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Got asked to do a live demo at a gallery opening in Athens next month. They said "the guests would love to watch you work." I said do you know what mosaic looks like in real time? Because I sit on a pillow on the floor and cut one piece of stone at a time and stare at it for ten minutes before I set it. That's a Tuesday. It's not performance, it's just slow. They said it's fine, people find it meditative. We'll see. Anyone else get asked to turn their studio practice into a show and find out it doesn't translate?

There's a cafe two streets from my apartment, been there forty years, looks like nobody touched the decor since 1992. I go there sometimes when I need to get out of the studio but don't want to go far. Last month I noticed the corner of a rug was lifting near the counter, and underneath there's clearly a mosaic floor. Not a good one, late Byzantine, provincial work, big tesserae, crude faces, but unmistakable. I asked the owner. She said "yeah, we put the rug over it because customers said it was ugly." I'm not making this up. A thousand-year-old floor and people found it offensive to their frappes. I told her what it was and she shrugged. Said I could lift the rug if I wanted, she doesn't care. So now I go once a week and uncover a bit more, drink my coffee, stare at this thing that's survived empires and earthquakes and is now being protected from criticism by a machine-woven rug from IKEA. Anyway. If anyone needs me I'll be on my knees with a soft brush and a very patient waiter.🙂

There's this late Byzantine panel from the Church of the Holy Apostles in Thessaloniki, Christ Pantokrator, standard stuff, and I copied it by hand for a conservation module back in 2004. Six weeks on my knees, matching every tessera, and I got it so close my professor kept it as a teaching example. The joke is that piece ruined me. I can't look at a face in mosaic anymore without measuring the eye spacing against that Pantokrator. Last week I finished a portrait commission, contemporary, abstracted, not even trying to be realistic, and I spent an hour staring at it thinking the left eye is two millimeters too far out. Client won't see it. Nobody will see it. But I know it's there because of a dead Byzantine emperor's face I memorized twenty years ago. Anyone else carry a reference piece in their head like a splinter? Something you studied so hard it rewired your eye permanently.

So I'm at this group show, standing maybe a meter from a piece of mine, and this guy walks up to the person next to him and starts explaining how mosaic is done. "They take the stones, see, and they grind them down to fit, and then they glue them onto a backing, it's very time-consuming." He's right next to me. I'm wearing the same jacket I was wearing when I was cutting that smalti at 11pm two nights before. Still have grout under my nails. And he's explaining it to someone like I'm not there, like the person who made it couldn't possibly be in the room. I said "it's actually easier than it looks" and walked away. Couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or toss a handful of tesserae at his head. So I just went and found the wine. Does this happen to anyone else or is there a sign on my forehead that says "please explain my own job to me"?

I have this piece, it's a landscape with a lot of tiny tesserae, and it's technically perfect, the lines are clean, the colors are all there. But it just... doesn't breathe. It feels flat, like a photograph. I've tried adding more texture with some rougher stones, even some broken glass, but it's not lifting it. Maybe it's the composition, or maybe I need to think about the 'andamento' differently. Any ideas on how to bring life into a mosaic that feels like it's just lying there?

I did the math on this one after it was already delivered. The stone alone cost €340, the smalti I had on hand but that's hours of cutting I don't account for. Six weeks of work, five days a week, roughly eight hours a day on the floor. Comes out to about €11 an hour before materials. Less than I'd pay someone to fix my plumbing. And the client was happy, the piece is genuinely good, I'm proud of it. That's the trap, right? You feel good about the work so you don't notice the numbers until later. I keep saying I'll calculate my rate upfront on the next one. Never do.

A gallery in Athens wanted my work a few years ago, but they wanted it on canvas. I work in mosaic, on board or panel, because that's what holds the stone. Canvas sags, the smalti pops off, it's not the medium. They said "we can't sell mosaic, it's too heavy for our wall system." I said well, that's what I make. And I didn't get the show. Walked away from it. Still don't know if I was right or just stubborn. Probably a bit of both. What's the line for you? The thing a gallery asked you to change that you wouldn't, or the thing you did change and it worked out?

I took on a commission last year that I was genuinely unsure about. A woman brought me a box of broken tile from her old family bathroom, the renovation had just torn it out, and asked if I could make something from it. Not a mosaic of something, she said. Just... the tile itself, made into something that feels like it means something. I said yes because I liked her face and I needed the work. Then I sat with five kilos of beige ceramic for three months not knowing what to do. Tried arranging it as patterns, tried mixing it with other material, nothing worked. It just looked like broken bathroom tile. In the end I cut every single piece smaller, reduced it all to tiny irregular shards, almost like coarse sand, and set it into a very simple circle, graded from pale to dark, like a kind of eclipse or a coin. No image. Just the material, transformed by being reduced and rebuilt. Took weeks of just cutting and placing, cutting and placing. She picked it up yesterday and cried. Said it looked like her grandmother's bathroom floor, which wasn't even something I knew about. I don't know if I'll ever do that again, but I'm glad I did it once. Something about letting the material lead instead of imposing a design. Hard to describe. But it worked.

There's a five-gallon bucket under my main bench that's been collecting offcuts for two years now. Granite chips, bits of alabaster, broken corners off pieces I finished or ruined. I tell myself I'll use them for something someday. Mosaic maybe. Or just crush them for texture in a base. I've never done it. I just keep dropping scraps in there and looking at it sometimes. Some habits are just habits. Not everything needs a reason. But I notice the bucket when I'm stuck on something and it's the only thing in the shop I don't have an opinion about.

Third time was the charm but god it hurt. I'm working on this piece, a dog's face, big, maybe 70cm square, all in smalti, and the curve of the jaw wanted a flow I just couldn't feel at first. Cut it, laid it, stood up, looked at it. Wrong. Took it out. Next day, same thing. Wrong again. It's not even the time that gets you, it's the doubt. Is this actually wrong or am I too close to it? Do I keep pushing or trust the knot in my stomach? With mosaic especially there's no fixing it later, once it's set you're not moving it without damage. So you sit there with a hammer and a pair of tweezers and you just have to feel it before you cut. Anyway. Day after tomorrow I start the ear and I think I've got the flow now. Maybe. We'll see.

I took on a private student a few years back, right after the worst of the crisis here. She was young, maybe 24, no money at all but she wanted to learn mosaic so badly. She showed up at my studio with a five-liter tin of her family's olive oil and asked if we could trade. I said yes because I remembered what it was like to be young and broke and hungry for a skill. She came once a week for six months. She was terrible with the hammer and hardie at first, kept shattering the glass instead of cutting it. But she learned. She ended up getting a commission for a hotel lobby last year. When she sent me photos I actually teared up a little. Meanwhile I get DMs every week from people who want to "collaborate", meaning they want my work for exposure, or they want me to teach them for free because "it would be good for my brand." I don't answer those anymore. The olive oil was good, by the way. Her family makes it near Kalamata. I used it for six months and every time I cooked with it I thought, this is what paying attention to someone actually looks like.

Was in a church in the old town today, not for work, just wandered in. And there's this floor mosaic I've walked past maybe a hundred times, Roman, nothing special, geometric, the tesserae are rough and uneven, some have come loose. But today I sat down on the cold stone and just looked at it for fifteen minutes. Some woman thought I was having a crisis. I was having a crisis actually. Crisis of admiration. The person who laid that floor, their hammer strokes are still in the stone. Pieces they cut with their own hands, eighteen hundred years ago, still holding. And I sit on my own floor at home, cutting the same material, same gestures, same ache in the neck after too long. I don't know why it hit me today and not the other times. Maybe I needed it to. Anyway if you've never sat on a church floor staring at somebody else's work for a quarter of an hour, try it. Feels strange and good.

My studio floor is permanently dusty with stone grit and tiny bits of broken tile. I sweep it three times a week and it looks like I haven't touched it in a year within an hour. I've given up pretending otherwise. There's this thing people don't talk about with mosaic, you work on the floor. Not at a table, not at an easel, on the floor. On your knees, leaning over, getting up stiff. I've got a piece of old carpet I sit on and a cushion my yiayia made that's basically flat now. The floor is where the andamento happens, where you see the whole thing at once and your back starts complaining. I had a younger artist visit last week, works in digital, and she looked at my setup and said "you actually sit on the ground?" like I was doing something exotic. No, I said, I'm just a mosaicist, this is just how it's been done since before we had chairs. Anyway. I'm about to sweep again. It'll be dusty by tomorrow.

My main workspace faces north-ish and in winter the light is this flat grey thing that flattens everything I'm cutting. I know people who chase the sun around their house with their work, move their table every few hours. I just... work in it. Put a task lamp on it and get on with it. The colours look different when the piece finally gets into proper light anyway, I've learned to allow for it. My conservation teacher used to say you should only ever judge a mosaic in the light it's going to live in, which is fine if you're doing a floor for a church in Palaiokastritsa, not so helpful when your client's living room faces west and you're working under a cloud.

I've had the same cheap IKEA table for eight years and I barely use it. Everything happens on the floor. Mosaic is like that, you need to lean over the work, reach across it, shift your weight. I sit cross-legged on a cushion my yiayia made, and the cats treat the whole setup as their personal bed. I've got a proper workbench in the other room collecting dust. But when I'm cutting smalti I need to be low, close, feel the hammer hit. Standing feels disconnected. My left knee has opinions about this arrangement. We negotiate.