
It comes through the Shy Glance of the Moon, when Darkness can
Give the Brightest Light
Wood, acrylic, felt, veneer, plaster
Dimensions variable
2005
Installation view Deste Foundation, Athens

In the still sleeping town the force that drives the trees is the midnight noise that empty rooms may make
Mixed media
Dimensions variable
2005
Installation view, Deste Foundation

Day is Done, Nothing’s Gonna Harm me
Wood, Acrylic, Plywood
Dimensions variable
2005

El Caballero de la triste figura
Wood, acrylic, Thread, Felt
170 cm x 50 cm x 180 cm
2006

Deux vagabonds rêvent d’un gâteau et montent au ciel
Wood, acrylic, marble, synthetic fair
147 cm x 47 cm x 213 cm
2006

Dear I am not Coming Home Tonight
Plaster, brick, veneer, acrylic, wood, felt
2005
Collective Promises and the feeling of being crushed
The more humanity advances, the more it is degraded
Gustave Flaubert
Collective promises are the most terrible. In their wake, the ideologue stands alone, over the ruins of his struggle. He could, earlier on, make out a limit, a border he was trying to cross, after which he would have been redeemed. He and all the others. Everyone together.
Kostis Velonis visits the evidence of collective promises. He is drawn to those circumstances where a collective claim had been formulated. Sometimes it is instances of modernist architecture and the vision of an architectural design that would have been a tool for social progress. At other times it is anecdotal incidents during the first phase of Soviet communism, when the most important social experiment in history still preserved the power to persuade. And still at other times it is anarchism, that medley of naivety and faith in man that encompasses all that is hopeful and all that is disappointing in political thought. But the common element in all these visits is that they are always the beginning of a precipitation of collectivity towards an individuality that is sealed and deadlocked.
The sculptural compositions of Kostis Velonis are small environments built to host loneliness. His solutions are of course varied. From simple juxtapositions of two elements, he arrives sometimes at long sequences of objects and manipulations, where at every point lurks a device, a footnote, a reference. In every case, though, following this three dimensional narration, structured in space with a simplicity that seems almost spontaneous, almost direct – “this” means “that” –, one realizes that nothing is fulfilled, nothing ends, but rather withers out like the tip of burnt wood or a rag.
The feeling of being crushed is something I cannot avoid in the work of Kostis Velonis. Man is crushed under the memory – or, rather, the reminders – of his hope, that is not exactly proven to be betrayed, but unfounded, chimerical, invented. His very concept of the world, the sense of community to which he aspired, the possibility of his participation to a common course, collapse. Not because he is not trying. He is trying always and trying hard. Effort is in his nature.
And, almost as a reflex, I am thinking that effort without a tangible goal reminds me of a different kind of torture: the crushing becomes so personal that it winds up being erotic. Very often, the sculptures of Kostis Velonis appear to me like the convoluted monologues of the desperate lover, who is trying to diffuse the relentless energy of his desire through little narratives and unending digressions, insignificant associations and emotional submersions. These outbursts do not – we all know it – mean anything on their own, nor does the information they contain help in any way. They are orbiting however around a centre, where a rabid meaning did exist but has been by now defeated.
Finally, though, in this feeling of being crushed there is perhaps a trace of might, a glory: these sculptural monologues give out that wonderfully pathetic feel of passive erotic memory, of disarticulated claim, of resignation, miserable but full of bravery, to a commonplace romanticism that torments the unrequitedly in love.
Augustine Zenakos