Angeliki's approach invites viewers to confront the fragility and beauty of existence, transcending the familiar and engaging with a collective sense of humanity. Each piece stands as a powerful reminder of the interplay between existence and impermanence, offering both a personal and universal lens through which to view the world.
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How do you reconcile the tension between raw, innate creativity and the discipline required to master your craft?
I don’t tend to see raw creativity and discipline as entirely separate. Creativity isn’t necessarily a distinct, otherworldly realm from which you draw inspiration on command. Many of my creative breakthroughs have emerged during what might seem like the most “boring” or routine tasks. Whether it’s during a challenging conceptual process—where research and introspection help you articulate the meaning within—or through technical experimentation, where a color or texture sparks something entirely new. To me, these two aspects function more like interconnected vessels, each feeding into the other, rather than as opposing forces. I firmly believe that discipline—both in mastering the medium and in the deep inner exploration you undertake—is essential for authentic creative inspiration. It provides depth and sincerity to the work.
Moreover, only by navigating and uncovering the intricate complexity of a medium can you develop the tools necessary for true self-expression, allowing you to bring to life the images and ideas that exist in your imagination. It’s also important to embrace the iterative nature of the creative process. Not every idea will flourish immediately, and that’s where perseverance comes in. There’s immense value in revisiting and refining your work, as well as remaining open to feedback and unexpected discoveries. In this way, the creative journey becomes not just about self-expression, but also about growth—pushing the boundaries of your vision and evolving as an artist.
How do you reignite creativity during those inevitable periods of self-doubt or stagnation?
The creative process, for better or worse, often mirrors one’s internal psychological and existential landscape, and just like life, it isn’t always linear. Using this analogy, when I find myself stuck in art, I approach it the same way I do when I face challenges in life—I try to shift my perspective. A problem that feels insurmountable can often lose its weight when viewed from a different angle. Equally important is the act of stepping away. Taking a deliberate pause for a few days allows me to create distance from the work. In today’s relentlessly fast-paced world, we’ve collectively undervalued the power of rest, even boredom. Yet, these are essential states that our brain needs to process and reset. Neglecting them inevitably leads to burnout and a sense of disconnection. When I hit a creative wall, I’ve found that a walk in nature, a conversation with someone who understands the challenges of navigating creative voids or simply allowing myself time to recharge often brings a sense of relief. These moments of stillness and connection enable me to return to my work with renewed energy and clarity.
Do you believe an artist's passion is something destined or a conscious choice?
When I was younger, I tended to romanticize the idea of destiny, believing in fairy-tale notions of fate—something beyond our control that karmically determines the course of our lives. Over time, however, I came to realize that art, like any ambition or desire, is ultimately a conscious choice. It’s not a decision you make just once; it’s one you must revisit and reaffirm repeatedly.
The life of someone who chooses to dedicate themselves to art has always been, and remains, a deeply challenging and unconventional path, particularly for those who don’t come from privileged backgrounds that makes the journey easier. Many who buy into the idea of “destiny” find themselves unprepared for the harsh realities and eventually give up.
That’s why I believe it’s essential for artists to ask themselves certain questions regularly: How much do I truly need to create art in my daily life? What meaning have I assigned to this pursuit? Could I imagine myself thriving in a completely different career or direction?
These questions shape a consciously constructed “destiny,” one that evolves daily through our choices and commitment. Passion for art may spark from within, but sustaining it requires an ongoing dialogue with ourselves and a deliberate investment in our creative path.
How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression?
It’s very important to me that viewers can grasp at least some part of my work. For that reason, I tend to create art that is relatively clear in its intent and the messages I want to convey. That said, there’s a delicate balance I’m always striving to achieve—a fine line between offering the viewer everything on a silver platter and burdening them with cryptic riddles.
For me, art should be accessible, not confined to a tiny elite that thrives on insular narratives. It should be open to broader audiences and invite engagement from diverse perspectives. At the same time, it’s equally important to recognize that each viewer brings their own unique experiences and worldview to the table. Once a piece leaves the confines of the studio and is shared with the public, the artist inevitably relinquishes absolute control over its interpretation.
The artwork takes on a life of its own, acquiring new symbolic and conceptual layers, and can be understood in countless different ways. I believe this interplay between clarity and ambiguity adds depth to the work, allowing it to resonate on multiple levels and fostering a richer dialogue between the artist and the audience.
How do you feel social media is shaping the way art is created, consumed and valued today?
Social media is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it democratizes the promotion and engagement with art, erasing geographical boundaries, giving a platform to new voices, and offering opportunities that didn’t exist before. But I’ve increasingly observed its heavy toll.
From personal experience—and I’m sure many others feel the same—I’ve noticed how daily engagement with social media disrupts and interferes with the organic creative process. Artists often end up mimicking influencers or content creators, driven by the need to constantly showcase their work, produce at a faster pace, and feed the insatiable algorithms before the “gods” of Instagram, for instance, cast them into obscurity. The pressure to align with current trends or aesthetics becomes overwhelming because the creative process itself is often shaped by the validation these platforms offer. It’s an incredibly toxic reality.
Additionally, another major problem arises. Traditionally, viewers would visit museums, galleries, and dedicated spaces to experience art firsthand. Today, that process has largely been replaced by the ease of a button click, granting effortless access to countless exhibitions and artists. While this accessibility isn’t inherently problematic, my concern lies in how we’ve begun to perceive and “consume” art—like cheap fast food.
We no longer take the time to pause, reflect, or truly absorb a piece of art. There’s little room left to contemplate how it makes us feel or what thoughts it provokes. Instead, the modern assimilation of art through social media leans heavily toward aesthetic fetishism, offering fleeting visual pleasure rather than fostering a deeper connection or meaningful engagement with the work.
Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally or seen it impact others?
For me, engaging with art has always been a way to heal my wounds and achieve better internal regulation. Since as far back as I can remember, creating has been my sanctuary, a means of processing and soothing emotional pain. I realized early on that during periods when, for various reasons, I couldn’t create or retreat into my “bubble,” my mental state would deteriorate dramatically. There’s nothing romantic about this—it’s simply a deep belief in the therapeutic properties of art.
The process of creation feels almost ritualistic, like a form of meditation. It allows for a profound immersion in the present moment, where my sole concern is finding the right solutions for my work. This focus anchors me and provides a sense of calm and clarity, no matter how chaotic things may feel externally.
It’s no coincidence that art therapy has become increasingly recognized and practiced more systematically. Many are now discovering the immense healing power that art offers for the soul, allowing individuals to navigate and process their inner struggles in ways that words often cannot. I’ve experienced this transformative effect, and I’ve seen how it can profoundly impact others as well.
Do academic institutions still play a vital role in shaping artists today, or has self-taught creativity disrupted this tradition?
There has undoubtedly been a significant rise in self-taught artists, utilizing online tools and their own discipline to master their craft—often to an impressive degree. I have the utmost respect for their dedication and firmly believe that everyone has an equal right to art and self-expression. However, I believe the challenge lies in the inability of many self-taught artists to fully absorb a deeper, more conceptual understanding of art. Without the foundational guidance that academic institutions provide, there’s often a risk of feeling directionless. If an individual’s goals and expectations are solely to master a medium or technique, then perhaps formal education isn’t as necessary in today’s world.
But for those seeking to develop a broader visual language, a deeper understanding of art history, and a more comprehensive framework for their practice, academic institutions and universities still play a vital and irreplaceable role. These environments foster critical thinking, dialogue, and exposure to diverse perspectives that can elevate an artist’s approach beyond technical proficiency, allowing for a more holistic and enriched artistic journey.
Do you think art created for commercial success loses its integrity, or can it still hold meaning?
I believe that meaningful art can still exist even when created to achieve commercial success. However, I do tend to have a more critical view of this issue. Recently, I was reflecting on how building a brand around your identity as an artist and the visual language you use can be both a gift and a curse. On one hand, it provides visibility and ensures a certain level of financial stability, which is undeniably valuable. On the other hand, it can trap you in a Sisyphean cycle of repetition, where you’re compelled to recreate the same formulaic image or style that you know will guarantee success. I can’t imagine there being genuine authenticity, honesty, or even enjoyment in such a process beyond a certain point.
It’s reminiscent of Faust’s pact with the devil—sacrificing something invaluable in exchange for success. In this case, what you give up is the essence of boundless creativity and the freedom to evolve without being tethered to a snapshot of your past self. You risk losing the joy of artistic exploration, as the pressure to replicate a commercially viable image becomes overwhelming.
That said, I don’t condemn any artist who chooses this path. Everyone has their own journey, and the balance between creative integrity and practical realities is deeply personal. It’s a delicate and often challenging tightrope to walk.
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For Angeliki, art is a deliberate and dynamic process where creativity and discipline converge. Known for evocative works that seamlessly blend raw emotion with conceptual depth, Angeliki challenges the idea that artistry springs solely from spontaneous moments. Whether navigating the tension between clarity and ambiguity in expression or grappling with societal expectations of commercial success, Angeliki’s reflections reveal a profound commitment to authenticity as an artist.