I met Bella Ferreira earlier this year while killing time in New York City, waiting for my friend Bear to land. His flight had been delayed by power cuts somewhere in southwest Europe. I already knew I liked Bella's work—actually, I was deeply curious about it. There was something about the meticulous patterns she draws, often on old notebook paper, that gave me a strange, comforting kind of nostalgia. A quiet reverence for structure and softness.

Vera Matias—who’ll be featured here soon as well—had recommended Bella after a brief connection during her time living in the city. So I called Bella and a short while later, she pulled up in Tribeca, and we were off. I mic’d her up, and we drove toward her studio in Ridgewood, sipping Joe’s ice tea and listening to Brazilian music as the city passed by in a warm, humming blur.