Maria Tabarcea
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Nov 11
- 3 min read
Maria Tabarcea is an art director and illustrator based in Bucharest. She studied Graphic Arts at the National University of Arts, where she developed her interest in visual storytelling. Moving between advertising, animation, and design, she brings a sense of rhythm and emotion to everything she creates. Her illustrations are expressive yet approachable, mixing humor and reflection. From her conceptual pieces to lighter ones, her practice is moved by curiosity and a genuine love of drawing.
Q: You move between design, animation, and illustration. What keeps you excited across all those worlds?
A: What keeps me excited is the storytelling. I love telling stories, and each medium has its own rhythm. Design has structure, animation has movement, and illustration has depth. Each one gives me an opportunity to dive deeper and find new ways to tell different stories in different ways. Seeing how one story can change and how many possibilities appear when you explore it through different mediums excites me more and more. It feels like exploring different versions of the life you have.
Q: “Relentless Gaze” looks at the feeling of being watched online. What sparked that image for you?
A:: It started from a personal experience. I’ve always felt that social media is a quiet kind of trap. It invites you to share the most beautiful moments, yet it leaves you exposed. It feels like welcoming someone into your new home and suddenly realizing they can see every corner of how you live.
There is a strange tension in wanting to be seen and understood while also fearing the judgment that comes with visibility. Working on this piece felt more like...
Q: You describe illustration as a conversation. What does that dialogue sound like when it’s just you and the work?
A: The conversation never really ends. It feels like the kind of talk you have with someone close, a friend, a brother, or even a part of yourself who keeps asking, “Why are you doing this?” And you always answer, “Because I felt it, in a moment.” It is a dialogue that shifts with time. Sometimes it is silent and distant, other times it overflows with meaning. It can be tender or uncomfortable, clear or confusing. But it is always honest. The conversation feels deeply personal, but something that belongs only to you. Yet when it takes shape on paper, it becomes something others recognize too.
Q: “Time to Bloom” feels tender but strong. Do you see growth as something calm or disruptive?
A: For me, growth has been calm on the outside, but quite tense on the inside. It is a process that seems calm and calculated, but is overwhelming beneath the surface. This is what I'm trying to express: that fragility and force can grow together. I worked on the artwork “Time to Bloom” when I was quite unsure of how progress looked like. I woke up and thought that growing your skills is a very subjective aspect of an artist, and it depends on how it is seen, and by whom. But whoever might be watching it, it should be inspiring too, in one way or another.
Q: You often mix bold visuals with softness. How do you find that balance when you start a new piece?
A: Mixing these two is quite instinctive and depends on the context. I usually start with a strong sketch and I adapt it as the story unfolds.
Using bold colors is quite a signature, but I like to add a human touch to my artwork, and I'm usually starting from a strong point of view, which I'm trying to temper with colors, texture, or fine details. This way, every piece feels personal and approachable—it breathes but has its own presence.
Q: “Fleeting Beauty” has a quiet punch to it. How do you decide when an idea is better shown simply than said loudly?
A: For me it comes down to instinct. I like to let the viewer question what they see, because sometimes the questions carry more weight than the answers. Some ideas need to be told straight, but others are more powerful when they stay subtle or even unsaid. I’ve learned that simplicity can often feel stronger than complexity. If an idea feels fragile, I prefer to keep it quiet instead of trying to make it loud. At some point I notice that adding more doesn’t actually add meaning, and that’s usually the moment I stop. “Fleeting Beauty” came from that place—letting the image speak softly but still leaving a mark.
