Gradina antropologica/The Anthropological Garden

The Anthropological Garden

One sunny day we went out in the city to see the autumn.
I have hated parks ever since I can remember, but this detail did not affect any of my relationships, I would often hang out with people who do not see anything wrong in a city park, I would walk on cement roads and I felt better or worse between straight or round rows of planted flowers.

Of course, I have come across parks who outgrew their urban destination. Such was my childhood park. At that time, when I was little, it used to have a small lavender field, somewhere in the back of a group of fir trees, and we the children loved to play there, enchanted by the smell inspiring cupboards and clothes. The park also had some rock statues warming up in the sun, with soft round shapes, where the kids could sit like in some stone arms. These were still friends of all the children running around them . They would patiently stay there, it seemed eternally, surrounded by a patch of walked-on ground, where the grass has been tramped.

I saw the park again after years, the friendly statues, with no artful meaning, but with their long lasting friendship with kids, were gone, instead, from place to place, some wooden modern art totems were showing their scary faces. All seemed small and astray.

I also knew another park in front of the cinema theater where we would go on Sundays. All I noticed there were the few swings, which could fly up a long distance (or so it seemed) and some flowers and benches, keeping company to the main point: the cinema hall. Later on, the cinema had closed, and the park had become just a space in-between some streets.

A park would be nice to represent an indirect invitation to walking, biking, sightseeing, not a straight oder to relax, „you must” unwind now, you must breathe in fresh air, you must orderly stroll down small mathematical cemented roads...Plus the punitive messages who forbid walking on the grass and so. The space of a park, filled with plants, trees, flowers and stones, should make every effort to make people forget some human hand planned and put there everything. The message of a park designer for posterity should be „Did you manage to forget that someone created me? Then my work here is brilliantly fulfilled”. Not some propaganda like „Here, the city citizens can enjoy a orderly and programmed stroll, by the kindness of local authorities. Do NOT step on the grass, do NOT run on it, and, most of all, do NOT forget you all are some city creatures.”

The park we visited today was sad and empty, we could see its limits from any point inside it: the railroad, the city hospital nearby, the crowded street. We could step on the grass if we liked to, but it was a puny grass, lacking the color and thickness, fraternizing with the plastic bags and paper bits in some corners of the lawn. We tried to stay longer, but we had to circle the park again and again, like some animals in a cage. One familiar tree had been cut down, God knows why, they could have at least left some bigger part of its trunk and put flowers in it or something. Or why didn't they take the roots completely out of there? Mystery...it looked sad and pointless. A toddler was shaking the garbage bin, under the calm indifference of his mother's eyes. Maybe he thought this was another tree, a plastic one.

Instead of helping the „urban-s” to forget the street they have stepped from inside the park, the green spaces from our vicinity seem to point their finger at people, reminding you that you are still just a caged animal, however large and grassy the cage may be. If you touch the grass, it is treated with insecticides and in the spring you can get some nasty conjunctivitis or skin affections, if you see an interesting stone pile in the grass, it might be a mouse trap inside it. And the more frequent strollers already know each park's rambler, the fright of the alleys, with a troubled mind and clothes, drawn by the mirage of free nature or concocting some nasty plans.

I liked the city too, not only the rural areas, since I was little. But the idea that we should feel grateful in the city to the local authorities for every public green space they haven't completely ruined seems unacceptable. They put up benches, plastic slides, the paint the fences and install dog poop bins, then they proudly look around and feel proud that their „subjects” from the cage-cities have a space to execute the daily walk. This is how I see „them”, the people beneath the ugly and sad parks, and the mean little alleys. Those who get some air in other cages when they need a walk. Bigger ones.


Intr-o zi cu soare am iesit in parc, sa vedem toamna.

De cand ma stiu nu imi plac parcurile, insa acest lucru nu a fost un criteriu care sa afecteze prietenii, respectiv adesea am iesit cu prieteni care nu vad nimic anormal intr-un parc de oras, m-am plimbat pe alei cimentate, m-am simtit mai bine sau mai putin bine intre scuaruri si rondele, vara sau iarna.
Sigur, am intalnit si parcuri care au crescut dincolo de destinatia lor urbana, printre care si parcul copilariei. Avea la acea vreme un lan de levantica intr-o zona undeva in spatele unui palc de brazi, unde era minunat sa ne jucam noi, copiii, incantati de mirosul de dulap cu haine care se strecura printre banci. Avea si niste statui de piatra alba care se incalzeau de la soare, ale caror forme rotunjite erau numai bune sa te asezi pe ele, ca intr-un fel de bratze de piatra. Erau prietenii nemiscati ai cardurilor de copii care se zbantuiau pe pajisti. Stateau rabdatoare acolo, parca pentru eternitate, inconjurate de cate un cerc in care iarba era tocita si ramasese numai pamantul batucit.
Am revazut parcul dupa ani, statuile prietenoase (care nu exprimau nimic de altfel decat ospitalitate fata de copii) disparusera, in schimb din loc in loc in parc aparusera un fel de totemuri din lemn cu ochi holbati, numai bune sa te sperie in caz ca era si inserarea parte din peisaj. Totul era mai mic si strain.
Mai era si parcul din fata salii de cinema la care megeam fiecare duminica, din care tot ceea ce vedeam erau cele cateva leagane care zburau pana sus de tot si niste rondouri geometrice cu flori, cu singurul rol ca tineau companie bancilor pe care asteptam sa se dea drumul in sala. Mai tarziu, fara sala de cinema ca punct central, era doar un spatiu intre cateva strazi.
Un parc ar trebui sa fie o invitatie indirecta la mers alene printre plante si copaci, un spatiu care nu iti ordona sa te relaxezi acum musai, sa inspiri aer mai curat si sa te plimbi ordonat pe alei mici si meschine, cu amenintari punitive in caz ca iesi in laterale pe iarba. Ar trebui sa fie un spatiu asternut cu plante, poteci intortochiate, pietre si coltisoare, care face toate eforturile sa uite ca nu a fost dintotdeauna asa, si ca el e creat artificial in mijlocul unui oras trepidant. Un parc e un mesaj pentru posteritate al celui care l-a proiectat, iar mesajul suprem ar fi „ Ati uitat ca m-a creat un om? Atunci mi-am indeplinit menirea”. Nu o declaratie propagandistica de genul „Aici cetatenii orasului pot gusta o plimbare ordonata si programata, multumita autoritatilor locale. NU calcati iarba, NU alergati si mai ales, NU uitati ca sunteti intr-un oras”.
Parcul in care am fost era trist si golas, puteai vedea limitele lui din orice punct te aflai: calea ferata, spitalul cu pacienti in curte, strada circulata. Puteai calca iarba, dar nu aveai nicaieri senzatia ca ar fi o iarba autentica, ba pe alocuri ea se infratea cu niste servetele si niste pungi, intr-o completa decadere din sentimentul mandriei de a fi iarba. Daca am stat mai mult timp, a trebuit sa ne invartim in cercuri, ca un animal in cusca, altfel nu aveam ce face. Copacii mai batrani se plictisisera si ei, se impingeau ca niste copii obraznici unii pe altii cu crengile. In schimb, un copac familiar fusese taiat, in locul lui am gasit un ciot inestetic. De ce? Mister. De ce nu l-au taiat mai de sus, sa faca o scorbura in trunchiul ramas? De ce nu au scos si radacina, ca sa nu mai intristeze locul cu ea? Mister din nou.
Un copil tragea de un cos de gunoi sub privirile calme ale mamei, poate credea ca si asta e un fel de copac mai mic. De oras.
In loc sa te ajute sa uiti strada de pe care ai pasit in interior, parcurile prin care ma pot plimba in ultima vreme parca te arata cu degetul si iti reamintesc ca esti doar un animal urban, prins intr-o cusca in care te poti roti cat vrei, dar tot cusca ramane.
Daca pui mana pe iarba, te poti alege cu ceva afectiuni de la insecticidele date pe ea (primavara, am patit asta), daca vezi o movila de pietre interesante pe pajiste, s-ar putea sa mascheze o cursa pentru rozatoare. Si, daca te plimbi mai des, vei identifica cam prin fiecare parc si vagabondul lui (cel putin unul), spaima aleilor, atras in mintea lui tulburata de mirajul naturii libere, sau manat de cine stie ce idei cretze...
Mi-a placut si orasul de cand ma stiu, nu numai satul. Dar ideea ca toate locurile publice ale orasului sunt un fel de pomana din partea autoritatilor locale, cu idei mai stralucite sau mai putin stralucite, nu reuseste deloc sa mi se aseze pe un scaun in cap. Fel si fel de edili vopsesc banci, pun garduri si topogane de plastic, instaleaza cosuri pentru rahat de caine, dupa care se uita roata in jur si le creste inima ca si-au facut datoria fata de amaratii care se plimba in cusca pe mosia lor. Cam asa imi imaginez eu oamenii din spatele bordurilor, garduletelor, copacilor tristi si elementelor de peisaj urban meschine. Dar meschine rau de tot.