Χρυσόστομος Σταμούλης, Ο ύμνος της αγάπης: A Hymn of Love

Yannis Tsarouchis

Yannis Tsarouchis (Γιάννης Τσαρούχης) 13 January 1910 – 20 July 1989

Born in Piraeus, he studied at the Athens School of Fine Arts (1929–1935). He was also a student of Photios Kontoglou, who introduced him to Byzantine iconography, while he also studied popular architecture and dressing customs. Together with Dimitris Pikionis, Kontoglou and Angeliki Hatzimichali he led the movement for the introduction of Greek tradition in painting.

The Art of Odysseas Annitsakis

Γεννήθηκε στην Αθήνα το 1965. Σπούδασε σχέδιο, χαρακτική, γλυπτική και υδατογραφία στο Ανοικτό Εργαστήριο της πόλης Oldenburg στη Γερμανία από το 1992 έως το 1997.

Zissimos Lorenzatos: What Remains…

All these matters, great and small, which torment us or occupy us and trouble our minds, day and night, with the small—the infinitesimally small—fraction of truth which the world can contain: what do they amount to for man at the critical moment? And what do we leave behind us? When you put everything together within yourself and sum it up—prophecy, mysteries, knowledge, faith (yes, even faith)—what finally remains, in this world, apart from Love?  What is left, even of those countless worlds that circle endlessly ‘in limitless space’ in the universe, as the Zakynthian poet Kalvos says:

The storm clouds have fled on the wind,

never and nowhere to be found.

Ο Ράλλης Κοψίδης

Wayfarers by Tasos Leivaditis

WE ARE THOSE who have been on their way for

centuries—we never had a place of our own—where are we

going? Where are we coming from? On occasion we stay

somewhere for a while, but fate quickly remembers us again

and we leave.

And only on occasion, at the time when dusk falls and

the few violets shudder amongst the hedges, we are

overwhelmed by a strange awe, a feeling as though we are

returning to the place from which we have been forever

banished.

         

 Or perhaps the twilight is our only home…

N.G. Pentzikis: Mother Thessaloniki

If, looking at Thessaloniki, one is able to rebut the poetry of the the Waste Land, in which all cities are reduced to non-existence, it is because here in the ruins, in what all things new will eventually become, one senses that everything exists, not for what it was but for something other than that, which never entered our minds when we were building.  This unlooked for other makes it possible for you to live in Thessaloniki, so that however dismal your starting point, you are always when you set out optimistic about the Resurrection. 

- N.G. Pentzikis