't know if you have a translation, but it is the same Ivanescu that i love:


    pădurea de mesteceni cu muzică de dante


    către sfârşitul drumului vieţii noastre
    m-am regăsit într-o pădure luminoasă,
    căci drumul înspre-acea râvnită primăvară albastră
    mi-l rătăcisem - şi era o joasă
    lumină, care şi cu soarele ploua
    prin frunze, pe cărarea unde îmi treceam încet
    paşii trosnind prin ramurile unde noua
    tăcere de îndată răsărea, un umblet
    printr-o pădure a luminii înserată în argint,
    mergând ca într-un vis în care te deştepţi pe nesimţite,
    şi fără să mai ştii unde te-ndrepţi, doar ocolind
    o dată cu poteca de desişuri năpădită,
    înaintând, ca şi cum ţi-ar privi
    liniile vieţii în palmă, şi ştiind
    că poţi să-ţi închizi palma - şi ai fi
    atunci închis în pumnul veşniciei - şi
    să nu-ţi mai fie cu putinţă să mai dai din mâini, râvnind
    acea primăvară albăstrie.

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  22. Roxana8 February 2010 at 21:58

    Robert, this has moved me beyond words, there is truthfulness and simplicity in this poem, stubbornness and despair. i know it isn't possible to find light and hope in the vague silhouettes of a photograph or a painting, but right now i so wish it were. for you.

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  23. Roxana8 February 2010 at 22:38

    Peter, how lovely, the silver purity, thank you for that :-)

    no, i wish that fantasy wood were in my backyard! it's somewhere in the Carpathians... yet it looks Chinese to me.

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  24. jeff8 February 2010 at 23:48

    C'est comme si tu avais déplié un songe, un rêve, une image onirique qui prend forme ici, dans ton blog ! ! !
    Il y a quelque chose de surnaturel dans cette vision !

    ... et puisque tu m'as dit que tu souhaitais bien venir,
    Je veux bien prendre cet instant
    Magique en moi et le restituer en toi,
    T'en procurer de douces sensations fébriles
    Sur la peau de tes songes...

    Bises Roxana...;)
    A bientôt...

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  25. Roxana9 February 2010 at 13:43

    Jeff, la "peau de mes songes", c'est tres jolie comme metaphore!
    en tout cas, la lumiere de ton "addiction naturelle" (tres tres belles photos, a propos) produit un "addiction onirique" sur le Pont flottant :-)

    bises et a bientot, Jeff du Printemps :-)

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  26. Anonymous10 February 2010 at 05:26

    It is so very possible. Time and again that I come to see this picture - tell me, is it only me, or is there indeed a face behind the trees?

    The "fragments" were a memory of mine, that I had, while riding a bike down a mountain, ending up with two broken rips and half a lung...seeing your photography and choice of words, made me search for me feet, to get up and away, towards the north from here.
    p.s.: excuse for this rather long comment, yet did not sleep for nearly twenty hours.

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  27. clo10 February 2010 at 20:16

    j'aime tes brumes Roxana...
    on dirait que la foret soupire et qu'elle exhale son souffle comme un leger voile...
    je l'entend respirer....
    magnifique...:o)
    je t'embrasse...

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  28. Trée11 February 2010 at 06:57

    I've missed so much beauty here. Sigh.

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  29. edith22 February 2010 at 21:19

    Ce frumoasa e!!

    Nu am mai intrat de mult, mi-e dor sa stau pe blog sa postez des si sa vad ce au mai facut si altii...

    Multumesc mult pentru pagina din Sisif, a iesit foarte bine :-)
    Raman datoare:P

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