Konstantina Kricsoni’s works have always inhabited the liminal and generative threshold between figuration and abstraction, where her figures find their archetypal and mythical form in the movement and gesture of her body, which are directed and projected onto the canvas.
Her techniques and themes deal with women’s bodies, identities and sexuality, intersecting with ancient Greek mythology and ancient Western lore and literature. Through the use of organically fluid continuous lines and delicate washes of translucent oil paint, she constructs magmatic, non-hierarchical compositions that test the limits of drawing not only as a medium but also as a channel for expressing itself.
Her recent solo exhibition at Jarvis Art demonstrated a new level of awareness for the artist, of her place as a woman, as a body and soul made of irreconcilable dualities. Her exploration of femininity has always taken physical form: sensual bodies that seamlessly emerge and dissolve, reclaiming their feminine sensuality and power in an unusual way as they oscillate freely in space, resisting the shame and scrutinizing expectations imposed on feminine behavior by patriarchal society. In her more recent works, bodies become more graphically defined in their anatomy and more androgynous, often challenging gender identification. These are the warriors, as the show’s title suggests, groups of Amazonian women standing together against the world, with their gentle yet fierce feminine strength.
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“Warriors“ |
The denser gestural rhythm and stricter structure demonstrate that the artist is in a very different mental space from the one that produced her earlier, more visceral works. After her father’s recent death, Crixoni experienced what she describes as a breakthrough in her paintings. “I wanted to disrupt everything and focus more on female agency, but in terms of the mental space of these characters and how they occupy meaningful surfaces,” she told the Observer after the exhibition opened. “So I wanted to deal with my pain in some way. They gave me a sense of companionship.” The numbers now indicate female solidarity and collective energy.
Returning to Greece, her native country, for a while, Kryksoni found herself painting ancient Greek statues of young men – the male koroi and the female kourae – in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens: hybrid, androgynous, strictly neutral, idealized figures meant to crystallize an ideal of timeless beauty. “They have something 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. Upon her return to the studio, she used these drawings to reclaim her suspended and revered presence as symbols of resistance and resilience, protected from grief and pain in her ancient, archetypal, immutable form. That they combined male and female characteristics also gave her a way to find balance rather than erasure. “I think what we are asking for as women in the art industry, or in general, is for us to be equal, not for men to disappear. There has to be some kind of balance.”
In Jungian terminology, the psyche contains both masculine and feminine principles—the animus and anima, not as fixed gender identities but as complementary psychic energies that must be recognized and integrated in order for the self to move toward wholeness. If Constantina’s previous paintings often seemed charged with conflict, as if trying to wrest female agency from the structures that contained or distorted it, these new works seem less combative and more conciliatory. They do not abandon femininity, but rather allow it to coexist with a renewed and majestic masculine energy. The result is a body of work in which the self seems less divided than gathered between two necessary forces, tense but no longer at war.
Most importantly, this inspiration allowed Crixoni to find an idea of a body that remains young, hybrid, and open to possibility. “I feel like there’s something inside me that stuck at that age when I was younger, and I was excited about life and thinking about possibilities,” she said. “I think that’s also what happens metaphorically with drawing.” For Kricsoni, this is also a way of thinking about the male gaze and how to undermine the sexualization of the female body. “You can do it without overly sexualizing your bodies. It can be less literal, in a way, but it still gives you a lot of power and dynamism.”
The color palette changed decisively: the previous red and pink palette, associated with blood, bodily interiors and other fluids, gave way to blues, greens and more electric or earthy tones. “I think I allow myself the freedom to choose colors that come to my mind instinctively,” she says, acknowledging how many colors remind her of Greek landscapes and bring a watery or organic quality to the surface. “It’s more about embodying nature than showing it directly or literally,” she explained, a way of embodying the physical and emotional landscape through color and atmosphere. More blue-like liquid compositions Agalmata (2026) evokes the luminous atmosphere of crashing waves and shimmering waters on the Aegean coast, while suggesting the possibility of constant transformation.
More generally, the objects and motifs that appeared in earlier works now function more metaphorically, allowing her work to transcend the intimately personal narrative that once accompanied it, and open it to the universal. “If you want the works to be open, free and inclusive, they must also be inclusive of color and paint possibilities,” she said, admitting that everything started to feel freer once she moved away from her red and pink palette to embrace a new space of experimentation.
The process of painting itself also changed: the changing gesture actually indicated how the artist was constantly moving in and out of the painting, almost like a dance, rather than being entirely within it. Crixoni said she didn’t think about it that way, but she realized that in the first months after returning to the studio, she felt suffocated. “I felt like I needed less time in the studio, to work faster, spend less time indoors, and spend more time outside.” Over time, that changed, but the change in temporality actually entered the work. “The process has become more intuitive and reflective.” 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 the fingers, and they say that when you sew or knit, they connect you to parts of your brain that help you heal.”
This latest body of work clearly emerged as part of a cathartic process: processing loss, overcoming grief, and within that time and journey, finding herself and coming to terms with who she is and where she comes from. Crixoni feels that whatever comes next from the studio will be exciting. She tries to maintain this openness, embracing contradiction as a possibility while reaching the necessary rapprochement with her own background. “I wasn’t expecting that. It was very natural, and it gave me something back about who I am and where I come from.”
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