PlaceNicosia, CyprusDate2010ConceptThe installation pictures the moment of the sudden return of the exile to his homeland and the intimate people who have been waiting for years. It is consisted of three sculpture figures organically placed on a stage-like space which is a metaphor for the place of return. The syntax of the Oikos (Home) is analysed in the following spatial elements: the Corridor, the Door, the Room and it is presented in a minimal way deprived of descriptive details.
INSTALLATIONTHE EXHIBITIONTHE ARTWORK The Machine of Homecoming The title of the project points out that the return to a homeland, which is an issue related with place, in a first layer, is also related with the search of the soul to return to its origins and it is a process without an end. The central [...]
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The machine of homecoming

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The Machine of Homecoming

The title of the project points out that the return to a homeland, which is an issue related with place, in a first layer, is also related with the search of the soul to return to its origins and it is a process without an end.

The central axes of the narrative is the poem of G. Seferis “the return of the exile”. In the poetic atmosphere of the narrative I created artworks which are icons of an internal course towards a psychic homeland.

The spark for the project is the existential embarrassment, described in the text, caused when the exile returns to his homeland where he discovers an antithesis between the real place and the ideal that was created within his soul by sentiment and memory.

The characters of my pictorial narrative derive from a poetic interpretation of the life and history of real persons.

The Harvester, the Warrior, Mother and child, the field of wheat, are all archetypal images that are placed in a contemporary time and space and receive hypostasis through reality. When the archetype is embodied in the lives of people personal experience of the artist becomes a universal issue.


Reference: The return of the exile G, Seferis

Athens, Spring 38′

‘My old friend, what are you looking for?
After years abroad you’ve come back
with images you’ve nourished
under foreign skies
far from you own country.’

‘I’m looking for my old garden;
the trees come to my waist
and the hills resemble terraces
yet as a child
I used to play on the grass
under great shadows
and I would run for hours
breathless over the slopes.’

‘My old friend, rest,
you’ll get used to it little by little;
together we will climb
the paths you once knew,
we will sit together
under the plane trees’ dome.
They’ll come back to you little by little,
your garden and your slopes.’

‘I’m looking for my old house,
the tall windows
darkened by ivy;
I’m looking for the ancient column
known to sailors.
How can I get into this coop?
The roof comes to my shoulders
and however far I look
I see men on their knees
as though saying their prayers.’

‘My old friend, don’t you hear me?
You’ll get used to it little by little.
Your house is the one you see
and soon friends and relatives
will come knocking at the door
to welcome you back tenderly.’

‘Why is your voice so distant?
Raise your head a little
so that I understand you.
As you speak you grow
gradually smaller
as though you’re sinking into the ground.’

Πρωτότυπο: Γιώργος ΣεφέρηςΟ γυρισμός του ξενιτεμένου

Ἀθήνα, ἄνοιξη ’38

-Παλιέ μου φίλε τί γυρεύεις;
χρόνια ξενιτεμένος ἦρθες
μὲ εἰκόνες ποὺ ἔχεις ἀναθρέψει
κάτω ἀπὸ ξένους οὐρανοὺς
μακριὰ ἀπ’ τὸν τόπο τὸ δικό σου.

-Γυρεύω τὸν παλιό μου κῆπο•
τὰ δέντρα μου ἔρχουνται ὡς τὴ μέση
κι οἱ λόφοι μοιάζουν μὲ πεζούλια
κι ὅμως σὰν ἤμουνα παιδὶ
ἔπαιζα πάνω στὸ χορτάρι
κάτω ἀπὸ τοὺς μεγάλους ἴσκιους
κι ἔτρεχα πάνω σὲ πλαγιὲς
ὥρα πολλὴ λαχανιασμένος.

-Παλιέ μου φίλε ξεκουράσου
σιγά-σιγὰ θὰ συνηθίσεις•
θ’ ἀνηφορίσουμε μαζὶ
στὰ γνώριμά σου μονοπάτια
θὰ ξαποστάσουμε μαζὶ
κάτω ἀπ’ τὸ θόλο τῶν πλατάνων
σιγά-σιγὰ θὰ ‘ρθοῦν κοντά σου
τὸ περιβόλι κι οἱ πλαγιές σου.

-Γυρεύω τὸ παλιό μου σπίτι
μὲ τ’ ἀψηλὰ τὰ παραθύρια
σκοτεινιασμένα ἀπ’ τὸν κισσὸ
γυρεύω τὴν ἀρχαία κολόνα
ποὺ κοίταζε ὁ θαλασσινός.
Πῶς θὲς νὰ μπῶ σ’ αὐτὴ τὴ στάνη;
οἱ στέγες μου ἔρχουνται ὡς τοὺς ὤμους
κι ὅσο μακριὰ καὶ νὰ κοιτάξω
βλέπω γονατιστοὺς ἀνθρώπους
λὲς κάνουνε τὴν προσευχή τους.

-Παλιέ μου φίλε δὲ μ’ ἀκοῦς;
σιγά-σιγὰ θὰ συνηθίσεις
τὸ σπίτι σου εἶναι αὐτὸ ποὺ βλέπεις
κι αὐτὴ τὴν πόρτα θὰ χτυπήσουν
σὲ λίγο οἱ φίλοι κι οἱ δικοί σου
γλυκὰ νὰ σὲ καλωσορίσουν.

-Γιατί εἶναι ἀπόμακρη ἡ φωνή σου;
σήκωσε λίγο τὸ κεφάλι
νὰ καταλάβω τί μου λὲς
ὅσο μιλᾶς τ’ ἀνάστημά σου
ὁλοένα πάει καὶ λιγοστεύει
λὲς καὶ βυθίζεσαι στὸ χῶμα.

-Παλιέ μου φίλε συλλογίσου
σιγά-σιγὰ θὰ συνηθίσεις
ἡ νοσταλγία σοῦ ἔχει πλάσει
μιὰ χώρα ἀνύπαρχτη μὲ νόμους
ἔξω ἀπ’ τὴ γῆς κι ἀπ’ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους.

-Πιὰ δὲν ἀκούω τσιμουδιὰ
βούλιαξε κι ὁ στερνός μου φίλος
παράξενο πῶς χαμηλώνουν
ὅλα τριγύρω κάθε τόσο
ἐδῶ διαβαίνουν καὶ θερίζουν
χιλιάδες ἅρματα δρεπανηφόρα.

INSTALLATION


THE EXHIBITION


ARTWORK