I never considered photography as a means to make a living, not until I turned 30 when I had the joyous opportunity to become introduced to it. From the beginning I sensed the kind of relationship one can develop with photography by approaching it as a form of Art. A relationship that starts as a playful and enthusiastic flirt in order to end up being a deep and profound love.

In the course of engaging with the art of photography I always posed the following question to myself by way of internal monologue: Is there some reason in particular why I take photographs? Is it perhaps in order to have a nice hobby for my time to pass constructively? Does it have anything to do with creativity as such, in order to satisfy my vanity? Or am I being guided deep inside by my being itself in search of my very own soul, in search of my salvation? Could it be that the child in me has never grown up and seeks to discover the world through a different glance, using different means and points of view, simply wishing to leave behind its own trace in this life? Just like when we used to carve our initials on the trunk of a tree after an excursion in the countryside or when we used to write slogans on a neighbourhood wall? Or when we used to create holes in the soil as children believing we had discovered something significant and that we thus got to know the world? Life explorers through childhood quests in the past. Life explorer with a camera in hand in the present.

To conclude, all the above suggests that the quest is for my very soul. Something we are all called upon to do in this life, each of us in his/her own way. It is a quest of our own self, of our complex inner world. That which is deeply hidden at the core of our soul where we have to scratch until we bleed, to shake its foundations in order to awaken it, feel it, understand it, become acquainted with it. I don’t know if I will manage to find answers to all these questions, in all these quests. What I do know and I can say with certainty is that every photograph I take is a reflection of myself. I also know that I am addicted to what I do. It is the catalyst in shaping my personality, the way I filter and how I interpret life in general. One proceeds with that until the end which is none other than salvation. As a great Greek author once said: “For Death to find a bundle of  bones when he comes to get me”.

With the Turkish invasion in July 1974 more than 250,000 Greek Cypriots were forced to flee their homes abandoning all their property and possessions. Turkey, transferring all the Turkish Cypriots to the northern part of Cyprus, created an illegal “Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus” that it also settled illegally with Turkish citizens. Since then the two communities live separately with the United Nations responsible for the security of the islands “buffer zone”, a dividing line also called “Green Line” that stretches the entire width of the island.

With the signing of the European Communities “Asuncion Treaty” on 16 April 2003, by the Cyprus Republic 29 years later, the Turkish Cypriot leader, Rauf Denktash decided on 23 April 2003 to lift the measures of constraint that disallowed entry to the “North” all Greek Cypriots by allowing a one-day entry permit to be issued.

From the very first days thousands of Greek Cypriots gathered at the Ledra Palace roadblock, one of the checkpoints. Crossing over to the occupied territories they spread out in all directions, eager to visit their towns and villages. Arriving at their destination some found their houses in ruins, other abandoned, others occupied by Turkish Cypriots or Turkish settlers or even Europeans. Some occupants welcomed them, others closed their doors and refused to communicate. The churches, the cemeteries and every other part of their cultural heritage that the Greek Cypriots had been forced to leave behind in 1974 has been pillaged and plundered, left to the ravages of time and today in unkempt and in ruins.