Evangelia Dimitrakopoulou

featured by Guillermo Moreno Mirallas

Evangelia Dimitrakopoulou, born in Athens, Greece, and now based in London, is a sculptor and multimedia artist known for their evocative installations. Their work explores themes of Otherness, disassociation, and care through innovative use of sculptural elements, often incorporating olfactory and edible components. Dimitrakopoulo holds an MFA from Goldsmiths University of London and both a BA and MFA in Sculpture from the Athens School of Fine Arts. They have been recognized with the ACME Early Career Award (2020-2021) and currently hold a residency at The Bomb Factory Marylebone, participating in notable residencies like Documenta 14.

During our interview, Dimitrakopoulo shares insights into how themes of discomfort, isolation, and “Otherness” relate to experiences of disconnection in physical and digital spaces. They reflect on the dynamics of control and surveillance in public spaces, the importance of viewer participation in their work, and the interplay between digital and physical realities.

Evangelia Dimitrakopoulou, RAGE CAP. 2020. Courtesy of the artist.
RAGE CAP is a lament of an unknown narrator in a fugue state on losing the feeling of touch and the Earth switching polarities, rioting against its continuous orbit around the Sun.

Guillermo Moreno Mirallas: Your work frequently delves into themes of discomfort, isolation, and “Otherness.” How do you relate these themes to the experiences of disconnection that people encounter in both physical and digital environments, and what impact do they have on individual identity and perception in contemporary society?

Evangelia Dimitrakopoulo: Isolation can be a conscious choice for some. I comment on marginalization from personal experiences and those I have lived through the lens of others: bullying, harassment, apathy, and exclusion due to race, queerness, body image, neurodiversity, homelessness, and economic situations. Neoliberal society loves to marginalize by creating huge economic gaps and forcing us to fend for ourselves with no pause in sight, generating frustration that is manipulated and targeted at those who do not fit into the stereotypes it promotes.

Those spaces of possible rejection are characterized by this uncomfortable feeling. It doesn’t have to be necessarily hostile; however, the distinction of a hierarchy of power intentionally creates a feeling of awe/subjugation. It is also insidious, as it is only perceived by those who are its targets. Examples include blue lights used in public bathrooms to make it impossible for users to locate veins for drug use, high-pitched frequency sounds that target younger people and make it impossible for them to congregate, and divided benches that restrict rough sleeping. However, the exclusion is embedded into us, communities of people indoctrinated into prohibiting space from groups that do not fit the norm of neoliberal society.

As Philip Grant states in Catastrophe Time, “Through alienation, people and things become mobile assets as they can be removed from their life worlds in distance-defying transport to be exchanged with other assets from other life worlds, elsewhere.” Keller Easterling also notes, “we can see what the medium is saying but not what the medium is doing.” The obscurity of acts in day-to-day life goes beyond those entities that belong to it.

Conspiracy theories and platforms like 4chan gave rise to pill theories and incels. This creation of small nuclei that reject basic freedoms of others and religiously pledge their devotion to a distorted cause is generated by those who wish us to be subjugated as a society. It is yet another way of a power structure that is ghostly, taking space in a digital realm. The assumption of a username and pent-up frustration unleashes without any protection. The influx of information online is an amalgam of fiction, biases, and in-world events. I like to think of information and data as vapors and sounds, able to permeate us at any given point as there are no real barriers dividing us from their ghostly “bodies.”

Exposure is higher than in the physical realm as a vast majority of the world exists online. The ultimate discomfort is disbelief in your surroundings, questioning your senses and your beliefs. I like to play with the idea of creating a hazy environment, either with the utilization of forms such as my related-to-cosmic-horror-forms-pieces or with the creation of smellscapes that can infiltrate you in the same way the uncomfortable ambiance does. This refers to a power play, control over bodies and perception.

Eva Dimitrakopoulou. XTspicie, 2022. Video triptych. Courtesy of the artist.

Eva Dimitrakopoulou. XTspicie, 2022. Slug Leipzig. Curated by Colette Patterson. Courtesy of the artist.

Your practice explores the connection between bodies and complex systems, and you incorporate elements of brutalist and defensive architecture in your installations. How do these elements reflect the dynamics of control and surveillance in contemporary public spaces?

There is a hierarchy of power present in everyday life. The development of the city speaks of the abolition of any historical character, and its change to a corporate/profitable cause (the demolition of Exarchia Square in the center of Athens). Scaffolding is a symbol of change, of building something “new, bigger, better.” It has a swift and temporary character, making the identity of investment quick and targeted. It is like a volatile mouth. The creation of corporate spaces demands constant monitoring as its “inclusive” character is, in reality, bigoted and selective. An expansion such as the one we witness in the western world aims to curate a group of those left to interact with in the public space, making difference invisible. The face of the Other can be a mirror of yourself.

Defensive architecture tropes are only perceived by those targeted by them. For others, it is a form of design that can be seen as pleasing, which enforces the uncanniness of it. On one hand, brutalist and defensive architecture elements are symbols of control and surveillance; on the other hand, they constitute our cycle ride to work, the outside of our home, public services: all those places we are exposed to constantly, our reality. The eerie is contained in the mundane and it is normalized. This is what fascinates me: the way we can get used to the uncanny. It is a matter of time, as different generations have varied perceptions, but what seems unreasonable to one is the norm for another. The marvel of the architecture of the free trade city is that it speaks of freedom of movement while it restricts it.

Many of your works require active participation from the viewer. In a world increasingly mediated by technology and social media, how do you think this interactivity can transform the relationship between the public and the art? How do you see this need for interaction contrasting with the passivity that often characterises engagement with social media?

I like to remind myself that humans are storytellers. We create myths, meanings, and narratives for things that dwell around us: matter, mountains, the sky. Animism gave souls to stones; snakes are protected as guardian entities and are given milk to drink (in old Greek villages).

Translation is part of human nature. It happens automatically when we try to decipher what we witness. Our thoughts give birth to narratives which belief can spring into life. Mass hysteria, dancing plagues, and thoughtforms connect belief with a large mass of bodies; this results in a breath of “life.” It is not about whether our reality makes sense but what enables our senses to make a reality. As Lauren Berlant states, “our historical sensorium is an imaginary production structured by material forces, connecting individual, collective, and planetary time.” The connection we make with forms and concepts is how art functions: we remember things that barely have shape in our thoughts, yet we create connections with saddles and bulls (see Picasso’s bicycle bull and symbolism). That’s what I like to think of as uncanny semiotics.

While viewing a piece, an installation, being present inside a work of art, the spectator deciphers and translates what they see according to their library of information, what they have been born into, and what they have collected throughout their lives. This collection can vary between individuals. My mother is a retired Theology and Literature teacher. Our house was filled with books and atlases of different religions. Through that, I was exposed to the creation of religions, why Islam, Christianity, Shintoism, and various other systems became what they are today, what incidents pushed the myth to become belief, and how that got established. Those things made me want to research the beliefs we create for ourselves and how the term “contagion” plays a major role in their spread. By linking the formation of ideas to virology, the way meaning is promoted is through contagion.

My sculptural work is a deciphering hub, where ideas can be created, discussed, and shared, while the form is translated with the tools that every different spectator possesses. This interaction distinguishes itself from passive feeding of information. Doom scrolling is erasing information, while performative objects demand storytelling.

On the other hand, mythmaking can lead to conspiracy theories. There is no guarantee that the outcome will be the desired one. I play a lot with the double meaning of words and concepts. The word “pharmakon” in ancient Greek means both poison and cure, it is a very membrane that separates polar opposites from each other.

You speak of the “metabolisation” of information and substances in your work. Could you explain how this concept relates (if at all) to the proliferation of artificial intelligence and its impact on our understanding of information and matter?

I like to think of installations as soup recipes, where all materials are (albeit carefully) thrown into a pot. The “liquid” that encompasses the space makes the spectator an active ingredient of it, since they intake information and forms to sounds and vapors. They become a part of the pot themselves. Maybe our nature gets altered in those fleeting moments to something that contains more than our bodies and minds, something that carries the will of others. It is a collaboration of identities and concepts.

The piercing of the body through the intake of information is not only an invasion of malice. The way that communities work is through the creation of a space, an atmosphere that “infects” (in a willing way) and includes. An act of willing infection was how Bug-chasing and Gift-giving came to happen, a consensual sharing of the HIV virus in the 80s by the gay community, as a way to include and to create a sanctimonious communion.

This metaphysical way of storytelling is a political act, as by fiction we wish life into new realities. The Creator wishes the Golem into life, much like AI, which began as an ancient wish to forge gods. As Megan O’Gieblyn states in God, Human, Animal, Machine, “If it should be true, that we are surrounded by machines whose doings we cannot comprehend although we have devised and constructed them, it would mean that the theoretical perplexities of the natural sciences on the highest level have invaded our everyday world.”

AI isn’t an enemy; it can co-write, educate, and help neurodivergent individuals. But it’s a tool shaped by human tendencies. If the majority of what we feed into a program is biased against group B, then that group will be poorly treated or ignored by AI itself. This works in the binary of the “pharmakon,” in the shadowy line between prediction and determination.

You have introduced performance elements into your recent works. How do you believe these performances explore the tensions between physical public spaces and virtual spaces, if they do? What impact do you hope they will have on public perception?

In “Tenderenderrender,” the body moves in ways that mirror the muscular aesthetics of my sculptures, while also alluding to digital processes of generating mass. This digital mass is transformed and altered almost ‘alchemically’ on imperceptible scales. The way matter forms in software and then transforms into flesh acts as a bridge between the realms of fantasy and the physical. My research has delved into the transcendental aspects of 3D printing technologies, essentially willing forms to life. As Lindsay Kelley puts it in After Eating: Metabolising the Arts, “From public diets to interspecies gestation to crocheted ecosystems, research-creation and post-industrial methods traverse practice and theory to confront the transgression of theoretical categories that have historically divided body from the world, metabolism from reproduction, and science from art. Sensorily immersive performance and installation spaces produce the kinds of subjectivities and engaged publics that scientific findings will soon depend on to be understood.”

Returning to the concept of language and translation, my latest performance, “Flamming Vocals,” dives into the idea of Glossolalia or “speaking in tongues.” This phenomenon, known from both pagan rituals and Christian ceremonies, is now often seen in horror movie exorcism scenes. Pentecostal, a Christian holiday, celebrates the manifestation of “Cloven tongues of fire,” where apostles are said to gain access to the pure essence of language before words are formed. In this fiction, individuals allow themselves to be pierced by a ghostly presence, granting them new forms of communication. The distorted vocals in “Flamming Vocals” are inspired by Death metal growls, which have always been unintelligible to me. Since my teenage years, I discovered this technique involves inflaming the vocal cords, a sort of burning door between pure language and word formation. By reading excerpts from T.A.Z. The Autonomous Zone by Hakim Bay and distorting the sound to fill the space, I aim for these frequencies to act as a form of communication, creating a buzzing connection between participants. As Roland Barthes said, “A ceremony protects like a house: something that allows one to live in one’s feelings.”

Evangelia Dimitrakopoulou. Terrafuga, 2020. Courtesy of the artist.

Your installations include sensory elements beyond sight, such as smells and sounds. Do you believe these elements have the capacity to influence public awareness of social and political issues, especially in a context where the digital and visual play a central role?

Power moves and infiltrations can be described using immaterial elements: gas, ghosts, mists, vapors. These imperceptible elements, like viruses, are communicable. As Peter Sloterdijk discusses in Terror from the Air, the use of gas bombs in WWI made humans aware of the shared air we breathe and the connection among us.
Sound and smell are intrusive, penetrating without permission. While public participation is voluntary, the intake of stimuli is insidious. These influences can promote change or bombard with information. They are communicated, contagious, impure. Infection can equal change since what is able to shatter all previous concepts is seen as dangerous, a virus that can be uncontrollable if not regulated properly. What can be shared creates “communities” that are physically experienced and solidified. Invisibility plays with the binary of oppressive power and alternative ways of thinking. Like pharmakon, it is up to the group summoned forth how they might interpret it.

Evangelia Dimitrakopoulou: Crater, two high. Short version. Courtesy of the artist

Some time ago, I stumbled upon a fruit called the miracle berry. When consumed, it changes the perception of taste, making everything you eat afterward seem sweet since our glands are momentarily orchestrated to function differently. The results last for about two hours. Any experience can be understood as a mode that pierces and makes a body vulnerable, easily affected by certain exposures. Our sensation itself is never pure; it filters energies, encodes, and passes on information. Our bodies (selves and consciousnesses), the world itself, are porous, making us subjects to quiet infiltrations. What uses us as holes and gaps permeates our existences and essences.

Your work utilises the manipulation of materials to create narratives and connections. How do you see the relationship between this material manipulation and the way we consume and process information digitally today, and what role does this play in the construction of our shared reality?

Different materials hold varied meanings and symbolisms. Pairing them is an act of alchemy, creating unique results. I use sounds, smells, and lights to engage viewers beyond sight, catching the eye while other senses work in the background.

Certain sounds and smells linger, influencing perceptions. Utilizing fumes, vapors, and hormones, I create environments that trick the mind into prolonged sensory experiences. These “piercings” connect with how we consume information daily. Our minds, like our skin, are porous, absorbing and filtering energies and information.

There are small margins, sub-texts of sub-texts, terms and conditions that are hidden enough for us to override. The general fatigue of being constantly bombarded with info, through written or graphic content, which can render us blind to how it infiltrates our body and mind. Personalized ads create a consumption-centered interaction with the world. This confusion acts silently, like apparitions and ghosts.

This subtle infiltration shapes our shared reality, much like my material manipulations in art. By engaging multiple senses, I aim to create a deeper impact, encouraging viewers to question and reinterpret their interactions with both the physical and digital worlds.

Can you share some key references—whether they be movements, artists, or concepts—that have left a lasting impact on both your artistic practice and your overall artistic thinking?

Peter Sloterdijk, especially Bubbles and Terror from the Air, and the anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion have been significant influences. I have also been influenced by Keller Easterling’s Extrastatecraft: The Power of Infrastructure, Gary Zhexi Zhang’s Catastrophe Time, and Federico Campagna’s Prophetic Culture. Eve Sussman with Algorithmic Noir, Kevin J. Wetmore with Eaters of the Dead, and Marguerite Humeau’s exhibition Echoes at Tate Britain, as well as Patrick Staff’s On Venus and Pierre Huyghe’s UUmwelt at the Serpentine Gallery, have all had an impact. Additionally, the soundscapes of Sunn O)))’s Kannon have deeply influenced me.