Moving fluidly between figuration and abstraction, Juliano Kaglis canvases inhabit a liminal space where the visible world dissolves into something deeper — a poetic, often metaphysical undercurrent that invites contemplation. His work hovers in the charged space between the visible and the invisible, crafting images that seem to emerge slowly from mist, shadow, and the inner light of memory. His recent exhibition, Deception, brings this tension sharply into focus, revealing an artist who believes deeply in the emotional power of illusion.
Kaglis work carries echoes of Moralis, Tetsis, and Milios, yet it resists imitation. Instead, he approaches the past as a living source of inquiry that guides him toward reinvention. In his canvases, figures drift between worlds, seascapes dissolve into abstractions, and light appears as if excavated from darkness. His evolution over the years has been marked by a persistent refusal to become predictable. Each series becomes an act of recalibration, an invitation to move deeper into the unknown territories of form, gesture, and perception.
As distinguished art critic Takis Mavrotas insightfully observes, throughout his artistic journey, Kaglis “persistently and consistently explores new aesthetic adventures of line and color, keeping his gaze fixed between earth and sky, between desire and dream. For him, life is a path toward the unknown and the infinite.”
Juliano Kaglis was born in Athens in 1974. He studied painting at the Athens School of Fine Arts under Triantafyllos Patraskidis and Martinos Gavathas, and engraving under Giorgos Milios (1996–2002). In 2003, he was awarded a scholarship by the State Scholarships Foundation and in 2013, he received the Young Painter Award from the Academy of Athens. He has presented twelve solo exhibitions in Greece and abroad and has participated in numerous group exhibitions. His works are held in major public and private collections.
In an interview with Greek News Agenda*, Juliano Kaglis reflects on his ongoing exploration of painting as a perceptual and poetic experience, the interplay between illusion and truth, and the subtle ways in which painting can reveal what lies beneath the surface of the visible world.
In your painting, figuration and abstraction coexist. What purpose does each serve, and how do you achieve a balance between them?
Figuration is life—the “objective” part of the world where our shared experiences meet. That’s where I begin, establishing common ground with the viewer. From what we know, I move toward what even I do not yet know: abstraction, the realm of poetry and the unknown.
I am not interested in a theoretical or formal dialogue between the two. The balance emerges through the process itself. Instinct guides me, and the work undergoes numerous transformations until that fragile equilibrium appears.
How does your creative process unfold? Where do your subjects come from?
The process is slightly different each time—partly so I do not get bored, and partly because each subject has its own demands. Some themes haunt me, and I return to them in new variations. Often, a fleeting moment in life suddenly reveals its poetic dimension. That is when the desire arises to extend it into infinity, to “freeze” it forever.
Anything can become a starting point: a nighttime walk in the park, an aquarium, a violent storm. But that is only the beginning—an elusive idea, essentially almost nothing—until the work becomes something real. That is where the heart of painting lies.
When do you consider a work complete?
Many times, I tell myself, “It’s finished,” but a few days later I look at it with calm and clarity and see that something is not working. Then I return to it, rework it… and begin again. Often, I need to leave it for weeks or even months to gain the distance required to understand what the work itself is asking for.
In the early stages, there is a freshness in the gesture, an initial charm, but one must dare to “ruin” it in order to move forward, to go deeper. In truth, a work never really ends. There simply comes a moment when you decide to let it go, aware of both your own limits and those of your materials.
What elements would you say define your art?
A painter is always emotionally entangled with their work, so they are not necessarily the best person to judge what they have achieved or meant to express. The work exists for the viewer.
In simple terms, I am interested in beginning with the visible, with realism, and gradually letting the work guide me elsewhere. I am drawn to moments that seem familiar but conceal something beneath the surface.
For me, painting is a transition—from observation toward a more poetic, almost metaphysical sensation. If a work does not ultimately possess a certain magic, I am not interested.
How easy is it for an artist to balance a recognizable identity with experimentation?
Identity is not something one should pursue. Trying to establish a style can feel contrived. We do not invent our handwriting; we do not think about it—we simply write. And that is what makes it unique. I have never sought to be recognizable. My goal has always been to make a good painting, as I understand it. Since I am the one making it, it will inevitably reflect my own vision of the world.
Experimentation for its own sake does not interest me; it has value only if it leads somewhere. I show the viewer what I discovered while painting. Why would I show them my experiments? My intentions are secondary—in art, what matters is the final work, the distilled essence.
*Interview by Dora Trogadi
Featured photo credits Xaviera Kouvara
