Panayiotis Michael, already a winning presence in the Cyprus national pavilion at the Biennale of 2005, is a new specimen of Homo Architectonicus. His drawings in the cave-gallery oversee the hunt for impossible space, wild spaces, and the spaces of desire. His design originates as if hanging and suspended on itself, not supported, evidenced by the strong wall of contrast with the force of gravity that accentuates the twist of the section and multiplies the sense of verticality and depth. There is a direct gaze on the birth of the multiverse around us, the wealth of relationships that cannot come together. Each aspect of what he draws leans upwards, continually rising.
Michael’s social and political vision permeates his style perfectly . Trapped inside itself, it is totally uninhabitable. His house becomes an empty emblem in expectation of some sign of private life, of hospitality and of the constant attempt to extend the space.  Michael goes beyond the boundary lines, the walls of the city, the design, the gallery.  From the degeneration of the body of the house emerges a proliferation of roses, inaccessible brambles. The rose is the dual metaphor of something freeing itself, opening  up and giving, and the imprisonment of the wall. Michael’s flower has the grace of a Van Gogh stroke, which knows how to capture the flower in its fluctuation between life and death. As in Ovid, in Michael everything is metempsychosis, everything, even pain, goes from one form to another in the search for a new balance.
Through the sheer beauty of the style, a transcendental ornament perhaps like Arabic calligraphy, the narrative designs short haiku graphics in which the image of his homeland Cyprus is condensed, continually cut off.  The inaccessible conversation between tables and chairs in the soaring and tightly packed houses, this image of desire for familiarity, closeness, compressed in an Ionescoesque accumulation, is the image of confrontation and comfort in eternal pursuit. They are the desire for home also as the end for the twofold Cypriot exile.

Panayiotis’ work is an escape not from all of this but of all of this. Not the art of the fugue but a harmonious fugue of the art. In branching out, like brambles, it grows over its surroundings, and thanks to its powerful centrifugal motion, Michael pushes us outwards  so we are touching the edges of the work that is still anchored to the wall.  This circularity is that of the traditional dances of both populations of Cyprus. It is like when we were children and we would spin around in circles, stopping abruptly.
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