Published on March 26, 2026
Trying to review Romanian-born artist Anka Moldovan’s latest exhibition “that which bursts” is, I have to admit, an exercise in arrogance, akin to claiming one can describe the joy felt by a sparrow in flight or the beauty of Handel’s “Son nata a lagrimar”. It is unwise to reduce the complexity of her worlds, which, while still our own, feature exotic singularities like the event horizon of a black hole.
The beings and ambiences that emerge, pertinent, from her paintings seem to live on the mysterious line between the visible and the invisible, between being and disappearing. Although it would be easy to categorize the collection into four segments, there remains a common thread in Anka Moldovan’s identity as a creator: her efforts to make the air perceptible, to capture the constant human presence, and to navigate the space somewhere between the corporeal and the abstract. Despite this, it is still possible to recognize oneself in the pedestrians depicted, those who walk with the determination of those who know their responsibilities.
Painting is, in principle, a visual art, but in this case, other senses are also involved. It is impossible not to feel the urge to touch the roughness of the reliefs, which are an essential part of her work, themselves suggestive and mysterious like the “Voynich Manuscript”, still indecipherable 600 years after its writing. Moldovan’s paintings evoke the smell of rain and the sea; the beings in them seem always to inhabit a thick fog, wading through it fearlessly to find us, all the while running the risk of a “Sudden Departure”, a euphemism for the disappearance of 140 million people as referred to in the series “The Leftovers”.
This transformation happens concretely in Moldovan’s work, forming part of the “Reflections” collection—individuals who spring to life in her paintings. In the laborious construction of fog, where layers of oil are continuously painted and removed in search of a veladura glaze, one character might transform, another might vanish, and yet another may fade away, only to be reborn on paper. The price of these pilgrims’ odyssey is isolation, living alone behind numbered windows and being the only, or unique, creatures distanced from the solid support of wood, existing on the human construct of paper. These odd observers echo back to us, each a foreigner realizing that the best way to accept their new existence is to remember what they once were, as Theodor Kallifatides noted.
Moldovan’s art possesses an auditory quality; it is narrative, encapsulating incomplete, fragmented stories much like the name of the exhibition itself, “that which bursts”—a mere half-sentence, a subordinate clause lost in our noisy world that shouts without listening. Art critic Carlos Delgado Mayordomo articulates with poetic precision: “Pain and love, despair and joy, absence and presence, are—without being exhaustive—recurring themes in her paintings, where the desire to elevate and transcend what is fundamentally human is always evident.”
What emerges are troubled beings burdened , exhausted yet not defeated, in pain but determined and ethical. Every paradise is a paradise lost, and Moldovan’s visions echo the sentiment that existence is fraught with strife, a lesson made evident in the “Slit-men” series—an artistic transmutation of a poem ănescu that describes a being that “comes from beyond / and even beyond that beyond.”
The “Slit-men” are observed through the artist’s lens with a fascination reminiscent of an entomologist witnessing the arrival of insects on a corpse. With a comforting gesture, Moldovan touches her hair, suggesting that one of the “Slit-men” is a stranger even to her. These four entities—subtitled “Presence, Retina, Belly, Breath”—occupy a space somewhere on the spectrum between the savage and the human. They arrive not through fancy wormholes but , their haunting presence evoking powerful imagery akin to the replicant Batty’s confrontation in “Bladerunner”. In portraying these figures, Moldovan encapsulates both hunger and intimidation, compelling viewers to acknowledge their existence.
If “Reflections” and “Slit-men” explore themes of rootlessness, the paintings from the “Earth” series are unambiguously grounded, featuring literal roots intertwined with women’s heads, their ornate hairstyles evoking memories of the past. These women, captured in the delicate details of their braids, reflect the historical duty of nurturing and caring that defines them. Their roots symbolize a commitment to fostering growth, embodying empathy and responsibility—qualities essential for human development.
Finally, the walkers depicted in Moldovan’s work resemble ordinary citizens navigating spaces we recognize, yet they embody a sense of beauty and nobility. Committed and empathetic, these figures advance undeterred ’s challenges, hinting at the possibility that, through the kind and loving gaze of their creator, we too may release ourselves from the burdens of guilt.
Moldovan’s paintings, whether solid or ethereal, whisper narratives of resistance and hope. The subtle mystery that flows from her work, as Carlos Delgado Mayordomo notes, is not merely a celebration of beauty but a profound affirmation of life itself. Anka Moldovan’s beings invite us to confront our realities, responding to love with an unwavering spirit, driven by a relentless quest for meaning in a world that often seems indifferent.
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