Dionysus is a highly controversial figure in the Greek pantheon. He is the god of vegetation, winemaking, the productive forces of nature, religious ecstasy, and theater. His mythological biography is filled with epic adventures and dramatic twists — his birth, upbringing, and youth. Particularly dark aspects — such as the madness inflicted upon those who crossed his path —make it difficult to view Dionysus as a purely positive character. This is how he appears in this painting: naked, riding a mystical blue leopard — the embodiment of wild excess. While working on this piece, I was inspired by the mosaic of Pella from the 3rd-4th centuries B.C. I covered the surface of the canvas with a fragmented mosaic pattern. My Dionysus seems to break away from the ancient Pella mosaic, finding a new embodiment on canvas in modern-day Limassol.

Rich in symbolism, this painting presents Aphrodite not as an ideal of femininity, but as an ideal of love in the modern world. Her androgynous features and slightly distorted anatomy point to the universal language of love that we speak today. Transgender transitions, non-binary identities, the assertiveness of women in professional life, and men’s increasing involvement in childcare — all of these blur traditional boundaries. So what do we now consider feminine? And what do we consider masculine? Aphrodite, as a symbol of love, carries these mixed traits. Yet she does not lose her tenderness, grace, presence, purity, neatness, or her traditional attributes: the white sheet, the dove, the hare, and the myrtle tree — symbols that have long accompanied her image. Love is a timeless state. No matter how we redefine femininity and masculinity in a given era, love may shift in appearance, but its essence endures.

“The Runners” references the mythological origins of the Olympic Games. According to legend, a Dactyl — a mythical being born when the Earth goddess Rhea pressed her fingers into the ground — named Heracles organized a race among his brothers. This event marked the symbolic beginning of the Olympic tradition.

"Man and Woman", or rather, an ode to the male and female body. What draws me to Greek mythology is the blend of the real human form with a magical, mythical world. At its core, it offers endless expressive possibilities. The ancient admiration for the human body — its movement, its presence in space — merges with the supernatural realm, and this synthesis gives rise to striking imagery in painting. The human body is rendered in a different hue, hinting at its divine origin. It’s a timeless tale — a myth of Atlanteans living among us. The man here is portrayed as a descendant of these ancient beings. And we, as viewers, become trembling witnesses to the strength and beauty of the Atlanteans revealed through our own physical form.

“Shadowed Realms” reveals the hidden forces of Greek mythology, where gods and titans clash within an ethereal dreamscape. Deep blues evoke the depths of Poseidon’s seas and the shadowed realm of Hades, while fiery orange streaks whisper of Zeus’s divine fury. Luminous orbs glow above, illuminating Olympus and casting long shadows over forgotten realms — places where ancient legends endure and fate continues to unfold.

“Refraction” explores the fragmented truths woven through Greek mythology, where divine forces bend the fabric of reality. A cosmic lens distorts land and sea, evoking Poseidon’s restless tides, Apollo’s radiant light, and Hephaestus’s molten fire. Swirling forms suggest the shifting path of fate, as perceived by both gods and mortals—reflecting power, destruction, and the ever-evolving essence of myth.

“Enigma in Blue” captures the mystery and grandeur of Greek mythology, where gods shape fate from the shadows. Ethereal blues swirl like the depths of Poseidon's ocean and the velvet sky of Nyx’s night, while golden tones echo the forgotten temples of Olympus. A dreamlike cityscape emerges, blurring the boundary between divine illusion and mortal reality.

The ancient Greeks envisioned the balance between body and soul through the contrast of two gods: Apollo — symbol of reason, harmony, and order — embodied the conscious mind and the soul; while Dionysus — associated with sensuality, instinct, and physical pleasure — represented the body. This painting captures that timeless dialogue: layers of turquoise mist evoke the intangible realm of spirit, while grounded, earthly forms recall the material world. In this light, “Body and Soul” becomes a metaphor for the journey between worlds — between the earthly and the divine, the physical and the spiritual — like an ancient myth brought to life on canvas.

David in the Present Tense. This work reimagines the classical figure of David, no longer frozen in marble or museum silence. Here, he steps into our world — ordering coffee, speaking in youth slang, living in the now. The painting bridges antiquity and modernity, showing that Greek culture hasn’t vanished, but flows naturally through our everyday lives. Behind him, a forest hints at humanity’s enduring connection with nature — another timeless force. The triptych becomes a dialogue between past, present, and future, reminding us that history is not static but alive, quietly shaping who we are.

Because even antiquity knows — you can’t survive 2025 without a good frappé!

She was once a warning. A monster, a curse, a symbol of danger. But what if Medusa survived — not as myth, but as a woman navigating the modern world? In the heart of the city, among glowing screens and glass towers, she walks unnoticed. The world that once feared her now stares without seeing.
Medusa becomes a metaphor for the silenced, the misunderstood, the powerful who have been punished for being seen. Her gaze no longer petrifies — it reflects. In a culture obsessed with appearances, her serpents are no longer horror, but signal. She sees through illusion, beyond performance.
She doesn’t hide. She remembers. And the city, full of noise and light, becomes her reflection — dazzling, indifferent, and ultimately human.

In a world facing ecological imbalance and emotional detachment, Demeter returns not as a distant myth but as a vital symbol. No longer just the goddess of harvest, she now stands for our need to reconnect — with nature, with nourishment, with balance. Her cornucopia speaks of conscious abundance, while poppies remind us of fragility and reflection. Demeter becomes an archetype of care and restoration, urging us to remember what it means to live in harmony with the Earth.

In an age which is obsessed with comfort, control, and eternal youth, Hades remains the one certainty we try not to name. We scroll past endings, medicate our fears, and decorate distractions — yet he waits. Patient, calm, amused. Hades is not a monster, but a host. The keys in his crown do not lock us out — they open the final door. He welcomes without judgment, without hurry. His realm is not cruel, but honest. A place stripped of illusion, where silence speaks and time surrenders. We may fear him, but he greets us with a knowing smile. Because sooner or later, we are all his guests — and he is the most patient God of all.