In a world full of noise and color, I felt the need to choose monochrome.
The works in this collection speak in ink – black and white, without embellishment. A language stripped to its essence. A fluid narrative with no final form – just rhythms, gestures, and vibrations hanging in the air.
I wanted to create space. For the viewer, but also for myself. A space where the image can shift, where contours appear and dissolve, where imagination takes the lead. Monochrome doesn’t confine – it strips the work of anything decorative, leaving only intention and its traces.
The ink flows, breathes, stops, and gives rise to structure. A kind of intense silence, an invitation to look without the rush to understand.
For me, each piece is a question, a spark of curiosity: how little is enough for an image to come alive? And what else is there to discover?
Medusa, 2025 (SOLD)
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
It is said that Medusa’s gaze made everything harder. In the modern world, there is no need for snakes or stones. A screen is enough. A net’s wire. An emotion filtered through digital noise.
I started with mechanical, almost obsessive lines, mechanical and biological forms that connect, repeat, stretch. Like a network. Like a trap. Thoughts that wrap themselves in circles and lines, in algorithms and impulses, in memory and forgetting.
Here, Medusa no longer has hair from snakes. There are circuits. There are wires. There are labyrinths of decisions and automatism that lead us from one illusion to another. Emotions run endlessly. It doesn’t turn you into stone, but it freezes you inside.
From all the chaos of faceless forms, however, a glance remains. A trace of conscience. One eye. Alive. One who sees.
Perhaps the only salvation is to look assumed, straight into the eyes of Medusa. Do you dare?
Metamorphika, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
I like to experiment. One example is the Genesis series from a few years ago, where I translated mythological themes into abstract pieces, using techniques where acrylic flows and breathes like watercolor. Metamorphika is a continuation of those explorations — this time, in ink.
I was tempted to add color, but this piece is about transformation, and the monochrome keeps that unstable boundary fluid — between form and intention, between what is and what’s still becoming. It feels like a living map — one that turns into something else as you look at it. Recognizable elements emerge and fade, in a state of in-between. Lines that don’t draw, but evoke.
It’s a world where myth melts into matter. It doesn’t follow a clear direction, but it has rhythm. It moves in every direction, like an old energy that isn’t looking for meaning, but for a shape to breathe in.
Maybe Metamorphika is a state of being.
Evening Star, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
“Once upon a time, as in fairy tales / It was like never before…”
This is where I started — from that state of reverie, between fairytale and dream, between the cosmic infinite and the feminine mystery.
I tried — though it’s not easy — to translate visually that feeling of fascination and distance, of longing and the unreachable, into a spiral, nonlinear constellation, where figures take shape through vibrations and waves of ink.
A graphic meditation on inaccessible beauty and the idea of eternal desire — reimagined in a fluid, dense, symbolic, and melancholic visual language.
MATRIX, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
That’s MATRIX.
It talks about connection, belonging, but also about the fragility of the boundaries between oneself and others. About the tension between the desire to belong and the fear of getting lost in the crowd. A diagram of the collective subconscious — a visual matrix between the human and the archetypal, between chaos and order.
A reflection on the multitude. Because we are never just one—but always part of a whole, interdependent, and always on the move.
Anima Mundi, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
There is an invisible force that connects everything — stone, beast, human, shadow, thought. Anima Mundi. That’s how I named this drawing.
A fluid space, where a head becomes a totem, a lion turns into a guardian, and a branch can be, at the same time, a column, a bone, or a river. Everything pulses, dissolves, and rebuilds itself.
A fragile map of the world’s subconscious. A network of forms, symbols, and energies.
Selfportrait, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
I rarely draw portraits. Even more rarely of people I know. Because the way I draw — especially in ink, with fast, chaotic lines, somewhere between street art and classic — is all about the moment. About the feeling. I’m not after likeness, I want to catch the energy.
Same with the stains — they’re deliberate, like in many of my ink drawings. I don’t want everything to be perfect. Because people aren’t.
This style doesn’t always flatter. Sometimes it distorts, fragments. And people get upset. They recognize only half of themselves — and they don’t like the other half.
But I can’t really get upset with myself. That’s why I drew me.
Somnique, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
I drew someone very dear to me. I caught her in a moment of stillness, of fragility.
With her eyes closed, as if listening to her thoughts in a whisper. As if holding the whole world in her palms.
For a few seconds, I felt like everything had stopped — the thought, the motion, the air around us. I don’t know what she was thinking.
But I wanted to keep her like that: with quiet resting between her fingers.
Silent Blueprints, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
There are places you’ve wandered long ago, or times you’ve never truly visited.
And yet, you carry them within you, with startling clarity. Imagination gives them shape — beams, shadows, silhouettes. Like the old black-and-white posters
of workers hanging from the sky on skeletal steel frames.
But this isn’t reality. It’s an inner construction, drawn in gestures of an architect of memory. A way to bring order to chaos. To raise a world out of silence and dream.
Relaxed, 2025
(70x50cm, ink on paper)
I recently watched a film and paused at a gesture. The hands of the main character, placed in such a way that they seemed to say something — between surrender and calm, between a “leave me” and a “hold me.”
I wanted to capture the moment, in my own way. With ink and chaotic hatching.
And maybe that’s exactly what calm is.
The Palace, 2025 (DONATED)
(50x70cm, ink on paper)
In the courtyard of the Brâncovenesc Palace at Mogoșoaia, time seems to have stood still.
The tall arches watch over the footsteps of those who have passed here through the centuries, while the warm, silent walls hide whispers from long ago.
In this corner of history, every stone tells its own story, and the gaze wanders between the beauty of the architecture and the tranquility of the garden.
I was no exception — I too was drawn to the simplicity of the place.
Peles, 2025
(30x40cm, ink on paper)
I wanted to try an experiment: to see if the charm of Peleș Castle remains even in a minimalist, stylized drawing, reduced to lines and shadows. Its towers and elegant rooftops took shape without excessive detail, yet with enough essence to tell the story of the place.
I like how it turned out
Cat in Dire Straits, 2025
(40x30cm, ink on paper)
I like to draw with lines and spots, with good music in the background — like Dire Straits. And I like cats (I’ve said that before). Maybe the lines are Mark’s guitar strings on paper, and from the band’s vibe the cat appeared.
So I called her Cat in Dire Straits.
Not just for the music, but mostly because cats always find a way. They always land on their feet.
Monochrome Beats, 2025
(40x30cm, ink on paper)
I showed you Cat in Dire Straits the other day.
I insisted on black and white, on monochrome, and, of course, the zebra couldn’t be missing. A striped score, where each band is a note, and together they create a wild rhythm.
And if the cat came along the guitar strings, the zebra comes with the African drums. Between them, all the music in the world fits into just a few lines.
The rest… imagination.