The Technochoros art gallery presents Eleftheria Tseiko’s solo painting exhibition entitled Milk. The opening of the exhibition will take place on Friday, December 5, from 5:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m., and the exhibition will run until December 30.

In her second solo exhibition, the artist tells stories of people with intense experiences and memories that are reflected in their faces and bodies. The expressions on their faces and the postures of the figures, combined with the colors and lighting, reveal everything that cannot be expressed in words. Her palette is dominated by red, blue, yellow, green, and black, functioning as emotional states. Light is not only present in the work to illuminate, but also to reveal. It reveals the fragile balance between life and its absence. The title “Milk” refers to the most basic form of nourishment and protection; to what every human being needs in order to live not only as a body, but as a soul. A reminder that we were all once completely vulnerable. And perhaps we still are.

As Eleftheria herself notes: “This work was born out of experiences that could not be put into words; moments of anguish, tenderness, fear, and strength that demanded a different way of existing. My figures are in a constant transition between trauma and resilience; they carry the weight of memory and, at the same time, the promise of healing. They are never perfect; they are human. And through this imperfection, they seek contact.”

In a more lyrical way, through the following poem, Eleftheria Tseiko shares her thoughts and concerns with us and, through her writing, introduces us to her pictorial world and prepares us for what we will see in her exhibition.

Milk

Milk is my beginning and my end.

It is what I give and what I lack.

It contains the first breath, the first food,

the first caress, the first loss.

Everything begins there, in a movement of the body

that gives and takes away at the same time.

I give and lose together.

Like a mother who feeds and empties.

Like love that saves and kills.

I painted milk like a scream.

It is not white, it is red, blue, black,

the color that silence takes when it can no longer be endured.

The shapes that are broken,

like the bodies that gave birth and then were left alone.

Hands that touch, mouths that scream,

eyes that search the void

for a gaze that recognizes them.

All of this is milk

that spilled and dried on the skin.

It is not sweet.

It is a heavy body, a shadow, a weight you carry

and cannot let go.

It is offering and deprivation,

mourning and love together.

I paint with hands that once held,

that once let go.

I paint with the memory of my body,

not with my mind.

Each figure is a knot

between me and everything I have loved.

Every line, a piece of me

that refused to be silenced.

The faces are not beautiful, they are real.

They are not quiet, they are there to remind us

that milk is life,

but also the blood that accompanies it.

Milk is my voice

when I cannot speak.

It is horror made image,

love that hurt,

love that remained.

Short Bio:
Eleftheria Tseiko was born in Athens in 1980. She graduated from the School of Fine Arts of the National Technical University of Athens, where her professors included Michalis Manousakis, Panos Charalambous, Marios Spiliopoulos, and Zachari Arvanitis. She also studied engraving with Yannis Gourzis and mosaic with Daphne Angelidou. She has worked in various creative spaces and has taught visual arts to children, teenagers, and adults, with a particular emphasis on the therapeutic and experiential dimension of art. Her work focuses on people, the body, emotions, and the memories they carry. With intensely emotional colors and gestural writing, she explores the concepts of vulnerability, resilience, and care.

Days and Opening Hours:

Tuesday, Thursday, Friday 12:00 – 20:00
Wednesday, Saturday 10:00-18:00
Sunday, Monday closed

During the holidays, festive opening hours will be applied.

Technochoros Art Gallery
12 Lebesi Street, Athens | Acropolis metro station
Telephone 211 182 38 18www.technohoros.org | [email protected]