
The more abruptly a society moves forward (whatever that means), the more persistently its die-hard romantics will cast their glance backwards.
The need for creation often leads you to employ means and ways of expression that you are “compelled” to readjust and resignify. Fikos is an artist that bestowed a new meaning to what we may broadly call Byzantine painting, as he intertwined tradition and modernism, carving a unique personal tone, expressed with a remarkable clarity, also in the public space.
Large-scale mural paintings of his can be found in various parts of the world, such as Europe, Mexico, Morocco and Thailand; he is also the record-holder for the biggest mural painting in the history of Byzantine art, a 46-meter high artwork in Kyiv. Moreover, his mobile works have been exhibited at prestigious venues such as the Benaki Museum, the Goulandris Foundation, Istanbul’s Pera Museum and the Fondation Fiminco in Paris. He tirelessly delves into Byzantine art, underscoring the artistic value of Byzantine painting through his Instagram pages (@byzantinepainting και @contemporarybyzantinepainting), while also bringing forth his own approach tagged under the title of “Contemporary Byzantine Painting”.
“My relation with Byzantine art came somewhat by itself,” he explains. “Ever since I was a kid I used to paint Byzantine icons, among many other things; I think I was a fifth-grader when I painted my first icon. My interest in this art never wore out, so at 13 years of age I found myself studying it, as I enrolled in the Giorgos Kordis’ ‘Eikonourgeia’ School of Iconography. In the meanwhile, I was also involved with other forms of art, such as comics, graffiti and engraving, and I began taking a closer look at other painting traditions, such the Ancient Greek, the Egyptian, the Sumerian, as well as the Western art movements. My painting style sprang out of the mixing of all the above influences.”
As for the term “Contemporary Byzantine Painting”, its birth certificate was issued about fifteen years ago, in the search of a targeted answer to the frequent queries about his painting style. “I often needed to show photos of my works, as this style of painting is so rare and lesser-known that most people could not visualize it, mistaking it for hagiography. The term, however, endured and gained its ground. In my page, any art based on the principles of Byzantine art (therefore the basis prerequisite can be no other than Byzantine art) that draws inspiration from contemporary art and culture (street art, Netflix), or touches upon timely issues (such as gender fluidity), or makes use of contemporary practices (such as digital painting), or ticks all the above boxes, can be defined as Contemporary Byzantine Painting. The examples showcased at my Instagram page @contemporarybyzantinepainting fall into that area.”
Return to Byzantium
Over the last years one notices a particularly growing activity (comic books, novels, academic researches) revolving around Byzantium. “This tendency makes perfect sense, for countless reasons,” replies Fikos, listing them as follows: “First and foremost, with a life-span of approximately 1,500 years, it is one of most long-lasting civilizations ever to be recorded in history. (Byzantium was not born, nor did it perish, in one single day, so when we speak of 1,100 years, we only refer to the longevity of the Byzantine Empire and not the total duration of Byzantine culture, some aspects of which were born during the Roman rule, while others survived up until the 20th century). Secondly, and despite the fact that Europe has been systematically trying to conceal it over the last 500 years, Byzantium is the founding stone of its culture (Christian religion-Greek education-Roman law). Therefore, our foray into its world should be considered self-evident. Thirdly, the incomplete and erroneous evaluation of the Byzantine civilization was conducted almost exclusively by applying Western-type criteria, that is to say a method foreign to its ways and particularities, and with a heavy air of prejudice, that’s why it continues to pose a great challenge for historians. Fourthly, the threshold between the old and inadequate evaluation and today’s burst of interest paves the way for a golden balance: Byzantium has become quite accessible, but at the same time it pertains its mystery and ‘exoticism’. Last but not least, amidst an ideologically and culturally staggering, if not crumbling, Europe, Byzantium, permanently playing taking on the role of the opposite rival in the collective imaginary, may very well emerge (triggering sympathy for some, fear for others) as an alternative narrative of the European past, even of the European future. Other reasons may exist as well, maybe less edifying, such as a sort of reactivity in an attempt for balance. The more abruptly a society moves forward (whatever that means), the more persistently its die-hard romantics will cast their glance backwards.”
And how can today’s art benefit from Byzantine art, one may ask. “In many ways, but let’s focus on the most essential,” replies Fikos. “First of all, if I had to handpick one negative aspect of contemporary art and society, I would go for the dismissal of criteria, the lack of societal communion, and most of all the absence of a shared means of communication that would allow us first to con-verse and then to commun-icate. The problem is more than evident in the field of art as well, as it has almost been hailed as a doctrine that all artists need to ‘invent their own visual art language’; every second curatorial text in every exhibition, sort to speak, includes that very expression! One barely needs to point out the obvious innate error in this reasoning, just picture a society where every person speaks a different language. It’s the very definition of chaos. That’s how contemporary art has ended up. And that’s where Byzantine painting comes to save the day, as it focuses on the notions of continuity and unity, in contrast with the divisive tendencies of Western art. Moreover, if seen as the natural outgrowth of Ancient Greek, Hellenistic and Roman art, then we can make a case for a dynamic visual art language that has served as a platform of expression for dozens of entities of people over its course in time: from Paganism to Christianity, and from the Etruscian people all the way to the Armenians and the Slavs.”
Fikos makes sure to complement and expand his reasoning: “The fruit of a hybrid culture with no rigorously outlined ethnic features, therefore a culture quite paradoxically bearing several affinities with today’s globalized society, the Byzantine art stands as a visual art Koine; a truly universal language that allows different groups of people to communicate with each other, while also giving room for dialects and personal style. All the above go way beyond than a plain figure of speech, nor do they constitute the wishful thinking of someone who happens to deeply love this form of art and have a partial view in its favor. Russian iconography, for instance, is a particular ‘dialect’ of Byzantine art, whereas on an individual level the work of Stelios Faitakis sets a good example of a deeply Byzantine yet totally personal painting tone; an element found in all painters of this tradition.”
He goes on to stress the gravest – at least from his own standpoint – problem of contemporary art: the disruption of the communication between the work and the viewer. “This rupture begins with the Renaissance and its perspective depth, which separates the work’s space-time continuum from ours. The ‘crime’ reaches its climax in Modernism and is completed in Post-Modernism, where art becomes completely self-indulgent, produced and existing solely for itself and not for the sake of the viewer. I believe that what I’m about to describe next will echo a widely common experience: you visit a contemporary art exhibition, you just look at the works without communicating with them, you understand nothing, and you need to read an entire text just to get an idea of what was going on inside the artist’s head. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Byzantine painting places the viewer at the very core of the creative process. Abiding by principles such as alluding to the viewer’s introspections, and making good use of virtues like readability, abstraction and rhythm, it creates an art made for the viewer. As a conclusion, Byzantine art comes to offer what’s missing from the so-called contemporary art, that is the very purpose of art, which remains unaltered ever since the dawn of civilization: the expression of a universal meaning, commun-ication, creation and the safeguarding of societal communion. In that sense, it has a lot to contribute not only to today’s art, but also to society as a whole.”
When asked about his interaction with the public through his online communication channels, where he also showcases the work of other artists too, here’s what he has to say: “Everyday common people express their surprise and excitement. As for the Greek art world status quo (art historians, gallery owners, curators), I suspect they remain distant and cautious, an attitude that I can partly understand as the lack of knowledge in the field does not allow a thorough evaluation (they often identify this form of art with religion, utterly dismissing its artistic value), remaining in a state of awkwardness in the best case scenario. That is something I have come to know first-hand, as my art, despite being contemporary-oriented and Greek-centered, is rather warmly recognized abroad, but very poorly received in Greece.
My relation with Byzantine art came somewhat by itself,” he explains. “Ever since I was a kid I used to paint Byzantine icons, among many other things; I think I was a fifth-grader when I painted my first icon. My interest in this art never wore out, so at 13 years of age I found myself studying it, as I enrolled in the Giorgos Kordis’ ‘Eikonourgeia’ School of Iconography.
Public art
How does he shape his large-scale works in the public space; What kind of work method does he opt for? How do these works converse with their surroundings? “One of my pivotal principles is for my work to engage in a constructive dialogue with its environment. I usually draw inspiration from the story of the area, of the neighbourhood, or of the building itself, from its architecture and the colors of the urban landscape. All these features jointly form the work, which almost comes out ‘by itself’ through my hand, to adorn and serve the city. Through this prism, it’s a genuine embodiment of the etymological meaning of the Greek work “dimiourgia” (creation): a work made for the deme and the community.”
Subsequently, Fikos lays out the differences between his approach and street art. “This approach, which as far as I know unfortunately has no precedent in the world mural art scene, is at odds with the logic behind street art. The latter, as a graffiti spin-off, is mostly used as a tool for self-promotion. Street artists are solely preoccupied with finding a steady key theme or/and a limited color palette, so as to establish and consolidate an easily recognizable style through repetition, massively reproduced everywhere as a trademark signature style; whether painted in Iceland, in Africa or in Japan, it makes no difference, as the outcome will be one and the same. That’s how we ended up filling our cities with works that do not offer service to society or the urban landscape, nor to anyone else for a matter of fact, apart from the ones getting the credit, or maybe a closely associated elite. That’s why I prefer to call myself a painter and a muralist, rather than a street artist. I believe in the functionality of traditional mural art. This collage of self-absorbed individual externalizations that prevails today’s urban scenery seems foreign to me, as well as highly dysfunctional.”
In Fikos’ works, eroticism rises to the surface in a unique and unexpected way. Is he somehow puzzled over a possible contrast between this eroticism and the latent religiousness of Byzantine art? “No, as I see – and nor did the Byzantine people – no identification between the Byzantine painting style and religion. The booming and lavish secular aspect of Byzantine art, that we know very little about, proves my point. Ranging from medical scenes all the way to astrology signs, and from figures of saints all the way to sexual depictions, the Byzantine people painted literally everything, employing the same visual art language. And how could it be any different, after all? Don’t all people speak one language to describe all things taking place in their lives? Therefore, there’s nothing strange, innovative or profane in what I do. If someone has a problem with my work, it most certainly derives from a distorted and insufficient knowledge on Byzantine art. I just keep on doing the same thing my ancestors always did:
I paint life —as the etymology of the Greek verb for “paint” (“zografizo”) literally means: I am writing/painting life.
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