After many years in which my painting served as a mirror of the outer world — recording social questions and technological transformations — I felt the need to turn inward again, toward a more “psychographic” kind of painting. Each painting is a small confession, which is usually written at the bottom of the canvas — a moment of honesty toward oneself and the viewer. These are not narratives, but quiet deposits of the soul; brief breaths, fragments of inner speech translated into image. The brush no longer depicts; it searches. Once a tool of social observation, a periscope through which I viewed the world from the solitude of my studio, it now becomes an endoscope that digs into the layers of the soul, one by one. Is this a need for self-definition? A return to some starting point? Or perhaps a quiet act of resistance against the inhuman pace of a world that keeps changing? I don’t know. But it is, without doubt, a need. Perhaps, after all, painting remains the purest form of confession I have left.
Vassilis Perros, 2025
