​I exist between worlds—architecture and art, structure and chaos, captive and free-spirited. Born in Greece, trained in the UK, disciplined into building spaces, undisciplined into making art. My work is not decoration; it is confrontation. A rebellion. A whispered secret and a scream.

I create in search of something—perhaps my place in this world, perhaps the world's place within me. My work unravels the layers of femininity in a patriarchal landscape, navigating the fault lines of gender, power, oppression, and the commodification of the body. We live in an era of “sex-dollism,” where women are sculpted not to move but to be admired, possessed. I refuse to be still.

Greek mythology fuels my art—not for its heroics, but for its wounds. Broken statues, shattered limbs, fragmented identities—the ruins tell the real story. Cycladic figurines haunt me in their raw minimalism, their defiance in simplicity. I look to Japan, where beauty is found in the torn and the worn, where imperfection is sacred, yet where women still paint their faces to survive in a male-ruled world. Masks are everywhere. We wear them to be accepted, to be invisible, to be invincible. My portraits are not faces; they are veils.

I create to unmask, to expose, to question. Art is my language, my weapon, my mirror. It is a wound and its healing. A demand and an invitation. A rebellion and a requiem.

Which side of the mask do you see?