On the way. Sofia. Bulgary. Last summer. Never looking for art. Art just strikes out on the street everywhere. It's an optical problem. It's the same when you hear the music of the street or of the forest without being a musician. They say "it's just noise, there are just birds". I mean you see art without being an artist because you have a special built-in organ for that or you simply want to see it. What is art? What is the sake of art? But what is the sake of sake? Asks the old Maiorescu.
The rithms of Bulgary. I miss them. Not the national music, but the amazing people i've met there, the experiences i've had there.
Now turning back to the present. I see that for me it's harder to stay home after being away for some time. It's like not finding my place. Here are the people i love and i care about. As a travelling-lover, i discover that staying home is like a new journey because we have to renew the links with our roots, with our old self. We are like Ulises coming back to Ithaca. We find the place and people changed. We have to regain our identity and our right to come to the place we belong to. We have to be disguised by the serene Athena before revealing our new self. Odyssey or the art of coming back. That's why Homer never dies. That's why home is not only a place to come back, but also a place to go to.