Konstantina KrikzoniHer work has always inhabited the liminal yet generative threshold between figuration and abstraction, her characters finding their archetypal and mythological form in the movement and gesturality of her body, channeled and projected onto the canvas.
Both the technique and its subjects deal with the female body, identity and sexuality, intersecting with ancient Greek mythology, ancient Western knowledge and literature. Continuing with fluid, continuous organic lines and delicate washes of translucent oil paint, she constructs magmatic, non-hierarchical compositions that test the limits of painting not only as a medium, but also as a channel for her self-expression.
Her last solo show at Jarvis Art displayed a new level of awareness of the artist – of her position as a woman, as a body and soul composed of irreconcilable dualities. Her exploration of femininity has always taken physical form: voluptuous bodies that fluidly appear and dissipate, unapologetically reclaiming their feminine sensuality and power as they swing freely in space, resisting the shame and surveillance expectations imposed on female behavior by patriarchal society. In her newer works, bodies become even more graphically defined in their anatomies and more androgynous, most often defying gender identification. These are warriors, as the show’s title suggests—groups of Amazons who stand together against the world, with their incredibly gentle feminine strength.
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“warrior“ |
The tighter gestural rhythm and more rigorous structure make it clear that the artist is in a very different mental space than the one that produced her earlier, more visceral works. After the recent death of her father, Krikzoni experienced what she describes as a major breakthrough in her painting. “I wanted to disrupt everything and put more emphasis on female agency, but in terms of the mental space of these figures and how they occupy surfaces of meaning,” she told the Observer after the exhibition opened. “It was how I wanted to process my pain, in a way. They gave me a sense of companionship.” The figures now suggest female solidarity and collective energy.
Returning to her native Greece for a period, Krixonis found herself drawing statues of ancient Greek youths – the male Kouroi and the female Korai – at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens: hybrid, androgynous, neutral and idealized characters intended to crystallize an ideal of eternal beauty. “They have something very otherworldly and a very intense presence, and it was important for me to remember that these sculptures were protecting graves. There was something about that,” she said. In the studio, she used these drawings to restore their suspended, dignified presence as symbols of resistance and endurance, protected from grief and pain in their unchanging, archaic and archetypal form. The fact that they seemed to combine masculine and feminine qualities offered her a way to find balance rather than erasure. “I think what we’re looking for as women in the art industry, or in general, is to be equal, not for men to disappear. There has to be some sort of balance.”
In Jungian terms, the psyche contains male and female principles – animus and anima, not as fixed gender identities, but as complementary psychic energies that must be accepted and integrated for the self to move toward wholeness. If Constantine’s earlier paintings often seemed charged with conflict, as if trying to wrest female agency from the structures that had contained or distorted it, these new works feel less combative and more conciliatory. They do not abandon the feminine, but allow her to coexist with a renewed, solemn masculine energy. The result is a body of work in which the self seems less divided than brought together by two necessary forces, held in tension but no longer at war.
Most importantly, this inspiration allowed Krikzon to find a notion of the body that remains young, hybrid and open to possibility. “I feel like there’s something about me that’s stuck at that age of being younger, excited about life and thinking about the possibilities,” she reflected. “I think that’s also what happens metaphorically with the painting.” For Krikzoni, this is also a way of thinking about the male gaze and how to subvert the sexualization of the female body. “You can do that without making bodies overly sexualized. It might be less literal, in a way, but it still gives you a lot of strength and dynamism.”
The color palette has changed just as decisively: the early red and pink palette, associated with blood, the inside of the body and other fluids, has given way to blues, greens and more electric or earthy tones. “I think I let myself be free to choose the colors that instinctively come to mind,” she says, admitting how many of the colors remind her of the Greek landscape and bring out an aquatic or organic quality. “It’s more about embodying nature than showing it directly or being literal,” she explained—a way of embodying a physical and emotional landscape through color and atmosphere. More fluid compositions, with blue tones like Agalmata (2026) evoke the shimmering atmosphere of crashing waves and glistening water on the Aegean coast, while suggesting the possibility of ongoing metamorphosis.
Overall, the objects and motifs that appeared in earlier works now function more metaphorically, allowing her work to transcend the viscerally intimate personal narrative that once accompanied it, opening it to the universal. “If you want the works to be open, free and inclusive, they also have to be inclusive of color and the possibilities of paint,” she argued, admitting how everything began to feel freer after moving away from her red and pink palette to embrace a new space of experimentation.
The painting process itself has also changed: the displaced gesture now suggests how the artist must have constantly moved in and out of the canvas, almost like a dance, rather than being entirely within it. Krikzoni said he hadn’t thought of it that way, but he realized that in the first months after returning to the studio, the space felt stuffy. “I felt that I needed less time in the studio, to work faster, to spend less time inside and be outside more.” Over time, this was moved, but the change in temporality had already come into play. “The process has become more intuitive and more meditative.” Drawing was crucial during this period because it created a direct connection between mind and hand. “When you draw, there are moments when you forget everything. There are nerves in your fingers, and they say that when you’re sewing or knitting, they connect you to parts of your brain that help you heal.”
This last body of work clearly emerged as part of a cathartic process: processing loss, overcoming grief and, within that time and journey, finding yourself and coming to terms with who you are and where you come from. Krikzoni thinks that whatever comes from the studio will be exciting. She is trying to maintain that openness, embracing ambivalence as an opportunity while reaching a necessary rapprochement with her background. “I didn’t expect it. It was very organic and it brought something about my identity and where I come from.”
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