Interview with Ageliki Alexandridou
Introduction/Short Biography
Angeliki is a Greek visual artist whose diverse background and experiences shape her unique artistic vision. With a foundation in fashion design and sociology, her work transcends boundaries, seeking a universal language through visual imagery. Her art explores the beauty of the human form, emotional depth, and the subtle interplay between reality and the intangible.
Working in various mediums—including oil, acrylic, and pastels—Angeliki combines realism with abstraction to evoke a range of human experiences. She is particularly interested in how emotions, spirituality, and personal journeys are reflected through visual elements. For Angeliki, art is not just about creating; it is a process of continual exploration and evolution, where each piece is a step forward in an ongoing dialogue between the artist and the world.
Now based in Preveza, Greece, Angeliki’s art is deeply influenced by the environments she has lived in, from the plains of Central Macedonia to the coastal beauty of the Ionian Sea. Her work is an exploration of place, identity, and the human condition, grounded in empathy and a deep understanding of the world around her.
Artist's Statement:
In my art, I strive to capture the complexity of human existence through a balance of realism and symbolism. My work is an ongoing exploration of beauty, emotion, and spirituality, encouraging viewers to reflect on their deeper connections with the world around them. I believe that art transcends language and cultural barriers, offering a universal means of communication. Through a variety of materials and techniques, I aim to create pieces that invite introspection and provoke thought, while embracing the ever-evolving nature of my artistic journey. Each work is an expression of my personal perception of reality, drawing from history, mythology, and the emotional depth of the human experience.
In your artist statement, you describe painting as a "silent, but universal art." Could you elaborate on how you navigate the balance between the silent nature of visual art and its potential to communicate universally? What do you think are the unique challenges and advantages of conveying deep, often complex messages without words?
First and foremost, visual stimuli—whether in terms of shape, color, or, in the case of figurative art, form—are universally perceived by all people, regardless of nationality. Painting has, or at least should have, its own visual melody. Just as music is governed by harmony, so too is painting. Regardless of theme or artistic movement, the works that stand the test of time and remain in the consciousness of viewers share a sense of harmony. This is something the human brain is inherently capable of detecting and recognizing. Thus, beyond language, nationality, or culture, there is an initial, universal registration of an image in the mind, common to all.
Beyond this, of course, every visual stimulus connects individually to each of us, triggering a unique sequence of neural associations linked to our own personal experiences. This process is identical for all humans, though it yields different results for each individual. In some cases, cultural contexts play a decisive role in perception. For instance, in societies where women are required to be fully covered, the depiction of the nude body may be considered offensive, provocative, or even blasphemous. However, even in such cases, an image has the potential to bypass these acquired principles and connect with deeper cognitive processes and personal experiences.
Regarding the final part of your question: The truth is that people interpret what they see differently. As mentioned earlier, the same visual stimulus triggers a distinct chain of associations in each observer. Therefore, the challenge for an artist who wishes to convey a specific message is to circumvent this variability in human perception. The goal is to compose an image that transcends these divergent pathways and reaches the precise cognitive or emotional space the artist intends. This brings us back to the fundamental idea of universality. The symbols and artistic tools employed must work to create a shared emotional response among viewers.
You have expressed a profound love for portraying the beauty of human beings in your art. Philosophically speaking, how do you define beauty in the human form, and how do you decide which aspects of humanity to highlight or obscure in your works to enhance this beauty?
First of all, it is worth emphasizing that, beyond any subjective perspective, the human brain has its own inherent criteria for defining what we call "beauty." At a purely primitive, instinctual level, it recognizes and selects regularity, robustness, and symmetry. It is genetically programmed to favor characteristics that indicate health and strength, ensuring the safest possible continuation of its DNA. Beyond this, however, cultural and environmental influences, as well as personal experiences, shape each individual’s perception of beauty.
Personally, in my art, I define beauty as any representation that exudes purity and authenticity—one that evokes positive emotions in the viewer, inspires self-improvement, and fosters personal growth. To be more specific: Beauty does not exist solely in joy or perfection. It can also be found in grief, pain, drama, and absence—provided that the artist approaches the subject with respect and conveys it with a unique poetic sensibility, revealing the greatness they perceive.
Does all of this sound like an attempt to idealize reality? I won’t disagree—because that is precisely my stance. Our world has had its fill of nightmares; we live with them every day. What we are missing is the dream.
You mention a continuous search and experimentation in your artistic process. How do you think this perpetual state of exploration affects your relationship with your completed works? Do you ever feel truly satisfied with a piece, or do you view each one as a step in an ongoing journey?
The truth is that with every artwork, I always feel like I could refine it further. The only way to stop thinking about it is to let it go. I believe most artists experience this temptation, though it is not always beneficial. The more you work on a piece, the more your adjustments may enhance its representation, but at the same time, they risk stripping it of its freshness and spontaneity. That is why it is crucial for every creator to find the delicate balance between a well-executed work and an overly refined one. Knowing when to stop is one of the greatest challenges in completing an artwork.
Beyond that, every piece is indeed a unique step—sometimes leading to something beautiful, other times not. Even when the final result does not fully represent me, I still consider that step valuable because it reveals what I am not, what does not suit me. If I look at older works and feel no emotional connection, I know that I can exclude that particular style or theme from my repertoire. On the other hand, some pieces still resonate with me even after years. Because despite their imperfections—despite the elements I would like to correct, add, or remove—they continue to reflect parts of myself, emotions, sounds, melodies… everything that inspired me during their creation.
Nevertheless, whether beloved or not, the more you evolve, the more you realize that the images of yesterday are something less than the images of today. Just like ourselves: when we look back, we recognize that today we are something more than we were yesterday. We know a little more, see a little clearer, understand a little deeper.
Your diverse background in fashion design, sociology, and now painting provides a rich tapestry of experiences. How do each of these disciplines influence your approach to painting, particularly in how you interpret social interactions and human psychology through art?
My experiences and studies in different fields offer me a wide range of perspectives on the world, as well as an understanding of the relationships that govern it. For example, fashion design influences my ability to observe and understand the social image, the "appearance" of each person, and how it is shaped by the era and societal demands. My studies in Sociology taught me how social structures and external influences, such as economic status or education, play a role in shaping human relationships. Finally, Psychology taught me to look beyond the external characteristics of people and focus on their inner nature, their soul, and how the uniqueness of each individual shapes the human experience.
This combined knowledge from different fields directly influences my artistic process. In my art, I draw from these tools to interpret human nature, social interactions, and psychological processes. Each of my paintings becomes an attempt to capture the complexity of the human world, giving space for the uniqueness and details that define the individuality of each person. This blend of various fields helps me approach each piece with depth and empathy, bringing art and the human experience closer together.
You use a variety of mediums and styles, from oil to acrylics and from realism to abstract. Philosophically, what does this flexibility say about your view of artistic identity? Do you believe that an artist should evolve with multiple styles, or is there a philosophical grounding in sticking to one method or approach?
The use of different materials serves only one purpose: to achieve the artistic vision I aim for. For instance, oil paints allow me to rework a subject multiple times, which is essential when striving for likeness in a portrait, capturing a specific expression, or working with a particularly demanding color palette.
Acrylics, which dry quickly, help me when I need to preserve a scene under a specific lighting condition or when I want to apply multiple translucent layers in a work that I need to develop rapidly.
Pastels, which can be blended directly onto the canvas with my fingers, add a dreamlike quality to a composition, allowing me to create atmospheric imagery and engage more physically with the creative process.
So, no, I don’t feel that experimenting with materials takes away from my artistic identity. On the contrary, I would say it enhances my ability to express my subjects in more than one way.
When it comes to different styles, however, I do believe that style is an expression of an artist’s identity. The fact that I continue to experiment with various artistic movements shows that I have not yet settled on a single approach—it reveals my struggle to break free from what I have been taught to perceive. In truth, it externalizes an inner conflict of mine, one tied to deeper philosophical questions and dilemmas.
To be more specific, the realistic depiction of subjects can be seen as a kind of confinement of the spirit within the material world. For someone who believes there is much more beyond what our senses can perceive, realism feels insufficient—it tells only a fraction of the story compared to everything that truly exists and unfolds around and within us.
So why do I still adhere to realism despite this? Because I have not yet found a way to visually express my thoughts—the language that can translate my worldview. Until then, I intend to continue capturing the beauty I see around me in a universal visual language that we all understand. That silent yet global language we mentioned at the beginning of this interview—the one that every human mind recognizes, regardless of cultural or intellectual background.
Having lived in various parts of Greece and now settled in Preveza, how do these geographical and cultural shifts reflect in your artwork? Do you believe that the essence of a place can be captured and communicated through art, or is it more about the artist's internal interpretation of their surroundings?
In reality, these two aspects are interconnected. The environment influences the artist’s state of mind, while at the same time, the artist integrates their personal narrative into the depiction of the space within their work. Consequently, the constant change of scenery can only enrich an artist’s mental pathways, while exposure to different cultures broadens their perception and deepens their empathy.
From a practical standpoint, the geography of each place offers unique and distinct imagery and colors. The plains of Central Macedonia, the mountains of Epirus, the Ionian coastlines, the islands of the Aegean—each of these places feels like a different world, with its own scents, sounds, and palettes. But, of course, a place is not defined solely by its natural beauty. It carries its own history, often visibly etched into its landscapes. Above all, its greatest treasure lies in its people—those who have shaped and been shaped by it, who have lived its history and left their marks in countless ways.
Thus, for an artist, the opportunity to experience different places is both a privilege and an invaluable gift, as it expands their perception beyond the narrow confines of the self. That is, of course, provided that they have the sensitivity to truly listen to the messages that surround them.
You liken art to "every kind of knowledge," suggesting a deep, intrinsic connection. Could you expand on the idea of art as a form of knowledge? In what ways do you think art contributes to or enhances our understanding of the world or ourselves?
Art, like every other form of knowledge, is not something static; it is a process, one that is constantly evolving. No knowledge, art form, scientific discipline, or skill exists without varying degrees of perception, understanding, and progression. The more one engages with something, the stronger the desire to comprehend and delve deeper into it. Knowledge and skills are dynamic fields—when you are passionate about something, you are driven to learn more, to understand its history, its journey, and the perspectives of experts in the field. If your subject of interest is not just theoretical but also practical, you seek out tools, materials, and techniques. You strive to stay informed about every new development in the field.
Moreover, art describes both the perceptual process of the creator and its resulting expression. An artist’s work reflects how they perceive the world around them and the emotions within them. This alone implies an inherent dynamism—one that evolves or even transforms, depending on the artist’s choices. These choices relate to the way they process emotions, their willingness to improve, and their capacity for empathy.
So yes, art is an internal and perpetual process. And perhaps the most remarkable aspect of all is that this dynamic nature does not cease when the artist’s life ends. It continues beyond them—through the perception of each viewer, the emotional impact it evokes, the multiple interpretations it undergoes, and the different dialogues it fosters with diverse cultural and social contexts.
As an artist whose works are in private collections globally, how do you reconcile the commercial aspects of selling art with the intimate, personal process of creation? How do you maintain the integrity of your artistic vision while navigating the market dynamics?
Now, this is a very serious issue. Trying to satisfy the demands of the market is a major trap for an artist. If one succumbs to it, they sacrifice their personal expression. There is the risk of gradually becoming a professional with a stereotypically repetitive technique or subject matter, as the creation of artworks starts resembling mass production.
You cannot chase after the audience’s desires. However, you may be fortunate if your own vision, your unique perspective, resonates with a group of people who will then follow you on your creative journey. This is the only thing you can truly hope for if you intend to make art your primary means of survival while remaining true to your vision. If, on the other hand, your artistic narrative fails to find an audience that embraces it, then you face an extremely difficult situation.
The easiest path is to give in and view art purely as a means of making a living. The middle ground is to take on commissioned work to cover your basic needs while simultaneously pursuing your personal artistic vision. The third option is to remain steadfast in your vision and endure the consequences—waiting and persevering.
I am not the one to dictate what is right, and I don’t believe anyone can. It is a matter of personal choice, shaped by each artist’s experiences. Some choose the first path and are content simply to be engaged in their craft. They love what they do so much that they are willing to sacrifice their personal artistic vision, as long as they can give form to the blank canvas with lines and colors. That is a valid and entirely respectable choice.
Personally, I have chosen the second path. I work extensively on portrait commissions to sustain myself, allowing me to also pursue the themes that I choose freely. But even within this process, I find aspects that I love. I do not approach my subjects as mere photographic representations of a figure; rather, I strive to capture the essence of the person I am working with—their expression, their aura. And that, in itself, is something magical. To enable a collector to see, in their portrait, the best version of themselves—not just in terms of physical appearance, but as an expression of their soul.
You express a desire to avoid labels and not restrict your expression to a specific style. How do you navigate the art world's tendency to categorize and label artists and their work? Do you find that resisting labels has influenced the reception of your art?
You express a desire to avoid labels and not restrict your expression to a specific style. How do you navigate the art world's tendency to categorize and label artists and their work? Do you find that resisting labels has influenced the reception of your art?
To be honest, it's almost impossible. And, in fact, I've already lost a lot by maintaining this position. As I mentioned in a previous answer, my refusal to label myself comes from the fact that I have not settled on one specific worldview or understanding of reality. The need to have an identity accompanying your work is something I completely understand. In everyday life, a prism-like perspective is a positive element because it brings empathy to the one who possesses it, but in art, things are different. Not having an artistic identity prevents the audience from connecting with you on a deeper and more meaningful level. The realm of Expression—because I believe that this word has replaced "Art" as the object of focus—is pluralistic and vast. Information, on the other hand, flows at incredibly rapid rates and its volume is overwhelmingly large. Being able to define your narrative helps the audience to find you, to know you, and possibly to form a connection with you and your work. Therefore, the fact that I haven't defined an identity for my work is something I see as a weakness and a shortcoming. For now, I self-identify as a realist artist, with symbolic traits, often leaning towards themes of mythology and the fantastical.
You mentioned studying Byzantine hagiography recently. What draws you to this ancient style, and how do you anticipate it will influence your future works? How do you see your art evolving with the incorporation of such a historically and spiritually rich style into your repertoire?
The philosophy behind Byzantine hagiography is related to the pseudo-sensory reality. As some ancient Greek philosophers, such as Plato, argued, it is based on the idea that the material world we live in is not true. Everything our senses perceive is merely a poor representation of the true reality. Consequently, sacred holy figures cannot be depicted as three-dimensional, material beings. Byzantine art therefore depicts them in two dimensions as a reminder of the symbolic nature of the image, which serves as a point of focus for our attention and prayer, and not as a worshiped object in itself. Additionally, Byzantine hagiography is a highly semiotic form of art, rich in symbols that aim to attribute characteristics and qualities to the figures it represents.
These aspects of Byzantine art attracted my interest. The transmutation it advocates, the symbolism, the reference to the spirit beyond the sensory world, form a blend of thoughts that I can adopt. I am more concerned with the philosophy of this mentality rather than the technique itself. However, when you aspire to study a subject, you must do it with consistency, not superficially or fragmentarily. So, this study aims to find the right way to convey to the viewer how I personally perceive the world, through a language that combines spirituality and symbolism. I want to share this unique perspective in a way that connects history with contemporary understanding, provoking the inner search of the observer.
