December 7th 2012 – January 4th 2013
By way of custom, this text ought to be a pseudo-articulated and almost-impossible-to-fathom-with-the-inner-eye explanation about the artist’s aim, a sort of “why?” made up from expressions that sometimes not even the artist himself can understand. You read it, you nod affirmatively and, this is compulsory, you hold your hands behind your back, so that the people see that you are cultured, and you pretend you understood the hidden message of the “work” in front of you. Resigned, you go on looking at the works.
In this particular case, you won’t read any essays about nothing. Nor will you look at works without knowing why you are doing this; not that this is a bad thing per se, but it can however become annoying with time. George Roşu presents us with a series of stories, memories and happenings treated as delicatessen made of the routine and of the ordinary and served on cardboard plates, painted with watercolors, felt tip pens and ball point pens.
George Roşu draws almost all the time. When he is not drawing, George is observing people observing other people, he is disbanding and illustrating definitions and clichés, he is writing nano-stories for children and he is dreaming of movie scripts, of course, modern ones.