On work, the lead character in our lives | Must-see theatre productions this season | Svetlana Cârstean on her latest book and more.
It's been an exhausting month in and out of office, but the Easter holidays are just around the corner. In the second issue of EFMR's newsletter we discuss about the role of work and art in our lives.
It’s been a month full of activities and work and the spring season is in full bloom. As the days went by, while trying to be everywhere and doing everything, I realized I’m failing to connect with myself and the people around me, and a lot of the events I attend or things I tick off my to do list, are more because I have to rather than because I want to. It feels like this whirlwind is something that comes religiously at the beginning of every year, about two months in and we all end up in a burn out by Easter. Stress has become a metric of our performance and success and work has become the place we all hide from conflicts, insecurities and uncertainty. Which makes me ask myself, are we all avoiding something in our life that we shouldn’t, be it the news we’re so sick about, a relationship with someone we lost, a feeling we don’t like, or a discussion we should have? And what can keep us connected in this crazy world?
Most of the times when I don’t find an answer, I go search for one in the theatre, the cinema or in an art gallery and this March I went probably everywhere I was invited. My two-week marathon started with the premiere of Secundar / Secondary, the new play directed by Alexandra Badea. I didn’t like it as much as Badea’s last one, Exil / Exile – which remains one of those artistic events that forever changed something in me. However, Alexandra has a way of shining the spotlight on some really important themes that preoccupy me, including our work dynamics and habits. To talk about this, and the importance of art in people’s lives, I invited actress Ada Galeș to write her most personal thoughts, starting from the play she stars in.
Another event that I attended and made me question things was The Power of Storytelling, the conference I talked about in the first issue, with host Cristian Lupșa. It took place a week ago and gave me the chance to listen to some inspiring people. One of my favorite moments was to hear journalist Kate Murphy talk about the power of listening – a quality most of us think we possess but in fact, we don’t. Mostly because we enter a conversation with preconceived ideas, or we don’t have the patience to listen until the end and we jump to conclusions. And most of the time, it’s always about us – something we want to say because we are sure we’re right, or because we want to be heard. But if we don’t listen, we don’t connect to the person in front of us, so what’s left? Listening is the greatest gift we could give somebody, and this was a good reminder. It also reminded me about another thing that would help us listen more: slowing down. Offering ourselves space to process what we hear, what we read, what we see. With a constantly busy or tired mind, we will never be fully present in the moment we are living.
Below I gathered a list of theatre plays you should see this season, recommended by lovely Raisa Beicu; two interviews with people I admire: Svetlana Cârstean, who just launched her latest poetry volume and Roman Tolici, the painter everyone is talking about; and, because even when you’re heart and mind are open, you cannot fully connect on an empty stomach, a short story about Iki Kiz, the duo that will sweep your taste buds away, written by Emilia Barbu. We finish off with the editor’s picks, a list of things I’ve done lately and recommend.
Laura x
Work, the Lead Character in Our Lives
Writing about Secondary’s themes – a play I act in – was a challenge and I didn’t even realize how much I needed it. It sparked this creative, intimate space between me and you – a place to ask myself, to the point of inner unrest, where I stand on this path I’m walking, what’s the point of what I do, what’s the point of my work? Questions that, in truth, Secondary itself keeps prodding at.
I won’t toss out another dusty definition of art, judged by fossilised traditions or box-office tallies. Building an alternate world is more than politics – it’s a necessary indecency. I believe Deborah Levy said that somewhere, a middle finger to everything sold as normal. I’m an artist who knows art is free, provocative, intrusive, regenerative. Sometimes it’s sharp as that first coffee, sometimes gentle as the breeze drying tears on a balcony where you cry so no one hears. It’s form and substance. Secondary, the play that premiered in March at the National Theatre in Bucharest was supposed to be a show about work. About how we tangle with each other. How these days, the people we work with have become this weird stand-in for everything we’ve lost. As my character says in the play: “We demand from coworkers what’s missing in our lives, since we’ve got no one to grab a beer with after hours.”
Work’s the new god. The new lover. The new shrink. We sleep with phones by our pillows, not for distant sweethearts but for that urgent email. We wake at night, not from nightmares, but because we forgot to reply to a text. Close our eyes and see task lists, not the face of someone we love. We’re history’s most efficient creatures – and its most miserable, for the same damn reasons. Post-pandemic, in the social media age, we’ve forgotten how to connect without instant payoff, without “networking” turning every chat into a career move. We’re like old-timers longing for feasts and dancing nights where ideas clashed and where there was time to rethink and own it. No patience, no guts to contradict ourselves. Scared of inconsistency, hooked on personal branding, obsessed with straight-line professional identities in a world without a single straight line. The things we slave over don’t pile up into a shared space we belong to. Collective dreams have crumbled under the worship of solo success, under the lie that happiness is another zero in your pay-check. We’ve lost the knack for dreaming together. We dream pretty, but apart – each in our bubble, our angst, our TikTok. Popcorn crumbles under my teeth – salty as deadline sweat, sweet as the lie that “tomorrow’s better” – and it drives me nuts. I can't shake it.
Secondary is about the way our lives bleed across boundaries, from work to love to quiet rage, slipping from one domain to another without ever settling into tidy boxes, a chaotic sprawl that unnerves us to our core. It is also a show about the lack of community. About our hypocrisy – all of us, but especially us artists, who claim we’re a tribe but are really just scattered atoms, briefly colliding before repelling hard. In theatre, we’re not a real community – just a crew for a project’s lifespan or a feud with a shared enemy. Then back to our petty wars, our petty vanities. We’re together only because space and time threw us in the same room, not because we chose it. And how strange it feels when the last place you’d most expect solidarity – the stage – is as fractured, competitive, and lonely as the rest of the world?
Another layer of the show digs into the abuse we gloss over for performance and success. We’re in an era where trauma talk is everywhere, almost exhausting. After centuries of silence, now we’re shouting too much, too loud, too relentless about our wounds. In Secondary, there’s this scene that haunts me – someone yells, no one turns. “If I don’t step in, people are left to die”. But how much of the abuse is about me, and how much about the victim? How much do we let them die, only saving them when it saves us – when it washes our guilt clean? Empathy’s a muscle – the more you flex it, the stronger it gets. But not everyone’s doing the same workout. How do we split everyday discomfort from true trauma? Where’s the middle? I don’t know and the play doesn’t either. It just hangs the question out there, heavy, like a stray popcorn kernel on your tongue – salty, sour, impossible to ignore.
I love how the play repeats its themes, how each character picks up and reworks the same struggles. Like a Greek chorus, broken and stitched back through a modern lens, or a badly tuned radio catching scraps from different stations. This repetition isn’t redundant – it’s a way to show how every archetype, every social role, grapples with the same realities in wildly different ways. More and more of us suffer the same pains, but we can’t hear each other. Everyone thinks their hurt is unique, unrepeatable, unmatched. Maybe it is. Maybe that’s the tragedy – we’re hopelessly split even in our most shared experiences.
What’s art worth today, when it’s all boiled down to entertainment or merch? Can theatre change the world? Big-picture, maybe not. But in micro-worlds – individuals, flashes of insight, shifts – absolutely. Art provokes, annoys, reflects, watches. It yanks us out of comfort and makes us see differently, if only for a couple hours. But contemporary art’s getting less brave, less experimental, less willing to gamble. It’s easier to churn out tested formulas, recycle old tricks, hide in familiar looks. Safer. More profitable. Less stressful. Less vital.
During rehearsals, I wrote in my journal: “Work’s about mixing. How we interact, how we soak each other up. But it’s like we’d rather toss the leftovers than figure out how to share. To the trash with it, to the trash with us.” Not an answer, just a shard of what gnaws at me. We can’t imagine alternatives to this world. We repeat the same patterns, mistakes, injustices, because we can’t fathom it could be different. But if salvation for imagining a new world comes from anywhere, it’s art. It’s the only place we’re still allowed to dream the impossible.
Secondary is, at its core, about all of us – the questions we dodge, the talks we skip, the truths we know but bury under layers of social bullshit. Popcorn still scrapes my gums – salty as truth, sweet as forgetting – and I can’t ditch it.
It’s not a show with answers, because I don’t buy art that hands out easy fixes for messy problems. It’s a show that asks, carves out room for thought, leaves you with a restless buzz after the last light fades.
Maybe that’s all good art can do: make us squirm in our skin, in our certainties. Remind us the world could be otherwise, that we could be otherwise, if we dared to imagine it.
“Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Write a poem for a friend, even if it’s lousy. Do it as best you can. It’s never easy, but it’s always possible. In a time of shallowness, making art – flawed, exposed – is resistance,” -- Kurt Vonnegut
Ada Galeș is an actress. A speaker in both senses of the word—on stage and in conversation—she believes art should unsettle, seduce, and startle, always chasing what lingers after the curtain falls.
Must-See Theatre Productions This Season
Raisa Beicu, a cultural influencer and marketer well-known in the artsy bubble of Romania, sent us three theatre plays recommendations we should all check out this season. Why her? Because she sees more than 50 in a year. Which makes her the perfect go-to person when you’re wondering what’s worthy of your interest.
1. Club 27 (Teatrul Metropolis, r. Alex Bogdan)
Directed by Alex Bogdan, based on a script by Cătălina Mihai–who, coincidentally, is exactly 27 years old – Club 27 is a deeply moving theatrical experience. With a cast of three exceptional actors, the play finds the perfect balance between humor and sorrow, laughter and vulnerability. It’s a reminder that no matter what, there’s always a reason to move forward. This production reaffirms the transformative power of great theatre, deconstructing longing to the point where you can almost reach out and embrace all those you miss.
2. Moarte la Teatrul de Revistă ( r. Gabriel Sandu)
A production of “Stela Popescu” Theatre, this play takes audiences into the world of a fading variety theatre, where a young director is brought in to revive the institution—only to unearth its deep-seated fragilities. The story delves into fears, dreams, and ambitions, searching for that elusive “golden hour” that defines both performers and spectators alike. It is played in various theatres in Bucharest, you can check here when and where.
3. Lexiconul Amar (Teatrul Odeon, r. Silviu Purcărete)
Silviu Purcărete’s latest masterpiece draws inspiration from Petre Ispirescu’s classic fairy tale Youth Without Age and Life Without Death, bringing it into the present with striking relevance. Packed with profound cultural references, humor, and a lingering melancholy, the production explores the shift from the mythical world of fairy tales to the digital era of social media. It reflects on a younger generation reshaping the world while their parents hold on to timeless anxieties. A philosophical deep dive into the human condition, the play presents the life-death duality in the Valley of Tears, featuring a Prince Charming who refuses to be born.
Svetlana Cârstean on identities and the meanings behind her latest book, Restul
I’ve known Svetlana Cârstean since I was a baby. I think one of my first poetry launches was Svetlana’s Floare de menghină, when I was only 14 years old. It was her debut volume and one that won several important prizes. I still have the book with Svetlana’s dedication for my mother.
She has forever conquered me with Sînt Alta – the volume she published in 2021, which has circulated massively on Instagram in the years that followed.
A few days ago, at the 6th Serate cu tâlc I organized in my living room, Raisa Beicu gave me the most wonderful gift – Svetlana’s latest poetry volume, Restul. I had no idea she just launched another book, so it was a big surprise. After reading it one rainy evening and remembering why I relate so much with everything that she writes, I called her, inviting her for a short interview.
I feel you redefine yourself with each new volume of poems. What does Restul mean to you and how do you relate now to your past work?
For me, this redefining comes natural and it’s necessary. Firstly, because I feel the need to not repeat myself in my work. I must challenge myself in different ways each time. And although I am moving away from my previous works , I discover unexpected, perhaps unconscious connections with themes or elements from the other books I have published. For example, I realized when I finished working at Restul, that the man, who is the main character of the volume, made me think of Oblomov – my alter ego and favorite character from Floare de menghină. There was a poem there – Oblomov pe ape, a reference to the floating Ophelia in John Everett Millet's painting. Oblomov was androgynous, floating in his thoughts, removed from the world. Action and inaction, labor and mostly physical labor, the laborer, these were all essential themes in Floare de menghină, that have always preoccupied me and are also present in Restul.
I noticed that the volume is dedicated to some important men in your life, and in most of the poems there is a theme – that of identity, of the androgynous woman who carries within her the identities of countless men. Are they a mirror of those to whom you dedicated this volume?
They are models of the men who have constructed me. Who have harmed, contaminated, influenced and sometimes intoxicated me. In Restul I work with all that is still vital in these models, but also with their remains in my body, in my mind and in my soul, with their drags and their persistence. I am also working with the roles we play in the world, the way they are perceived, the way they have been constructed over the last 30 to 40 years, the way we have been tempted to play them and the way we have deluded ourselves about them.
What is for you the most rewarding part of writing poetry?
Work, first and foremost. The whole making of the book, the thoughts that come from writing, the way you let yourself transported for years by the thinking dedicated to one book. And then, there’s the structure, the (sometimes exhausting) joy of seeing, at the end, what you managed to control in your writing, and what you haven’t. Finally, it’s the interactions with the readers, the dialogues with them, their sometimes unexpected reactions. The way your poetry can transform other people, something you haven’t dreamed of for a second in the intimacy of your writing.
I understand Restul is part of a trilogy. What is your writing process and when do you know a volume is finished?
I think it's finished when you feel you've exhausted all directions of themes and language you could have explored. Practically, you could always keep going but you reach a point when you can sense the repetition, the dilution of the text, of its force. Restul is, indeed, part of a trilogy, one which I thought about last year, for the first time. The following books will not develop the themes of this one but rather bring up other themes. I try to talk in this trilogy about a personal reconstruction and the vital elements of it. About what can bring you back to the world. To the world you love.
Let’s end this lovely interview with some of your favorite poetesses.
Adela Greceanu, Krista Szocs, Moni Stănilă, Olga Ștefan, Augustina Visan (Republica Moldova).
A peak into the world of Roman Tolici, the painter everyone is talking about
It’s quite impossible to have never heard of Roman Tolici, the most prolific and popular contemporary Romanian painter. A painter associated with a photographic realism infused by a surreal sense of everyday existence, of the most acute human anxieties. His new exhibition, called New Hope, has debuted in Brașov at the end of 2024 and has traveled since to Timișoara and now to Bucharest, where it is on display at Mobius Gallery, in Piața Amzei, until the 31st of May.
We met online. I was in my living room, Roman was rolling a cigarette in his studio. When I asked him how he is, he told me he’s already working at something new. For him, work is a constant process of discovering, so I wanted to know more – about his process, but also about his latest exhibition, New Hope.
Your paintings are full of symbols, including your latest exhibition – New Hope, which speaks a lot about current crises, but also about adaptability and regeneration in a meta-future. What do you want these little objects of the past to convey to the people who discover them?
I think they represent our fears today. The fact that the planet is on the brink of total destruction - there's all this environmentalist discourse, it's our duty to do something. Then there’s everything that's happening socially and politically, these paradigm shifts. We live in a permanent panic. A panic of death in various forms and we forget that with death, life doesn’t stop. Like it or not, time goes on. I projected all these fears into a meta-future to detach myself from what is happening today. It was a therapeutic exercise that calmed the anguish induced by the recent events in our lives. One that turned into paintings of hope.
New Hope is also the title of a 2012 drawing of yours, that is part of the current exhibition. I'm curious if the idea for this series came up back then or was it born later?
The idea for the series came later. When I did the drawing, I was looking at the idea of putting the human being in a meta-future, where the dimensions have changed. I thought of the dinosaur skeletons that we look at today. I imagined how, millions of years from now, another species will come into power and humans will be just remnants, about which we will know little. There's a period of transition from one series to another which consists of various experiments. I made this drawing during one of those periods, from one series to another. Ten years later, the theme of hope came back to my attention, but it was triggered by a conversation I overheard in a restaurant - a gentleman was on the phone, talking in English and he said "Hope is for losers. I know for sure it's not gonna work."
His words got me thinking, I never thought hope was for losers and it made me think that our hopes are an abstract feeling. They are not real, or easy to define. Even though hope does help us achieve unimaginable things sometimes.
I find it very interesting that you say that - until recently I had a similar conception of hope. Until I attended The Power of Storytelling, which ended with a very inspirational talk and the idea that hope is not a feeling. Actually, it is a choice.
Yes, we can say it's a feeling we choose to have.
Would you say you’re an optimistic man, who doesn't lose hope even in the most difficult moments?
Fortunately, yes. But it's unclear to me what hope is, and this series is a quest for the answer. What you're telling me, the fact that it's a choice, I think it supports the paintings I’ve made. What I find very interesting, in an artist's process of exploring a theme, it’s the way in which it evolves within him, in time. The New Hope series, which is now on display, is not finalized, I'm still working on it, but there are also other things that preoccupy me.
I know you don't leave the house without your camera and you photograph everything that catches your eye. Your paintings are very much inspired by the medium of photography. When did it become part of your research process? And which came first - photography or painting?
Painting came first. I learned to photograph at the Academy of Art. In the beginning, there was no connection between the two, they were separate things. At that time there was also the preconception that using photography as a model for painting was blasphemy, which encouraged me, a little later, to approach painting using photographs. During university, we are taught about the importance of the physical model, which is a good approach for some to follow. I approach photography as a physical model. I use series of photographs that I take in bursts and what interests me is not the picture of a model, but the beauty of a gesture of a man who doesn't know he is being photographed. They are like performers of my work.
Do you have a favorite painting?
The one I'm working on now is my favorite one, always.
You eat with your eyes first — a sneak peek into the world of tablescaping with Iki Kiz
Iki Kiz roughly translates to “two girls” in Turkish — and Andrada-Nalian Bucur & Edie Etem are just that. Two girls with two different backgrounds, brought together by the same passion for food, beauty and conversations sparked around a lovely dinner table. It all started in Andrada’s kitchen, at a home party featuring Thai fish, margaritas and living room dancing — and they’ve been charming the world with their moveable feasts, ever since!
Andrada runs Soto Studio, and has mixed her interior designer training with occasional gigs as a restaurant chef. She’s obsessed with farmers markets and always has seasonal flowers in her home. Whereas Edie, a self described “Turkish girl born in Constanța and raised in the USA”, loves spicy food and learned the art of cooking at the Leiths Culinary School of Food and Wine, in London. She’s worked as a private chef for families all around the world before her paths crossed with Andrada’s.
Ever since their serendipitous kitchen encounter, these iki kiz have become a culinary powerhouse, mixing their Turkish origins with their taste for life and beauty, to create curated menus and tablescapes for events big or small. Their approach is custom and their vision all-encompassing: from choosing local, seasonal products, to layering flavours and curating the aesthetics, they make every single detail count with each unique experience they create. Their dinners are true journeys for the senses, from mouth-watering combinations with surprising ingredients (that might even make you reconsider your life-long preferences!), to the perfect chromatic arrangements, theirs is a feast to feed even the hungriest of souls.
If you’re feeling hungry for more, follow them and check-out their occasional pop-ups around Bucharest. Buon appetito!
Emilia Barbu is a freelance copywriter & journalist currently living in Italy. She loves natural wine, great conversations and visual arts – most of which you can find in her newsletter, Tickle News. She has worked with Glamour Magazine, Scena9, Glitch & Polpettas, among others.
EDITOR’S PICKS
Every month I discover something new in this city I call home that fascinates me. I’m forever curious about new adventures, book launches, concerts, places to eat, dance or drink, events to attend, movies and plays to go to. So each month, I’ll share with you those little things that caught my eye. March was about my 13-year relationship anniversary (yay!) and a lot of going out, so I hope you will find something interesting below.
A new place I went to and found delicious is Maimuca. A restaurant that was on my list for a long time but never managed to get to. We decided to book it for our anniversary and it became my top 3 places in town. I went for the octopus with strawberries, pistachio and chilli, which was just mouthwatering. A combination of ingredients that blew me away. The whole place is an experience – from the loud electro music, to the cheerful staff, to the incredible food. A must-try!
An exhibition I saw and loved is Pictodrom, by Dumitru Gorzo at Ars Monitor. And also the talk that followed a few days later, with the artist. Both gave me a glimpse into Gorzo’s mind and how he sees the present world. There’s something he said that stuck with me, which is “Painting on a white canvas is an act of violence because of the appearance of impurity.”
The exhibition is on display until the 29th of May.
An event I went to and stayed with me was Ami Amalia’s fashion show during Mercedes-Benz Bucharest Fashion Week. I had second thought about waking up at 8.30 am on a Saturday, just to catch a fashion show, but I felt so happy I did it at the end of it. Amalia Sãftoiu has envisioned a world in which we are kinder to each other, a future we can all believe in and we should all defend. She has brought on the catwalk some incredible actors, as well as a talented dancer, who opened the show as mother nature, tucked under a big piece of red yarn, slowly reborning. A colorful feast for the eyes, with a special message. And a reminder of how beautiful her creations are!
An event I went to and had fun was Roda del Mundo: Gypsy Brasil. Organised in Control Club, it was the 12th edition of Roda, an event organised by Larisa Perde and Șaraimanic, where they invite traditional singers and artists to perform with lăutari for a night filled with improvisation, creativity and so much joy! The next Roda del Mundo is on the 7th of May, so hurry up and secure your tix!
An activity that helped me slow down this month was booking a treatment at Shinzo Spa. For two hours, I’ve been pampered all over, enjoying a body scrub, a facial treatment and a massage, all while my phone was on silent and very far away from me. They have a small and chic spa in Primăverii neighbourhood, with good prices and experienced therapists (ask for Dwien). A must-try when you feel weary!
And we reached the end, my friends! See you in May!
Laura x