Felicia Iancu
Inspiration comes to me the way light enters a closed room — quietly, through the smallest crack.
I rarely chase it; I listen for it.
Sometimes it arrives as memory, sometimes as music, sometimes as silence that insists on being translated.
When I began Caietul cu compuneri, Caietul cu splendori (The Notebook of Compositions, The Notebook of Splendors), I realized inspiration isn’t about finding something new — it’s about remembering who you were before the world began to edit you.
I rarely chase it; I listen for it.
Sometimes it arrives as memory, sometimes as music, sometimes as silence that insists on being translated.
When I began Caietul cu compuneri, Caietul cu splendori (The Notebook of Compositions, The Notebook of Splendors), I realized inspiration isn’t about finding something new — it’s about remembering who you were before the world began to edit you.
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