Aurel Dan

Aurel Dan’s prints smell like river mud and ink. He set up shop in a wooden shack that doubled as boat repair shop and studio, so his plates got splashed with the same Danube water that later lapped at the village walls. He’d roll ink on zinc sheets at dawn, then spend the evening playing hammered-drum folk tunes that rattled the whole street. Try Case la Sulina: you’ll see the planks of the studio bend under a summer storm, the ink still wet enough to blur the rooftops.