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Hearing the word “Georgia”, my mind immediately leaps to the well–known Ray Charles’ song, novel and movie “Gone with the Wind”, and “Savannah”. Savannah is the brand of soap with a strong odor, my wife’s favorite. Here, it is the name of a town, not far away from which is Cherokee Rose, also known as "the state of flowers". This seems to be the connection. As for Ray Charles, honestly, I do not like this song very much, but – since I do not forget it – I must accept it is a good one. Instead, "Gone with the Wind" has more power to impress me. Visiting Georgia, I see this is a real symbol. It is not only a good novel, but it brings the memory of Civil War into the world of literature and art.
It was a short flight to Atlanta. My only memory is of a young girl who kept the air vent open at maximum above her head all the way. Her hair was floating, as if she walked through a strong storm. I remarked on her resistance but not her ignorance. Here, I must confess that, in my youth, I used to be ignorant enough to walk with my headed not covered during the frosty days. It was not without consequences, and now I must be very careful with my head. Youth has a dislike of grown persons and their "wisdom". Only after they will have to take their own responsible decisions will feel the need of others’ advice. Till then, the single way is to let them live for the moment.
I found Georgia a delightful place twice over: it is a pleasant state in itself, but particularly because it is there where I met Bill and his wife Alma, two wonderful people. They were both waiting for me at the airport, and they were with me all the time during my stay—especially Bill— wondering what more they could do for me. Alma, a silent woman, (unthinkable but true) from time to time used to bring me fruit or vegetables she had harvested, demonstrating her attentiveness to making my stay more pleasurable. Both of them are ample people, but surprisingly agile. They are equally active and amiable.
Georgia is a nice and rich area. We may suppose these two qualities amplify each other. The beauty of the nature attracts those who have the freedom of choice where to live, namely those who are wealthy. They have built nice houses and take care of the natural environment, making the area still nicer and more attractive for other people, and so on. There are lots and lots of splendid houses, particularly near Atlanta. Houses surrounded by trees on large domains. Tennis courts or golf courses testify to their owners’ wealth. Bill has kindly taken me for a drive among such properties.
The top of the hill from which we now admire the landscape seems to be surrounded by a forest. Beyond several stylish houses nearby— there is nothing to be seen but trees, which appear centuries old. Going downhill, more houses appear and the expected forest recedes. Actually, the houses are surrounded with so much vegetation, than gradually, the mystery turns itself into admiration for an area really residential. I had the chance to see it thanks to Bill, who likes to look on it with pride himself. Over the course of the two weeks I stayed here, we drove hundreds of miles in such areas, each nicer than the one before.
Maybe I am biased but – as any European – I appreciate houses made of bricks, yet I appreciate also the Americans’ predisposition to practical and useful— hence their pleasant wooden houses. I can’t help remarking that the most of valuable houses in the USA are made of bricks too.
I never knew if Atlanta is the feminine of Atlant, Atlantic, or something else. Anyway, it is a nice town that does not aim to impress in the usual American gigantism. The downtown area is not very large. Even its buildings are not very tall. Good taste has replaced the race towards “the most” at any price. Maybe the comparison is a little exaggerated, but I dare to say that Atlanta succeeded in architecture what the European Renaissance did: to replace the ’gothic’ of the first skyscrapers with a genuine modern style, searching for new technology in order to make buildings more comfortable but beautiful as well. The word ’gothic’ has only recently gained positive connotations. In the language of Renaissance architects, gothic used to mean barbarian. The Italians invented it, with a pejorative meaning, for mocking the old style of the Middle Age. The Goths, Ostrogoths, Visigoths, etc, were barbarians. Europe belongs to the old Greek culture, where "man is the measure of all things" (Protagoras). The sense of measure and proportion is characteristics of Greek culture, while the dominant feature of Gothic style is tallness, in order to impress tinny believers with the grandeur of the church. It belongs to the barbarity of Middle Age, when Europe’s impetuosity seemed to be without limits. It was the Renaissance that brought things to their normal matrix and Europe has become really civilized. And Renaissance itself is in a great measure a result of the exodus of Greek intellectuals from the former Byzantine Empire, occupied in 1435 by Turks. Today, Atlanta tries to attain the same amount of aesthetic criteria after the first explosion of skyscrapers.
Huge posters of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh leave no chance to forget them. They risk becoming trivial by being seen on so many product advertisements, but instead just prove their value as a symbol.
Today Bill and Alma have gone to the dentist, so I am alone. It is raining, the reason why I have moved to the porch. It looks out on what could be either woods or parkland; it is hard to say which. Whatever it is, it is very nice. Old trees stand next to young ones, each of them with a different essence giving an effect similar to a painting composed with much art. Hares wander around like domestic animals. There are also squirrels, which Alma gives food to. The porch is great, especially for me. It is large enough for four lounge chairs, two swings, and above all my easel. I forgot to say that I am a painter now (my second profession). On the wooded walls, I can hang my canvasses, which is very useful for making small corrections. The warm, clean air makes the rain seem like momentary accident, almost amusing. A little hare has sheltered itself from the rain under an old tree, not more than thirty feet away. It looks at me and, oddly enough, it does not seem to be afraid at all. Now and then, it nibbles a few blades of grass and then ruminates a long time. Meanwhile, the rain has stopped. I am almost sorry. Even the hare has left. Instead, dozens of little birds sing as if they want to make up for lost time. It is interesting that I heard even the cuckoo’s song, which belongs to the spring season. In Romania, birds do not sing past the end of July. Now, here it is the end of September and the bird’s song is to be heard everywhere.
Both Romanians and Americans are tempted to make comparisons between the prices of different products or services. It is a useless exercise, and the results can be only aberrant. I am not talking about trade prices, which are of interest only to merchants, but about retail prices, which we see in common shops. The error lies in directly comparing the prices of single products, because any product is only one element of our way of live. What can be compared are just our ways of life as a whole, and not the separated elements. Because our ways of life are very different, the direct comparison of a single element is ineffective. How much more different the ways of life are how wishy–washy the comparison of some items is. Here is an example. The price of gasoline is lower in the United States than in Romania. Advantage point USA! But their cars consume four or five times more gasoline per 100 miles than Europeans cars. Advantage point Europe! Of course, one may suggest that the Americans could make and use smaller cars, but at this point a psychological problem appears, just because the two ways of life are very different. In Europe, due to population density, commercial life is concentrated in downtown, while in the US it spreads along the highways. In Brasov— the town where I live— people drive only to the perimeter of downtown, and then walk to the city center, because cars are forbidden. Within a small distance one can find everything one needs to buy. To reach downtown by cars are not a necessity; we can as well use buses or trolley busses. From one town to another, it is easy to travel, as there is a dense network of good trains. In United States, there are literally miles between shops. Trains are almost non–existent. Life centers on the car, which is integral to daily living. Cars are more than a means of transport. They are part of peoples’ life. The Americans love cars. For this reason, they are willing to pay a great part from their income for gasoline, and you cannot get them to share your opinion about the matter, without risking denting their amour.
Today, Bill and Alma took me along with them to a party–dance at 11 AM. At first I wondered what it could be, as they told me that I do not have to dance. I soon understood. The party took place in a home for old women, and one of its purposes was to offer the residents several pleasant hours. It happens every fortnight. I must confess that I was much impressed with this gesture. I uttered in my mind a “bravo!” to a society who does not forget its old persons. It is a charitable gesture, fun and useful as well. Charitable because the target is the residents of the home! Fun for everyone! Participants are people of the third age too, or nearly all, who come to dance. It is useful because most dances are actually dancing lessons. Dance classes for the elderly – here is an idea that deserves deeper reflections. One of the participants is the provider of music and dance teacher. Instead of lyrics, many songs have instructions for dance: two steps forward, three to the right, etc. Most of them are ensemble dances. The participants come in two by two, but partners are changed frequently during the dance, according to its rules. During the changes, participants salute each other with joy when they meet, as if they have just met each another accidentally. As soon as one change is finished, another one begins. Collective exultation is an obvious target. The aim of the lessons is to train the ’students’ with a style cheerful yet peaceful enough for persons who are no longer young. Everything in a very pleasant atmosphere! Only the most active residents took part in the dance. Others, some in wheelchairs, were only looking. I was curious to learn what may hide in the soul of those who are looking at people able to dance, while they are spiked into wheelchairs. I watched their faces very attentively, but noticed not a single sign of envy. On the contrary, they were smiling, probably remembering their own moments of happiness. I am not so naïve as to think that envy is absent in this part of the world. The explanation is that those predisposed to such feelings preferred not to come at all.
I have learnt an expression: men perspire, women shine. In this case, any woman rushes to the ladies room before sweat pierces her makeup and tries to repair it. —In the meantime, a friend said me another saying: "Horses sweat, men perspire, women glow."—
Rosewell is the name of a small township, not far away from Atlanta. I went there to see an art exhibition. They organize it once a year, in tents or just in the open air, on a square in the middle of the town. There are all kinds of artists displaying their works. Professional or dilettantes, good or bad, painters, sculptors, artisans, florists, portrait makers and whatnot— everything could be found. Most of them are not so good, and flowers overflow the whole square, but I saw also two painters who were very good. In other square there are some busts, among which Rosewell’s statue is dominant. I have learnt that Rosewell was a distinguished citizen of the town who lived 100 years and his posterity still keeps awake their appreciation for his good deeds for the town. My esteem for today’s inhabitants who know to honor their forerunners! Such things are seldom seen in Romania.
Bill lives together with his invalid mother, and is him who brings the food in her room, where she stays all the day long in a wheel chair. Only seldom she comes in the living room for special days. In spite of her sedentary life, she is a pleasant old lady, and I am sorry that time was too short for chatting more with her. Later on I made a portrait after a photo, and she looks like an intelligent, strong, resolute woman. Sometimes my portraits underline some characteristic features of which I was unconscious before. It was not the case, as I liked her for the first sight.
Bill’s family is a good example of a harmony of contraries. His mother, as well as his wife, are very faithful persons, while Bill is an utterly atheist. I must notice that atheism is not a religion... only a denying of the God (a + Theo). There are bibles all over where she moves around, even in the bathroom. They love very much each other, respect each other and, consequently, accept each other, but keeping their own opinions. The best way for them is to not discuss religious topics.
As for me, “God, help me to believe in you!” might be my slogan. Science and religion do not contradict each other, because science offers a system of knowledge, while religion gives a way of salvation. Only the misunderstanding of one of them by the adepts of the other makes them to seem contradictory. In reality, science and religion are two different manners of thinking, and have different objectives. Only the exaggerated claims of some priests of controlling everything, together with their fright of not losing control, creates the dispute. They think there is something unique that cannot belong to both of them and consequently must be disputed. It explains their ridiculous pretension to be the single owners of the unique and absolute truth, which may be known only if you go to their particular church.
I do not know why, but I find that with every passing year, I am increasingly absorbed in thoughts by religion. I will have to approach the topic here as well. That’s why, I need to specify at the beginning my point of view generally. Shortly, I have three remarks about the religion:
Of course, the exaggerations of some priests are equally injurious. See nowadays Taliban or the Inquisition of Middle Age. Besides, the faith is a personal question for each of us. Even those who declare to belong to the same church are different and think differently using the same words.
During my adolescence, two opposite trends influenced my education: that classic of my parents together with the entire old educated generation, and that of the “new wave” of Soviet propagandists.
1 + 1 + Soviet help = 2
Jokes like this were in fashion in Romania of 50’s. As the Soviet help was equal to zero, the equality was always true. There are two morals:
– There is a truth in everything;
– You need to remove the ballast for getting clear ideas.
We used to say that one must be able to know how to read between the lines. My mind has formed in such conditions, so that I still think there is something true in almost everything but not entirely, and it is up to me to find out that truth.
The first trend was a religious one, while the second was aggressively atheist. Of course, I used to be inclined to adopt my parents’ attitude but the rationalist arguments of the others claim to be explained. How could I solve this dilemma?
On the one hand, the atheists, at the end of their demonstration, found out nothing important. Their arguments against the Bible had in view minor considerations, and their way leads nowhere. Besides, God is not precisely defined. Many religions forbid any representation of Him. How could the atheists fight with defined arms against to something that is not defined at all? They do not have any chance.
On the other hand, how could I trust in a simple statement like "believe and not search"? For one adept at scientist methods as I am, any statement must be proved. I needed some reasons. An argument in the balance of my thoughts was the declarations of some scientists that they were faithful. Some of them like Pascal turned themselves into the faith after they had been professionals in precise sciences. How could I learn about their reasons? They were clever men.
These used to be the thoughts of a 15–16 years old boy. Now, as an old man, I am much advanced but I cannot say that I have definitely solved the dilemma, but I have a way at least. As much as I have read – and I did it from authors of all kind of orientations – my interest in the topic has increased. The matter has become increasingly complex and tinted. The truth seems to be still far away but I realized that searching for the way is more captivating than the aim itself, as far as the aim is an ideal.
One thing is clear: the atheism is good for nothing. It leads nowhere. I knew lots of atheists and every one of them invoked the help of a divine force during difficult situations. People need to believe in something. Even the word ’atheist’ (a Theo means: without God) proves that they are not able to define themselves on an independent way. They recognize the God but stand with their back to Him.
Yes, people need to believe in something. The problem is in what, as long as there are more religions, more cults inside Christianity itself, and lots of sects that fight against each other.
There is the idea that scientists are somehow atheists. It’s a false idea. The priests say that, when they do not understand what the scientists are speaking about. The scientists may really be quite faithful, but for a real dialog, the priests should be able to talk in an intelligent way, and to renounce to their "wooden tongue".
Some time ago, a friend of mine asked me whether I believe in Jesus. But Jesus is the God’s son so that the final question was the same: whether I believe in God. Probably the question would be better expressed "if I believe in the Bible". Yes, I do! The disputes among the Christian cults and sects are not against the Bible but against each other, particularly among the priests. Priests are important because they have to interpret the Bible to the common people. Unfortunately, during the history, many of them made many mistakes, particularly entering politics. In spite of their statements and pacifist slogans, nowadays they still do the same. They serve themselves by the faith instead of serve it. In their disputes, they use— without knowing the same argument— one other, no matter what sect they belong to. Besides, there are too few priests able to grasp deep insight, let alone to grasp the Bible. The most of them know only how to preach a sermon.
Even Dalai Lama, in his Autobiography, writes, "Every religion has its potential to make evil. This is not the guilt of the religion, but of the people promoting it".
Yes, I believe in the Bible but not in priests. That’s why I always wanted to read more and more, from authors of different faiths, books being my single serious source of information and the real society was the place where the ideas are proved. What have I learnt from these books and my meditation? The great truths become truisms when we try to express them shortly—this is a truism as well. We cannot suddenly discover the whole truth but we find it out repeatedly— more full and rich, just searching for it. God does not need my sacrifices. He wants me to be happy. In this order it is satisfying whether I am myself: honest and having a loving face to all those surrounding me. That is simple, very simple, but I have to do it every time and this is not always easy but it deserves a try.
Everywhere I wandered, my main purpose was fine art, particularly painting. Exhibitions were not my only targets, but also art distributors, because I wanted to make connections in order to export art works from Romania. In this respect I was somewhat disillusioned. Firstly, few American houses are decorated with original paintings. These that are, exhibit some of poor quality. As a consequence, distributors are interested only in large orders made by offices, to decorating large rooms. They want impressive frames and non–valuable paintings. Sometimes, instead of a painting, there is a poster. Many paintings are only copies of the great masters, especially Monet. Other subjects are commercially, serially manufactured (often by Chinese, Korean, or Vietnamese people), and can be purchased for about 20 dollars. Instead, frames could be of 100, even 200 dollars. Real art galleries are extremely few. There are many towns without any gallery at all. This is natural; what would be the use of a gallery without buyers? Often, owners of art galleries, even art critics, are the spokesmen of a group of local fine artists, and they represent those artists’ interests.
Only the most pretentious rich persons buy real paintings. But they, because of a lack of confidence in their own appreciative criteria, appeal to art–critics. Art critics? These are people unable to speak more than the content of Desdemona’s handkerchief—sorry, this remark is not my own, but I could not help repeating it. What are their interests? I better not to waist time on them. Not particularly on the American ones! They are the same everywhere. In short, they are recruited from failed artists, from those who wanted to become artists but, due to the scarcity of their gift, did not succeed. Instead, in their bitterness, they hate anything around, real painters especially. Honestly, they are not worth the smallest attention. It is not a surprise when an art critic recommends a bad painter and his works. Common taste usually brings better results.
Art supposes communication with specific means. Therefore, firstly communication and secondly the means! If the artist’s message does not arrive to the recipient, or the recipient does not understand it, that art does not exist, no matter how sophisticated its means are.
At its origin, the term aesthetics points the purely sensorial perception of extern qualities of bodies and the impressions produced to us by them. Therefore, we cannot talk about aesthetic in the lack of perception. If someone still does it, he is a liar.
"The painting containing the richest and nobles ideas, no matter how clumsy it is expressed, is a painting better and greater than that having poorer and less noble ideas, no matter how nice they would been expressed." It is not I who said this, but one of the greatest authorities: John Ruskin.
Besides, arts for conveying something need to be understandable. What would be a novel written in an unknown language? That’s why a "not–understood" artist is a liar, except if he is mad. Anyway, he is not a realized artist, as long he does not succeed in conveying his message, if he has one. An artist is as good as well he says to us something in an artistic way. You do not need to be an expert for understanding him. It is the artist who must be persuading.
A good poem is that you learn willingly or not. Voltaire said it. In painting it is the same.
Overall, my stay in Georgia was too nice for ending without a flaw. This time, I left Atlanta by bus. Greyhound will be from now on my traveling companion. But before leaving, after I had bought my ticket and checked the luggage in, while waiting for the buss, I misplaced the ticket. Realizing my mistake, I rushed to the ticket counter – perhaps somebody had found it. Nobody had. I rummaged through all the nearby wastebaskets, but no tickets were to be found. I came to the conclusion that whoever found it would use it, not to travel, but to misappropriate the luggage. I had two very large suitcases and their loss could compromise my whole trip. Although I like to think of myself as a man with self–control, this time I was panic stricken. I had to buy another ticket, but the risk of losing my luggage was still a real one.
Bad luck never comes on it’s own. The bus run late, so that in Memphis, where I was to change buses, there was the risk of not making my connection toward Harrison, my destination, where Sheila, my next hostess, would be waiting for me. To miss my meeting with her would be a catastrophe, as I did not know her address and anybody else in the whole state of Arkansas. Harrison is a very small locality among the mountains and probably there is not even a hotel there. As for my luggage, it would have to travel for a long time, as no one would take it out from the luggage compartment of the bus without me. A nightmare was beginning for me when, at last, the bus started from the pleasant Atlanta.
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