Braid Bound

Savella Michael has worked with paper and coloured pencils, and with water-soluble ink. In her previous work, colour self-adhesive cut outs layered on fine black and white drawings, create contrasts of an apparent harmony and a subtle frenzy.

For the last three years now Savella Michael has been working on the project, “Delicious Buns”. Having developed in the process, at first stage, however, she worked with small-scale and large black and white drawings of braids and buns set in different moods and contexts. 

At a later stage, the artist developed these drawings into what look like a delicate drawing book. Each drawing on every page retells a tale, as these stories slide smoothly into each other. Girls’ pony tales fly in disarray, some at fiery speed and high impact, while others, symmetrically parade into what might wonderfully remind us of Alice’s other worlds. The solo exhibition, titled “Braid Bound”, includes a video, which, in some ways, uncovers the artist’s silent telling of this drawing book experience. Turning the pages of each illustration, Savella Michael grants the viewer a “reading” of each leaf, entering and exiting each one at the slow and reflective rhythm of this movement. And while she is not physically present in this video, her fingers are.

Dear Charlie

I’m not Charlie.

Yes. It was a terrible act and one that deserves to be condemned.

12 cartoonists and journalists shot to death in cold blood.

But language can play surprising tricks on our unconscious when speediness takes over the media and pushes us harder than we know, between dichotomies. Almost on the same day of the shootings, people all over the world, on and off social forums,

donated their sympathy to a whirlpool of split opinion upholding the identity of a magazine and institution in France,

hailing: ‘Je suis Charlie’.

I’m not Charlie.

Falling into a locking polarization in camps of reductionism,

innocent humorists expressing their right to articulation,

revengeful extremists trying to take “others” freedom away;

you’re either “with us” or “against us”,

a reiteration of Bush’s post 9/11 ticket to war,

a political tactic imposed by powers beyond our means.

I’m not Charlie

and I’m also not absolving those who committed this crime. 

But tragic incidents that seemingly arise without warning  

produce more living victims in the aftermath

by dividing public opinion deeper between imbedded supporters of a war on Muslims and defenders of second-class citizens in western “democracies”.

to future judgments,

yours continuing,

Maria Petrides

The one(s) I love

Difference is everywhere.  Inside ourselves and beyond.

In a name, a person, a day, a smile.

In front of me, behind us, right next to you.

All we must do is look, pay attention and listen with respect.

Η διαφορτικότητα είναι παντού. Μέσα μας και πέρα.

Σε ένα όνομα, ένα άτομο, μια μέρα, ένα χαμόγελο.

Μπροστά μου, πίσω μας, ακριβώς δίπλα σου.

Το μόνο που έχουμε να κάνουμε είναι να κοιτάξουμε, να δώσουμε προσοχή και ν’ακούσουμε με σεβασμό.

pick nick

Sowieso at Kreuzberg Pavillon

Athina Antoniadou, Klass Hübner, Astrid Menze, Demetris Neokleous, Maria Petrides, Panikos Tembriotis, Witte Wartena

Bang! Pow! Pff!
Simon says, 'let...'
Simon says, 'let us...'
Simon says, 'let us explode...'
Simon says, 'let us explode for...'
Simon says, 'let us explode for half...'
Simon says, 'let us explode for half an...'
Simon says, 'let us explode for half an hour...'
Simon says, 'let us explode for half an hour today.'
Syria - shuffling with spades to dig out our positions to empathise. Where can we empathise from? We're spraying connections to stay connected with the other side of things. Half an hour of activity diffuses aggression. Sounds soiled from de-lighted daily found events and objects, people and places, subjects and sirens, re-imagine another space in the other side of things.

Please turn your head to the left.

We're in a life of documentary-ing.
Carrying events from far away into present forms.
Norms shift and slip once we capture them on screen and in ink.
We do think.
But we look anew at terms of reconsideration.
Exhilaration builds bonds for crossing those difficult differences. Interferences rehearsing themselves; improving relations and forming new interactions. Scratching surfaces. Counting curves. Fiddling falsehoods.
Unimportant men making decisions, very important ones, about our lives, our documentary-ing.
Repeating wrecking rituals.
And we, dance, deliriously, in another documentary-ing, of our claimed, desires.
Barack says, 'we...'
Barack says, 'we believe...'
Barack says, 'we believe in...'
Barack says, 'we believe in change...'
Barack says, 'we believe in change and...'
Barack says, 'we believe in change and freedom...'
Barack says, 'we believe in change and freedom and...'
My ink ran out on the last two words.
Barack says, 'we believe in change and freedom' (and revolution).

Ομάδα Πέντε - χωρογραφία Ρούλα Κλεοβούλου

Tender Genders



catching and falling

When i peep through the bedroom doors and no one is there, i fall.
When i look out for the stars in the morning and they're not there, i fall.
Each time you cry, i fall.
When i learn that the earth is round after experiencing it flat, i fall.
When brittle leaves fall from the tree, i fall.
When you build a wall, i fall.
When you're on the other side, i fall.
If i have cramps, i fall.
After i discover that i’m not someone else, i fall.
When you stumble, i fall.
When the sun cracks the day, i fall.
If i forget my name, i fall.
When you don’t catch me, i fall.






Tender Genders


i feel

- i feel…
- sulky.
- i feel…
- confused.
- i feel…
- aloofness.
- i feel…
- neglected, frustrated, enraged…
- i feel enraged…
- Feverish and deserted…
- i feel deleted, lost.
- Washed out?
- i feel your chapter is being completed, without me.
- excluded?
- i feel i’m a forgotten footnote, unmentioned.
- remembered.
- i feel… i feed you… with language.
You make no reference to my being,
yesterday, last year or eight years ago.
- i feel…
- wordy.
- i feel your absence.
You’re imagined absence is there, everywhere and nowhere.
And I am real and I am here!


i'm sorry

i would have loved to have said, i’m sorry, before, but my tongue twisted.
i’m sorry for not having been sorry yesterday, the day before, last year.
i’m sorry for not being at the airport waiting for you on that stormy December evening.
i’m sorry for not telling you why i wasn’t there.
i’m sorry for not looking back at you after you went away.
i’m sorry for forgetting that your eyes are the colour of a sheer sky.
i’m sorry for not loving your pain away.
i’m sorry that your pain is living and i’m not giving...
i’m sorry for recalling those moments of shallow silence.
i’m sorry that i’m no longer mourning you.
i’m sorry that i’m sorry.
But i am sorry now.