2025

ωραίος καιρός “good weather”  – ALMA Gallery Athens

What really is the force that moves the world of Eleni Theofylaktou? Where are her
images coming from? They can only be perceived as imaginary joints or as a collage
of the unconscious, with a surreal and playful character. Twists upon twists,
contractions, conjunctions, heterogenous connections, the absurd, paradox,
playfulness, gloominess, inverted universes, unexpected events, of the imaginary,
admixtures, restlessness, humour, endless zigzags, pauses, interiority and abysses; all
of these constitute a new reality, through transcending reality. The mind is captured
and guided by the hand that traces on the white surface, in a game of constant
shifts.Her imaginary worlds fly through space and time: a manoeuvre of flee and
escape through a dreamy coherence. In one my previous texts about her work (2014),
I noted: “In the case of Theofylaktou, fantasy and reality are blurred to such an extent
that it is impossible to locate the edges and separate the events. Everything that
happens seems to come from a place where boundaries do not exist, nor have they
ever been undermined. Predominantly there is an essence, as if it was and will always
be like this”. After eleven years I still stick to these words, with the addition of the
dream: I would add the Dream to the fantasy. (“The dream is a second life,” writes
Gerard de Nerval in Aurelia.)
One can enter the works of Eleni Theofylaktou without a safety net. It is a risky
environment. Perhaps the viewer should put himself at risk within her images, the
same way the artist puts herself on the line as a persona in her works. In the past she
would often place herself in the frame as the main figure, shifting the centre of
gravity in her experiential space, turning the unfamiliar space into an intimate. It was
her favourite approach; she used to dress up and play roles, changing identity and, at
the same time, somehow be autobiographical. She hasn’t stopped being
autobiographical. It is just the terms that have changed; when she is absent, like in
this exhibition, we should consider her as being present. And so, in her synapses we
can always detect a face, a hidden experience that moves her world, a hidden
(auto)biography on stage. I often have the feeling that this is theatre. Her images look
like scenes, and I feel that a theatrical act is taking place before my eyes; time stands
still, but what unfolds is alive. Theofylaktou’s love for the theatre, and her emergence
from it is evident.
In this new work she resorts to the theatre. And indeed – where else – in the theatre of
the absurd. The title of the exhibition Good Weather is referring directly and
indirectly to Samuel Beckett’s play Oh les beaux jours/ Happy Days (Oh! The Good
Days/Happy Days). Here we should assume Theofylaktou as another Winnie, buried
up to the neck, while “the garbage dump around looks like a flower-strewn fortress”,
as she writes in her personal notes. Another heavenly day. Begin, Winnie. Begin your
day, Winnie. Another day. The imagery of the works shines through a heavy inner
mourning, which however flows into the joy of things. It can’t be done otherwise.
There is no other way to move on from this incessant come-and-go but insist to
celebrate and dream amongst the ruins. A bittersweet feeling emerges. A world,
where everything still happens. It’s her feeling of a grieving celebration, but she
doesn’t want to accept defeat.
Theofylaktou’s ability to see and assemble things has not changed. Perhaps more than
ever there is a reflection. A quietness, that is a new element of hers. Silence is more
visible. The colours dominate, with the tones of black and grey to propose grieving.
Yes, the bell for sleep, when I feel it at hand, and so make ready for the night – in this
way, sometimes I am wrong – but not often. I used to think – I say I used to think –
that all these things – put back into the bag – if too soon – put back too soon – could
be taken out again – if necessary – if I needed – and so on – indefinitely – back into
the bag – back out of the bag – until the bell – went. *
Eleni Theofylaktou is dreaming of the world. She seems to live all lives assorting
them; the world comes to her eyes as a bond. Maybe she dreams the very moment she
sees it, capturing the dream in her paintings. Art, as we agree, does not reproduce the
visible.
So maybe it was and will always be like this.

THANOS STATHOPOULOS