George Chionis came up through the graffiti scene in Greece, learning early that images could live on walls, in public, without permission or explanation. That foundation, rooted in deconstruction, spray paint, and the discipline of realism, never disappeared, but it gradually opened up. A studio move, new materials, and the specific freedom that comes from working alongside trusted peers shifted something in the process. Oil pastels entered. Control loosened. What emerged was a practice more willing to sit with imperfection, more interested in rawness than resolution. The work that exists now carries both histories at once.

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Do you believe an artist's passion is something destined or a conscious choice?

I don’t believe anyone is destined to become an artist more than anyone else. Like any skilled craft, it requires dedication and consistent effort, and that’s where passion comes in. Often, artists are simply people who, through their upbringing or experiences, learned to express themselves in a particular way. But ultimately, hard work outweighs talent. Passion grows through the process, not the other way around.

How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

I became active in the graffiti scene in Greece during my teenage years. Over time, I began approaching my work in a more academic way, and like many graffiti artists, I naturally transitioned into muralism. What stayed with me throughout that evolution is the idea of deconstruction, something very prominent in mural practices, along with realism and the use of spray paint. While my work has expanded into new materials and approaches, these elements remain foundational and continue to influence how I build and break down images.

How has your artistic style transformed over the years? Are there specific influences, experiments, or moments that marked a turning point?

For many years, my focus was on realism and precision. The shift came gradually through experimentation and the growing realization that something was missing. My earlier work was highly controlled and detail-oriented. While discipline is essential, I began to feel it lacked character and freedom. The change was also ignited when I moved studios, my creative home now is Lavra Studio, alongside two close friends, and that environment played a big role in opening up my process.

Being in a more dynamic and collaborative space encouraged me to experiment more freely. Introducing new materials - especially oil pastels - allowed me to approach the canvas more intuitively. Letting go of the need for perfection and allowing space for mistakes opened up a more raw and expressive process. It changed the way I engage with the work and expanded what I consider possible within it.

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression? 

I don’t believe a viewer needs to fully understand the intended message, and I’m not a fan of over-explaining the work either. One of the most beautiful aspects of art is its openness to interpretation, what one person sees can be completely different from what another experiences. I enjoy that multiplicity. It adds value to the work and makes me curious about how others connect with it, without being guided by a fixed narrative. For me, clarity and honesty are personal - the artist should feel fulfilled and expressed, what the viewer takes from it can sometimes be secondary.

Is art created for the artist, the audience, or somewhere in between?

Even though in recent years a lot of work seems to be made with the audience in mind, I believe art should primarily be created for the artist. At its core, it is a form of self-expression. There’s an idea from one of my favourite books by Rick Rubin that I really connect with, that everything we make can be seen as a diary entry. That’s how I approach my work. It’s something personal first, and it shouldn’t be concerned with other peoples opinion. When you create in that way, without being concerned about how it will be received, the work becomes more honest and more pure.

Do you believe the ‘mad artist’ stereotype still holds weight, or is creativity more grounded than we think?

When I was younger, I didn’t believe in it. But over time, as I’ve become more deeply involved in my work and more honest in my expression, I’ve come to understand where it comes from. When you approach art in a truthful way, you are constantly confronting your emotions, both positive and negative, and that’s not always easy. It requires a level of introspection that isn’t part of most everyday routines. You start noticing things differently, searching for meaning in places others might overlook. In that sense, you begin to experience reality through a different lens, and from the outside, that can sometimes look like something is slightly “off.”

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally, or seen it impact others?

Yes, I believe it can be. Any form of expression contributes to psychological well-being — whether it’s something as simple as putting color on paper or something deeper like confronting your emotions through the act of painting. It’s not always easy. In many ways, it’s similar to therapy, you’re forced to face what’s inside you and it might be unsettling at first. But over time, that process can be incredibly healing and clarifying.

How do you reignite creativity during those inevitable periods of self-doubt or stagnation?

These periods usually come once or twice a year, often when there isn’t a project or exhibition on the horizon, when there’s a lack of immediate purpose. What helps me is treating the studio like a 9–5 job that I can’t escape. I show up regardless of how I feel and do something, even if it’s just drawing a single line. Eventually, that consistency brings the momentum back. Surrounding myself with art and engaging with it through reading or observation also helps reconnect me to the process.

Are there any upcoming projects or dreams that you’re particularly excited about?

Over the past few months, I’ve been preparing what feels like a dream project for me. On May 9, I will present a new body of work in a solo exhibition set within a tropical plant nursery, accompanied by award-winning light installations. This site-specific project is an opportunity to create something beyond a traditional exhibition, an immersive experience that engages both the work and the space. Looking ahead, my goal is to continue working in this direction: transforming environments and creating experiences, rather than simply presenting paintings. I want the work to remain open, dynamic, and centered on experience rather than perfection. If you happen to be around Athens in May, I would gladly welcome you to my show.

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George Chionis shows up to the studio regardless of how the day feels, draws a line if that is all that is possible, and trusts that consistency will eventually restore momentum. That attitude, unglamorous, honest, and deeply practical, runs through everything said in this conversation. The upcoming solo exhibition in an Athenian tropical plant nursery, surrounded by light installations, is the natural next step for an artist increasingly interested in transforming environments rather than simply filling them. The goal, stated plainly, is experience over perfection. That is already a clear and considered artistic position.