2025-07-18

BEHIND THE PAINTINGS: PARADISO REVISITED; Painting the shifting sands of Naxos.

Some memories remain sharp, as if they happened yesterday. Others fade slowly, like an old photograph whose colors dissolve over time. My Paradiso series began as a tribute to those early days on Naxos—sun-warmed skin, quiet connection, and a sense of freedom that stretched all the way to the horizon.

Around 1995, reaching the Cyclades was still an adventure. Through a friend living on a neighboring island, we discovered Greek life—slow ferries, long travel days, and the joy of arriving somewhere that felt untouched. We were in our mid-twenties. Holidays meant partying on Mykonos, a safe haven for the gay community, and enjoying the vibrant energy of Paros. But to rest, to breathe, we always ended up on Naxos. It was busy, yes, but compared to the others, it felt like an oasis. Local villages, families, tavernas—the soul of the island was tangible. The beaches were open. You brought a towel, found your spot, and the horizon was yours.

But time moves on. Ferries grew larger. Hotels multiplied. And the beaches—once scattered with towels—filled with sunbeds, umbrellas, even canopy beds. They now stretch almost from the dunes into the water, sometimes leaving barely any space to walk along the shore—let alone to lay down your own towel. The change crept slowly southward, from Naxos town to Agios Prokopios, Agia Anna, and Plaka. Of course, we contributed to that change ourselves. Demand creates supply. But the question remains: how much pressure can an island—and its people—endure for just a few short months of tourism?

My Paradiso series captures moments of intimacy and presence. Three large canvases, each 90 x 120 cm. form a continuous horizon—blue sky, breaking waves, soft sand. Each painting holds a scene: a man reclining, another reaching into a beach bag next to his partner, two figures sharing sunscreen. Paradiso IV, still in the making but it  continues that rhythm. A man lies in the shade of a colorful parasol, his back turned, his body relaxed, his gaze lost in the sea. The beach remains empty—deliberately so. The white haze I apply later will be enough. It’s not just a blur; it’s a veil of memory, a soft erosion of clarity.

These paintings don’t protest. They observe. They ask: is it nostalgia that fades, or am I simply growing older, watching a new era unfold?

Mykonos, once a refuge, now dazzles with luxury and absurd prices. Behind that façade, the island still belongs to its residents—people who may earn more, but have less time, less space, less peace. The pressure to maintain the illusion of paradise is real. And the cost is not only economic, but cultural.

Across Greece, locals protest the privatization of beaches. On Naxos too, voices rise to defend public space. Paradiso doesn’t take sides—it reflects, it invites, it asks. What happens when a sanctuary becomes a destination? Can freedom survive popularity? Can intimacy persist in a curated landscape?

I continue to paint the series Paradiso. Each canvas adds a layer to the story—of change, of connection, of quiet resistance. The horizon still stretches, but the atmosphere shifts. This isn’t just about Naxos. It’s about memory, movement, and the places we try to hold onto as the world moves forward.