I attribute my first interest in words to Bea Harsia, my English tutor in Romania when I was 5. After she sat on a blueberry in our garden in Borsa (she was wearing a turquoise terri-cloth bikini) she said, "The only way to get this stain out is with a pair of scissors."
My mother and I moved to America when I was 8, one year before the '89 Revolution, which we watched on TV. I attended Westover High School, a private all-girls' school that offered financial aid to a large percentage of its students and a first-class education in poetry. I have yet to hear of any other place like it.
I went to Yale University, where I studied contemporary poetry and photography. As I was finishing the Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars in 2004, I read somewhere that a filmmaker I admire had studied poetry before beginning (and never finishing) film school. I also realized that I was prepared neither to teach nor publish.
To preempt starvation and a certain kind of death, I fled to former-Communist Romania, to eat real tomatoes and to work in films. I have spent the last several years doing that, in various capacities. Off-set I write commercial directors' treatments, publish reviews, poems, translations from the Romanian and shoot wedding photographs.
I currently live and work and study religion and literature in New England.