”The forest of my tree” has in its centre a character who cannot live without love, who cannot live without his conscious and unconscious egos, and from here the interpretations can flow. The simple version is that it has no longer the South and the North, that the lights are separated from the essential elements, water and earth, mother and father. And from now on a struggle with his own soul tortured by the lack of love he was used to, tortured by the lack of LANDMARKS.

It is all about the power of understanding and inner peace. We take the pieces of sorrow and sit them in a star shape, we make a pair a wings from the grey fringes, and then we drop some blood from the open wound, on them and on petals. Our tears fall on the green leaves, we swallow once again (to disappear the lump in the throat), then we watch the love between the butterflies and the flowers, the colour and the flight, the dew and the perfume of a fabulous morning, that never will know how it was knead. It’s magic! I was talking about the miracle of „being”, wasn’t it? Here „being” becomes torture. ”The forest of my tree” is the struggle between the egos, the struggle for finding a single entity of the love. In his disability, the character from the show directed by Aleksandar Ivanovski cannot live only with the divinity. He needs an entity of love made by the same substance as him.

The love is how you understand the birth and the death.

Everything that happens collaterally is just an effect. This collateral lacking the survival force will generate screaming of tears. Our scene is one that has seen love, is one that lost it and which in its absence is no longer useful.

Our character has neither the strength nor the madness, nor the wisdom to gather the pieces of sadness in the form of a star, cannot give them brilliance because not even light has no longer. The light is, somehow, chaotic, around.

Forest of my tree at BABEL Fast- Photo Gallery

Who knows how much „hurts” life, he loves (himself) unconditionally and universally. In the name of this love, he passes through the space between birth and death.


It would be very easy to get rid of „pain” by choosing death, but nobody knows if in the world beyond you can love and be loved.

Hence, no one is motivated to seek the absence of pain, but the safety of the presence of love.

So, the pain itself turns for our hero into an entity of love. The searching for love until the heart, the body and the soul runs schismatic, becomes a goal in itself. Because death doesn’t engage the safety of love’s existence.

Two actors, one character. Wounded inside and outside, showing the suffering as they know they can climb for love, as in the myth of Sisyphus, one with wounds on the body, one that makes us see and the other that makes us hear.

Behind the scene, „the trouble of being”, like a beating of a violin.

Without at least one entity of love, man is not compatible with life. Not even with the death.

Cristi Iordache

Translation- Andra Blidărescu