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 DIMINEŢI 2

Photos © 2004 Cosmin Bumbuţ

Words © 2004 Alex Leo Şerban
Translation © 2004 Ana Gavrea

All rights reserved to the authors.

Editor: Răzvan Penescu rpenescu@liternet.ro

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 Introduction
by Corin Toporaş 3

Just like so many others, I had seen his photos in Dilema magazine, even before I met him and at a time when
Dilema was just breaking through. Oh [raise your hand to your forehead], how I miss my Saturday morning
coffee with the ink of his photos on my fingers... I for one believe those photos, rather than being inspired by
the tone of the magazine, have, on the contrary, imposed on Dilema a style which would be crystallized later
on – intelligent yet not arrogant, funny yet not derisive, self-confident yet not self-centred. Do you recognize
him? It’s Bumbuţ (I could call him Cosmin, but it’s a shame not to use such a lovely surname, Bumbuţ,
meaning small button).

Later on, Bumbuţ and his photos migrated to the glossy world of fashion and life style magazines. Yes, he
became a little more hard to find, but that was just an excuse to sneak a look at them (the magazines), with a
 prompt reply prepared for Cristina when she would catch me with one of them in my hand and before an 
ironic spark lit her eyes: “I was just checking out the photos by Bumbuţ [a glare – “how could you even think
that I would look at those bags of bones…”, look away, no, it’s too much]

Much has been said about his capacity – so rare – to excel at both art photography and at commercial
photography. I believe Bumbuţ does not make any difference between them, treating both genres alike.
Another explanation (otherwise, unexplainable) lies in his art to find beauty. Wherever – in all kinds of places,
all more or less improbable, (let’s face it, the world isn’t quite as beautiful as in Bumbuţ’s photos), in his
models (creatures who don’t always radiate with beauty – not that beauty, anyway), in the abstract of the
concrete world that surrounds us, on the faces of the peasants, in detail, in depth. And there’s also the way
that he (en)lights his subjects with an ethereal, almost unearthly light, but what do I know… [yeah, scratch
your head again].
 4
And then I met Bumbuţ – we spent some time together, outdoors and in the studio to shoot a portrait that
hasn’t been made public after all [sigh with relief. one more and that’s it. look down. no, better yet, look up].
I enjoyed seeing him at work. Not that I understood more about the “secret” of his art. But it was quite a
pleasant experience, however painful the modelling job may have been for me [stay still, lower your chin or
your eyeglasses will reflect the light]. Then there was the project he did for PricewaterhouseCoopers, which I
believe he enjoyed quite a lot (although his ad with the peasants of Maramureş – is it still there in Otopeni? –
did cause some commotion in the Bucharest offices of the multinational company), as he enjoys anything
related to Maramureş.

Now, from the other side of the pond, in Canada, I miss seeing new photos by Bumbuţ… [raise you hand to
your eye, scouting. can’t see you]. Lucky for me there’s the Internet (though he seems to me a bit stingy with
 us, the public, on his own website and on other photography sites as well) and the six photos on the wall of

our living-room, a real conversation starter: “I had heard that Romania is a beautiful country, but I didn’t
know you’re such an exceptional photographer!”. “Those aren’t mine – they’re by Cosmin Bumbuţ, a
Romanian photographer”. “Oooh […]”
[great, that was it. let’s see what we got here. we might have to meet one more time, try something
different. I’ve got an idea… I’ll call you.]

(Corin Toporaş)
 5

 

A computer screen with several words flickering. “Neither day, nor night”
Delete. The screen is empty. Delete: “The screen is empty”…
 6

 

Around the 18th century, a tired traveller lays his head on a stone and dozes off;
when he wakes up he realizes that the place he’s been searching for is precisely that.
 7

 

It’s the only place he couldn’t have found otherwise but in a dream.
 8

 

Life, like death, goes through you without you knowing in which of them you really are.
 9

 

A Formula 1 race, terrible noise, cuts across the only TV

set left turned on in the waiting room of an asylum.
 10

 

Every man is an island; every island is me.

 11

 

What was left to be done before the meeting with myself…

 12

 

... I almost put between brackets the dream I wasn’t in…

 13

 

... an image from which the wind had been sucked out by the world’s stillness…
 14

 

... of gestures and things which were every day exactly the same…
 15

 

... of rest and peace that only a long wait on the doorstep of you loved one can bring.
 16

 

I might think that I’m back in the house I left, but the wind fixes the mirror better.
 17

 

The end of a concert. A round of applause. The orchestra stands up, showing their empty hands to the public.
 18

 

"10, 9... You’re relaxed... 8, 7, 6... You eyes are heavy, closing down... 5, 4, 3, 2...
You feel that everything around you slowly disappears. On 1 you’re fast asleep."
 19

 

At the cinema, an action movie. A cell phone rings, but no one hears it. The film goes on.
 20

 

Three o’clock in the afternoon, a fine July day;

somebody starts to think of furnishing his apartment with shadows…