Atαξία 120x60 (2024, acrylics on canvas)

Αtαξία
Our memories often refuse to follow chronological order; they are written inside us in a scattered way, with images that may surface unexpectedly, even when uninvited. The wordplay in the title is intentional — meant to express these two layers of meaning.
The At, in English, leads us to the value of memory, while the Greek word ataxia reveals the disordered way in which those memories reside within us. At invites you onto the stage, to stand in the worth of what has passed, while ataxia speaks to how these moments are recorded in us — without sequence or logic — and yet, paradoxically, they gain meaning there. Without structure or clarity, but with emotion and truth. And in the end, ataxia seems to be a truer kind of order.
 
A room that seems to hover between memory and absence. Something was left behind, yet nothing is quite there. “At” invites you to stand in the value of what once was — as if, for a moment, you could glimpse it again through the cracks. Ataxia, in its own unruly way, scatters the moments inside you. Out of order, without logic. And yet, within the absurdity, a new kind of order quietly forms — one that only the soul can understand.