Rino Lupescu Beka

Rino Lupescu Beka kept a studio so cramped his brushes had to live in the bathtub. Every morning he boiled the same black coffee on a hotplate that doubled as a foot-warmer in winter. He painted men he knew—neighbors, cobblers, the baker with the crooked smile—on whatever scrap of board was to hand. Look at *Portretul lui Ion Niculi* and you’ll see the baker’s flour still dusting his sleeves, the light angling just so across the loaf in his hands.