Article by Ilias Kasselas on his painting, as part of his participation in the “Ink On Paper” community.<\/strong><\/p>

The way I work can be briefly described as \u201cautomatic drawing with a marker on paper,\u201d combined with a more conscious\u2014perhaps traditional\u2014approach to drawing and composition. This means that, for the most part, each work produced is the result of a truce between gestural freedom and deliberate artistic intent. Chaotic forms are filtered into structured depictions, while structured shapes suddenly become subject to irrational transformations\u2014everything flows as it is meant to. I don\u2019t stress about it: any piece that I feel does not breathe as I would like it to, I destroy\u2014regardless of whether I\u2019ve worked on it for minutes, hours, or even days.<\/p>

As a student at the School of Fine Arts in Florina, I began painting years ago first with India ink and brushes, and later transitioned to markers\u2014initially alongside ink, and eventually on their own. Two reasons led me to work with and eventually love ink in its various forms: the first is its immediacy, which stems from its unforgiving nature\u2014in simple terms, you essentially can\u2019t make mistakes when drawing with ink. The second reason is my long-standing admiration for painters and illustrators associated with or orbiting around the broader Art Nouveau movement in England during the 1800\u20131900s, such as Beardsley, Clarke, and above all, Austin Osman Spare. Spare had a defining influence on my early work\u2014both stylistically through his paintings and in how I understand and use automatic writing, thanks to his books.<\/p>

Automatic writing in painting, to me, is a technique that can be cultivated and used as a creative tool or source of inspiration. There are impressive examples of automatic writing among early 20th-century surrealists, but my focus is on the existential and esoteric approach of Spare. I studied and experimented with the few techniques derived from his work, and the culmination of my own experiments between 2012 and 2015 revealed two fundamental truths: first, beyond the common definition of reality, there is a field of information I can access by emptying the mind, creating images that belong to all of us. Second, repetition and habit can convince the mind of anything, if proper techniques and terminology are applied. These realizations shaped my artistic path. I continue to see automatic writing as a technique\u2014regardless of mystical or egocentric connotations\u2014and I am clear that any sense of mystery around it is exaggerated.<\/p>

With a marker, one can leave three types of marks on paper: dots, lines, and curves. From these arise all the ways one can draw. Dots and lines, for example, can be used to depict the volume of an object\u2014cross-hatching, for instance, uses repeated lines for this purpose. For some objects or surfaces, a specific approach or pattern may be used\u2014like the \u201cgrain\u201d of a wooden surface or the texture of an ancient white column.<\/p>

In the past, I would allow automatic writing to take full control, and the final result carried the honesty of an unfiltered gesture and image. However, it often lacked in terms of composition, narrative, or even atmosphere. Over time, I\u2019ve reached a point where I try to reconcile those two painting needs. If I have a 70 x 100 cm sheet, for example, I\u2019ll begin with some loose pencil strokes\u2014lines that start to suggest possible volumes. Then I try to approach the mental state in which automatic writing can thrive and begin drawing with a marker from a random spot on the paper, continuing until I feel I must stop. At some point, I\u2019ll step back and observe what I\u2019ve made, and consciously decide whether to follow a shape or pencil mark and turn it into \u201csomething.\u201d Other times I\u2019ll ignore the sketch entirely and do whatever I please. Inevitably, organic forms begin to emerge\u2014bits of flesh, animalistic or human or almost-human figures. Sometimes I\u2019ll draw them instantly, automatically with the marker; other times I\u2019ll decide they\u2019re worth a proper, anatomically correct sketch first, and only then apply the ink. These days, I\u2019m more interested in the composition or inner architecture of a piece\u2014in the balance (even through total chaos) of all the elements within it\u2014rather than in each element separately.<\/p>

My work as a drawing teacher for the past 10 years has helped me re-evaluate the importance of certain principles of academic drawing, always in relation to how they can serve what I want to produce. Some of these rules I consciously reverse. One simple example: in academic drawing, especially with charcoal, heavy closed outlines are forbidden. In what I produce\u2014something more like fishing from a chaotic, constantly shifting imaginary reservoir\u2014I regularly work with closed outlines; there\u2019s no other way to trap the fleeting form and impression on my paper. Another example: a human figure is drawn using specific proportions, especially with regard to gender. I\u2019m not always concerned with this\u2014a human figure on my paper may transform at any moment into something bestial and obscene. Or into something exalted and precious\u2014yet still not human.<\/p>

Talking about the subject matter of your work can seem dull, especially when it involves Western esotericism and mysticism\u2014concepts often seen as eccentric or incomprehensible. As an artist with a rational upbringing, I understand this view and try not to overwhelm my audience. However, my engagement with automatic writing and the exploration of mindscapes is deeply sincere. These experiments represent meaningful, living conclusions in my journey so far, and I treat them with seriousness and a sense of responsibility.<\/p>

Visit Ilias Kasselas\u2019 webpage<\/a><\/strong>
Visit the Ink On Paper community site<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Article by Ilias Kasselas on his painting, as part of his participation in the “Ink On Paper” community. The way I work can be briefly described as \u201cautomatic drawing with a marker on paper,\u201d combined with a more conscious\u2014perhaps traditional\u2014approach to drawing and composition. This means that, for the most part, each work produced is […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":44206,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ocean_post_layout":"","ocean_both_sidebars_style":"","ocean_both_sidebars_content_width":0,"ocean_both_sidebars_sidebars_width":0,"ocean_sidebar":"0","ocean_second_sidebar":"0","ocean_disable_margins":"enable","ocean_add_body_class":"","ocean_shortcode_before_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_after_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_before_header":"","ocean_shortcode_after_header":"","ocean_has_shortcode":"","ocean_shortcode_after_title":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_bottom":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_bottom":"","ocean_display_top_bar":"default","ocean_display_header":"default","ocean_header_style":"","ocean_center_header_left_menu":"0","ocean_custom_header_template":"0","ocean_custom_logo":0,"ocean_custom_retina_logo":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_height":0,"ocean_header_custom_menu":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_family":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_subset":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_size":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_unit":"px","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_line_height":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_unit":"","ocean_menu_typo_spacing":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_unit":"","ocean_menu_link_color":"","ocean_menu_link_color_hover":"","ocean_menu_link_color_active":"","ocean_menu_link_background":"","ocean_menu_link_hover_background":"","ocean_menu_link_active_background":"","ocean_menu_social_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_links_color":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_color":"","ocean_disable_title":"default","ocean_disable_heading":"default","ocean_post_title":"","ocean_post_subheading":"","ocean_post_title_style":"","ocean_post_title_background_color":"","ocean_post_title_background":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_image_position":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_attachment":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_repeat":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_size":"","ocean_post_title_height":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay":0.5,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay_color":"","ocean_disable_breadcrumbs":"default","ocean_breadcrumbs_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_separator_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_hover_color":"","ocean_display_footer_widgets":"default","ocean_display_footer_bottom":"default","ocean_custom_footer_template":"0","ocean_post_oembed":"","ocean_post_self_hosted_media":"","ocean_post_video_embed":"","ocean_link_format":"","ocean_link_format_target":"self","ocean_quote_format":"","ocean_quote_format_link":"post","ocean_gallery_link_images":"on","ocean_gallery_id":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[2379],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-44205","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category--en","entry","has-media","owp-thumbs-layout-vertical","owp-btn-very-big","owp-tabs-layout-vertical","has-no-thumbnails"],"yoast_head":"\n