Papademetropoulos’ paintings transport the onlooker into another realm: the subconscious, the sacred, the magic. Her immersive landscapes shimmer with an opalescent fizz, as if some kind of transformative alchemy is taking place on the canvas. Vast exterior landscapes of the natural world are often juxtaposed with interior worlds like a conch shell or the decor of a seemingly abandoned home. Papademetropoulos believes an enclosed space can be a site or portal for transformation. It is within the solitary darkness of an oyster shell that a pearl is born.
Interview taken from METAL Magazine issue 50. Adapted for the online version. Order your copy here.
To encounter Papademetropoulos’ work is to have a dialogue with your own subconscious. She invites you to lose your ego and become lost in the vastness of something greater than yourself: to suspend reality, to give in to the unknowable and experience the divine other realm. Her oil paintings are portals to take you to a new reality or shifted perspective. The idea of a threshold – any place or point of entering or beginning – is a symbol often used in Jungian psychoanalysis. It represents a moment of change because to enter through the metaphorical door means surrendering to a new reality. Once you cross over it, nothing is the same. The motif of a threshold can also be seen in the paintings of the prolific American artist Dorothea Tanning, who, like Papademetropoulos, was interested in the duality between the exterior and interior. Working in the mid-20th century, Tanning was immersed in, as she put it, the “limitless expanse of possibility” of painting within the surrealist genre. Whilst surrealism undoubtably holds influence for Papademetropoulos, her work can be more accurately defined as creating hyperrealistic parallel worlds that exist within a different realm to our own.
In The Atmospheric River (2024) there is a threshold – a literal doorway into an austere interior of muted opulence – that has been opened and water is spilling through. But the arrival of the natural world doesn’t appear destructive, rather the benevolent seeming river flows adorned with diamante sparkles. The open doorway seems almost like an invitation to the natural or even supernatural; the artist is a host letting the abstract in. Papademetropoulos is interested in the duality of things, to strike a balance between the intangible otherworld and the tangible present. For her, the paintings are stronger this way – if the magic is shown slightly pared back it makes it more noticeable. The threshold and the flowing water are set against a restrained backdrop in white that is reminiscent of an anonymous gallery space. There is fluidity to a liminal space where nothing can be pinned down. Perhaps this idea particularly appeals to a generation who are keen to look beyond the binary of things, and to approach the space between with curiosity.
On first glance, Papademetropoulos’ created worlds are pure magic, but there also belies a looming sense of danger. At any threshold, there is a confusing tangle of emotions from fear to excitement, dread to hope. By exploring the psychology of interior spaces, Papademetropoulos evokes not only a feeling of innocuous nostalgia but also the uncanny. There’s this ominous quality as if waking up from a dream, of trying to grasp your subconscious, but in doing so clumsily pushing it further away. In Curse of the Boys with Butterfly Tattoos (2020) an oversized turquoise iridescent bubble contains an image of a domestic space that looks like a parallel world. Despite the luxury of the interior scene enclosed within the bubble, there is an eerie quality, perhaps due to the profound paucity of people in the scene. In Espulsione dalla discoteca (2020), the dream-like quality of a lilac tinged bubble is undercut by the background of an unidentifiable house with pitch black windows. In the foreground, an opaque orange smoke billows across the canvas like a deadly pyroclastic flow.
Growing up in Los Angeles, a city with a chequered history of esoteric artists, mystics, and cult leaders, it is easy to imagine where Papademetropoulos draws her inspiration from. Yet, when she studied at California Institute of the Arts, it was at a time where painting was not particularly fashionable or encouraged – let alone paintings of unicorns and anthropomorphic flowers. But in the years since graduating (2012), Papademetropoulos has continued to garner a cult-like following of those seduced by her explorations into the occult. She has held solo exhibitions at spaces including Vito Schnabel Gallery in New York (2020), Jeffrey Deitch in Los Angeles (2021), and more recently a group exhibit at Thaddaeus Ropac in Paris (2024).
Although known primarily for being a painter, Papapdemetropoulos also creates films and installations. In 2023, she made a short film in collaboration with the Louvre in Paris called Mon Seul Désir. In the film, Papademetropoulos, repose on a lavish bed, appears to float around the grand halls of the gallery. Fantastical, and dream-like, it is as if we’re taking a tour not of the Louvre but inside Papademetropoulos’ subconscious. The film ends with her padding barefoot into the cave of a mythological Greek painting, The Procession of Thetis by Bartolomeo di Giovanni. It is this stepping into a liminal space that seems to be the golden thread throughout Papademetropoulos’ work. A fascination with what appears unknowable; but knowing that entering into this space can lead to great transformation.
When did you realise that you wanted to be a painter?
I always wanted to be a painter so there was never really a question about it. It kind of came from not being good at anything else.
Do you remember the first thing you painted that made you think, I’m actually pretty good?
When I was in high school, I painted this National Geographic photo of all these people in a hot tub. I’ve always been really interested in water and the illusion of water. You could see their bodies and then their bathing suits making all these patterns underwater. I feel like that was the first time I painted the threshold of water and I feel like I ended up doing that forever.
Water has that quality of being almost able to see through it – but then there’s a sense of things not being quite as they seem.
Yeah, I think that forever I was painting this doorway or this threshold where you can see the world we were in and I would paint this portal to show that there was another world. I think I was a bit caught in that doorway for a long time or too afraid to go into the other dimension.
I really love this idea. There’s a transformation when you come out the other side of a threshold, but there’s a danger of being stuck in it if you’re not ready to go to the other side yet.
I think now I’m kind of in the other dimension, I’ve gone through the doorway. When I went to college, people kind of looked down upon the mystical or fantasy or magic because they’re considered lowbrow. I went to a conceptual art school, and it was kind of like no figuration, no magic, no mysticism. But during the pandemic, I thought, what if these are my last paintings? I’m going to paint unicorns. I’m going to paint bubbles.
People definitely like seeking out worlds that are different to the reality that we live in.
I think we used to live in a very linear reality and then, when the pandemic happened, I feel like it cracked that reality. Things are not as organised as they seem. I think it collectively opened everyone up into the unknown. Well, maybe not everyone, but I think it kind of did open some doors.
To enter into a liminal space you need to lose yourself or your ego to go into that realm. I wonder if that’s why human figures are so absent in your work. It seems like the viewer is really stepping foot into this portal – where you just have to leave yourself behind.
That’s exactly what I wanted! So the person looking at it feels like they are the person in the landscape or they’re the ones stepping into it.
It’s completely transporting.
It’s like you get to be Venus in the paintings of seashells with the landscape. I think that’s why I paint large scale – so that you can live inside it.
If you could live inside of the world of any painting, what world or what painting would it be?
Hieronymus Bosch seems pretty fun – The Garden of Earthly Delights. I love Frederic Edwin Church. I also love those Monet paintings at the different times of the day of Rouen Cathedral. I didn’t used to get why people like Monet so much and then I saw those paintings at Musée d’Orsay and I was like, oh, my God, I cried. They’re so beautiful.
Sounds dreamy.
Oh! I know whose painting I’d love to be in – The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke by Richard Dadd. Actually Cecily Brown told me about this painting. I think I asked her what her favourite painting was or something. Dadd murdered his father and he spent years in a psychiatric jail, but in this time he spent 10 years on this painting and it literally looks like it’s real. It’s tiny but there’s so much going on.
I was thinking about thresholds often being used in Jungian dream analysis. Do you think about your dreams and do they appear in any of the work that you produce?
I have very vivid dreams – so vivid that sometimes when I wake up I’m exhausted. I don’t really paint my dreams necessarily, but I do talk to a psychic who kind of sees the paintings I’m going to make and we talk through them. So that does make me feel like it’s in a liminal space and that these paintings are not just being created from my mind, but rather it’s from an actual non-physical realm. I wish I had a notebook but I don’t have a notebook. I just keep them in my mind.
And that’s why you have a psychic.
She kind of pulls out the ideas that are really ready to give birth to. There are certain ideas for paintings that I’ve had for years. I think it’s almost like you’re possessed or something until you get the exorcism. If I manifest these ideas into a reality - which is the painting - then I get it out of my system.
What are these current ideas of projects you need to get out of your system? I heard rumours of a nymphaeum.
I’m building this cave in Italy that I have literally been thinking about for my entire life. I’m obsessed with caves, but obsessed with caves to a point of needing help. I want to live in a cave. I want to go to every cave. I’m obsessed with caves and I feel like I’m almost so sick of myself talking about these caves that I just have to make one – to be done with it and then move on with my life.
It seems like something you really love.
Speaking of liminal spaces, the nymphaeum, and caves in general, really are this middle space. They are always at the threshold of a garden between the interior and exterior. Nymphs themselves are little creatures that live between land and waters, they’re almost amphibious. I think it’s the same for shells or any enclosed spaces, even an alchemy that when a space is enclosed it’s a space for transformation. I think the cave is really in between this human and divine. It’s fantasy and it’s reality, especially all these man-made grottos. They’re all manmade but they’re made to look like nature. So it’s really this balance between artificial and nature, the sacred and the profane. And caves are places where there are rituals and it’s a religious sanctuary but at the same time it’s a space for debauchery.
Even in Christianity the cave is this transformative space where Jesus crosses the realm from death to life. It’s interesting that nymphs exist between the gods and also mortals as well.
They’re demigods – they’re not a total divine God. they’re literally in between humans and gods.
Do you think that you would actually be able to live in a cave though?
100%. I went to this very traditional house in the south of France once where they discovered that it’s built on top of the cave. You just go downstairs and you’re in the most intricate incredible cave. I was like this is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
It freaks me out a bit being in a cave, especially the ones that are underwater and then you have that small gap.
I get that. The mystery is both alluring and terrifying. It’s like we’re curious about what’s in there, but you’re also afraid of it.
It gets darker and darker and then you’re not sure if you can get out.
But maybe you’ll find a treasure if you do. I feel like it’s very much like the Hero’s Journey. If you make the journey, if you go into the unknown, you’ll be rewarded in some way.
Tell me about the studio that you’re working in now.
I used to work with this artist named Noah Davis. I worked for him for about three or four years and after he passed away it became the Underground Museum. It’s going through transition, so I’m working there for now. It’s a bit loaded but it’s such a beautiful space and there’s such a beautiful garden. I feel very much like he’s there. He’s a good compass of what is important. The art world gets a bit funny and so I guess at the end of the day what’s important is to just: make art, hang out with your friends and make cool stuff with your friends.
Friendships and community seem to be really important for you, what are some of your most enjoyable collaborations?
I really like making films. I’m making this film with Abel Ferrara in a few months in Rome, and I think that’ll be really great. And I’ve made films with friends of mine. I really enjoy working with people.
It must feel very different to painting – where you’re very much on your own.
It’s so different. With painting I know what my vision is and I only make paintings I want to make. But with films I’m just having fun with it. It’s low pressure. It’s like why people have hobbies; you do it because it’s just nice to do. I did a film for the Louvre last year. And this next film is for Villa Medici with Abel and even though those seem like big things, it’s just fun. I think sometimes you’re better at the things that you don’t take so seriously, because you also don’t know the rules. For the Louvre thing, everyone’s like, how did you get a bed in there? I don’t know, I just put it in! I just didn’t think about it. The thought didn’t cross my mind that I wouldn’t be allowed to do that. So I think this like not knowing the rules or the hierarchy is super-freeing.
Just go for it. See what happens.
I keep it light, like all the films are kind of funny. There’s a humoured aspect to them. I’m not trying to make a very serious thing. I’m just playing around.
I think being playful or frivolous is not taken seriously, but actually it’s really important.
Totally. We need to have a relief of some sort and I think with painting it’s kind of impossible to make a humorous painting that’s good. I think my snail paintings maybe come the closest to it.
Speaking of snails, your process seems to be quite slow and meticulous in a nice way – you’re not trying to produce too much. I wonder if that sometimes feels at odds with this highly productive world that we live in where it’s like you need to be generating content all the time.
I actually produce a lot more than I put online. Last year I took a break from putting output out there so much. I really believe that paintings hold an energy. I want every painting I make to be a painting that I love because I think if I make quality work, and I don’t make a lot of it, then I’ll be allowed to make work forever. I just want to make work that I love and I believe in its energy.
You also like to travel a lot so where have you been recently that you’re taking inspiration from?
I feel really good in Italy. I think Italy is my favourite place to paint. I think it’s the lighting. It’s the history. For whatever reason I go there and I feel like I’m at home. Rome’s nice because yes, it’s a city but it’s not Paris. It’s not London. It’s not New York. And I think sometimes when you’re around too many people you get influenced. What’s the point of making something someone else has made? I want to make my own work and so that’s why I like dipping out and going to Italy.
You were also recently in Tokyo.
I felt very inspired there, especially with the architecture. I went to this amazing art deco house that belonged to the prince in the 1930s. It’s a big part of my work – architecture and interior design. A lot of people in my family are architects so I’ve always considered space and architecture as a kind of installation where you’re creating your home for whatever you want to pretend that you are. I always want to see new things. I go hiking a lot and I think nature really inspires me.
I think it’s interesting that some of the natural imagery you capture in your work – rainbows, flowers in bloom, bubbles that are just about to burst – are all things that are very ephemeral and things that aren’t going to last.
That’s such a nice way of thinking about it. When I was in art school painting wasn’t the popular thing to do. And so I really had to think about why I was going to make a painting. What’s the point of painting? And I realised that with things like landscapes, there are certain things that only paintings can capture and no other medium can. Frederic Edwin Church’s landscapes are kind of half made up and half real. I think that that’s why I like doing these landscapes and bubbles or these moments that you can’t really see but then paintings reveal this hidden realm almost.
They’re such intangible things that then you’re trying to make tangible with a paintbrush.
Realism is a really big thing right now, but what’s the point if you can capture it in another medium? I’m just always trying to find the point or intention behind using the medium of paint. I’m trying to only make things that could only be done with that medium.
You’re often described as a surrealist painter. How would you like people to approach how they see your work?
I don’t know. I think I just make my work. I feel more connected to the female surrealists from the 1930s who had a lot of occult knowledge. When I look at Remedios Varo’s work, I think this is not surreal, this is reality. Or Agnes Pelton – she’s considered a spiritualist, but it’s also a reality. I think surrealism almost has this absurdity attached to it. And I love Dalí but I feel like he just made it absurd. Obviously he seems so fun, but I feel like in a way he kind of gave surrealism this reputation.
He definitely is the most dominant image that you would think of with surrealism.
I really think that instead of just making this absurd collage of images, I like to think of it as painting into another dimension. I think that all those artists in the 1930s like Dorothea Tanning or Leonora Carrington were just painting another reality and it was very steeped in knowledge. And I’m not saying my work is steeped in knowledge, but I just feel closer to that than I do to anything else.
Yeah. It makes sense. I love Dorothea Tanning’s mermaid series with Pour Gustave l’adoré.
I love mermaids. I think I’m obsessed with water. I was even going to say I feel like I’m a mermaid! I take a bath every day. I love to be in water. I don’t even care about having a house. Honestly, if no one ever came over I would just turn my living room into a jacuzzi. Right now I’m like building this sunken living room because being sunken at least makes me feel like I’m in a jacuzzi. But maybe it’s not good for resale value.
If you were a nymph what type would you be?
I think I’d be like to be a water nymph. I think I’d live in a grotto.
And life would be good.
There’s this place in Italy with hot springs that have calcium in them and so it’s created these white plushy mountains and there’s also a cave in there. It’s completely natural, but it’s white and then the reaction with sulfur makes rainbows. I think that’s where I would live. Warm water in a soft cave. I’m happy. That’s my nymph zone.