This photo is another one from the series I have taken when searching for inspiration in the streets of Targu Mures. Not all boots are made for walking. Some are here to be characters in stories.
Just before landing in Romania, when the plane passed through the clouds and we could finally see the fields, I immediately thought of T.S. Eliot’s poem Wasteland. The hills were brown but also white. The snow had fallen during the night. I did not take a photo from the plane, but while wandering around the streets of Targu Mures I took this one.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock, 25
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
– T.S. Eliot
What if you could make a wish that would be made come true? Only one. What would you ask for? What’s in a wish? What’s around it? What’s missing in the life of those who make a wish? What’s missing in your life? Or perhaps you would wish to change something. What would you change? What would you need help for that you aren’t able to do by yourself? Aren’t you really?
“Just the wish that you may find in yourself enough patience to endure and enough simplicity to have faith; that you may gain more and more confidence in what is difficult and in your solitude among other people. And as for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right, always.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke
Sometimes we just have to look at things from another perspective. And then a slight change can show us a whole new universe. When I (Nicole Pschetz) started to work with Miguel Bonneville in a shop window in Rijeka we could only see an empty space without a story. Standing in front of it our own image was being reflected by the sunlight. We were asking ourselves: what do we want to say? What would we like to do in this place, in this city? How to connect with the local people? Immersed by these questions I lifted my head and I saw a statue: a little man hiding from someone. Perhaps being persecuted?Perhaps looking after us? We wanted to create something that would combine the interests/needs of both of us. We were at St Barbara square. Miguel said he wanted to be a saint. I wanted to collect/hear other people’s stories. And then I’m listening was born. A durational performance installation where we would try to investigate what does it mean to be a saint today. People’s wishes would be heard and collected by St Vito in person on the 17th September from 1pm to 3pm.
And then we raised our heads. He was there.
A diversion. A new friend. An inspiration too.