Safe-deposit boxes marked as “Undeclared Content” aren't always filled with money or valuables. Miscellaneous objects that were never meant to see the light of day were once precious mementos to someone, but are now unclaimed.
Each unclaimed box felt like a repository of memory, a fragment of frozen time.
A worthless brooch / A sealed letter / A lock of hair tied with a blue ribbon / The sting of a violin / A hairpin / Bouquets of withered flowers drained of all color / Stacks of photographs tied with dried-up rubber bands, ready to snap at any moment / Postcards with a few handwritten notes / Souvenirs of illicit love affairs, from letters to snapshots of illegitimate children.
In a world dominated by monetary values, who decides what's precious?
Initially, I shared an anonymous questionnaire in which more than 100 people were asked to answer the following question:
What's precious to you?
The replies of course varied to the extreme.
"My dog"/ "Justice to the 57 victims of the Tempi train crash"/ “yellow roses” / "my life before I was sexually molested" / “my first demo cassette” / "dignity for the victims in Gaza" / "the smile of my son"/ "My grandmother's hair pins" / "Yearning"/ "my life before the bombings" / "my mother's wedding ring" / "Touching another human being" / "my kitten"
(A few of the answers.)
Most of the replies haunted me. Many respondents referred to the lives lost at the Tempi train crash, traumatic events, and other difficult-to-tackle subjects.
I lost a lot of sleep over this. Somehow, I didn't feel like sealing all the answers inside a safe-deposit box, as I had originally planned. Instead, I decided to create a monument for the “precious.”
So I turned all the answers into symbols:
57 train figurines for the victims of the train crash; a smashed statue of a smiling Aphrodite for the woman who had been molested and asked for her life back; rings, figures, toy soldiers, and countless knickknacks collected from dodgy flea markets in Athens, donated by friends, retrieved from the trash can of my communal studio, or picked up from countless sidewalks in Switzerland where people leave objects are marked as “gratis.”
Until everything looked like a mountain of junk.
Until everything looked like a mountain of junk.
Found photo in a flea market in Athens organized mainly by homeless people
The form of a fountain was chosen for two reasons.
First, I could somehow envision a Baroque-style fountain containing all the objects. My goal was to make it almost blend in with the regular museum exhibits, which were mostly in a 20th-century “neoclassical” style.
First, I could somehow envision a Baroque-style fountain containing all the objects. My goal was to make it almost blend in with the regular museum exhibits, which were mostly in a 20th-century “neoclassical” style.
Second, many people had expressed concerns about the sensitive and political subjects represented, including the memorial to the 57 victims of the train crash at Tempi. It would have been dishonest to censor some of the answers and include only those that felt somewhat “safe.”
The fountain's composition became an intentional play against any possible form of censorship. The “safe” subjects are placed at eye level and are clearly visible. Every subject considered in any way “unsafe” (too political, too explicit, too problematic) is placed below the water, remaining visible to viewers who choose to look beneath the surface.
The fountain was exhibited on 2025 museum nights and it’s since then a permanent exhibit of the Archive of the Greek National Bank.
Initially, I shared an anonymous questionnaire in which more than 100 people were asked to answer the following question:
What's precious to you personally?
The replies, of course, varied wildly:
“My dog” / “Justice for the 57 victims of the Tempi train crash” / “Yellow roses” / “My life before I was sexually molested” / “My first demo cassette” / “Dignity for the victims in Gaza” / “The smile of my son” / “My grandmother's hairpins” / “Yearning” / “My life before the bombings” / “My mother's wedding ring” / “Touching another human being” / “My kitten”
(A few of the answers.)
Many of the replies haunted me. More and more people referred to the lives lost in the Tempi train crash, traumatic events, and other difficult-to-tackle subjects.
Somehow, I didn't feel like sealing all the answers inside a safe-deposit box. Instead, I decided to create a monument to the “precious.”
I turned all the answers into symbols: 57 train figurines for the victims of the train crash; a smashed statue of a smiling Aphrodite for the woman who had been molested and asked for her life back; rings, figures, toy soldiers, and countless knickknacks collected from dodgy flea markets in Athens, donated by friends, retrieved from the trash can of my communal studio, and picked up from places in Switzerland where objects were marked “free.” Until everything looked like a mountain of junk.
The form of a fountain was chosen for two reasons. First, I could somehow envision a Baroque-style fountain containing all the objects while maintaining a sense of unity. Second, many people had expressed concerns about the sensitive and political subjects represented.
It would have been dishonest to censor some of the answers and include only objects that felt “safe.” The fountain's composition is therefore intentional.
The “safe” subjects are placed at eye level and are clearly visible. Every subject considered problematic, unsafe, or too political is placed below the water, remaining visible to viewers who choose to look beneath the surface.
The fountain was exhibited during Museum Nights in 2025 and has since become a permanent exhibit at the Archive of the Greek National Bank.
αδήλωτου περιεχομένου
Με το πέρασμα του χρόνου θυρίδες μετατρέπονται σε φυλάκια μνήμης.Το περιεχόμενό τους δεν είναι πάντα τιμαλφή αντικείμενα. Κάποιες φορές είναι αναμνήσεις κλειδωμένες στο χρόνο. Ετερόκλητα αντικείμενα που παραμένουν αζητήτα ήταν κάποτε μια πολύτιμη ανάμνηση.