I never knew Christakis. I knew from Menelaos about his obsession with books, his flamboyant dressing, that he was given up as a child, that he “did time” for stealing books that he called himself an “alien Cypriot” and other outcasts “fellow alien Cypriots”, that he regularly photographed himself in the garage he rurned into a home and at various spots in the city.
All intriguing pieces of information that nevertheless did not really prepare me for seeing the photographs. They didn’t prepare me to see the most eccentric photographic exercise ever produced in this place. This collection of self portraits by Christakis is a genuine and direct as a photographic project could be. Totally rid of the concerns of contemporary artists and the pretentiousness of their, sophisticated projects, this collection of photographs is raw amazing and unsetting.