Konstantin Krikzoni’s work has always lived on the liminal yet productive border between figuration and abstraction, his characters find their archetypal and mythic form in the movement and movement of his body, channeled and expressed on canvas.
Both her techniques and her studies are concerned with women’s bodies, identity and sexuality, intersecting with ancient Greek mythology, ancient Western knowledge and literature. Continuing with organically fluid, continuous lines and soft washes of shifting oil paint, he creates dramatic, abstract compositions that test the limits of painting not only as a medium but also as a means of self-expression.
Her recent solo exhibition at Jarvis Art demonstrated a new level of awareness for the artist—of her position as a woman, as body and soul made up of two irreconcilable elements. Her explorations of femininity have always taken the form of bodies: bodies that yield and dissolve easily, regaining feminine sensuality and power as they move freely through space, resisting the shame and scrutinizing expectations placed on women’s behavior by patriarchal society. In his new works, bodies become both clearly defined in their anatomies and androgynous, often defying gender identification. These are heroes, as the show’s title suggests—groups of Amazons standing together against the earth, with their gentle feminine power.
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“Heroes” |
The denser physical rhythm and stronger structure make it clear that the artist is in a very different mental space than the one that produced his earlier, visceral works. After the recent death of his father, Krikzoni experienced what he describes as a major breakthrough in his painting. “I wanted to disrupt everything and put more emphasis on the agency of women, but on the psychological space of these figures and how they work logically,” she told the Observer after the exhibition opened. “That way I wanted to deal with my pain somehow. They gave me a sense of belonging.” Statistics now suggest women’s solidarity and collective power.
When he returned to Greece, his homeland, for a time, Krikzoni found himself painting ancient Greek portraits of youth—the male Kouroi and the female Korai—at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens: mixed characters, dirty, extremely neutral and intended to highlight timeless beauty. “They have something very different in the world and something very big, and it was important for me to remember that these sculptures were protecting the graves. There is something about that,” he said. Back in the studio, he used these paintings to reclaim their established, dignified existence as symbols of resistance and resilience, immune to grief and pain in their fixed, primitive and archetypal form. The fact that they seemed to combine the qualities of the male and female also gave him a way to find balance rather than resignation. “I think what we’re asking for as women in the art industry, or in general, is equality, not for men to disappear. There needs to be some balance.”
In Jungian terms, the psyche contains both male and female principles—the animus and the anima, not as fixed gender identities but as complementary mental energies that must be acknowledged and integrated in order for the self to progress toward wholeness. If Konstantin’s previous paintings often seem guilty of confrontation, as if he is trying to extract women’s agency from the structures that contain or distort it, these new works feel less confrontational and more conciliatory. They do not abandon the woman but allow her to meet the renewed, modest male energy. The result is a body of work in which man seems less divided than gathered from the two necessary forces, engaged in conflict but no longer at war.
Most importantly, this inspiration allowed Krikzoni to find a vision of the body that is always young, hybrid and open to possibility. “I feel like there is something in me that has stuck to those years when I was young, the fascination with life and the possibility of thinking,” he recalled. “I think that’s also what happens figuratively with painting.” For Krikzoni, this is also a way of thinking from a male perspective and a way to desexualize the female body. “You can do it without over-sexualizing bodies. It can be a little more realistic, in a way, but it also gives you a lot of energy and change.”
The color palette has changed in the same way: The previous palette of red and pink, associated with blood, the inside of the body and other fluids, has given way to blues, greens and more electric or earth tones. “I think I let myself be free to choose the colors that come to my mind,” he said, admitting how many colors remind him of the Greek landscape and bring a watery or natural quality to the surface. “It’s about integrating nature rather than depicting it directly or being real,” he explains—a way of combining both the physical and emotional state with color and atmosphere. The more fluid, the more uniform blue texture Agalmata (2026) evokes the light air of crashing waves and
In general, objects and sub-subjects that appeared in earlier work now operate in a more figurative way, allowing his work to transcend the deeply personal narratives it once accompanied, opening up to the universe. “If you want the works to be open, free and inclusive, they must be combined with color and the possibilities of paint,” he said, admitting how everything began to loosen up when he moved away from his red and pink palette to embrace a new place to explore.
The process of painting itself has also changed: the changing gestures of the body already suggest how the artist has to keep moving in and out of the canvas, almost like a dance, rather than being completely inside it. Krikzoni said he didn’t think so, but he noticed that in the first months after returning to the studio, the space felt suffocating. “I felt I needed less time in the studio, to work faster, to spend less time inside and more outside.” Over time, that changed, but a temporary change had entered the workforce. “The process has become more intuitive and more reflective.” Drawing was important at this time because it created a direct connection between mind and hand. “When you draw, there are times when you forget everything, there are feelings in your fingers, which when you sew or knit connect with parts of the brain that help you recover.
This latest body of work clearly emerged as part of a cathartic process: processing loss, overcoming grief and, during that time and journey, finding yourself and coming to terms with who you are and where you came from. Krikzoni feels that whatever comes next in the studio will be exciting. He tries to maintain that openness, accepting disagreement as a possibility while reaching the necessary engagement with his background. “I didn’t expect it. It was a living thing, and it brought back something about who I am and where I come from.”
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