It was extremely hot on Milos in July. I lived in a cool Cycladic house made of white stone, which was a real cave with a single window and without any connection. Every morning I woke up around 6 a.m. and walked along dusty roads past the white-washed churches beside the sea to Sarakiniko Beach to be alone there at dawn. That place fascinated me. It simultaneously soothed and stirred at the same time. The mighty elements, the dazzling colors and the unique patterns of cracks that turned into soft lines. The silence seemed deafening there.
The first days I did not take pictures at all, only endlessly looking, walking barefoot on the stones, sometimes getting lost, looking for something that would inspire me to new thoughts in my art, accumulating. On the penultimate day before I left, coming there again early in the morning, I suddenly felt a strong desire to capture this land, every bit of it. It was not the usual collecting, but some kind of passionate and greedy call, a revelation. I wanted to explore, to examine, to touch, and to capture every roughness there. I shot these lines and textures of the earth and suddenly realised clearly that I was seeing a woman in it.
I realised that this earth is a body. The body of a woman. The body that gives life and takes it away. It is the origin, the shelter, our strength and our roots. It is a place that holds our history, that has centuries of memory, that understands our language and our silence. Wherever we find ourselves, the curves of her body are everywhere.