Florentina Ilea

Florentina Ilea spent her evenings printing in a Bucharest flat that smelled like ink and coffee, her cat always curled on the table, stepping on plates of type. She made prints that looked like blurred memories: a streetlamp glowing through wet streets, a hand reaching for a door you can’t quite see. You’ll recognize her style in Semn al înfloririi, where petals seem to dissolve into the paper; it’s the kind of image that sticks in your head when you turn off the lights.