Lucrezia Abatzoglu paints Figures as if they were about to disappear.

Born in Rome, raised in Greece, and based in London, Abatzoglu treats the Mediterranean as an emotional terrain where myth and inheritance press against rupture and memory.
Her paintings are built through slow layering, moving between drawing and painting as the body appears in a stratified, shifting state that can hold several selves at once.

Working with muslin and calico that behave almost like skin, she lets cochineal pigment soak into the fibres, so that touch, humidity and time remain visible in the surface.
Cochineal – historically ground by hand from female insects and carried from Aztec use into the Renaissance – turns red into a material history of labour and extraction, with care and invisibility woven into it.

In The Milky Sisters Takes Flight, a group of figures loosely inspired by Euripides’ The Bacchae becomes a band of maenads for our time: a collective body in motion, bare feet and striding legs cutting through fields of red, leaving behind the spaces that tried to contain them.