NexT

On this clear morning destined for the departure for Delphi I am unconsoled at having to leave Athens, where everything measures up to the artistic emotion. The distance between Athens and Delphi, on a well-kept road, is 243 kilometres. The itinerary includes a halt, around

The Romanian Peasant's Museum Motto: A photo is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know.  At the beginning of the 20th century, Alexandru Tzigara-Samurcaş1 was wandering around the villages of Oltenia and Bucovina, looking for folk art objects.

Alongside collectors of art works, of minerals, of butterflies, of match-boxes, of vintage automobiles, there appeared, in the early 20th century, collectors of naïve art. Daring, of good taste, discoverers by vocation, they granted civitas rights to a field as old as the

The feelings for beauty and for art in general are multiple and diverse; they follow an ascending path, turning into a passion for the sensitive person, who loves it and who vibrates with emotion in front of any artistic manifestation situated on the realm of perfection.

Would you please not rank me among collectors, although I pretend I am a connaisseur, in the meaning of the French word, academician Victor Eftimiu told me on one occasion in 1965, seated on a bergère, clad in a night gown, rather worn down but adorned with fine embroidery,

excerpts IV In his office on the ground floor, Saferian, on a chair and surrounded by four men, all standing, was contemplating an oil portrait, set near them against the back of an ordinary straw chair. It is an Ingres, most certainly, said one of the four, a man with trimmed

An interior made for appearance, fitting the extravagance of some poems In the beginning, gazing at the photos, I stood in the doorway and had the feeling of entering a house deserted by its owners, where I was left with the secret of its nature hidden inside the still

1947. The year of the most despotic deeds of the communist regime come to power in the shadow of the Soviet tanks. The ordeal of the Romanian intellectual elites (and not only) begins. The Slătineanu family find themselves treated like common criminals. The whole family

The chance passers-by through the quiet Cotroceni neighbourhood could discover, at the end of a well tended garden, a two-storey house with no other adornment than its iron-wrought latticework. What was strange was that leaning against the wall separating it from the house

(see also in Romanian with illustration) Garabet (Garbis) Avachian (1907-1967) was an eminent violin professor with the Ciprian Porumbescu Conservatoire in Bucharest; among his students may be counted several laureates of international contests. This talented musician undoubtedly

I often meet people who are trying to sell a painting or some other work of art, claiming that it's a part of their collection. They are really mistaken. Every man furnishes his house according to his possibilities and his tastes. A rich man can have in his house paintings

Once, the art lover, strolling along the streets of Bucharest, would stop in front of certain houses – either known to him or not – that confined within their walls innumerable works of art. Around these art works there endured a name, that of the people who had gathered