Born on March 27, 1954
Village Draganeshti, Singerei, Moldova
Education:
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Water-colour, graphic arts, pastel...
tempera, coal...
Who and what does define an artist, how express an inexplicability, when you possess such allies?
Satiated cover slides evenly over routine and boredom.
Creative cover filters impulses of living colour range.
A cover-judge fixes records of all hues and renders them a laudatory gladness...
Galvanization of forms takes place at a high Level of spiritual temperatures...
Globe of membrane is enlargeing, the Universe bursts and transforms very strangely and mysteriously. He becomes antique and modern simultaneously, alfa-impresionist and beta-textualist in one Gioconda's leg, in one wing of dragon-fly having read in Telescop of Halley...
Spirituality synthesizes cosmic parcels of fulfilments and desires, carries out selection of confrontation of memory of pinacotecs, fixing them on deceptive canvases, crucifying crystallographies on offset paper...
It is a vain suffering, until an imp-magicion is in papaverous citadels.
Inspite of this, foredoomed to the beautiful eternally stunned chronograph of spiritual landscapes seeks after the other arguments constantly, to form his own theory of the individualism in colour unity.
Wather-colour, drawing, pastel...
A tormented bone has been saturated with blood...
Everything fixes very scrupulously, because a brush is growwing scanty in a due course, ray of eye fatally is loosing an acuity, beet imaginary space forestalls any reserves and, Oh, is coming an inexorable knock of coundown, which brings anly emptiness after..
What have been selected and read from Amalgam, from this sole, mysterious and unique life or the Holly Trinity?!
Is it the "Codru" of Eminescu, the fallow-deer of Labush, the Cinderella of Andersen? A fragment of strolling melancholy, which scratch violently the window of memory?
Maybe forefatherss' raines collected into huge ancient pupil, opening now and then over Carpat's summits, pouring us to great-grandchildren's skin, to estranged Bucovina, to White Fortress'.
In any event it's time for publishing of books and catalogues, time for personal exhibitions in halls of prestige museums. Hail! maestro!
I have believed you were still frish in Draganesht's ray of Singera, among cosmic looks of Big Snail. Have you found a raindbow finally, which leads to papaverous strounghold of your own Planet?
11 January 1997
Ion Hadarca