“Like a dog, he hunts in dreams
and thou art staring at the wall”
— Alfred Tennyson, Locksley Hall, 1842

It sometimes happens that staying in some particular place makes life somehow alienating. Intimate relationships no longer exist. Certainties are meaningless. And it seems that nothing else belongs to you other than the indisputable presence of your body in that space and in that moment. This relief from identity is often beneficial. After all, we seek it in various ways: by traveling, reading, intentionally altering the reality that surrounds us... But at the same time it can become unbearable. The same goes for everyday life. Reality often drifts in a flow that resembles rolling on a polished surface. Then no one stops you. There are no cuts, no friction, no handles to grasp. Nothing slows down this departure. Life becomes strangely depersonalized. Differences are eliminated. Nothing helps, not even memory. Because even she, in turn, distances the past from the subject that once lived it. Memory goes wrong and lost. Goes astray. Arbitrarily placing events in unexpected places. Filling gaps with inventions or letting them gaping unfilled. And thus, no asset accumulated is ever enough. No explanation is satisfactory. No fiction is ever able to replace the lost weight of existence. Life becomes a constant swing. How beneficial that can be! And how scary!

Κώστας Ρουσσάκης, Η αυλή των ηρώων, 2021. Ευγενική παραχώρηση του καλλιτέχνη.

A year and a half ago I lived for six months in a house on Hottingen hill, high above the city of Zürich. It was after one of my walks in the botanical garden that I returned home holding a little Aloe carrying the wonderful name Aristaloe Aristata. I remember placing it on the window sill and then writing this note:

“Journeys alienate you. Although the traveler’s curiosity turns outwards towards the newly visited place, to the people, to nature, to history, to the semantics of life … in essence, the journey is fueled by what the traveler carries with him as his most essential baggage: his obsessions, his fears, his desires, his knowledge and skills. It is this toolbox that constructs the new place anew. The traveler, therefore, accepts new life as a stranger. This alienation, this sense of numbness and distance is not unpleasant. It is one of the virtues of traveling. One of the gains of departure. Only that, over time, as the journey goes on, this emptiness gradually becomes heavier and heavier. It borders the unpleasant awareness of death. No demands are placed on yourself. You do not owe your concern to anyone. You can fearlessly dedicate yourself to your narcissistic desires: to the walk you want to do, to swimming, to the museums you love to get lost in. Only that, slowly, something upsets you and makes it difficult for you. This initial disturbance can of course be cured. With movement, with curiosity, with change, with danger … But what if you stay in one place for a long time? How to respond to this burden? To this dehumanization? You need someone … When I stay for a long time to some place I look for someone or something to take care of. Today I visited the Zürich Botanical Garden. There is a glasshouse there dedicated to succulents. I love Agaves, Aloes, Cacti … I took a flower with me (that’s how I caressingly call them). Her name is ‘Aristaloe Aristata‘. She will accompany me for as long as I stay here”.

That little Swiss succulent now lives transplanted in a pot on the balcony of my apartment in Kypseli. It acclimatized wonderfully in Athens and gave birth to three exploding sprouts. I think that one of these days I will take one of them and plant it in Pedion tou Areos[ii]. I can not pinpoint the source of this impulse. It may be my unconscious need to put a root here. I moved to this apartment just a month before I left for Zürich — in a sense this house where I live in Athens is still a little foreign to me … Or maybe I want to subconsciously connect these two places. Or it could be some unexplored sense of farewell … However, this Aristaloe already belongs -secretly, without anyone noticing yet — to a corner of the Park. Where, escaping the attention of everyone — visitors, gardeners, guards, tenants — she will grow brought there from somewhere else. Planted there by a labyrinthine turn of fortune. If anyone ever notices it, I’m sure it will be some curious child, amazed by the tall red flower that she grows every summer.

Kostas Roussakis, Heroes’ Garden, 2021. Courtesy of the artist.

You can always resort to statues and trees. I live right next to Pedion tou Areos. I often smell the trees exhaling at night when I sit at my balcony. I walk my little daughter at the park. I often just wander in the isles carelessly. When does one start taking ownership of the place where one lives? When does one feel it one’s own? When can one actually look at what surround him? I live in Kypseli for sixteen months now. Interrupted stay. With absences and returns. Today I noticed a line of white clothes drying carefully hung in front of the ground floor window in the opposite building. For some unexplained reason, that image was the first symbolic confirmation of my new position here. Aristaloe thrived in her pot. She grows next to the Agave that I transplanted here when I moved from my previous apartment. Uprooting her from the hill of Ardittos. Something always has to move, to take root again. Something must always be saved.

You can always resort to statues and trees. Their permanence seems indisputable, although it is deceptive. Statues and trees often get moved, get uprooted and transplanted. They can even migrate. Pedion tou Areos — the place that welcomes me when I am not staying in my apartment — is made up of an arrangement of these two elements: statues and trees.

Pefki, Koukounaria, Kyparissi, Eucalyptus, Elia, Aria, Carob, Ligoustro, Pseudakakia, Dafni, Lefki, Mimoza, Sofora, Gazia, Sfandami, Aeilanthos, Melia, Casuarina, Filiara, Kouliara, Kyliara, Kyliara, Yakaranda, Finikas.

Ypsilantis, Tzavellas, Mavromichalis, Kanaris, Mpotsaris, Karaiskakis, Miaoulis, Nikitaras, Papaflessas, Bouboulina, Paleon Patron Germanos, Androutsos, Kolokotronis, Diakos, Mavrogenous, Papanikoli , Papatsi, Konstatzis, Konstapizis, Vispizis.

Life revolves around us and we do not realize it. We live immersed in names. The aquarium of life is full of words. Without them, even the simplest thing would be a nightmarish, enigmatic, paradoxical image. Even if it was another person’s kind presence. Even if it was our beloved mother’s face. Even if it was the reflection of our own figure in a mirror. How monstrous, would this object be if we could not name it. A plane surface reflecting our own living image.

Christos, Petros, Apostolia, Petrobeis, Konstantinos, Vasiliki, Georgios, Anastasia, Athanasios, Dimitris, Domna, Galini, Kitsos, Markos, Andreas, Anna, Grigorios, Nikoleta, Laskarina, Ioanna, Theodoros, Elodoros Nikolaos, Zisis, Haris, Odysseas, Alexandros, Notis.

I sit on the benches of Pedion tou Areos and watch passers-by stroll in front of and among the statues. Their figures are intertwined in an almost choreographed flow, creating a lively palimpsest. I do not know the names of the people around me. So I choose to give them the names of people close to me. Regardless of age or gender. Following an inexplicable impulse. Maybe it is this reason again, that I live between words and the anachronism of names. I sit on the bench of Leoforos Iroon [iii] and watch passers-by stroll in front of and between the statues while they gradually disappear revealing in my imagination an avenue without heroes.

“Even from the turn of the century, the discussion about the celebration of the 1921 Centennial of the Greek Revolution had already begun and various views were expressed. The Balkan wars and their victorious outcome for Greece had fueled an unprecedented artistic energy and gave birth to the movement called ‘martial art’. With Law 1275 of 1918, it was designated that the Centennial would be celebrated throughout the year of 1921 and a Central Committee was appointed chaired by the President of Parliament, Themistoklis Sofoulis, and the General Secretary, Ioannis Dambergis. Twenty special sub-committees were set up in order to study individual issues that had to be researched in context of the celebration, since its purpose was not only to express gratitude to the heroes of the Greek Revolution, but also to present the progress of Greeks in all areas of public life in their hundred years of life in freedom. However, the ongoing Asia Minor campaign prevented preparations and the celebration was postponed until 1930, the mark of one hundred years since the official founding of the independent Greek state. The Committee in charge of the Monument for the Heroes of the Revolution, composed of well-known personalities in the arts and especially in architecture, prepared a Greek-wide appeal for funds, resulting in contributions from all over Greece, Since the Central Committee wished that every Greek participates in this effort, it was decided that a symbolic ‘cobblestone’ would be built into the Monument each bearing the name of one Municipality, Community or Parish from Greece and Cyprus. In August 16, 1929, the Central Committee announced a competition among Greek artists for proposals concerning the Monument. A committee of experts would select a shortlist of designs that would be subjected to a final ‘international review’”.

The competition brief defined the purpose of the Monument, its location and the basic elements of the composition as follows: “It will be founded in the center of Pedion tou Areos between plantations and thickets, and can be circular, square or polygonal. Inside, there will be a temple-like structure, according to the resolutions of the Hellenic National Assemblies, placing the Holy Table on the East side. The other sides will be frescoed with images depicting the Holy Struggle. Externally it will be adorned with statues, busts and sculptural compositions and symbols … ” According to the above, the planned monument would be a combination of a temple and a Pantheon and therefore the study had to be extended to the landscaping of the surrounding area which would receive the works of art, although this was not mentioned in the initial wording of the competition. This omission provoked a reaction from the Association of Architects, which considered that the wording of the competition did not ensure the success of the tender therefore, several proposals to amend the terms were submitted to the Central Committee. The intervention of the Association of Architects forced the Executive Committee to extend the deadline for the submission of proposals, but without increasing the initial budget of ten million drachmae, as it was demanded. Consistent, however, with its initial announcement, on March 30, 1930, the Central Committee proceeded to the festive foundation of the Monument by constructing a makeshift girdle from the cobblestones that were already being carved. With this symbolic action, the issue was essentially closed. As for Pedion tou Areos, of the grandiose plans, only the existing “Heroes’ Avenue” remained with some busts of fighters of the Greek Revolution that were unveiled on March 25, 1937. Thusly the curtain fell. Until the dictatorship of 1967 which brought this issue back to life, subjecting Greek citizens to an unprecedented anachronism” [iv].

If this garden, where my little daughter plays, signifies anything, then it is a monument to what has been collectively left unfulfilled. This garden is what is left of the ephemeral. I am currently reading the books of the psychoanalyst Massimo Recalcati. Recalcati teaches us that the father “invents” himself, he invents parenthood and thus “adopts” his child intentionally and by conviction. Therefore, he becomes the “bearer of the Word” and the main humanizing force in the life of the new being: “The first birth, of flesh and blood, is never enough in making a life human. Life is not humanized by receiving its genetic equipment. […] What is inherited is a testimony: in this sense every paternity is radically adopted.” The father bequeaths a version of the world as testimony. It is his personal example of desire and pursuit of a way to live. Paternity must be removed from despotic parenthood. The child no longer takes the paternal word as an order. The child perceives “actions, choices and passions that can be a testament to how one can stand in today’s world with desire and at the same time with responsibility” [v].

Kostas Roussakis, Heroes’ Garden, 2021. Courtesy of the artist.

Looking at the statues I think of this very paternity. The collective parenthood of the heroes which, however, remained incomplete. Rather beneficially undelivered. A fatherhood that did not place any irrevocable weight on our backs. Which — fortunately — did not make us its “children”. Therefore, us and the heroes on their pedestals, can look at each other with the tenderness and freedom of our mutually expressed desire. I look at what is happening around me right now in the park. I am observing grownups in play.

He straightens a branch and carves it.
He holds a fruit in his mouth.
He takes a sip of wine.
He sits between two bushes on a stool.
He puts a piece of cheese in his mouth.
He takes off his clothes.
Wet mouth with tap water.
He kneels down with the help of a cane and touches a leaf.
A basket of eggs.
A cigarette resting on the lips.
Bright red bright blue dark blue bright blue green dark green bright violet.
The sound of a bicycle bell is heard.
Hands tied behind the back.
Strong smell of ammonia.
The clothes are white.
A scarf is tied around the neck.
He pours water on his head.
The eyes.
The forehead, the front line in combat.
A thin smile.
The children.
A yellow line.
One red line.

I look at the pictures of the park during the small hours of the day and the notion of monumentality disappears like dry summer dust. And all that remains is the lightness of a space without signs and creatures. Trees and statues are equated as if they were all elements of the natural landscape. They are all transparent and light. Almost playful. And so the marble figures, hidden behind the foliage, or visible on their pedestals, look like the children in Recalcati’s books. Looking for a place in life that they do not yet have. Like Aristaloe on my balcony, the statues await for some definitive placement.

“Yesterday Athenians poured at Polygonon like a vast and raging sea. And from its bowels, as if shaken and opened by an earthquake, suddenly emerged a great and terrible mountain: the Olympus of a curse!” On December 12, 1916, the following announcement was made in the newspapers: “The Committee of the Panhellenic Guild’s Association calls the Greek people to gather today, December 12, at 3pm at Pedion tou Areos and cast a curse upon Venizelos the traitor. All without exception, young, old, men, women and children, come to throw a curse stone against the hated betrayer and murderer of our Homeland and King”. The curse was cast first by the Archbishop of Athens, Theoklitos: “Against Eleftherios Venizelos, imprisoner of high priests and conspirator against the kingdom and the homeland, let him be cursed”. Ironically, these same curse stones, which had been blessed by the Holy Synod in 1916, became building materials for the construction of the near-by church of Agios Eleftherios in Gyzi, which was founded by Eleftherios Venizelos himself in 1930. [vi]

Opposite the statues stand the absentees. Between the empty isles. We live ourselves in the midst of what is constantly being lost. I noticed it looking at the image of the majestic equestrian statue at the entrance of the park. Opposite the King — or at least somewhere around, when he was still alive on his throne, before he became a statue on the horse — stood the ephemeral monument of the curse of his opponent. Every forest has its ghosts. The same thing happens here. I am sure that some stones of that old curse will have secretly survived in some corner of the Park and the word “traitor” will still be engraved on them.

The mind, then, shifts images. Or rather it places them side by side like a stereoscope. The deserted isles, the empty park in these photos. The images fulfill, among other things, a call for humanity and habitat. They invite you, not only to retrieve the hoarding of your memory, but to return to that place by taking the same steps and test the sensitivity of your intuition. This is a second visit, and another cartography.

What does it mean to cut one’s own rooting? What does it mean to box one place in another? Literally and consciously. Walking — not among the statues this time — but among these sculptures that hold the images of the statues at eye level. Being a guest again. Intimate relationships no longer exist. Certainties cease. And you feel that nothing belongs to you other than the indisputable presence of the body in that space and in that moment. Take the same steps. Put your eyes on the viewfinder. Hold your breath so as not to blur the image with your breath.

Kostas Roussakis, Heroes’ Garden, 2021. Courtesy of the artist.

Soon, as these lines are being written, another relocation will change the familiar place of my daily steps. The walk in Pedion tou Areos will soon be transformed from the present proximity of a simple exit out the door of my apartment, to a visit there from somewhere else. And in this way, another record into memory will have been archived. At the same time, as these lines are being written, another metaphor and another mnemonic shift of the same place is assembled by Kostas Roussakis. A reconstruction of the movements, the steps, the gaze. Approach and departure. The Garden of Heroes then, marks a personal departure and at the same time commemorates a significant farewell. How can you speak about a work of art, if you can not speak about it as if it were your own, personal endowment?

Christos Chrissopoulos, Kypseli, 13.10.2021


[i] The text is based on an earlier version which was included in the publication that accompanied the exhibition of Kostas Roussakis Heroes’ Garden at the Service Court of the Athens Megaron. The exhibition took place from November 4th 2021 to January 23rd 2022, curated by Christos Chrysopoulos, at the AnnexM of the Athens Megaron, under the artistic direction of Anna Kafetsi.
[iii] Heroes’ Avenue. A series of busts depicting heroes of the Greek Revolution in Pedion tou Areos.
[iv] ΜΑΡΚΑΤΟΥ, (1995). ΟΙ ΠΡΟΤΑΣΕΙΣ ΓΙΑ ΠΑΝΕΛΛΗΝΙΟ ΗΡΩΟ TOΥ ΕΙΚΟΣΙΕΝΑ (1830–1930). Μνήμων, 17, 37–68. doi:https://doi.org/10.12681/mnimon.524 [Translated by C.C.]
[v] Μάσιμο Ρεκαλκάτι, “Το σύνδρομο του Τηλέμαχου – Γονείς και παιδιά μετά τη δύση του πατέρα”, Κέλευθος, 2016. [Translated by C.C.]
[vi] https://www.mixanitouxronou.gr/to-anathema-kata-tou-venizelou-kai-ta-aimatira-noemvriana-tis-athinas-ntokoumenta-apo-to-matomeno-1916-pou-sfragise-ton-ethniko-dixasmo-stin-mixani-tou-xronou-nea-ekpobi-vinteo/