My work begins with small things: points, marks, fragments, bits of language and material. On their own, they mean very little. Brought together, they form structures we trust—sentences, images, beliefs, buildings. Meaning isn’t inherent; it’s assembled. And what’s assembled can loosen, shift, or fail.

I’m interested in that moment when order is almost convincing. When dots resemble constellations, when stains suggest symbols, when fragments imply a story. Like reading ruins or the night sky, interpretation fills the gaps. The work doesn’t insist on a single meaning; it reveals how easily meaning appears once we decide to see it.

Material matters. Cement holds crayons and bits of toys. Newspapers are re-edited. Canvas, glass, sticks and stones hold messages. Language and structure collapse into the same logic: strength depends on composition. A weak aggregate fractures; a careful one holds. Craft is not separate from concept—it is how the idea becomes legible.

The work is meant to be encountered before it is understood. Beauty may arrive first, explanation later. What remains is an invitation: to notice how meaning is built, how fragile it is, and how much of what we believe rests on arrangements that could just as easily come apart.

*The title Edifice εφημερίδα pairs the architectural term edifice with the Greek word for newspaper, closely related to ephemeral—something that lasts only briefly, sometimes a single day.