The Art of Fikos

Fikos was born in 1987 in Athens where he still lives. From a young age he painted whatever he saw around him, such as comics, landscapes icons and more.

At the age of 13 he started studying Byzantine painting under the guidance of George Kordis, with whom he also collaborated professionally for 5 years painting murals in Orthodox churches, while at the same time developing his own personal painting style.

In terms of technique, his portable icons are painted using egg tempera on handmade Japanese paper which is glued onto wood, and his murals are painted in acrylics.

Having a background as a graffiti artist and an iconographer in Orthodox Christian churches, Fikos is continuing his developmental journey by painting murals in public places. The value of these works is exceptional, because it is the first time that the monumental byzantine technique meets a contemporary movement such as street art.

The themes of his murals emanate from the Orthodox Christian tradition and ancient Greek mythology respectively and they are related to the places where they are presented, but also didactic.

Fikos’ painting is not just another artist’s “self-expression”, but a social event a true “creation” (“demiurgia” = demos “citizens” + ergon “work” – a work for the citizens-society).

Besides Greece, his work has been exhibited in France, Bulgaria, England, Ireland, Ukraine, Austria, Lithuania, Switzerland, Norway and Mexico, in exhibitions and museums, television and radio and in private and public places.

Fikos’ vision is the popularization and recognition of contemporary Greek painting at an international level, not as a nostalgic accomplishment of the past, but as a contemporary universal event.

Please visit his site to see more of his remarkable work- http://fikos.gr/portfolio/?lang=en 

Death and Resurrection of Konstantinos Palaeologos by Odysseas Elytis

I

As he stood there erect before the Gate
and impregnable in his sorrow

Far from the world where his spirit sought
to bring Paradise to his measure
And harder even than stone
for no one had ever looked
on him tenderly--at times his crooked teeth
whitened strangely

And as he passed by with his gaze a little
beyond mankind and from them all
extracted One who smiled on him
The Real one
whom death could never seize

He took care to pronounce the word
sea clearly that all the dolphins
within might shine
And the desolation so great it might
contain all of God
and every water drop ascending steadfastly toward
the sun

As a young man he had gold glittering
and gleaming on the shoulders of the great
And one night
he remembers
during a great storm the neck of the sea
roared so it turned murky
but he would not submit to it

The world's an oppressive place to live through
yet with a little pride it's worth it.

II

Dear God what now
Who had to battle with thousands
and not only his loneliness
Who?
He who knew with a single word
how to slake the thirst of entire worlds
What?

From whom they taken everything
And his sandals with their crisscrossed
straps and his pointed trident
and the wall he mounted every afternoon
like an unruly and pitching boat
to hold the reigns against the water


And a handful of vervain
which he had rubbed against a girl's cheek
at midnight
to kiss her
(how the waters of the moon gurled
on the stone steps three cliff-lengths
above the sea ...)

Noon out if night
And not one person by his side
Only his faithful words that mingled
all their colors to leave in his mind
a lance of white light

And opposite
along the whole wall's length
a host of heads poured in plaster
as far as his eye could see

"Noon out of night -- all life a radiance!"
he shouted and rushed into the horde
dragging behind him an endless golden line

And at once he felt
the final pallor
overmastering him
as it hastened from afar.

III

Now
as the sun's wheel turned more and more swiftly
the courtyards plunged into winter and once
again emerged red from the geranium

And the small cool domes
like blue medusae
reached each time into the silverwork
the wind so delicately worked as a painting
for other times more distant

Virgin maidens
their breasts glowing a summer dawn
brought him branches of fresh palm leaves
and those of the myrtle uprooted
from the depths of the sea

Dripping iodine
while under his feet he heard
the prows of black ships
sucked into the great whirlpool
the ancient and smoked sea-craft
from which still erect with riveted gaze
the Mothers of God stood rebuking

Horses overturned on dump-heads
a rabble of buildings large and small
debris and dust flaming in the air

And there lying prone
always with an unbroken word
between his teeth
Himself
the last of the Hellenes!

The Path of Dimitris Pikionis

In Piraeus one day, as I was returning to my father's house, I was intensely aware of the sun scorching my skin; then I stepped into the shade and the coolness caused me to shiver... It occurred to me at that moment that the violent contrasts in the climate of our land, experienced over many centuries, probably helped to explain the sharp antitheses in the character of our race. The ancient Greeks, I considered, had subjected these antitheses to the discipline of their cornices, friezes and architraves. Two days later, among the slums of a working-class quarter of Piraeus, I came upon the actual embodiment of this kind of antithesis: the acute angle made by a lean-to roof at the point where it met the wall behind it. These observations led me to abandon conventional learning and follow a free, autonomous course dictated by nature. Ever since then, the need for combining what the poet Solomos defines as 'il commune' and 'il proprio' became my most persistent pursuit. –D. Pikionis

Mastering the meaning of art necessitates profound thought and subtle, intuitive gifts, if the initiate is to penetrate, albeit gradually and painfully, into the sanctuary where the inner truth will finally be revealed. -D. Pikionis

Paintings by Theodoros Rallis- Women and the Life of the Church

Théodore Jacques Ralli  (Θεόδωρος Ράλλης; Constantinople, 16 February 1852 – 2 October 1909, Lausanne) was a Greek painter, water-colorist and draughtsman, who spent most of his working life in Paris, France and in Egypt.

He painted genre works, portraits, local figures, architectural subjects, interiors with figures and animals. But he is best known for his orientalist paintings.

Beauty & Truth (A selection from N.G. Pentzikis’ Mother Thessaloniki)

The beauty of the real is only revealed to those who can endure it.  Beauty is not desire for the individual who is naturally blest; it is perseverance next to, close to that which you are not…

The truth, in which there is room for us all, and to which no-one has a monopoly, is reflected in the phenomenon like a picture, in existence as the likeness to God.  Our lives it is impossible for us to narrate, the image of the city impossible for us to see, if we rely exclusively on what we are, if we do not remember that we are baptized, with an iconic death, receiving life in our flesh in the name of an ancestor and Saint, of one who had journeyed before.

The Passion (II), A selection from Odysseus Elytis' Axion Esti

II

Greek the language they gave me;

poor the house on Homer’s shores.

            My only care my language on Homer’s shores.

There bream and perch

            windbeaten verbs,

green sea currents in the blue,

            all I saw light up my entrails,

sponges, jellyfish

            with first words of the Sirens,

rosy shells with the first black shivers.

            My only care my language with the first black shivers.

There pomegranates, quinces,

            swarthy gods, uncles and cousins

emptying oil into giant jars;

            and breathes from the ravine fragrant

with osier and terebinth

            broom and ginger root

with the first chirping finches,

            sweet psalms with the first Glory Be to Thee.

My only care my language with the first Glory Be to Thee!

            There laurel and palm leaves

censer and incense

            blessing the swords and the muskets.

On soil spread with vine scarves,

            the smell of roasting lamb, Paschal eggs cracking,

and “Christ is Risen,”

            with the first salvos of the Greeks.

Secret loves with the first words of the Hymn.

            My only care my language with the firs words of the Hymn!

Translated by Edmund Keeley & George Savidis

Christ is Risen by Pavlos Nirvanas

Once — many years ago— when I happened to celebrate Easter and the Resurrection in a little mountain village of the Peloponnese, I had noticed an old villager who was holding a lit Easter candle with his arm outstretched upwards, towards the stars that adorned the skies of that Resurrection night, and, as though addressing me, I heard him gently murmur:

“The Heavens, my child, were tamed on this night….”

In those few words, that innocent villager had succinctly enclosed the most profound meaning of the Christian miracle. “The Heavens were tamed”.

Without the supreme Christian miracle of the Resurrection, the heavens would have continued (for the cowardly soul of the simple person and for every human soul generally) to be the abode of a dreaded God; a fair judge, but also one without leniency, and a merciless vindicator. Such were the gods of all other religions. They reigned supreme over their creations, instilling fear in them. They were omnipotent tyrants, who remained at a great distance from their peoples; they had never acquainted themselves with their worshippers’ weaknesses, they had never suffered the pain that their believers suffered and had never been tormented by their believers’ torments. They had never mourned like their believers mourned. They were incapable of compassion, of sympathy or forgiveness. How could the heavens that are inhabited by such gods not be perceived as “savage”, in the eyes of awe-struck mortals?

In that calm spring night, as the old villager’s lit candle was lifted to the heavens like a greeting towards the twinkling, resurrected stars, the heavens indeed seemed tamer. They were no longer the abode of a God estranged from His people, seated far, far away “up there” on His terrible throne. There now resided a lovable God; one Who had savored all the sufferings that mankind suffered: He had acquainted Himself with all the injustices of the world, He had undergone every kind of scorn, He had paid for every single kind of ingratitude. He was abused, laughed at, spat on, dragged through the streets in bonds as though He were the worst of criminals, and was crucified. He had hungered, thirsted, and had beheld the horror of death. For a moment, He had even seen Himself as forgotten by God Himself, who was His Father: “My God, my God, why have You abandoned me?” There was no pain that He had not become acquainted with; no heartache that He had not felt; no misery whose poison He had not tasted. He drank every kind of bitter drink that a person could ever drink in this world. And, on a night like tonight, this suffering and tortured person had risen to the heavens and had seated Himself, all-powerful, at God’s Throne, to govern the entire world. How could the Heavens not become “tamed”? An infinite goodness had now engulfed the Firmament.

“Why should any sinner tremble in fear from then on?” the old man must have thought to himself. “He who had forgiven the whore, the robber - and even those who had crucified Him - is now “up there” and He can see the sinner’s tears of repentance and forgive him. Why should any sick person feel desperation? He who had healed the blind and the paralyzed is now “up there” and can heal him also. Why should the poor and the wronged feel resentment? He, who had hungered and thirsted is now “up there” and is fully understanding of his misery too. Why should any mother worry anxiously about her child? Up there, in the Heavens, is a caring Mother who has also endured maternal suffering and who will beseech (on that mother’s behalf) Her Son, who governs the entire world, to bestow His mercy on her. And why should any white-haired elder tremble during his hour of death? For him - as for every soul – there awaits a resurrection…”

The Heavens were indeed tamer on that spring evening. And the old man’s candle had indeed been raised as a greeting – and as a thanksgiving – towards those ‘resurrected’ stars.

—“Christ is risen, grandpa”.

—“He is God; He is the Lord, my child”.
______________________________________________

Κάποτε —ἐδῶ καὶ πολλὰ χρόνια— ποὺ μοὔτυχε νὰ κάνω Ἀνάσταση σὲ κάποιο ὀρεινὸ χωριὸ τῆς Ρούμελης, ἕνας γέρος χωριάτης, ὑψώνοντας τὴ λαμπριάτικη λαμπάδα του, σὰ χαιρετισμό, πρὸς τ' ἀναστάσιμα ἄστρα, μοῦ εἶπε σὰ νὰ μιλοῦσε μὲ τὸν ἑαυτό του :

—Ἡμέρεψαν ἀπόψε, παιδί μου, τὰ Οὐράνια.

Στὰ δυὸ αὐτὰ λόγια ὁ ἀθῶος χωριάτης εἶχε κλείσει, ἐπιγραμματικά, τὸ βαθύτερο νόημα τοῦ χριστιανικοῦ θαύματος. «Ἡμέρεψαν τὰ Οὐράνια». Ὁ οὐρανός, χωρὶς τὸ μεγάλο χριστιανικὸ θαῦμα, θὰ ἐξακολουθοῦσε νὰ εἶναι γιὰ τὴν περίφοβη ψυχὴ τοῦ ἁπλοϊκοῦ ἀνθρώπου —γιὰ κάθε ἀνθρώπινη ψυχὴ— τὸ κατοικητήριο ἑνὸς Θεοῦ τρομεροῦ, δικαιοκρίτη χωρὶς ἐπιείκεια καὶ τιμωροῦ χωρὶς ἔλεος. Τέτοιοι στάθηκαν οἱ θεοὶ ὅλων τῶν θρησκειῶν. Κυβερνοῦσαν τὰ πλάσματά τους μὲ τὸν τρόμο. Τύραννοι παντοδύναμοι, μακρυσμένοι ἀπ' τὸ λαό τους, δὲν εἶχαν γνωρίσει ποτὲ τὶς ἀδυναμίες του, δὲν εἶχαν πονέσει ποτὲ τὸν πόνο του, δὲν εἶχαν βασανισθεῖ ποτὲ ἀπ' τὰ βάσανά του, δὲν εἶχαν κλάψει ποτὲ τὰ δάκρυά του. Ἀνίκανοι νὰ συμπονέσουν, νὰ λυπηθοῦν καὶ νὰ συχωρέσουν. Πῶς νὰ μὴν εἶναι «ἄγρια» — ὅπως τάβλεπε τὸ μάτι τοῦ φοβισμένου ἀνθρώπου —τὰ οὐράνια, τὰ κατοικημένα ἀπὸ τέτοιους θεοὺς;

Καὶ μέσα στὴν ἀνοιξιάτικη ἐκείνη νύχτα, ποὺ ἡ λαμπάδα τοῦ γέρου χωριάτη εἶχε ὑψωθῆ σὰ χαιρετισμὸς πρὸς τὰ λαμπρά, ἀναστάσιμα ἄστρα, τὰ οὐράνια εἶχαν ἡμερέψει. Δὲν κατοικοῦσε πιὰ ἐκεῖ ἀπάνω ὑψωμένος στὸν τρομερὸ του θρόνο, ἕνας θεὸς ξένος γιὰ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους. Κατοικοῦσε ἕνας γλυκύτατος θεός, ποὺ εἶχε πονέσει ὅλους τους πόνους τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ποὺ εἶχε γνωρίσει ὅλες τὶς ἀδικίες τῆς γῆς, ποὺ εἶχε τραβήξει ὅλες τὶς καταφρόνιες, ποὺ εἶχε πληρώσει ὅλες τὶς ἀχαριστίες. Τὸν ἔβρισαν, τὸν ἀναγέλασαν, τὸν ἔφτυσαν, τὸν ἔσυραν δεμένο στοὺς δρόμους, σὰν τὸ τελευταῖο κακοῦργο, τὸν σταύρωσαν. Ἐπείνασε, ἐδίψασε, κουράστηκε, ἀντίκρυσε τὴ φρίκη τοῦ θανάτου. Γιὰ μιὰ στιγμὴ εἶδε τὸν ἑαυτό του λησμονημένο κι' ἀπ' τὸν ἴδιο τὸ Θεό, ποὺ ἦταν πατέρας του. «Θεέ μου, θεέ μου, ἵνα τί μὲ ἐγκατέλιπες;» Δὲ στάθηκε πόνος, ποὺ νὰ μὴν τὸν γνώρισε, καρδιοσωμός, ποὺ νὰ μὴν τὸν ἔννοιωσε, δυστυχία, ποὺ νὰ μὴ γεύθηκε τὸ φαρμάκι της. Ἤπιε ὅλα τὰ φαρμάκια, ποὺ μπορεῖ νὰ πιῆ ἄνθρωπος σ' αὐτὸν τὸν κόσμο. Καί, τὴ νύχτα ἐκείνη, ὁ πονεμένος καὶ βασανισμένος αὐτὸς ἄνθρωπος εἶχε ἀνέβη στοὺς Οὐρανοὺς καὶ εἶχε καθήσει παντοδύναμος στὸ θρόνο τοῦ θεοῦ, νὰ κυβερνήση τὸν κόσμο. Πῶς νὰ μὴν «ἡμερέψουν τὰ Οὐράνια»; Μιὰ ἀπέραντη καλωσύνη εἶχε πλημμυρίσει τὸ στερέωμα.

Γιατὶ νὰ τρέμη πιὰ ὁ ἁμαρτωλός; θὰ συλλογιζότανε ὁ γέρος. Ἐκεῖνος ποὺ συχώρεσε τὴν πόρνη, τὸ ληστὴ κι ἐκείνους ἀκόμα ποὺ τὸν σταύρωσαν, εἶναι τώρα ἐκεῖ ἀπάνω, γιὰ νὰ ἰδῆ τὰ δάκρυα τοῦ μετανοιωμοῦ του καὶ νὰ τὸν συχώρεση. Γιατί ν’ ἀπελπίζεται ὁ ἄρρωστος; Ἐκεῖνος ποὺ γιάτρεψε τὸν τυφλὸ καὶ τὸν παράλυτο, εἶναι τώρα ἐκεῖ ἀπάνω γιὰ νὰ τὸν γιατρέψη. Γιατί νὰ βαρυγκομάη ὁ φτωχὸς καὶ ὁ ἀδικημένος; Ἐκεῖνος, ποὺ πείνασε καὶ δίψασε, εἶναι τώρα ἐκεῖ ἀπάνω καὶ καταλαβαίνει τὴ δυστυχία του. Γιατὶ νὰ λαχταράη ἡ μάννα γιὰ τὸ παιδί της; Ἐκεῖ ἀπάνω στοὺς Οὐρανοὺς εἶναι μιὰ Μαννούλα, ποὺ δοκίμασε τὸν πόνο της, γιὰ νὰ παρακάλεση τὸ παιδί της, ποὺ κυβερνάει τὸν κόσμο, νὰ τὴν ἐλεήσῃ. Καὶ γιατὶ νὰ τρέμη ὁ ἀσπρομάλλης ὁ γέρος τὴν ὥρα τοῦ θανάτου; Εἶναι καὶ γι' αὐτόν, εἶναι γιὰ κάθε ψυχή, μιὰ ἀνάσταση.

Τὰ Οὐράνια εἶχαν ἡμερέψει, ἀλήθεια, ἐκείνη τὴν ἀνοιξιάτικη νύχτα. Καὶ ἡ λαμπάδα τοῦ γέρου εἶχε ὑψωθῆ σὰ χαιρετισμὸς καὶ σὰν εὐχαριστία, πρὸς τὰ ἀναστάσιμα ἄστρα.

—Χριστὸς ἀνέστη, παπποῦ.
—Ὁ Θεός, ὁ Κύριος, παιδί μου.