WINTER
2024
Panos Fourtoulakis

Queer zines as windows to forgotten realities: Kontrosol sto Chaos

Kontrosol sto Chaos, issue 5 “Foreigners in Greece”, 1992.

AIDS changed all aspects of our lives. You had to consider things that you would never do, from how you eat to how you fuck. It was difficult. Athens before AIDS was an erotic paradise; we were going through a euphoric period, but after AIDS, this turned into darkness and fear. The late 1970s was a time of democracy’s restoration in Greece, after a 7-year military junta that ended in 1974; there was a sense of joy and freedom; a minor sexual liberation was happening for both straights and gays; people were more accepting; we were doing things; we were looking forward to the 1980s, a new decade, new music, etc.; and suddenly you get these kinds of obstacles.

Yannis Nenes, journalist, radio producer, and former editor of Amphi magazine1

The year 2023 marks 40 years since the first AIDS-related death and the first recorded case of HIV in Greece. When we reflect today to the early years of the epidemic , we see that the deaths of art dealer Alexander Iolas and fashion designer Billy Βο, both in 1987, have defined the collective cultural memories of that time. Beyond these events, predominant reflections on that period often centre on international developments, thus providing younger generations, and especially for younger members of the LGBTQ+ communities, with a particularly limited view of the AIDS histories in Greece. What was it like to be a young queer living in Athens during the first years of the AIDS epidemic?

As someone born in 1990, a way to get a better understanding of the Greek queer culture of that era is through the memories of those who survived and by examining the LGBTQ+ magazines, which were predominently self-published. Listening to accounts like the one above, what struck me the most was not just the devastating impact of AIDS but also the lesser-known aspect of minor sexual liberation in Athens before the epidemic. This underscores my generation’s limited knowledge of that era and the different ways of living before the advent of the internet. It also highlights the scarcity of documentation and representation of Greek LGBTQ+ narratives and individuals, emphasising how these histories have largely faded from our collective memories.

Magazines, fanzines, and the survivors’ memories function as queer archives, primary sources we (as queer subjects) can draw on.2 These ephemeral materials serve as evidence, providing insights into alternative temporalities that disrupt dominant historical narratives.3 They function as rhetorical tools for theorising queer experiences, aiding us in positioning ourselves in Greek history, shaping our identities, and alleviating feelings of isolation.

Guides to explore the world: A brief account of the LGBTQ+ press in Greece in the second half of the 1980s

Queer zinesters and zine-making date back to a time when queer consciousness was first evolving. The wonderfully wide range of queer zines helped establish commonality in difference. While strikingly personal, zines in general, and queer zines in particular, were most important for how they served to create and foster community through shared content and their highly personal means of distribution. […] Zines are a guide to explore the world.

AA Bronson and Philip Aarons, Queer Zines 4

Emerging from the punk zine movement in the 1970s in the UK, queer zines gained prominence across the world for several decades until the advent of the internet.5 In their anthology publication, Queer Zines, artists Philip Aarons and AA Bronson define queer zines as “self-published serial publications with a ‘queer spirit’ where the hand of the maker was visible in the final product”.6 In Greece, fanzines became prominent in the 1980s and through the 1990s.7 To grasp the LGBTQ+ press resources accessible to young people at the time, amid scarce and mostly negative portrayals of sexual difference and AIDS, it is worth having a brief look at all the available LGBTQ+ serial publications of that time.

Under the above definition, Paola Revenioti’s ground-breaking To Kraximo/The Pillory (1981-1992), can be deemed the first Greek queer zine, followed by Kontrosol sto Chaos (kontrosol in Chaos) a few years later. To Kraximo challenged heteronormative perceptions regarding politics and desire while presenting gay and trans identities in new ways. It combined political texts, original interviews with people from all walks of life – philosophers like Félix Guattari, famous Greek actors, pimps, and sex workers – alongside short stories by Greek writers, poetry, translated articles from the international press, gossip, and images of young (often) naked men photographed by Paola. To Kraximo translates into “gay (verbal) bashing”, something that Paola herself experienced in her daily life. The zine was a way for Paola to take agency and use self-publishing as a weapon to protect herself from police brutality by expressing herself and educating others in the meantime. It was funded through her sex work, whenever possible to produce; its tone was anarchist, often polemic, always assertive, and never victimised. Despite being self-published, its wide distribution allowed it to reach up to 7,000 copies per issue and its features were frequently discussed in national newspapers.

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Kraximo, issue 6, May 1986

  

It is worth noting that Paola created To Kraximo in response to Amphi magazine, as she felt her experiences as a working-class anarchist trans sex worker were not represented in its pages.8 Amphi (1978–1990) was the first serial homosexual publication in Greece, published by AKOE, the Greek Homosexual Liberation Movement. Amphi had a journalistic tone and a well-defined political and advocacy stance. Its primary ideological influences were the May ’68 events and the New Left (sexual liberation, body politics, anti-psychiatry, etc.).9 Amphi was the first printed point of connection for homosexuals in Greece to relate to themselves and one another. Notably, through the “correspondences” section, the editors of the magazine would respond to letters from homosexuals across the country, who would share their experiences, seek advice, and express their concerns and fears, amongst other things. Being the first magazine of its kind, it was hugely influential, not only for the community, but also for changing public attitudes regarding homosexuality. The title referred to amphi-sexuality and, simultaneously, to ambiguity. Both Amphi and To Kraximo reported on police brutality and media representations of homosexuality, and both were very important sources of information about ΑΙDS, reporting on scientific developments but also capturing its social impact on the community and the diverse attitudes of homosexuals towards the disease.10

Mia alli chora (Another Country), 1986, and Gay (1988) were two short-lived, mostly gay magazines, published by Gregory Vallianatos, a political scientist and LGBTQ+ activist, the first openly homosexual man to appear on national television.11 Odos Panos (Pan Street), f. 1980, was a literature magazine and an important resource of cultural references for LGBTQ+ audiences then. Comics magazines Para Pente (Five Minutes to 00), 1986-1995, and Babel, 1981-2007, often featured comics with homosexual content. Two feminist magazines that were published at the time were Dini (Vortex), 1986–1991, by the Women’s Union of Greece and Katina (1987–1991) by the Autonomous Women’s Group in Thessaloniki.12 Notably, there was a lack of openly lesbian publications during that period. At the same time, it is remarkable how varied the existing publications were in their thematics, each providing their readers with cultural references, escapism, and a sense of community.

In order to understand the impact of these publications on their audience, it is necessary to comprehend the circulation of information at the time. “Unlike now, in the 1980s, there was not one source of knowledge that would contain all the relevant information about a subject. Multiple sources were considered and combined based on individual interests and references; something you saw on TV, later listened to on the radio about, read in the press, like different pieces of a puzzle that one needed to assemble, and often made sense later”, remembers psychiatrist Yorgos Floudas, who grew up in the northern city of Ioannina and whose cultural references and connection to a “gay” world came through music, vinyl collecting, and the press. “At the time, everybody was on their own, or at least I was. So, whether through music, magazines, or zines, being in contact with this material gives you a sense of community, that there are other people like you out there, and this is very important; it is lifesaving. This is the most important outcome of all this.”13

Amphi, issue 21, Winter 1986/87.

  

Kontrosol sto Chaos

Κontrosol sto Chaos (1986–1992) was a pioneering queer fanzine that would be deemed today as an art publication with a queer post-punk attitude. Developed by editor and poet Pavlos Avouris, filmmaker Alexis Bistikas, and choreographer and visual artist Dimitris Papaioannou, Kontrosol sto Chaos released five issues, three of which were thematic – i.e., about London (1988–89), the Greek army (1990), and foreigners in Greece (1992).

Kontrosol sto Chaos, issue 1, 1986.

  

While he was still at school, Pavlos Avouris formed the punk band Mavra Idanika (Black Ideals) with regular Kontrosol contributor Christos Vougas. They published two punk fanzines, Giati? (Why?) and Laughkhatathlipsi. 14 Avouris was an avid zine reader since his teens in the 1970s. Music zines, mainly from the UK, were a way for him to learn about new music and connect with others worldwide. Μail friendships were common throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Individuals shared their contact information in fanzines, leading to the initiation of new correspondences, often without ever meeting in person. Fragments of one such correspondence with an inmate from a US prison were presented in the first issue of Kontrosol sto Chaos. An issue that, although it had no single theme, can be read as an homage to the medium itself; its opening editorial was dedicated to the death of the inventor of cut-ups,15 Brion Gysin; other features include a series of collages, short stories, and comics while introducing its distinct tone, themes, and visual aesthetic that would define the publication.

Kontrosol is an expression in “kaliarda” (Greek gay slang), translating into kiss in the mouth. “It was Alexis’ [Bistikas] idea, he gathered us all. Dimitris [Papaioanou] did the art direction while I put together and structured the texts. It wasn’t clear from the beginning that the three of us would be the core team; it just happened that we did all the practical work, yet we weren’t responsible for all the content; it was a collective effort”, notes Pavlos Avouris.16 “Our collaboration was effortless; we were all very close emotionally; one contributed an idea, perhaps someone else edited it; there was much less of a sense of ego and individuality that you see today in collaborations; everything was more fluid”, recalls Vicky Vergou, artist and contributor to the first two issues.17 When asked whether they had any specific audience in mind, Avouris responded, “No one in particular; we just did it for ourselves, to have fun”.

Kontrosol emerged in the aftermath of the punk movement, and according to Eva Koliopantou, it resonated with a reactionary sentiment within that social group that was not targeted towards a specific cause. Supporting gay rights was intertwined with being anti-patriarchal, anti-racist, anti-sexist, pro-animal rights, and pro-vegetarianism. Such attitudes and topics were reflected and explored throughout the different issues. “Things were less defined; it was an overall reactionary, critical stance against what was going on at the time, celebrating transgression and openness against the norms.”18 Such an approach aligns with contemporary understandings of queerness, a term that didn’t exist then. Most notably, Kontrosol documented queer identities, homosexual desires, and lifestyles in ways that hadn’t been previously presented in Greece.

When one browses through its pages, there is a strong sense of rhythm; each feature feels like a scene of a wider story. Papaioannou’s visual language binds together the diverse contributions into a coherent, open-ended narrative. Each of its five issues (1986–1991) had a distinct design and size, yet all had black and white covers and square shape.

Among the magazine’s contributors were Derek Jarman, the painter Alekos Fassianos, Dimitris Papaioannou, the filmmaker Constantine Giannaris, Eva Koliopantou, Vicky Vergou, or Christos Vougas, most of them in their twenties, while its issues included original translations of texts by J.G. Ballard, William S. Burroughs and P.P. Pasolini.

A new identity

The Greek reality of the late 1980s was distinctly different from that of the US and Northern Europe. Despite homosexuality being prevalent in Greek culture throughout the years, the concept of gay identity, as we understand it today, did not arrive until as late as the early 1990s. “Gay was someone coming from abroad; here, no such identity existed”, notes Avouris.19 As it is also noted in Paola Revenioti’s Kaliarda, the binary roles of tsóli and teknó were prevalent until then, with tsóli being the effeminate bottom and teknó being the top, who did not necessarily only have homosexual relations.20 “Now, of course, this did not mean that behind closed doors such roles were not reversed, yet in terms of appearances, that’s how things were. The codes were different.”21

Papaioannou’s imagery provided a new representation of male homosexual living and desire. His comics and drawings reflected homosexual relationships, experiences in sex clubs, existential concerns, and so on. Kontrosol presented being gay as an identity that could be masculine, while at the same time ridiculing the very idea of masculinity.

Already, its first issue included an edited version of an army poster as an insert. Later, the fourth issue, dedicated to the army, featured a homoerotic photo essay by filmmaker Constantine Giannaris, who captured his fellow soldiers in various (often comedic) situations. The images are accompanied by handwritten notes narrating a camp story that satirised ideals of manhood and the concept of “serving the country”. The issue concluded with a short story by Avouris, where a male character, after a night out in female drag, attempts to register for military service only to be immediately dismissed. Homosexuals commonly employed such tactics to evade compulsory military service, as cross-dressing implied an inability to fulfil national duty.

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Kontrosol sto Chaos, issue 4 “Army Issue”, 1990. Reprint Kontrosol sto Chaos, Bastard issue, Lifo Press, 2008.

  

This issue, 34 years after its publication, and while military service in Greece is still compulsory for all men, it feels bold, critical, and fresh. At the time of its publication, it garnered attention from mainstream newspapers. An image from the issue even made it to the front cover of the right-wing newspaper Neoi Αnthropoi (New People) with the headline, “Soldiers rub… their tits”. The accompanying article suggested that the images would be of interest to Turks, stating that “Turks would be rubbing their hands with lubricant while looking at these images”.22

Newspaper Νeoi Anthropoi (New People), 29 June 1990.

  

Reflecting on this new (for Greek standards) gay aesthetic and unashamed attitude that defined the zine, we should consider the influences of its editors, most notably from the UK. Pavlos Avouris’ connection to the British punk and post-punk scenes stemmed from his engagement with British music fanzines from that era. Alexis Bistikas spent numerous years in London during the 1980s and early 1990s. Many other contributors also lived in London at the time. These connections highlight the significant impact of British cultural and artistic movements on the formation and ethos of the zine.

London

Poster, Kontrosol sto Chaos, issue 3 “London”, 1988-89.

  

The third issue of the zine is dedicated to London. It offers a glimpse into what it was like to live in the city in 1988–89 through the perspectives of Greeks living there. The editorial, “London Myth and Reality”, captures the mood of the whole issue: “Drugs, homosexuality, hooliganism – everything is free in this city of unemployment and decadence. […] London is a career city. You can easily find food without flavour and alcohol before 11 pm; however, you will find it difficult to spot beautiful boys with long hair on the streets. Nothing is requested or offered in squares at night.” The city is portrayed as impersonal, dreary, and exciting at once. In a translated letter written by William Burroughs to Allen Ginsberg from 1956, Burroughs mentions that he’d rather live in hell than in London. Some of its other features include small ads (taken from British magazines) of people looking for sexual partners, short stories with descriptions of some of its contributors’ tiny living spaces, we get an insight into Derek Jarman’s script-developing process, and a comic strip depicting experiences in a sex club, where in the end the main character decides to return to Greece because he misses the Parthenon Marbles.

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Dimitris Papaioannou, illustrations, Kontrosol sto Chaos, issue 3 ” London”, 1988-89.

  

The release date of the issue is marked as 1988–89. The return of the Elgin Marbles was a prevalent international issue at the time. In 1989, Alexis Bistikas released his short film Marbles under Kontrosol Productions. 1988 was the year when Margaret Thatcher’s Tory government’s Section 28 law came into effect.23 Section 28 was a law that prohibited the promotion of homosexuality in schools through teaching and published material. The law caused massive outrage in the LGBTQ+ and artistic communities at the time. The AIDS epidemic was rife and still a death sentence. A year earlier, in 1987, AZT, the first AIDS drug, was released in the US and UK, yet without promising results.24 Constantine Giannaris, who contributed a short script to the issue, released his short film Jean Genet is Dead, an ode to desire, death, and isolation. Derek Jarman, who was already considered an established filmmaker for many years, was diagnosed with HIV in 1986, and by that time, the works he produced were very much in response to the epidemic.25 Yet, there is no single mention of AIDS in issue no. 3. Why?

AIDS

Before considering possible explanations, it’s worth taking into account the local context in Greece at the time. The emergence of the AIDS epidemic coincided with a period of minor sexual liberation in Greece, marked by a growing public discourse on sexual difference, mainly facilitated by AKOE, the newly formed Greek Homosexual Liberation Movement.

Despite the first AIDS-related death occurring in 1983, serious media engagement with the virus did not emerge until 1985–86. It wasn’t until the deaths of Iolas and Billy Bo in 1987 that AIDS became an urgent subject of public discussion.26 The history of AIDS in Greece is a history of silence, as noted by Giorgos Sampatakakis and Dimitris Papanikolaou in their article, “Censorship as Cultural History: HIV/AIDS in Greece”.27 The stigma associated with AIDS was closely intertwined with the existing stigma towards homosexuality, and discussions about or associations with the disease were actively avoided publicly, both within and outside the community. Gregory Vallianatos agrees with the above account: “Nobody knew how to talk about it due to the virus’ relation to homosexuality – a term that itself was not widely used at the time, so most people preferred not to talk about it at all, and as a result, everyone contracted it.”28 In contrast to other Western countries where the emergence of AIDS led to the strengthening of LGBTQ+ communities through activist groups and actions, the situation in Greece was different. The virus disrupted the local communities; “everybody went home”. It wasn’t until 1993 that we saw organised activist responses by the community, marked by the formation of ACT UP.

The first issue of Kontrosol was released in 1986, when the country started waking up to the virus, and the last was published in 1992. The impact of AIDS was deeply felt by all those involved with the zine, either by caring for and/or losing friends, contracting the virus and surviving, or succumbing to it. In 1987, Bistikas and Papaioannou collaborated on “The Red Marks on Your Skin”, published in Para Pente magazine. Bistikas wrote the poetic text, which was visually realised into comics by Papaioannou. The narrative follows the story of two HIV-positive individuals who meet and find love, play together, and ultimately face death together. This unashamed approach and romantic account of living with the virus is among the few, if not the only, works published during that period. In the same year, Papaioannou also contributed another related comic, “Kalymnos”, to the same magazine.

Derek Jarman died in 1994, and Alexis Βistikas in 1995. Bistikas was the only Greek artist to disclose his diagnosis – still a rare occurrence publicly. Shortly before his death, he released a poetry book, Evangelismos, featuring poems he wrote while hospitalised and photographs of those who visited him. Evangelismos is the name of the hospital where he was cared for, while the word also translates to Annunciation. Later in the same year, Dimitris Papaioanou would go on to present A Moment’s Silence, the first dance theater performance works about AIDS in Greece, dedicated to the memory of Bistikas.

The absence of explicit mentions of HIV/AIDS in Kontrosol, aside from a “SAFER SEX” spread in issue no. 2 (1987), could be due to various factors. Throughout the years of its publication, there was a prevalent misconception that gay men were responsible for AIDS, often seen as the instigators rather than victims of the disease. Public health advice at the time revolved around promoting fidelity and abstinence for those who were not married.29 Yet, here we have a group of people who deal with sexuality and desire unashamedly as existing and persisting aspects of life, despite their silencing by traditional values and media. One plausible explanation could be that, given that Kontrosol was one of the first publications to present homosexuality in an easy-going manner, reinforcing its association with AIDS was not in the interests of its editors. At the same time, it is essential to consider Kontrosol’s intersectionality. As Koliopantou mentioned, at the time, notions of categorisation were less defined, and the embrace of sexuality and homosexuality reflected a broader set of principles that resisted traditional values. In this light, Kontrosol could be read as a manifesto, proposing and advocating for new ways of living that deviated from the conservatism prevalent in popular culture at the time. Therefore, if we were to consider Kontrosol as a manifesto, it’s possible that the editors, consciously or not, felt that the zine was not the ideal platform for exploring HIV/AIDS-related themes within the context of their broader advocacy for alternative ways of living.

Foreigners in Greece

Kontrosol sto Chaos, issue 5 “Foreigners in Greece”, 1992.

  

The final issue of Kontrosol was titled “Foreigners in Greece”. It was published in 1992, shortly after the fall of communism in Eastern Europe, which led to the first wave of economic immigrants whose destination was Greece. This period marked a significant shift for Greece, transitioning from a country of emigration to a country of immigration. The zine serves as a reflection of how the editors contemplated this new reality. Unlike the London issue, where Greeks share perspectives in a foreign city, the “Foreigners in Greece” issue presents the viewpoints of mostly middle-class Greeks towards those who arrived seeking a better life.

The issue opens with a welcoming note to all people coming to Greece, an example of Greek hospitality – arguably not most of the general population’s sentiment at the time. Throughout the issue, readers encounter stories, whether real or imagined, that capture the experiences of contributors with individuals from various countries.

Reading the issue today, more than twenty years later, it is essential to keep in mind the different attitudes that were prevalent then, when people were less exposed to other cultures. The issue adopts an anti-racist and sympathetic tone, making efforts to humanise and establish relatability with these “foreigners”. However, viewed through today’s lens, issues of positionality and a certain exoticisation of immigrant male bodies become apparent.

At the time of its publication, the issue received a negative review by journalist Thodoris Αntonopoulos in the 11th issue of To Kraximo: “Abstract speech without substance, without essence, irrational discourse. Pretentious bourgeois underground.”30

Epilogue

“Zines were about building communities and breaking down feelings of isolation. They were not produced in isolation but in response to other people, other like-minded zines.”31 To Kraximo was produced in response to Amphi; one could argue that Kontrosol sto Chaos was developed response to both To Kraximo and Amphi. Kontrosol’s publishers may have felt that there was a gap that had not been filled by the other two publications.

The aesthetic and editorial impact of Kontrosol can be traced to subsequent serial publications and artistic initiatives that became influential in shaping alternative popular culture in subsequent years, such as magazine 01 and electronic music band Stereo Nova, among others.

Kontrosol today can be read as the collective diary of a group of friends in their twenties, most of whom lived and worked in the Exarcheia neighbourhood of Athens, providing invaluable insight into the transformative period from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s, both through the subjects it tackled and those that were left unsaid. It functions as evidence of a community that ceased to exist due to the devastating effects of AIDS.

Across its various issues, contributors navigate their reality often with irony and humour, challenging societal stigma and traditional Greek values. Kontrosol emerges as a queer manifesto of sorts, encouraging alternative ways of living and relating to one another. It offers a glimpse into the temporal aesthetics of that period, connecting readers with the experiences, voices, and expressions of individuals, contributing to a more nuanced understanding of Greek queer histories. Most importantly, as for the readers at the time of its publishing, today it provides a sense of belonging and community-building across generations.

 

With thanks to everyone I had the opportunity to interview and discuss with during the writing process.

Aris Dorizas, Panos Fourtoulakis: research material from a video created for the action I’m Positive, Onassis Stegi, 29 November 2023.

Ann Cvetkovich, An Archive of Feelings: Trauma, Sexuality, and Lesbian Public Cultures, Durham: Duke University Press, 2003, p. 8.

Elizabeth Freeman,. 2010. Time Binds: Queer Temporalities, Queer Histories, Durham: Duke University Press.

AA Bronson and Philip Aarons, Queer Zines, New York, Printed Matter, Inc, 2008.

Ibid, p. 9.

Ibid, p. 10.

Video interview by Sofanky1 with Heracles Renieris, editor of the zine To Ktinos (The Beast), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9O5OmXQHsjg&t=339s, accessed November 2024.

Elektra Kotsoni, Making Trans-Anarchist Zines in 1980s Athens Was Worth All the Effort, https://www.vice.com/en/article/wdaekx/paola-revenioti-kraximo-exhibition, accessed November 2024.

Theodoros, Antonopoulos, “‘Amphi’ (1978-1990): the most influential publication of Greek LGBTQ+ history”, LiFΟ, 18 June 2019 (in Greek), https://www.lifo.gr/ΛΟΑΤΚΙ/amfi-1978-1990-pleon-epidrastiko-entypo-tis-ellinikis-loatki-istorias, accessed November 2024.

For a detailed overview regarding the coverage of AIDS in these publications, see Theodosis Gkeltis, “The reception of HIV/AIDS by gay activists in the 1980s” (in Greek): https://www.academia.edu/35777807/H_πρόσληψη_του_HIV_AIDS_από_τους_ομοφυλόφιλους_ακτιβιστές_της_δεκαετίας_του_1980, accessed November 2024.

The Hellenic Parliament Foundation, Feminism in the Years of Metapolitefsi, 1974-1990,
https://foundation.parliament.gr/sites/default/files/2020-08/6_periodika%20small.pdf

Personal communication in the context of my research “A Time to Remember: artistic responses during the AIDS epidemic in Greece”.

Video interview by Sofanky1 with the editors Pavlos Avouris and Christos Vougas, 9 May 2020
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2QBJs43yyU&t=980s (in Greek, with no subtitles).
For Giati? cf: https://fanzines.gr/%CE%B3%CE%B9%CE%B1%CF%84%CE%AF
For Laughataulipsi, cf: https://fanzines.gr/λαυχατάθλιψη.

Personal communication in the context of my research “A Time to Remember: artistic responses during the AIDS epidemic in Greece”.

Personal communication in the context of my research “A Time to Remember: artistic responses during the AIDS epidemic in Greece”.

Personal communication in the context of my research “A Time to Remember: artistic responses during the AIDS epidemic in Greece”.

Personal communication in the context of my research “A Time to Remember: artistic responses during the AIDS epidemic in Greece”.

Paola Revenioti (dir.), Kaliarda, Paola Team Documentaries, 2014, 58 mins.

Personal communication in the context of my research “A Time to Remember: artistic responses during the AIDS epidemic in Greece”.

Neoi Anthropoi, 29 June 1990.

Chris Godfrey, “Section 28 Protesters 30 Years On: ‘We Were Arrested and Put in a Cell up by Big Ben’”, The Guardian, 27 March 2018.

 

Alice Park, “The Story Behind the First AIDS Drug”, Time, 19 March 2017,
https://time.com/4705809/first-aids-drug-azt/, accessed November 2024.

Matthew Cheale, “Derek Jarman: Painting, Protest, and the AIDS Pandemic”, Art UK, 6 December 2021. https://artuk.org/discover/stories/derek-jarman-painting-protest-and-the-aids-pandemic, accessed November 2024.

Giorgos Sampatakakis, HIV/AIDS Theater and Trauma in Greece, Athens: Sokolis, 2021 (in Greek).

Dimitris Papanikolaou and Giorgos Sampatakakis, “Censorship as Cultural History: HIV/AIDS in Greece”, Arxeiotaxio, 22, November 2020, pp. 163-182 (in Greek).

Aris Dorizas, Panos Fourtoulakis, op.cit.

See Positive Voice, “AIDS in Greece during 1993, 17 March 17 2010, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pI0-Gy309eo&t=10s (in Greek with no subtitles).

Bronson and Aarons, op. cit., p. 9.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Panos Fourtoulakis is a curator. His practice focuses on media cultures, their ability to produce subjectivities, and the relationship between embodied presence and mediation, especially in relation to moving image practices. He studied contemporary art curation at the Royal College of Art, contemporary art history at Goldsmiths and culture and media at the London College of Communication. In 2021 he was awarded the Stavros Niarchos Foundation Artist Fellowship by ARTWORKS. In 2023 he became an Onassis AiR fellow. His research on artistic responses to the HIV/AIDS epidemic in Greece is supported by Onassis AiR, Athens.