Born in Athens in 1935, he studied the violin at the National Conservatory of Athens and painting under Yannis Moralis at the Athens School of Fine Arts (1956-1960). He also frequented Yannis Tsarouchis’s studio. He continued his studies in Lithography (1960-1963) in Paris on a French state scholarship under Eugène Clairin and Georges Dayez. The years that followed found him sharing his time between Athens and Paris. Besides his systematic involvement with printmaking and the applied arts, he created a significant number of sets for the theatre, designed a significant number of art publications and illustrated numerous literature publications. He has also published writings of his own, both prose and poetry. In 1985 he was named Commander of the Order of the Phoenix of the Hellenic Republic and Chevalier of the Order of Arts and Letters of France. In 2000 he designed two grand murals for the “Metaxourgio” station of the Athens Metro. From 2009 he is an Honorary Member of the Russian Academy of Arts. In 2010 he was named Commander of the Order of Arts and Letters of France and in 2013 Commander of the Legion of Honour. He passed away in January 2022.
Alekos Fassianos
Works
Solo Exhibitions
2026
Alekos Fassianos. Under the summer sun •
The National Gallery - Corfu Annex•
Corfu •
(curated by Efi Agathonikou)•
2026
The Dreamers •
in collaboration with Alekos Fassianos Museum & Estate•
Herald St•
London•
2024
Alekos Fassianos: Sailing to Byzantium •
in collaboration with Alekos Fassianos Museum & Estate•
Zeyrek Çinili Hamam •
Istanbul •
(curated by Anlam de Coster)•
2019
B&M Theocharakis Foundation for the Fine Arts and Music•
Athens•
2018
Galerie Sophie Scheidecker•
Paris•
2018
Fassianos in France •
Historical Archives – Museum of Hydra•
Hydra•
(curated by Victoria Fassianou)•
2018
Municipal Art Gallery•
Athens•
2018
Petit Format •
Iris Art Gallery•
Athens•
(curated by Victoria Fassianou)•
2017
Municipal Gallery of Corfu•
Corfu•
(curated by Louisa Karapidaki)•
2017
Art Gallery Kapopoulos Fine Arts (Golden Hall)•
Maroussi•
2016
Travelling exhibition•
Municipal Art Gallery, Athens / 2017 Papastratio Megaron, Agrinio•
Athens•
(curated by Louisa Karapidaki)•
2016
State Museum of the History of Religion•
St. Petersburg•
(curated by Olga Kardasidi)•
2016
Apocalypse •
Art Gallery Kapopoulos Fine Arts•
Patmos•
2015
Fethiye Camii•
Nafpaktos•
(curated by Nikos Kalatzis)•
2015
Moments •
Art Gallery Kapopoulos Fine Arts•
Mykonos•
2014
Galerie Française, Gerd Scheiderr•
Munich•
2014
Espace Vera•
Saint-Germain-en-Laye•
2012
Galerie Estades•
Lyon•
2012
Grosvenor Gallery•
London•
2012
La Lumière retrouvée •
Galerie Di Meo•
Paris•
2011
Fassianos: Giorgos Economopoulos Collection •
Pavlos Kountouriotis Mansion•
Hydra•
(curated by Efi Agathonikou)•
2011
Memories •
Villa Tamaris Centre d΄Art•
Toulon•
2011
Daily Images •
Opera Gallery•
London•
2011
Hellenic Museum•
Melbourne•
2011
Galerie Herrmann•
Berlin•
2011
Irmos Gallery•
Thessaloniki•
2010
Aegean Breeze •
Galleria Grafika•
Tokyo•
2009
45 Years of Creation •
Modern Greek Art Museum•
Rhodes•
2009
Galerie Sonia Zannettacci•
Geneva•
2009
La Mythologie légère de Fassianos •
Galerie Helenbeck Nice•
Nice•
2008
All That We Are Left with •
Potnia Thiron Gallery•
Athens•
2008
Galerie Di Meo•
Paris•
2007
Eternal Comeback •
Potnia Thiron Gallery•
Athens•
2007
Galerie Schneider•
Munich•
2007
Art Athina 2007 •
Basic Plan•
Athens•
2007
Contemporary Istanbul•
Istanbul•
2004
National Gallery – Alexandros Soutsos Museum•
Athens•
2003
Athenais Gallery•
Athens•
1998
Galerie Rachlin Lemarie•
Paris•
1997
Galerie La Hune•
Paris•
1996
Galerie Pudelco•
Bonn•
1993
Galerie Beaubourg•
Paris•
1993
Galerie La Hune•
Paris•
1992
Grafica Gallery•
Tokyo•
1992
Origrafica Gallery•
Malmö•
1992
Zoumboulakis Galleries•
Athens•
1992
Irmos Gallery•
Thessaloniki•
1991
Galerie La Hune•
Paris•
1989
Galerie Beaubourg•
Paris•
1989
Galerie La Hune•
Paris•
1989
Richter Masset Gallery•
Munich•
1989
Zoumboulakis Galleries•
Athens•
1985
Alecos Fassianos •
Retrospective exhibition•
Château de Chenonceau•
Chenonceaux•
1984
FIAC •
Grand Palais Creuzevault Pavilion•
Paris•
1984
French Academy•
Athens•
1983
Galerie Creuzevault•
Paris•
1983
Alecos Fassianos •
Retrospective exhibition•
Musée Paul Valéry•
Sète•
1982
Kammer Gallery•
Hamburg•
1982
FIAC •
Grand Palais La Hune Pavilion•
Paris•
1982
Origrafica Gallery•
Malmo•
1982
Galerie Beaubourg•
Paris•
1982
Galerie Samy Kinge•
Paris•
1982
Galerie Cuillard•
Grenoble•
1982
Grafica Gallery•
Tokyo•
1982
Alexandre Iolas – Zoumboulakis Galleries•
Athens•
1981
Hotel-de-ville•
Sochaux•
1981
Galerie Proscenium•
Paris•
1981
Ostermalm Gallery•
Stockholm•
1981
Galerie La Hune•
Paris•
1980
Alexandre Iolas – Zoumboulakis Galleries•
Athens•
1980
Galerie Artcurial•
Paris•
1980
Galerie La Hune•
Paris•
1980
Galerie l’Orangerie•
Cologne•
1980
Grafica Gallery•
Tokyo•
1980
Carta Asbeck Gallery•
Dusseldorf•
1980
Zita-Mi Art Gallery•
Thessaloniki•
1979
Origrafica Gallery•
Malmo•
1979
Gimpel Gallery•
London•
1978
Zita-Mi Art Gallery•
Thessaloniki•
1978
Gallerie Beaubourg•
Paris•
1978
Gallerie Le Chapitre•
Paris•
1977
Alexandre Iolas – Zoumboulakis Galleries•
Athens•
1977
Origrafica Gallery•
Malmo•
1977
Heland Gallery•
Stockholm•
1976
Kammer Gallery•
Hamburg•
1975
Alexandre Iolas Galleries•
Paris•
1975
Alexandre Iolas – Zoumboulakis Galleries•
Athens•
1975
Barroci Gallery•
Milan•
1974
Galerie Tanit•
Munich•
1974
Galerie Le Point•
Beirut•
1973
Galerie Facchetti•
Paris and Zurich•
1973
Borjesson Gallery•
Malmo•
1973
Alexandre Iolas Galleries•
Paris and New York•
1972
Alexandre Iolas Galleries•
Geneva and Milan•
1971
Galerie Facchetti•
Zurich•
1971
Alexandre Iolas – Zoumboulakis Galleries•
Athens•
1969
Mench Gallery•
Hamburg•
1969
Galerie Facchetti•
Paris•
1968
Hartmann Gallery•
Munich•
1968
Kurita Gallery•
Tokyo•
1967
Galerie 2+3•
Paris•
1966
Merlin Gallery•
Athens•
1963
Zygos Art Gallery•
Athens•
1961
Zygos Art Gallery•
Athens•
1960
A23 Gallery•
Athens•
2026
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Press
Fassianos Facing the Skies
I don’t know, or I don’t know any more – if – some things I’ve lived, believing that I know them, if, however, they are things I should grow out of, or ‘denude’ myself of them. Simply speaking, to merely stop seeing myself in them… I can barely speak, even about seeing everything bloom or simply fade away. It often happens that the lips are chapped, it happens that we leave, without ever knowing where we’re going. It happens that we look at something we do not recognize… The happiness we dream as ours seems no more than a mere chattering. What happens to the days, the night, I know nothing of who I am… A man, a cat or a dog? Was there a time when you slept in Rome?
There was suddenly in my way, I don’t know what, I don’t know who. Who this was, without knowing, I thought I saw myself… amongst others, as in the spring… Who, then, do you think I speak of? What would I talk about without you… what do I know? The sky is higher than the roofs.
The one whose name I write, his name I had to learn to say, Fassianos, Oh, Fassianos! I recall the first days, when the surprise came on me, of a new way to love…
The first one whose image I had, was strolling, red and alone. His hair flying in the wind had black spots on it… What am I saying, what am I saying? (I’m saying: who am I?) The weather had been often windy. That made the tie fly under the black spots, the eyes dreaming… What is he holding? It’s a red lily of the valley, but again nothing ever moves when you’re alone in the wind…
At the edge of a false stem, you can get a dizzy head, even more than was at first. My eyes look down silent as though they have to keep quiet, and the cracks of the August wind, so harsh not sweet.
Hey you, say again that painter’s name that I so love to ‘read’ today, in the head deep in the eyes and on the walls of a new dream, between Matisse and Mirò… And should you like this, good, very good, if not, it’s in my forehead tightly fixed like a wreath of thorns that bleeds. Dear God, if only I had the tempo and the time, my eyes would open wide, be it Italy or Greece, my eyes would never be wide enough to tell…
Look at the valley down there and the reverse blowing of the air, across the green leafage, as if travelling on a winter path. The right hand clutches two twigs and the man’s body is on fire. Is it the leafage or the swelling of the sheets? I know this red passer-by as if he were in the depths of my eye. What is he saying to me? A new and radiant tower, and the wind holding the private part… and the hand seems being the one to hold the trousers…
I say all this is worth, which is worth, the wind the city and the impressions. But there are others getting closer. Or that cling, one should say, to their clothes, so similar, white with children’s green stripes… And the dark green flight of ties, which fly in the air, who do they veil? Who do they hide or seek… and no one says “sorry”…
“Nice weather”, the traveller says, without giving it some thought what is the next thing that awaits… When the night falls for good, all can be done but on different wool. It is the same people who stroll and stroll endlessly… Yet, here they are, our people in pairs, their shutters, their steering wheels, they seem to have gained weight, whether ready or heavy. Full, full of themselves.
Red or white smokers, bloody smokers, where do they come from and where do they go from here? All I know now is what it seems, this flesh of theirs worn upside down.
I have thus lived in a fabric dark red, going out every single morning, and what was, what was, what was the weather like?
It’s the same as everywhere, when we walk, and we trample and we spit the red wine… Go your way, go your way! A dog goes by, rubbing here and there? Then far from you, there it is, jumping up and down, and it is not leaps and bounds, the whole body trembling in the night. What is it that you dream of, what is it that any of us dreams of?
And finally, the time for the grand day has come, the passers-by have heavy eyes, their hands are mad with caresses… And thus I lived in the red blood of Jesus. Oh, how man is made to love with the whole of his existence, with all his unloved existence, never ever calm!…
Oh, miracle of indecency, to whom bethinks it I belong, Men or Women leaving… whether for Italy or Greece, Paris or Rome, a song is always a song… Whether winter or spring, whether a woman or a man, tremble at the prospect of thus being tempted…
Louis Aragon
21st January, 1981