Silvan Ionescu

Silvan Ionescu kept two desks—one for painting, one for chess—and he swore the pieces taught him composition. His portrait of George Enescu sits on a table draped in a rumpled velvet cloth, the violinist’s hands half-hidden in shadow, the instrument glowing like a second face. Look for the way Ionescu lets a single scrap of newspaper on the table tilt the whole mood from reverence to restless afternoon. You’ll find this canvas tucked between a café’s wine bottles and a violin case in Bucharest’s old artists’ quarter; slip past the espresso machine to see it.