Spyros Demetriades (b. 1950, Limassol, Cyprus) is a Cypriot artist who has been active for over 47 years. He is known for his distinctive visual language, which draws on a variety of media including collage, ink, and silkscreen printing, while remaining primarily rooted in watercolour and oil painting.

He studied at the Academy of Applied Arts in Prague (VŠUP) from 1971 to 1977, specializing in illustration intended for animation. After university, he worked briefly in advertising but was soon won over by painting, which became the core of his artistic career.

Demetriades’ work engages with the urban landscape of Cyprus, exploring themes of identity and everyday life. While not always overt, many of his paintings contain undertones of social and anti-war commentary. A subtle sense of humor runs through his work, adding depth and irony to his observations of contemporary reality.

Over the course of his career, Demetriades has held more than 25 solo exhibitions in Cyprus and abroad. In 2022, the Limassol Municipal Arts Centre—Apothikes Papadaki hosted a major retrospective, Spyros Demetriades: Life in Motion, presenting works from across 45 years of his artistic production.

Notable series include Armotourism, which explores the relationship between occupying powers and the occupied; The Beauties of the Painters, a dialogue between Old Master paintings and Cypriot iconography; and a series focused on the poet Vasilis Michailides and his literary works—a tribute to a celebrated yet tragic figure in Cypriot literary history.

His works are held in numerous private and corporate collections across Cyprus, as well as in public collections such as the Limassol Municipal Art Gallery, the Hambis Municipal Museum of Printmaking, and the Loukia and Michael Zampelas Art Museum. His 1977 animated film Cyprus Transfigurations was screened at the International Animation Festival in Annecy, France, in 1979.

What inspired you to pursue a career as an artist, and how did your journey begin?

Initially, I wanted to become a film director; that was my dream. I even went to Prague to pursue it, but once I arrived, I realized I was too young and unprepared. Most of the students there already had strong academic backgrounds in film, and I didn’t. That made it difficult to follow that path at the time.

While I was still a student in school, I began exploring animation. I was fascinated by how animation, like film, could be shown on the big screen. That’s when I made a decision: since I couldn’t get into film school, I would apply to the Academy of Applied Arts (VŠUP) and specialize in animation illustration instead.

That decision shaped my entire artistic journey. Over six years of study, I focused on animation and illustration, and although I was training to become an illustrator — someone whose drawings would be used by animators to add motion and directors — my degree was officially awarded in academic painting. So in a way, I became a painter almost by chance.

A significant turning point came in 1987, when I traveled to Lithuania to participate in a three-week international plein air painting event in Vilnius. I spent time drawing the cityscapes of Vilnius and its people, working in watercolour. The artistic exchange and the environment there deeply inspired me. When I returned to Cyprus, I began working with oil and collage on canvas for the first time, instead of only working with ink, collage and watercolour on paper. That shift marked a major evolution in my practice and had a lasting impact on the direction of my work.

You describe your aesthetic as "post-pop surrealism". Could you elaborate on what this term means to you?

To me, the term "post-pop surrealism" refers to a contemporary reinterpretation of two major art movements: pop art and surrealism. The word “post” signals a re-examination, a return to these movements from a modern perspective, after many years. It’s about engaging with their language and ideas in today’s context.

Surrealism explores what lies beyond reality, placing familiar objects in unexpected settings. In my work, for example, I reimagine Manet’s Olympia sitting at a Limassol café, being served coffee — a surreal fusion of classical art and modern life.

The “pop” element comes from my interest in pop art’s engagement with, and often critique of, consumerism. Advertisements often present an idealized version of life that contrasts sharply with reality. I once saw an ad for ice cream that made it seem like nothing else mattered. That absurdity inspired me to question what we value. An ice cream can’t be life’s ultimate goal.

I’m also fascinated by how pop art engages with time. Since it often draws on what is current and culturally relevant, I wonder how it resonates with future generations. For example, a pop art piece that includes specific newspaper clippings might have been instantly understood when it was created, but decades later, that reference could be lost or unclear. What was once immediate becomes distant, requiring interpretation. That shift in meaning over time is something I think about often.

You touched on the impact of advertising in your work. Could you talk more about how advertising in Cyprus shaped your artistic perspective?

Back in the day in Cyprus, advertising was everywhere and hard to ignore. I especially remember the magazines. You could see photos of war and suffering on one page, and on the next, an ad for a cocktail. That contrast created a strange emotional tension. I often wondered how people processed that shift. Did they feel horror, and then, by simply turning the page, sudden relief? It felt unsettling, and I wanted to bring that tension into my work.

At the same time, I was also captivated by the typography used in advertising and branding. I was especially drawn to the Coca-Cola logo. Its design fascinated me, and I’ve included it in many of my paintings. Back then, many cafés displayed Coca-Cola signs because the company funded their signage. Sometimes, I created entire works just to incorporate visual elements like logos or typefaces that caught my interest.

A significant part of your work involves painting the Cypriot cityscape and especially scenes from Limassol, mainly working en plein air. What drew you to painting outdoors, and what sparked your interest in documenting these urban environments?

It began during my fourth year at university in Prague. My teacher encouraged live drawing and assigned us to sketch scenes of the city. That’s when I first went out into the streets and realized how much I enjoyed capturing the cityscape. At first, I was shy about drawing outdoors—I even needed a small glass of rum for courage—but over time, I embraced it.

When I returned to Cyprus, I was searching for my artistic voice. I soon realized that my connection was to the city. I grew up in central Limassol, not in a village or surrounded by tradition. My childhood was rooted in the urban environment: we played football and tennis in the streets, paused when cars passed, and even explored construction sites for fun. The city was my playground, and those memories became central to my work.

That’s how my interest in painting the city began. It wasn’t just about buildings or landscapes, it was about capturing a personal history. In my early works, the figures were small within the larger environment. Later, especially as I moved more into oil painting, the human figure became more prominent, with the environment now surrounding them rather than overpowering them.

Many of the places you’ve painted in Limassol have since disappeared or changed dramatically due to the city’s rapid development. While not intended as documentation, your work often captures the city as it was in a particular moment. How do you view this relationship between your art and the changing urban landscape?

You can’t stop change or progress. When an old building is replaced by a new one, there are many factors involved. Everything has its time, and eventually, some places reach their end. That’s part of the natural cycle.

I paint these places with full awareness of that. But I don’t paint them to document them for the future. I paint them because I see them now, they move me now, and I want to capture the present. I’m interested in contemporaneity and painting what exists in the moment.

Your paintings often feature recurring motifs as well as a distinctive use of wide-angle perspective. What draws you to these elements, and what do they represent in your work?

Over the years, certain symbols keep reappearing in my work—some consciously, others more intuitively. One example is Aphrodite, the goddess believed to have been born in Cyprus. Rather than portraying her as the classical nude, I often show her wearing a black dress, mourning the island’s division. In other paintings, she’s holding oranges, a familiar local fruit that, for me, stands for humility and Cypriot hospitality.

Another recurring image appears in my Armotourism series: café servers wearing clown masks. These figures wear clown masks to represent the kind of cheerful obedience people often feel pressured to show toward colonial or foreign powers—smiling and serving, but always behind a mask.

In many of my other works, I also depict café servers dressed in robes similar to those worn by saints. This isn’t meant to elevate or idealize them in a religious sense, but to acknowledge their honesty, humility, and quiet dedication. These are people who work hard, often unnoticed, and I wanted to reflect their dignity and presence within everyday life.

Cats also appear frequently in my paintings. In Cyprus, they’re everywhere, woven into the daily life of our cities. For me, they’re part of the urban landscape. I’m also a cat lover and owner myself, so including them is both a personal gesture and a reflection of the world I see around me.

In terms of perspective, I usually use a wide-angle view because I’m drawn to the architectural atmosphere of a place. I want the viewer to recognize the setting instantly. That level of spatial truth can only come from working outdoors. Painting en plein air allows me to observe subtle details that photographs simply can’t capture.

What advice would you offer to younger generations who aspire to pursue a career in the arts?

My first piece of advice is to pursue a proper education in fine art. Academic training is important. Art school pushes you out of your comfort zone. It challenges you to keep improving and to aim higher with each step. It also teaches you how to accept critique from peers and teachers, which is essential for growth. When an artist can’t accept critique, it’s often because their ego gets in the way and that makes it harder to evolve.

Formal education helps ground you. It reminds you that you’re part of a much larger continuum: there were artists before you, around you, and there will be many after you. It gives you perspective and keeps you humble.

I often compare it to getting a driver’s license. You need a foundation to understand the road and how the vehicle works. That’s what art school gives you. What you do with that foundation, and how far you take it, depends on your will, your passion, and your vision.

Beyond education, I also encourage young artists to find a parallel path that supports them financially while keeping them engaged with the arts, such as teaching or working in a creative field. This kind of balance allows them to create freely, without compromising their artistic voice in order to make a living. When your income doesn’t depend directly on your artwork, you’re free to take risks, explore ideas, and develop your practice without restraint.