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Social traps

Is it just me or do you also feel very intense at the moment?

I used to be so invested in my social media profiles, but recently, picking up my phone, scrolling, communicating through a virtual realm seems somehow.. pointless. I have always been ‘me’ here, in every sense of the word, but these past few months it seems like being within myself is much more fulfilling.

Looking back at all of the tiny virtual steps I took makes me proud of myself for being able to stay on top of all the trends and poisonous ‘fashions’ that happened over time. At 14 I started with a tumblr blog. You could express your inner world through someone’s pictures, movie quotes, connect with people overseas. At 16 I started doing cover songs, then at 19 – video blogging and online Q&As which gifted me with my own online community. Eventually, all of that escalated into short creative films and me taking over the world of photography.

Nonetheless, somehow, I was very lucky not to fall into social traps of posting for the sake of posting and creating something specific just because everyone else was doing the same. In this current age it seems like everyone is copying each other. And I’m not suggesting that this is.. immoral. We cannot have art without copying what people did before us. That is how we learn and implement the knowledge into our daily life. You pass it though your own prism and it comes out with parts of your soul. Rembrandt copied Caravaggio’s technique, Rousseau inspired Picasso, Dostoevsky influenced Murakami, etc. Yet now, it seems and feels as if most of the things on social media are just a copy of another copy. Therefore.. Why do people put themselves in those unnatural positions of being like someone else, when they have such a unique world inside of them? Why not bring your own version of yourself, instead of being like her or him or them? I was always truthful to my world and I hope people will wake up one day and do the same. Most of the content posted here or anywhere else is just poisoning our subconscious so much. I just wish we all aim to bringing some life into this virtual realm, pieces of ourselves and discover that we are enough.

https://www.instagram.com/cazacucatalina/

My London.

I decided to move to London when I was 8. Of course I wasn’t allowed so I waited for 11 years to fly to the land that captured my soul. Excluding those 11 years of international long distance relationship, we had to go through another 2 years of local long distance relationship with occasional visits. Every walk counted, every person, every morning breeze that kissed the leaves, every bench next to the river Thames, every bridge and every corner of the street. It made me feel complete. The 3rd year was the most difficult. I genuinely hate the saying “love lasts 3 years”. Well.. On the 3rd year of our reciprocal, non-committal relationship, we got tired of each other. My beautiful city had nothing to offer me and I wasn’t trying my best to make it work. I remember that being the year I stumbled upon this quote, written on a statue in Gough Square: “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.” My self defence mechanism reacted straight away, convincing me ardently that it is not I – the one in the wrong. ‘London and I are just two separate entities that are not suited for each other.’ Two years of ins and outs and by the end of my 5th year I wanted to leave. It felt like this place that made me fall in love with it 16 years ago – evaporated and the kind air that used to dance with me – vanished into a mist of its own. I felt lonely. The world fell silent and I understood that maybe, I am a little tired of life after all. The magic of existence consists in its simple nuance of ephemerality.  Shattered in pieces, you always go back to places that felt like home. I stayed. Even though, small parentheses, on the summer of our 5th year, going into the 6th, I met St. Petersburg, but that is a different story. I came back home to my London. As the days passed by, the visible cracks of my still breathing vase were slowly filled with gold. Everything broken has its own, iridescent beauty. Every day I kept learning to love those golden cracks and with them, I rediscovered how much love I have for London. No one took it away from me, I just decided to be blind in the face of something real that pushed me towards my dreams and the cosmic being that I am.

a Girl Called

A short film directed by the wonderful Emily Lucienne back in 2016, now part of the Herne Hill Free Film Festival , and featuring Fab Piolini-castle and myself.

“This short film is based on a real encounter with a teenage girl in South London. Her pimp was using Tinder to get her clients. In 2016, when this film was made, Tinder was available for anyone over the age of 13. It has since been banned to those under 18 but other similar apps have popped up.”

Touching the fields

It turns out the whole sky is a wall.
It turns out we all drink from history’s footprints.
One day the stones seemed to open like flowers and I walked over the orphaned ground.
The stars were covered with sand.
The sandstorm had almost covered the bodies.
Today, each memory is a cemetery that must be tended.
The trees no longer mention anything about the wind.
It turns out I tried to bury myself.
It turns out I tried to bury myself alive in the chamber of someone else’s heart…
Now, the sea inside of me – so blue
Waves vibrating underneath the skin
Touching the fields and
Mountains of my soul
With gentle touches
Creating beyond my perception
Clouds
Expanding
Contracting
Breathing
Inside and outside my heart
I hear waves, my own world,
Warm, serene,
And love,
Love above being
Stars inside of me
And they are all at home.

DASHA | Killing Eve S3

Meet DASHA and don’t try to mess with her! 

I can finally let it all out and scream about it. It makes me so very proud and excited to be a small part of this incredible production!!! I cannot thank enough all the people that became an important element of this beautiful journey into an exquisite unknown.

It is said that you have to throw your dreams into space like a kite, because you never know what they will bring you back. This is my first professional job after graduating last year from the BA Acting International course at East 15 Acting School. To be frank, it has been a long long journey (and it is more to come), but, no matter how individualistic it may sound, I genuinely want to thank myself, for not giving up, still swimming/ moving/ flying forward and wanting to inspire. 

With this astounding experience, I also met and worked alongside wonderful people that motivated every cell inside of me. They made me feel like I am part of the family and that this (the set/ the Universe they created/ the work/ the ambiance/ the passion for this job/ the pleasure while doing the thing you love the most) is where I belong. I don’t even know why, but I think what excited and terrified me the most was meeting the director, Terry McDonough. I was overthinking, as usual. Eventually, he met me with a big smile, an incredible energy and truly inspired me. Terry, if you ever stumble upon this, even though it sounds weird, know that I still have the flower (from the scene) that you gave me and that your last words are still stuck with me. Haha. 

And lastly, if you don’t know what to do with your post-breakup broken heart, my advise: just give it to the character. 😉  #dontmesswithdasha

Home

This video is plucked right from the bottom of my soul. Maybe it will bring a spark of hope into your hearts as well.

This is a story of returning home. Home to ourselves.

35mm

There is something utterly beautiful when taking a photograph with a film camera. You catch yourself counting each detail, adjusting the lens, the light, you ask people to stay still or you take the picture as fast as possible as you know that all you have is one little chance. One chance to capture the roughness, sensibility, the chaos of a moment. You freeze ‘a past’ that becomes rich and full in ‘a future’.  

Somehow I realised that you have to feel what you’re looking at, because if you don’t, you’re never going to get others to touch that frozen reality with their perceptions. You let them participate in another moment’s mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out that second and freezing it, so it could melt again through their subconscious. 

These are some of the photographs I took with Canon EOS 300v. Some of them I love, with the others I feel like I could’ve done better, i’ve also failed royaly with my first film roll, but it’s a good beginning.  

O fărâmă de suflet.

Din punctul de vedere al copacilor,
soarele-i o dungă de căldură,
oamenii – o emoție copleșitoare…
Ei sunt niște fructe plimbătoare
ale unui pom cu mult mai mare !

Din punctul de vedere al pietrelor,
soarele-i o piatră căzătoare,
oamenii-s o lină apăsare…
Sunt mișcare-adăugată la mișcare,
și lumina ce-o zărești, din soare !

Din punctul de vedere al aerului,
soarele-i un aer plin de păsări,
aripă în aripă zbătând.
Oamenii sunt păsări nemaiîntâlnite,
cu aripule crescute înăuntru,
care bat, plutind, planând,
într-un aer mai curat – care e gândul!

Nichita Stanescu – Lauda omului


From the tree’s perception,
the sun is a lace of warmth,
people – an astounding emotion.
They are wandering fruits
that once belonged to an even greater tree!

From the stone’s perception,
the sun is a falling stone,
people are a gentle touch.
They are a motion added to a motion,
and a beam of light that traveled from the sun!

From the air’s perception,
the sun is an air full of birds,
pulping wing in wing.
People are rare, extraordinary birds,
with grown inwards wings,
that fly, float, hover,
in a more graceful air –
which is the thought.

This year has taught me that certain things are like the point where the rainbow touches the forest. We think that we can see it—but if we go to look for it, it isn’t there. And it is the same with people’s feelings, their words, their beings and promises, it is the same with our desires which mean nothing until we give them shape and make the invisible cloud – visible. Touchable. This year I’ve witnessed my feelings kneeling down and my minutes, as if belonging to a mechanic clock, fading away with passers by. But how beautiful when, through the chaos, you see through. I put my wings to dry in the sun, learnt not to fall into someone else’s distorted gravity, but allow my steps, eyes, fingers, feelings, glances, thoughts to try new paths. Ah! I am so so thankful! And, being frank, i feel it, though every pore of my skin, that all this beauty, happiness, gracefulness of the world, all this love that keeps pulsing through me, all the poetic people that stepped into my life, all the opportunities that took shape and are yet to come – everything is just the beginning of something beyond beautiful.

poate apusul de soare e doar rasaritul vazut de la spate

4am

Aud vocile oamenilor
si mi se impletesc in cap
un milion de ani lumina
pana am vazut zecile de semne
in cartea scrisa cu ochii tai
ca un rasarit infinit
sau ca niste carbune care licaresc
in intimitatea serii pustii.
Ma doare?
Sunt si nu sunt
pasarea care moare atunci cand e mai vie ca niciodata.
Sunt prin ranile eroilor ce au pierdut in iubire.
Sunt la patru noaptea in bucatarie
cand privesc spre cele mai absurde discutii.
Sunt cand nu vreau sa fiu
un nor ce ploua lacrimile pierdute de mult timp
prin ochii mei pustii.
As vrea oare sa dispar,
sa ma transpun in apa
si sa-ti oglindesc idealurile lumii putrede?
Vad cum oasele se transforma in cruci
pe amintirile perfect simetrice
de parca toata substanta mea poetica
a fost menita exact pentru asta.
________________________

I hear the voices of people
and inside of my head,
thousands of years of light are braiding
until i finally see all the symbols
in the book written with your eyes.
Like an infinite sunrise
or flickering embers
in the intimacy of a senseless night.
Hurts?
I am and i am not
the bird that dies the moment
she lives life the most.
I am through the wounds of the heroes
that lost through love.
I am at 4am in the kitchen
when i look at the most absurd fusions
and i don’t want to be.
I am a cloud that rains tears
that got lost for a while
through my empty eyes.
Would i want to disappear
and transpose into a water
that would mirror the ideals of a rotten world?
I see the bones that alter into crosses
fixed on perfect symmetrical memories,
as if all my poetic substance
was meant to exist exactly for that reason.

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