Art, Cyprus and the Spirits of Our Time

Ioulita investigates the concept of the “zeitgeist” and how it is manifested through art, in the context of Cyprus. After her return to her home country, she explores the concept of Cypriot identity and the role of art in the process of coming in terms with it. Her text unveils a contemporary zeitgeist in the works and thoughts of Cypriot artists and culture-makers such as visual artist Stelios Kallinikou, the ‘Exploring Cypriot Identity’ collective and Fresh Target Theatre’s hit play, “Out of Necessity”.

During my masters in Art History three years ago, I chose the module “Politics of the Image: Germany 1890 to 1945” in a foolish attempt to “unravel” the relationship between art and politics. It was also around that time that I discovered the word “zeitgeist”, which Google defines as “the spirit of the time; a general trend of thought or feeling characteristic of a particular period of time”. “Zeitgeist” infiltrated my vocabulary as my go-to word whenever I wanted to generalise – that is until one day, my professor Fred, wrote as feedback on one of my essays:

“What does it mean to express the zeitgeist of Weimar Germany? Is there really a spirit that unifies a period, part of a world-historical process of a spirit overcoming its alienation from the world?”

Professor Fred, 2018

I kept thinking about what Fred said. He was right – I shouldn’t fall into the trap of blurring all the different forces at play which would favour a homogeneity that overlooks the specifics of the various simultaneous realities taking place. I therefore expelled the word from my vocabulary, I expelled it from my essays and my mind, and time went by without the search of any spirits. Or so I thought, because the question behind it remained: does art historical lineage reflect historical lineage?

The following year I moved back to my home-country, Cyprus. I began exploring the Cypriot art scene for the first time: attending exhibition openings, artists’ talks, following instagram pages, reading art-related articles… The more I got involved, the more I noticed that the palm trees captured in my photos were the same ones I would see on other people’s feeds tattooed on friends’ knees and written in their poetry reels: “I’m not insulting my country loving friends, I’m just head over thrills, the sun this palm tree shade steals” writes Alepoudelis, a young Cypriot poet – soon turned good friend.¹ My tongue rolled the word “zeitgeist” behind my lips, they were all similar tropes and symbols. However, how can a word account for a ‘general trend’ or a ‘spirit of a time’ without it being a problematic generalisation? 

In my attempt to answer that, I revisited Weimar Germany of the 1920’s which I studied in my “Politics of the Image” class. It was a period of artistic and cultural bloom, just before the rise of Hitler and Nazism in 1932. The DADA artist, Hannah Hoch had captivated me. Through her collages, she would question the gender binaries, mock the bourgeois class, and challenge the leading male figures of her time all conceptual ideas that would be solidified decades later by postmodern artists and theorists (like Donna J. Haraway). Her work was revolutionary and directly opposed the fascist and racist rigidity of her time.

Studying Hoch made it clear to me that art indeed captures multiple spirits of a time, but this had to be reconciled with the fact that Nazism was a parallel discourse in her time, which her work was a reaction to, but not a representative of. Art may not account for the social whole, however its existence in the fabric of a diverse society is still significant as it showcases that the spirits of the zeitgeist are multiple, and so are the routes history can take. Art is often there to capture the alternative voices that otherwise would be silenced to oblivion – it can engrave the desire for change.² By acknowledging the multiplicity of the “spirits of our time”, then perhaps I won’t cringe everytime I hear the word ‘spirit’, which I associate with the “holy spirit” and the traumatic spirituality that was forced upon me growing up in a place where the Christian Orthodox Church acted -and still acts- almost as a governing power.

I feel that right now, there is a particular spirit of our time and place in Cyprus, that calls for us to reclaim and renegotiate what it means to be Cypriot– our sense of being, away from the post-colonial wound inflicted from the colonial narrative that undermined us as people, away from the current nationalistic narratives that tamper with our understanding of the past.³ It is both shocking, and a relief, admitting that your identity-crisis isn’t personal. That your thoughts and concerns regarding Cypriot identity, the contested history of the island, the contemporary struggle of belonging, are shared with other people too. Theory can provide consolation, especially when we look at other post-colonial literatures where similar topics around identity politics are investigated, but for me, it was the art scene in Cyprus that has functioned as my way to come in terms with the zeitgeist I noticed. It was the artworks of local artists, whether that was visual arts, poetry, music or theatre, that functioned as my consolation that what I’m going through is a collective struggle. Something that anti-corruption protests of “Ws Dame”⁴ would later come and confirm to me. That social movement of resistance to austerity and corruption was parallel to the cultural movement, and that simultaneous evolution can either be crystal clear to notice, or be as subtle as the touch of a feather.

This desire is expressed by various contemporary Cypriot artists who are laying the ground for new discussions, away from the colonial tropes that perpetuate the concepts of the coloniser and the colonised. Art in relation to identity and Cyprus works as a vessel to express that the seeds have been spilled. It may take years, the seeds may not blossom in the end, but art marks that they were there. Even though my return to my homeland was pretty recent, looking at archival material of works created by local artists in the past decade or so, made me aware of the community that has been digging the soil and investigating the topic. An example of such an artist is Stelios Kallinikou, with works ranging from “Local Studies”, a photographic project he started in 2013 in order to investigate the Cypriot socio-cultural realities, to works like the “Flamingo Theatre”, where the absurdity and the tragedy of the ongoing presence of the British Sovereign bases in Cyprus is exposed.

We may not have the appropriate words yet to define exactly what it means to live in such a contested space where a concrete identity is impossible to pinpoint, and it is unlikely we will find them anytime soon, but art can be our solace that our concerns are being collectively processed. Art can ask the questions that lurk in our minds and can evolve into a platform for investigation – and Cyprus needs multiple such platforms. One of those is the “Exploring Cypriot Identity” collective where academics, poets, writers and the public come together to open this discussion. As they told me: “So much of our identity, especially in the ways it relates to our region, our colonized history and our current experiences, are suppressed. […] As we wrote in our manifesto, we are responding to silence, the silence of colonialism, partition, and nationalism.”

Nationalism is problematic in its own right, and national identities are forced and imposed, at least to some extent, since the concept of the nation is a recent invention, and the people of contemporary nations were never homogeneous. But in the case of Cyprus, where even the imaginary narratives are conflicting, this is even more so. Therefore, I hope that saying “I’m Cypriot”, isn’t a way to say that we demand another national identity, it’s rather the rejection of the pre-existing national identities (Greek and Turkish) that were passed onto the islanders the past century.⁵ It’s an exchange for a new identity that is defined by the sand and soil, and the sea, its colonial and class struggles, its cultural heritage influenced by the various populations of the region.⁶ Saying I’m Cypriot seems like a way to say, I’m a mosaic and I’m multiple, I’m like the ocean. And the arts can very well capture this sentiment. A recent and great example of the above, an investigation of the Cypriot identity, was the play “Out of Necessity”.⁷

The play, directed by Maria Kyriacou and Maria Varnakkidou, explores Cypriotness, untangling the Cypriot constitution and the Doctrine/Law of Necessity which was officially adopted in 1964 when Turkish Cypriots left their governmental positions.⁸ The play’s scope extends to the oral history and official discourses that are passed onto us, but also about the history we are never taught, an honest and raw attempt to “Name it in order to save it”.⁹ The play used the technique of the devised theatre, which meant that the script was co-created by the actors and the directors, by the discussions that took place amongst them. This not only offered a very personal take on our identity-struggles, making it very relatable, but it also offered a democratic platform for the (re)negotiation of ideas, which is symbolic to the kind of spaces we need in order to come to terms with such complicated and essential topics. By rejecting the nationalistic ideas of Greekness (and Turkishness) that were instilled on Cypriots by the institutional narratives, the play revolves around the learning of self-determination and reclaiming of identities. It focuses on the cultural elements that bind us together, echoing and confirming my first thought that we are part of a zeitgeist that demands a redefinition of who we are.

The play brilliantly implores and uses only the Cypriot dialect – the language in which we think and in which our grandmothers used to sing in.¹⁰ Doing so, is a political statement, indicating that the locals can express themselves in their own language, and do not need to suppress it and “formalise it” by speaking in Greek in order to receive validity. On a few occasions, the cast speaks in Turkish which is both a symbolic gesture towards a united island that belongs to all the communities, and functions as a shake to the Greek-speaking audience, confronting them with the frustrating reality that they can’t understand one of the official languages of their island. The two young directors, with their female gaze, embrace the zeitgeist of our island with the figure of Aphrodite, who becomes a recurring trope throughout the play: she is catcalled, humiliated, blinded, attacked, but she is also beautiful and fights till the end to not yield. She is a symbol of Cyprus, stereotypical and touristic, but here reclaimed as the symbol of our identity struggles. Afterall, Aphrodite was the evolution of the Assyrian goddess, Astarte, who was Hellenised in Cyprus with her eastern roots silenced.

The conversations that take place express the frustrations of the young generations who do not understand why we don’t know more about our local history and wonder why we salute the Greek flag. The actors mock the militaristic formations of blind, robotic following of instructions, which are in English – criticising the colonial rule of Cyprus. In the play, Loukia says: “I would like our history class to start with a quote of John Berger: ‘A person or a class which is cut off from its own past is far less free to choose and to act as a person or a class than one that has been able to situate itself in history’”. The play allows us to realise that the search for these alternative histories is an open-ended process that we need to undergo as a community. And while the audience bursts in laughter, or sheds tears of frustration for the realities of our island, you confirm once more that that community already exists, and in some moments like that one, it comes together through art.

Even after all this, I am still hesitant to use the word zeitgeist, but I try to come to terms with it. My last attempt was with the curation of an open-call exhibition Seeking Roots at NiMAC where young artists were asked to investigate the concept of Cypriotness and their identities. I want to only submit two observations. Firstly, that none of the works of the exhibition revolved around Greek or Turkish nationalistic tropes and symbols – except maybe to criticise them. Secondly, as a curator, I was perplexed on how one can talk about identities in general, and in Cyprus in particular, when they are so complicated and non-singular. I concluded that all one ought to do is leave the platform open for the people that do not follow the “official” and imposed narratives to express the various aspects of their identity – be that their culture, their ideology, their gender etc.. In my understanding, our zeitgeists in the exhibition space had an aura of change. They may not represent the majority of the Cypriot society (yet), but knowing that they are there is enough to keep hoping and fighting for the future that has a space for us.


The text focuses on the art scene in the South because of my familiarity with Greek-speaking Cypriot artists. Nevertheless, it is intended for this research to extend to the North and include Turkish speaking Cypriot artists in the future. This would facilitate for a more complete understanding of the zeitgeist on the island.

This text was sponsored by the Youth Board of Cyprus.

1. Excerpt from Stelios Kapnisis’ (aka Alepoudelis), poem “Bury me under cypriot bridges”: https://www.instagram.com/alepoudelispoetry/↩
2. This is of course a pretty recent “privilege” since women’s voices from the previous centuries are mostly lost in oblivion.↩
3. Historically, it has been extremely hard for the Cypriot people to define themselves. From the late 19th century until 1960, Cyprus was under British rule, who suggested that identity of the locals of the island should be categorised based on the following paradigm: muslim=Turkish, orthodox=Greek, leaving no space for a Cypriot identity.↩
4. Information about “Ws Dame”: https://movementsarchive.org/doku.php?id=en:groups:osdame↩
5. As Caesar V. Mavratsas  points out: “Cypriotism does not therefore promote the idea that there exists Cypriot nation – unless ‘nation’ is understood as a strictly political-territorial category.” The ideological contest between GreekCypriot nationalism and Cypriotism – 1974, p. 722. Cypriotism does not therefore promote the idea that there exists a Cypriot nation – unless ‘nation’ is understood as a strictly political-territorial category↩
6. Andreas Panayiotou wrote about Cypriot identity that: “it’s not just a political identity, it is also cultural”, he goes on to argue that it could be considered as an ‘ethnic’ identity rather than a national one – “a term that is being used the past years in the human sciences to describe cultural groups, communities, or subcultures, who based on some common cultural, geographical or historical elements fight for autonomy from the nation-state that is surrounding them or oppressing them. The main difference between national and ethnic identity is the structure: nations are politically concentrative and homogeneous cultural phenomena, while ethnic groups fight for cultural de-centralisation”. -Andreas Panayiotou, “Η Κυπριακή ταυτότητα είναι γέννημα των ιστορικών εμπειριών του τόπου”, p. 6  link: https://movementsarchive.org/doku.php?id=en:brochures:kipriaki_sinidisi:part4↩
7. See a recent review here: https://cyprus-mail.com/2021/09/16/out-of-necessity-play-returns-to-questions-islands-search-for-an-identity/↩
8. See a review written in Greek here: https://dialogos.com.cy/664023-2/↩
9. I heard this phrase from Sevina Floridou, who was referencing her architecture professor Michael Tomlan.↩
10. This was not the first play in recent years that utilised the Cypriot dialect, following a parallel wave that is also reflected in poetry, music, documentary (like ‘Tongue’) and film (for example Adonis Florides’ films) that reject the previous tendency of using the Greek koine in all forms of artistic expression.↩