First, I have to say that I am a child of the 90s. I grew up on that kind of aesthetic, Sega Mega Drive, Galaga, various arcade games, and especially drawing in Microsoft Paint. I remember that as a child, I organised drawing competitions in Paint to see who could draw a better dinosaur, castle or universe. But I also remember that we gathered to draw what  boys/girls have under their clothes (exploring sexuality), which at that age we found both entertaining and funny. And on the computer it was easy to delete the drawings with just one click if the parents, God forbid, came into the room. And so, many years later, somewhere in college, I started drawing in Paint again on my old Toshiba. During those years I used Facebook, so when I was already on the computer, I kept a diary by sketching in Paint. And so, this naked girl appeared entirely by accident, or rather, she was an old drawing of mine. And she has stayed there ever since! Through her, I started to tell my own and other people’s stories.

I studied at a very traditional university which required me to paint with oil on canvas. Since I had so many drawings in Paint, I found it interesting to try to replicate that screen image in a traditional way. Everything came together somehow organically.  

I don’t want to sound too sentimental about it. It’s definitely not easy where I come from. However, I am infinitely grateful to my parents. I remember them trying to make my view of the world and my growing up beautiful, happy and colourful. To make me move forward and always be brave, with lots of support. My painting today shows such a girl. In all the greyness around us, she remains positive and seeks pink hues. 

Last year during the Venice Biennale The Milk of Dreams, at the Prada Foundation there was an exhibition titled Human Brains – It Begins with an Idea. The exhibition was the result of an intensive investigative process undertaken by Fondazione Prada since 2018 in the field of neuroscience, driven by a deep interest in understanding the human brain, the complexity of its functions, and its centrality to human history. At the exhibition, I came across an object – a book about philosopher Giulio "Delminio" Camillo and his idea or design Theatre of Memories. The theatre refers to mnemonic techniques called The Art of Memory, a series of methods that allow for better memorisation of information through the association of mental places with information or through the specialisation of memories to ideal places. Giulio Camillo takes a further step by imagining the actual materialisation of human memory and extending it to collective knowledge. This makes his theatre a kind of precursor to an encyclopaedia or even the internet.

I found this very interesting, and as I recently started printing my own photographs again – mostly those from my phone that I always fear will be forgotten – when choosing the ones worthy of a frame, I realised that meaningful memories include not just happy, hugging photos, but also those where I took a selfie crying in a bathroom stall, or photos my friends sent me when they were feeling down, and many other fragile moments in life. I began to think about my fragile theatre and how today these moments are beautiful and I am glad to have saved them. They have passed, and now we are stronger because of them - or at least I want to believe we are stronger, braver, and more experienced because of them. And so, my theatre was born. 

I have always painted white daisies. They hold deep emotional significance for me. When I was a little girl, my mother told me that I had once told her that I was a white daisy in my past life and that someone had accidentally mowed me down, which is why I am now reborn. I often repeated this story and constantly drew the white daisy. I want to believe in this beautiful flower, which has always symbolised a new birth or rebirth for me. While the rose, which you should never gift me, is definitely not my type of flower, although I do appreciate its symbolism in the Baroque period – the symbol of transience, the transience of beauty, fragrance, and colour. The rose was the flower of the Virgin Mary and only bloomed once a year, unlike other plants. These two flowers are contradictory but so are sometimes my feelings, as well. 

Water is a symbol of life and also one of transience. Yes, I often paint water and always give it new meanings. Regarding the paintings in this exhibition where water appears, I once read in a dream dictionary (if it is even accurate) that dreaming of being in deep water means being in trouble, suffering or anxiety. And indeed, every time I dreamt I was in deep water from which I couldn’t get out, that’s how I felt. Something stuck with me. Here, I placed my girls outside the water because, as fragile as they may be, they manage not to wade too deeply into it. 

I have this tape in almost every corner of my studio and apartment. A beautiful decorative item. I remember during the pandemic and lockdown, while lying on the couch, I drew myself, my little girl wrapped in tape, obviously with a fragile sign on it. When I started making sketches for this show, the tape was simply unavoidable. It says fragile because that’s what we are, and that’s okay. And thus, treat us carefully, just as you would treat an artwork box with a tape stating fragile attached to it. 

I love painting. And I will always paint. The painting as an object is very important to me and I often think about where its boundaries are and how best to separate it from the wall. As I mentioned above, while printing photographs and considering which ones to put in a frame, it just happened: my paintings in frames! I love that the painting is still a painting and an object at the same time.

My idea was to use the kind of picture frames that almost every household has, recognisable ones. From the cheapest ones from Ikea to the expensive silver ones you get when you get married. I think I succeeded in that idea – a few people approached me at the exhibition opening and said, "This reminds me of the frame at my grandma’s place", or "I got this frame for my wedding”.  

In the video, on the stage, you can clearly see the person smoking a cigarette wrapped in fragile tape. In all of those fragile memories and situations, I added the sound of applause because support is so important. Furthermore, the feeling of being in a theatre, the support of the audience – I don’t know about you, but whenever I’m in a theatre and I hear a huge applause and cheer around me, I always secretly cry because it’s beautiful. 

So, what can I tell you? I most often paint myself – this naked girl is my alter ego in most cases and I like to hang out with myself. It’s always the most sincere. But if I had to tell you what I wish most for my girl, it’s for her to always be loud, sincere, brave, passionate, and at the same time fragile, emotional and cheerful. 

Dio Horia Gallery is located right next to the Acropolis Museum, not far from the Acropolis itself, which is beautifully visible on the hill from the street. The gallery has a certain energy. You must come! Inside there are ruins from the 4th century. Isn’t it beautiful to know your work is standing above that? Especially the painting with the broken hearts – ruins on top of ruins. Memories on top of memories. A geometric and floral polychrome mosaic from the 4th century is right outside the gallery entrance, which can easily be connected to my pixels.