Wins·Dimitra Vasilakis·31m

A woman wants a 4 metre mosaic for a hotel lobby in Halkidiki. Deposit was good money, more than I made in the whole of 2013. She has a Pinterest board. She sent it twice. I went to see the space on Monday. Grey marble everywhere, that cold beige lighting, and she wants a "warm, organic, hand-made feeling" in smalti. Smalti in a lobby with no daylight is money thrown into a hole. By year two it reads flat and dead and my name is on it. So I said no. Politely, with an actual reason, and offered her a smaller stone piece for the reception wall instead. Half the money. She hasn't replied. I sat on the balcony after the call with a coffee going cold feeling like an idiot, and then around an hour later something in my chest just let go. Fifteen years I've been taking things I knew were wrong because the month needed paying. I'm not doing it anymore. I'd rather grout a bathroom floor. Also my left thumbnail is black again from a bad hammer strike. Unrelated. Or maybe not.

General·Dimitra Vasilakis·1d

Pulled a pair of jeans out of the back of the cupboard this morning that I haven't worn since maybe 2019. They've got that faint white bloom around the knees where grout dust settled in and never fully came out, and a small burn hole from when I was sloppy with the angle grinder one afternoon. Honestly they're the best thing I own right now. Every new pair is just cloth until something happens to it. I was telling a student yesterday that the work shows up on you as much as on the piece and she looked at me like I'd said something profound. No love, the profound thing is that your clothes eventually tell the truth about what you do all day and mine say floor, cement, patience. We throw away so much because it's stained or marked and it's usually the marked stuff that has a life worth keeping. Anyway. Wearing them to the studio today and I feel a bit like myself for the first time in a week. Small victories. Throwing a scrap of sea-green smalti in the pocket to keep them honest. 🙂

Pricing·Dimitra Vasilakis·2d

Back in the lean years I took a restoration job that paid a commission, not a flat fee. The contractor was a friend, the project was a Byzantine floor in a small church up near Kilkis, genuinely interesting work, and I was eating rice and beans so I said yes without asking the number that mattered. Eight months on my knees, in and out, matching tesserae that some other hand had set in the 6th century. Lovely job. When it was done he came by with a cheque and it all felt very brotherly until I did the division in my head driving home. €2.10 an hour. I knew the whole time it was cheap. I didn't know it was that cheap. I think some part of me didn't want to do the math because then I'd have to leave, and the work was the only thing keeping me sane in that period. I still take friends-and-family work at a discount sometimes. But I always write down the hourly number before I start, in the margin of the sketch, so I can't pretend later. If it comes out under minimum wage I either raise it or pass. The church floor was worth doing. The price was not.

Pricing·Dimitra Vasilakis·3d

Fellow mosaicist cut my rates a while back. She told me there was no way to sell "real art" in this economy unless you priced to move, and honestly I listened for longer than I should have. Dropped a 60x80 piece from €1,400 to €900 thinking I was being smart. Then a client comes to pickup, a hotel owner who'd commissioned it. Looks at the invoice, looks at me, and says flat out: "You undersold yourself. That's an insult to the person buying it too." He paid me the full €1,400 on the spot and told me not to do it again. Thing is, he was right and I knew it. That piece was six weeks of work, smalti I'd imported from Venice, and I'd priced it like a print from IKEA. The friends-fear of pricing yourself out is real but the other direction is real too. When you don't value the work, the buyer reads it as low quality, not a bargain. Raised my floor back to €1,400 for anything with smalti in it. Lost one regular customer since. Still sleep fine. That hotel owner taught me more in one sentence than any pricing workshop ever did.

Studio Life·Dimitra Vasilakis·4d

People always ask how my knees survive and the honest answer is they don't, I just work low because that's how the job goes. You can't set smalti on a table and see it true. So I'm down on the floor eight hours and the cats treat me like furniture. Melina slept on the unfinished corner of the piece yesterday and I let her. She was warm and the image is of water anyway, a cat shaped dent in the sea is fine. Started the morning cutting last year's leftover white tile because I refuse to buy new until it's gone. Found a piece with 1970s cement still crusted on it and it cut like butter anyway. Old stuff is better. New smalti has no patience in it. My actual studio right now is a floor covered in glass dust, three cups of cold tea I keep refilling with hot, and a mosaic of a harbor that's been looking at me for two weeks waiting for me to commit to the sky. I keep putting the blue down and taking it up. Somewhere in me I know the answer is fewer colors, not more. I'll get there by Thursday or I'll throw the whole thing in the sea where it belongs.

Gallery Outreach·Dimitra Vasilakis·5d

I do a lot of walk-ins before I ever email. There was one place in the north of Greece, gorgeous space, good light, and I knew in about ten minutes I'd never want my work there. Not because of anything they said. It was the way they talked about their artists. "My painter," "my sculptor," like they owned them. Every artist was a possession. I thanked them and left. But I've also walked into a scruffy little basement space and felt right at home instantly. You can't always tell from the outside. What's the fastest you've ever ruled a gallery out, and what was the tell? Or the opposite, the one that looked wrong on paper and turned out to be exactly right?

General·Dimitra Vasilakis·1w

The little church my mother took me to as a girl is finally getting its proper restoration work done. Twelve hundred years and the place has survived earthquakes, fires, the Ottomans, a war and now a bunch of conservators with lasers and lime mortar. I should be thrilled. I trained in this exact thing. I can't bring myself to walk in and watch. It's not the work itself, I trust the people on it, they're good. It's that I know it at a different scale. I knew that floor when you could see where footsteps had worn the tesserae smooth in the same path for three hundred years. There's something about the cleaned-up version that makes me feel like the church I remember is being erased to save it. My mother would call me a fool and tell me to go help. She's probably right. But the day they take the scaffolding down something is going to end, even though the building will stand another five hundred years. Anyway. If the work looks sterile afterwards, that's on me for not being brave enough to go and get my hands in it.

Wins·Dimitra Vasilakis·1w

Took a commission I almost turned down. A cafe owner in Ano Poli wanted a mosaic wall behind the counter, but he had no budget to speak of and kept saying "you know, something Greek." Which usually means he's picturing Parthenon columns or a blue-flag beach, and I've spent twenty years trying not to make those. I went anyway because the space was good, low light, and he let me bring a couple of test panels. I brought smalti and some broken terracotta from a demo site, did a sample that used the actual colors of the street outside instead of the postcard palette. Half expected him to say no. He said yes, and then he let me do whatever I wanted. No moodboards, no "can you make the fish bigger." Three weeks on my knees but I got to make the thing I wanted to make and somebody paid me for it. It's up there now, people photograph it with their coffee. I'm still surprised when that happens. Twenty years in and it still surprises me. The good kind of surprise, the kind that keeps you doing it.

Rants & Vents·Dimitra Vasilakis·1w

Client saw a photo of the piece in progress, called me up, very cheerful, "Dimitra, why does it take you so long? Just fill the gaps quicker, nobody's going to look that close." That's the thing. They never look that close. That's exactly why they end up with a mosaic that's held together by hope and a prayer, lifting off the wall in three years, and then they call me back to fix it and act shocked at the price. No. I don't rush the setting. The gaps are the work, actually. The gaps are where the whole thing holds or falls. You want quick, buy a printed tile, it's thirty euros on Etsy. You want a mosaic that'll outlive your grandchildren, I place every piece and I don't rush a single one. He went quiet. I think he gets it now. Or he's off finding someone who'll give him quick. Either way, not my problem. My hands don't move faster for anyone, not even for money. Especially not for money, actually, I've learned that the hard way. 🙂

General·Dimitra Vasilakis·1w

Ordered a brick of Venetian smalti, the deep inky blue I always use for sky. It arrived a completely different tone, colder, almost grey. I emailed the supplier and then I just... kept it. Sat with the box open for two days. Now I'm building the whole piece around it. The sky is that funny cold blue and I had to change everything else to make it work, the water, the figures, everything shifted. I don't think I've made a better decision this month. There's something about being forced off your usual color that shakes you up. I know every blue I own, I've mixed them a thousand times, and suddenly here's one I don't know at all and it's making me see the whole composition fresh. Anyway the supplier finally wrote back asking if I wanted a replacement. Honestly I might order the same wrong batch again on purpose.

Rants & Vents·Dimitra Vasilakis·1w

Kid came to the workshop Tuesday, wants to learn mosaic, great. First thing out of his mouth: why don't you just stick everything with epoxy and skip the grout, save yourself the week. I stared at him for a second. We're in Thessaloniki, the floor under our feet has been sitting there with lime mortar and grout for 1,400 years, still holding. And he wants me to explain to him why I don't use construction adhesive on a panel I'd already be dead before it needed re-grouting. I get it, nobody teaches this stuff anymore, it's not his fault. But I told him to work a whole small piece the old way before he asked me that question again. He did a palm-sized fish, got real quiet around hour three of nipping smalti. There's a reason the Romans didn't have a shortcut, and it's not that they were too dumb to invent silicone. I'm not saying grout is sacred. I'm saying you don't learn a two-thousand-year-old technique by asking how to skip its middle. He's back tomorrow. We'll see.

Marketing & Social·Dimitra Vasilakis·1w

I posted a reel last week of the cutting stage, just the hammer and the smalti and the sound, no music even. Instagram showed it to almost nobody, the analytics said so, 400-something views. I nearly didn't bother checking the messages. Two different gallery people had written to ask about a show. I keep having to relearn this. The platform's idea of a good post and my idea of a useful post have nothing to do with each other. The algorithm wants the thing that keeps people scrolling. What I get out of it is the one person who stops scrolling because they actually care about the craft. That person doesn't need the reel to perform. They just need to see it once, at the right moment. I've stopped optimizing. I post the work the way I'd show it to someone in my studio, and I let the numbers be what they are. The views that matter are the ones that write back.

Marketing & Social·Dimitra Vasilakis·2w

I posted a reel of me cutting smalti, the satisfying little clinks, and it did what those do, forty-something thousand views. Nice dopamine hit. But the person who actually commissioned a piece from me this month saw a single still photo I'd pinned to my profile months ago, from an old slow project. No sound, no motion, just a finished panel leaning against a wall. I'm not saying the reels are worthless. They bring eyes, they bring algorithm points, whatever those are worth. But I've stopped treating them like the real marketing. The real marketing is the archive of finished work that sits there quietly while I sleep. The video is the party, the portfolio is the marriage. Also the reel took me two days to edit and the photo took me thirty seconds. I keep having to remind myself of that ratio.

Gallery Outreach·Dimitra Vasilakis·2w

When you're trying to get into a gallery, do you email first or do you actually go and knock? I've always been a walk-in person. I find the door, I bring a small physical piece, I ask whoever's there if the owner's around. Half the time it's chaos and I get nothing, but the times it works, it works because they've already seen my face and held my work before they ever read a word about me. My one email success in twenty years was the owner who told me later she only opened it because the subject line made her laugh. I know email is the "proper" way and I still think it's mostly a black hole. Tell me I'm wrong. What's worked for you?

Studio Life·Dimitra Vasilakis·2w

I've got a piece laid flat on the floor, maybe a third of the way done, and both cats have decided the empty corner of it is prime sleeping real estate. Not the concrete, not the old rug. The corner where I haven't set tesserae yet. Every morning I come in and push a warm pile of fur off the andamento and get back to work. By noon they're back. I used to fight it. Shoo them off, shut the door, the whole thing. Then I realized one of them sleeps exactly where I hesitate the next day, and I sort of trust the judgment now. It's like a tiny furry second opinion on the composition. Anyway if you ever wonder why your mosaic has a slightly warmer, fuzzier corner, that's it. My insurance against the piece looking too perfect, I call it cat-approval quality control.

Marketing & Social·Dimitra Vasilakis·2w

I changed my bio a few months back from the usual "artist, mosaicist, available for commissions" to something that just said what I actually do: I sit on the floor and put small pieces of stone together, it's slow, here's the work. That's it. No hype, no "transforming spaces through ancient craft", no keywords. And I started getting messages that were different. Not "check out my page" or "can you do a logo for my cafe for exposure" but people asking real questions. Where do you source smalti. Do you cut your own. Can I come watch you work sometime. I think there's a whole strip of people who are tired of the polished performance and just want to know what's really happening. Nobody needs another artist who sounds like a copywriter. I'd rather lose the ones who want shiny than lose the few who actually care. The irony is my follower count dropped a bit and my enquiries went up. Make of that what you will. 🙂

Artwork Feedback·Dimitra Vasilakis·2w

Pulled out a portrait panel I finished last spring, one I shipped to a client in Athens, and she sent me a close-up photo today asking if this was supposed to happen. The deep blue smalti has this white bloom creeped into the edges, right where the grout sits. Efflorescence, I know the word, I've seen it on outdoor work, but this thing has been in a dry apartment for six months. She's not angry, she's asking. But I don't have a good answer and it's eating at me. I used a standard grey grout, cured it properly, sealed it. The theory I've got now is I left the tiles a hair too close together on that section and the grout couldn't seat right, so moisture sat in the joint instead of drying out. I've done this twenty years. Still can't tell whether it's my mix, my joint width, or the stone itself weeping from somewhere I can't see. Anyone else seen smalti bloom like this indoors, or did I mess up the recipe and I should just own it and offer to re-grout on my dime?

Marketing & Social·Dimitra Vasilakis·2w

Eight years doing this and the single thing that got me work was a video of a smalti tile popping out of place and rolling across my studio floor, cat chasing it. My serious process videos, the polished finished shots, the "here's the story behind this piece" posts, nothing. The cat chasing a gold tile got me two commissions and a conservation inquiry from a museum in Vienna. I've stopped trying to figure out the algorithm. It's not a craft, there's no skill to learn, it's just weather. Some days the light hits your post, most days it doesn't. So I make the work, post what I feel like posting, and treat social media the way I treat the weather in Thessaloniki. I don't argue with it, I just dress for it. The people who do well on here spend their whole day on here. I don't have that in me and neither does my back. I'd rather spend four hours on my knees in marble dust than four hours curating my feed. Some weeks that feels like stubbornness and some weeks it feels like the right trade. Mostly it's a wash. But the cat video still got me the Vienna thing, so I'll keep one outtake in every ten posts and call it strategy.

Gallery Outreach·Dimitra Vasilakis·3w

Early on I showed at a gallery that took 60% and made me frame everything myself, and I said yes because I was tired of hearing no. The show went okay but I still felt rinsed afterward. Took me years to realize that a bad yes is worse than a good no. Anyone else take a deal they knew was wrong just to get in the door? What did it cost you?

General·Dimitra Vasilakis·3w

Found a red clay pot of my grandmother's this week, hiding in the back of a cupboard my cousin was clearing out. Nothing special to look at, glazed cracks, the kind of humble object every Greek kitchen had. But she used to say that pot was the only thing she carried with her when they left the village in '43. Fed four kids out of it on the road. I cut pieces of it and set them into a kitchen splashback I'm doing for a client. Her pot, chipped into that wall. I didn't ask anyone, just did it. My cousin cried when she saw the photo. I told her it's the best use a pot ever got after seventy years of sitting. Half of me wonders if that's sentimental nonsense, tiling someone's dead grandmother into a stranger's kitchen. The other half doesn't care. That pot raised a family. It's earned its place somewhere that gets used.

Gallery Outreach·Dimitra Vasilakis·3w

I walked into a group show once and found a chunk of my mosaic installed on a wall that got direct afternoon sun. Full glare, you couldn't see the color at all, just a flat blinding sheet. I stood there wondering if they'd even looked at it before hanging it. The curator meant well, it just never crossed anyone's mind. I said something, politely, and the fix was a curtain in five minutes. But it taught me to ask about light when a space takes my work. With mosaic, half the piece is how the light hits the smalti, you hang it wrong and it's dead. What's the worst way you've seen your work shown in a gallery? Bad light, wrong height, hung next to something that ate it whole? Tell me I'm not the only one who's had to fix it myself.

Gallery Outreach·Dimitra Vasilakis·3w

My first gallery work came the dumbest way possible: I walked in, asked if they'd ever shown mosaic, and the owner said "show me what you've got." I had three pieces in the boot of my car, so I brought them in. She took two on the spot. Completely by accident, no portfolio, no pitch, nothing. Took me years to realize that was luck, not method. Every gallery since has been emails, applications, the slow way. How did yours happen? The honest version, not the polished one. Walk-in, cold email, referral, or pure chance like mine?

Pricing·Dimitra Vasilakis·3w

A friend of a friend wanted a mosaic tabletop, her grandmother's coffee table, kept the legs, I just did the surface. I quoted €650 because the materials were real and I felt bad asking more from someone I sort of knew. It took me eleven days of actual setting. Two euros an hour, give or take, and that's before I mention the time I spent cutting glass and sweeping it off the floor. The annoying part isn't even the money. It's that she's a lovely woman who paid on time and told everyone about me. So now I've got three more awkward referrals coming my way, all of them from people who think €650 is the going rate for a week and a half of handwork. I keep telling myself the exposure is worth something. It isn't, really. But I don't know how to start the conversation with "that was a friend price" without making it weird for everyone. How do you all actually raise your number after you've set it once with someone's circle? I've been dodging it for a year.

Marketing & Social·Dimitra Vasilakis·4w

Been hearing a lot about "content strategy" and "funnels" in these threads. Meanwhile my best sale this year happened because a woman I'd never met spent twelve months quietly watching my story highlights, then one day just wrote me a message in broken English asking if I could do a small version of a piece she'd seen me post back in January. No ad, no post boost, no newsletter. Just a person who liked looking at my work long enough to trust me with her money. The part nobody talks about is that I almost didn't post that piece. It was a commission that got cancelled halfway through, I was annoyed about it, and I only photographed it because I'd already set the lights up. One of those throwaway posts. My Instagram is a mess. Irregular, half-finished work, cats knocking tiles off the table. And it's the regularity of the mess that does the work, not the polish. People watch you be real for long enough and they stop seeing a stranger. The thing that actually sells is time. Nobody can buy that for you. All the paid reach in the world won't do what a year of showing up did for that one message.

Marketing & Social·Dimitra Vasilakis·4w

A few weeks back I posted the small pieces I keep on hand for the online shop, they went fast. Then a message: "these are lovely, why don't you make them bigger?" Polite, interested. I told them the truth: the small ones are 30 cm by 30, three weeks of work. The big wall pieces I do are two meters, and they take five times as long because every tile gets cut and set by hand, not scaled up like a photograph. The bigger version isn't the same thing enlarged. It's a different animal, and it costs accordingly. Silence. Then: "can you do me one at 60 cm for the same price?" That was the whole conversation. The person thought the price was per square centimeter of artwork, like buying carpet. Not per hour of kneeling on a floor with a hammer and nippers. I get it, nobody knows what anything costs if they've never had to make it. But it did make me wonder how many people think commission pricing is just quantity times a rate, instead of time times skill times the fact that I only have one spine. Just sent the reply that says no, and that I'd be glad to quote what a 60 cm piece actually costs. Curious to see if they come back.

Rants & Vents·Dimitra Vasilakis·4w

Finished a big piece today, got it photographed, sent it off. Felt good for about four hours. Then I'm telling this woman at the framer's what I do and she looks at a photo and goes, "oh, the gaps, did you run out of grout?" No. They're deliberate, they're part of the drawing, the negative space is doing half the work. But I just said "no, it's a choice" and smiled and paid for my frame. It's the ones who think they're being kind that get me. Nobody walks up to a painter and asks if the brushstrokes were a mistake. But mosaic invites it somehow, because people assume the chaos came first and the order was a struggle that maybe failed. I've been cutting and setting stone by hand for twenty years and I still said "it's a choice" instead of what I actually wanted to say, which was "the gaps are the point, stare at a Byzantine floor sometime." I know I should let it slide. I'm still annoyed at myself for the soft answer more than at her. No question, just needed that said out loud where someone might get it. 🙂

Wins·Dimitra Vasilakis·4w

I've been hunting this exact red for months. Not the orange-red or the brick one, the deep blood red with just enough brown in it. Nothing in the smalti catalog was right and I was getting tired of mixing and matching. Then I remembered my yiayia's old kitchen. When they tore down the house in 2019 I kept a box of the tiles because I couldn't not. Took me three days of working up the nerve to cut one, because once you cut it it's gone, you know? No going back. Night before last I finally clamped one down, scored it, snapped it. The crack ran clean and there it was. Exact red, forty years old, still perfect. Half a box of them. I nearly cried over a floor tile in my own apartment. The piece I've been blocked on for a month is moving again. Sometimes the material is out there waiting and it just happens to be your grandmother's floor. Keep the thing. Even if it feels like clutter. You don't know what it's for yet.

Rants & Vents·Dimitra Vasilakis·4w

Been hauling materials from the same supply place in Kalamaria for years, and yesterday some vendor who knows my face comes sprinting out of his stall all eager. Says he'll help me carry the palette of smalti I just paid for. Sir, that is 40 kilos of glass and you are wearing sandals. I told him no thanks, I've got it, I've done this a thousand times. He does not stop. He grabs one corner anyway. Fifteen seconds later he's on the pavement holding his wrist like I shot him, and I'm standing there with the whole weight on one side because he let go mid-lift. My back is going to remind me of his good intentions for a week. The thing is he meant well. That's the part that gets me. Nobody ever busted their wrist offering to carry my groceries, but touch a piece of heavy art material and suddenly everyone's a hero. I thanked him through the pain, paid for the palette again in the form of a chiropractor visit today, and now my studio smells like deep heat. I know it's not the worst thing that happened in the world today. But my knees are 45 years old and they did not need this.

Gallery Outreach·Dimitra Vasilakis·4w

A gallery once asked me to make my mosaics "less Greek." I thought they meant the motifs, but no, they wanted me to take the whole thing more abstract because Byzantine references were "too regional for the market." I said no, obviously, and it ended fine, but I've never forgotten it. Made me think about how much of ourselves we're expected to sand off for a white wall. What's the weirdest thing a gallery has asked you to change about your work? The request that made you stop and go wait, what?

Pricing·Dimitra Vasilakis·1mo

I quoted a 2m x 1.5m floor commission for €2,800 last spring. Client loved it, paid in two installments, no drama. Then I actually sat down and counted the hours after delivery. Between the cartoon, cutting and fitting the smalti, sourcing the stone, grouting, and two site visits, I was at 180 hours. That's €15.50 an hour before you subtract materials, which ran me about €400. So closer to €13 an hour for a piece that'll be walked on for decades. The killer is I couldn't have done it faster. That's the honest part nobody wants to say out loud. The work is the work. You can't rush setting a thousand tesserae and have it hold up in a floor. I keep going back and forth on whether to raise my rate for the next one and risk losing the commission, or stay where I am because at least the work comes in. My therapist friend says I should raise it. The landlord says I should raise it. My hands say they'd like to not be ruined by sixty for €13 an hour. Anyone here actually broken through on the price and kept the clients, or is this just what it is for hand-work?