Gregory in an evzone costume, on the right. A photograph from childhood.
I grew up dancing at Greek festivals and wearing traditional Greek costumes. That’s me in the photograph, hands on my hips, with a red cap, a white pleated skirt and pompom shoes.
Looking at it now, I’m drawn to everything around the costume, too. The curtains. The furniture. That lamp. An entire room has survived around a moment from my childhood.
I love that about old photographs. We take them to remember the people, and years later discover how much else they held onto.
For me, this one brings together things that are difficult to separate: growing up, dancing and being Greek. The costume belongs to that story, as much as the festival dances do. Wearing it was one of the ways I took part.
As we grow older, a photograph like this gives us something to share. A child asks what we were wearing or where we used to dance, and suddenly we’re talking about a part of our lives they never knew.
Sometimes we have a whole story ready. Sometimes a detail sends us looking through more photographs, or asking someone else what they remember. There’s room for both. We don’t have to remember everything to pass something on.
That is where Boys and Girls of Greece begins for me.
The thirty illustrated children bring together a selection of Greek traditional costumes, each with its own label. I hope someone will recognize a place name, notice a familiar detail or find a reason to bring out a photograph of their own.
I wanted the artwork to have a place in everyday family life. Beside a bookshelf, perhaps, or in a child’s room—somewhere there’s time to look, ask questions and return to it as the years go by.
I was once the little boy in the costume. Sharing this photograph, and the collection it helped inspire, is a way of keeping that part of my life close.
A little Greece to grow up with.