From Skopelos to Stockholm

Myrsini Alexandridi is one of those creators who carry within them an inner code—deeply Greek, but never obvious. She lives and works in Stockholm, her gaze constantly turned toward two worlds: the North of geometry and the sound of silence, and the South of memory, matter, and light.

With architectural studies and a background in painting, she translates sensations into materiality, creates compositions that narrate, and consistently moves between design, image, and reflection.

She is not interested in surface. She seeks the essential, the porous, the imperceptible. The blue tone dominates her work, not as a color but as a mood: transparent and contemplative, like a breathing sea. Industrious, creative, with a Greek soul recognizable through shapes, palettes, and pauses.

She does not use Greekness as a decorative motif; for her, it is a way of being. Timeless, abstract, experiential. She is the one who does not shout, but makes space. Forms inspired by Cycladic figurines, images of courtyards, arches, and steps, colors like the terracotta of fired clay or the pale hue of summer light—all compose a personal inner landscape.

Her works speak softly. They do not follow trends but return to truth, to the light of the Greek summer, to the experiences of life in Skopelos. There was born her need to create—through solitude, painting, hours of silence.

“For me, creation is never detached from place or memory. It is a meeting of the visible with the living,” she says. Skopelos is her root, her refuge. Conversely, Stockholm offers her discipline, organization, tranquility—it is her base, where she focuses, removes the unnecessary, and creates.

She is inspired by people who experiment, who move with humor and depth between play and thought: Jaime Hayon, Tekla Evelina Severin, Objects of Common Interest, Point Supreme. One day she would like to collaborate with MOLD Architects or Studiopepe, because for her, design is a form of dialogue.

Her influences also include artists of the ’30s generation—Tsarouchis, Moralis, Nikolaou—who combined Greekness with abstraction, the collective with the personal, works that carry depth without shouting.

She loves clay, a living, imperfect material that bears the memory of its maker. She adores tiles, small units that, through rhythmic repetition, acquire character and become narrative. “The tile, this unit that fragments the whole, is for me the medium linking art and architecture,” she says. “A material widely used in architecture is transmuted through my painting into a work of art.”

In the way she works, everything is connected with experience, with history, with narrative. Music, too, is both tool and companion—she listens to podcasts and contemporary Greek musicians with a narrative quality, something between poetry and soundscape.

She does not recall a point when “art” began. It was always there, from her childhood, from her mother, who painted with natural ease. The choice of architecture was intuitive, and through her years at school, painting, observation, and documentation found space to grow.

Everything is connected: childhood memories, materiality, silence, and place. The phrase she keeps close is from Aris Konstantinidis: “Life in Greece is outdoors.” Not as a romantic image, but as a worldview, because everything Myrsini creates moves between outside and inside. She herself says that images of the countryside—the stone walls, the olive trees, the light filtering through leaves—are present in her work without being invited. “They are simply there."

The works of Myrsini Alexandridi balance between the personal and the collective, between geometry and narrative. They do not impose themselves but inscribe themselves quietly and gently into memory. They do not choose intensity—they choose impact. And they remind us that the most essential aesthetics leave a trace. They do not impress, but converse.