1957 - S-a născut Maria Maliţa, pictor de costume.
MARIA MALIŢA, pictor scenograf
16.04.1957, New York, S.U.A.-22.03.2009
Studii: Institutul de Arte Plastice „Nicolae Grigorescu” Bucureşti, secţia Pictură, 1981
Este fiica remarcabilului savant Mircea Maliţa.
Eminentă studentă la Institutul de Arte „N.Grigorescu” din Bucureşti, a făcut încă din primii ani, asistenţă la câteva filme semnate regizoral de artişti valoroşi ca Dan Piţa („Dreptate în lanţuri”), Tudor Mărăscu („Singur de cart”), Alexa Visarion („Năpasta”), Francisc Munteanu („Un petec de cer”), Malvina Urşianu („Figuranţii”), Nicu Stan („Furtună în Pacific”).
A debutat – ceva mai târziu – în teatru, semnând scenografia spectacolului „Tartuffe” de Molière, la Studioul Casandra. În tot acest timp, Maria Maliţa a şi pictat, participând cu lucrările sale la expoziţii de grup (1981-1982) şi la expoziţii municipale şi republicane (între anii 1981-1983).
La Teatrul de Stat din Oradea a fost angajată pentru stagiunea 1987/1988, venind, în principal, în calitate de colaborator al regizorului Laurian Oniga. Decorurile semnate de ea la cele trei spectacole din răstimpul amintit, ar fi constituit serioase motive de reuşită a spectacolelor. Că n-a fost tocmai aşa, o demonstrează frumuseţea, eleganţa şi eficienţa cadrului scenografic, au destule rezerve la spectacolele respective. Unul din cronicari a consemnat, apreciindu-l, efortul scenografei de a oferi dificilului text expresionist („Maestrul cântăreţ” de Franz Wedekind) un cadru simplu, dar foarte elegant, elemente de recuzită foarte expresive. Cu spectacolul „O noapte furtunoasă” de I.L.Caragiale, a fost ispitit de ideea găsirii cu orice preţ a unor „sensuri insolite”, spectacolul dovedindu-se, în final, indecis stilistic – aşa încât decorul şi costumele, gândite în spiritul viziunii regizorale, au fost remarcate în sine, dar au avut parte de rezervele manifestate de „întreg”. Un cadru scenografic plin de poezie a creat în spectacolul dedicat poetului naţional, în ianuarie 1988: „Dor de Eminescu”.
1. Trupa "Iosif Vulcan" - 1987-1988
(Arhivă/Componenţa trupei)
Mircea Bradu - director Sergiu Savin - regizor artistic Laurian Oniga - regizor artistic Maria Maliţa - pictor scenograf Vioara Bara - pictor scenograf Elisabeta Pop - secretar literar Ion Abrudan ...
Vineri, 26 Noiembrie 2010
2. Trupa "Iosif Vulcan" - 1988-1989
(Arhivă/Componenţa trupei)
Mircea Bradu - director Sergiu Savin - regizor artistic Laurian Oniga - regizor artistic Maria Maliţa - pictor scenograf Vioara Bara - pictor scenograf Elisabeta Pop - secretar literar Ion Abrudan ...
Vineri, 26 Noiembrie 2010
3. O noapte furtunoasă 1987
(Arhiva spectacole/Stagiunea 1987-1988)
... Oniga Scenografia: Maria Maliţa „O noapte furtunoasă”, cunoscuta piesă ...
Miercuri, 30 Iunie 2010
4. Maestrul cântăreţ
(Arhiva spectacole/Stagiunea 1987-1988)
... artistică: Laurian Oniga Scenografia: Maria Maliţa Coloana sonoră: Mircea Piciu ...
Miercuri, 30 Iunie 2010
5. Dor de Eminescu
(Arhiva spectacole/Stagiunea 1987-1988)
... Harizomenov Scenografia: Maria Maliţa Muzica: W.A.Mozart Aranjamente muzicale: Erasmus Minchevici ...
EPITAF PENTRU UN PRIETEN:
My friend Maria Malitza, (Ghighi – as so many of us called her) died on Sunday, March 22nd at 6:30 AM. Her generalized cancer was diagnosed in December 2008, and three months later she passed. Provided our friendship and mutual love, I regard it as my duty to express the deep shock that so many of us, her friends, felt at the breaking of the news.
I met Ghighi in New York in 1998, when I started to work for Echo Design Group, where she had already been the art studio manager for two years. For the next four years, I enjoyed every day of work, due to her ability to develop a work atmosphere very much evocative of ”Nicolae Grigorescu’’ Fine Arts Institute‘s – the art college we had both graduated from. I am speaking of the kind of atmosphere that not only makes people enjoy what they are doing, but, in a healthy competitive way, makes them come together as a team committed to excellence in whatever they do. And this is what Ghighi did in that studio. Besides, we had fun. We would take advantage of each and every opportunity to have a party. On those occasions we would enjoy one another’s company, different home cooked ethnic foods, and, most importantly, we would joke and laugh, laugh, laugh.
But Ghighi was not only an excellent studio manager. She was also a talented artist. While in Romania, as a set and costume designer, she had been awarded Best Set and Costume Design Award at Karlovi Vary in 1992, Oradea in 1988 and Costinesti in 1987. She created the most wonderful paisley designs that I have ever seen, and had a keen visual sense of beauty in everything she did: from her art to her makeup, her clothes, her apartment and her office.
She started and restarted her life from scratch numerous times, her passion, her optimism and her joy intact. When questioned, she would declare, with the serenity and determination so characteristic for the brave: ’I have to live my life, to play all the cards in my pack.‘
Only now I fully understand that in living her life like that, Ghighi had a certain urgency and gusto, risking everything for now, leaving nothing for tomorrow. Maybe her inner clock was set at a higher speed than ours, because she wasn’t meant to live too long. At any rate, I think she was right to live her life like that. And I admire her courage, and I admire her “insouciance’’, and I admire her force. And I know that she fought her illness with the same courage and might (starting with her doctors.) But, my brave Ghighi, sadly, when up against that kind of adversary, no one is meant to win.
I miss her. And I am sure I speak for everybody who loved her. As we try to cling to the memories of our dead, we hit the same impenetrable void, the same infinite stretch of absence, the same abyss of nevermore. After she died, I tried to isolate parts of Ghighi, parts that I wished I could preserve, go to and touch at will, with my memory: her smile, her voice, her big, plentiful frame, her laughter, her look, the way she spoke… But I ended up empty handed. I was forced to admit that everything was there because she was there, and nothing of her can no longer be without her. I wrote this poem for her:
What may have seemed like a mistake,
‘T was one of death’s swift swishes,
Which blew the candles on her cake
And deftly undid her wishes.
And if she was to leave her body
Its flesh for breath unfit,
She left her laughter to embody
And echo her for us a bit.
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