Holbav, the Land Where the Soul Floats
At first, there was a discreet rustle, as short as it was concrete. I was very tired, since, as usual, I had woken up in the middle of the night, driven for about three hours, climbed gaspingly the hills of Holbav because my heart wouldn’t let me stop and risk missing the sunrise while in the shade of the valley, and now, once I returned down in the glade where I had left the car, all I wanted was to lie down for ten minutes.
Yet, the rustle next to me didn’t allow that and, as I looked towards it, I saw an autumn leaf – for it was autumn indeed – gently descending on the ground. Although I only wished to close my eyes for just a little, I couldn’t help but ask myself where the leaf had come from, given that there was no tree above me – nothing at all, except for the blue sky. I had no time to elaborate any further. What lucidity is that, if not a lukewarm and convenient one, which keeps its head down, solely towards the gloom of this world? And, while we’re here, in the end, from all we are and have, what must remain? When the day is done, when the night is vanquished – what will really matter?
Another rustle, a pinch more intense, another leaf, which the wind, comfort’s master of ceremonies, laid resolutely on the grass. And then, out of a mysterious impulse, I raised my eyes: not one, not ten, but hundreds and hundreds of leaves were wondrously quivering against the serene skies, undulating like some vegetal messengers sent from heavens. They were coming down incessantly, countless of them, waving and playing and whispering and floating in the blue ocean above. This is how I made, there and then, one of the most beautiful photographs that I have never made.
Apart from that, I did make photos that I really made, whenever emotion overwhelmed me on the hills of Holbav, the village near Brasov city (central Romania) that I have been visiting for more than a decade. Here, silence is alive and it is born out of light drops and crickets songs, and the mists that rise from the morning earth wash in blessings trees and flowers, people and animals, smiles, sorrows and wonders alike.
This is why, dear viewer, I put together this photographic project that I divided in chapters, moments of the year, moods and hopes. I’m nearly sad now, that all is done. I almost wish it weren’t. In spite of that, I will return, always will I return to Holbav, the land where leaves fly in the skies and heavens, down to earth. The land where, just like them, the soul, when willing, floats.