Kiriakos Tompolidis was born in Essen in 1997. He studied painting at the Berlin University of the Arts until the summer of 2024. Reflections on identity and origin, on the one hand, and the use of collaging techniques, on the other, marked his painterly work from an early age. By fusing these two predilections, the young painter developed his own mature artistic language, which quickly set him apart from his fellow students and attracted the interest of the international art world.

Tompolidis is the grandchild of Greek immigrants. His grandparents moved to Germany’s industrial Ruhr region in the 1960s as so-called guest workers. They were required to return to Greece after limited employment – and intended to do so. But like so many others they ended up staying. This state of ambiguity, between guest and citizen, between Greek and German, and its implications for the following generations, has been the subject of Tompolidis’ work for several years. He covers the cultural, linguistic, religious, and highly personal dimensions all at the same time. He often interweaves the stories, dreams, and experiences of three generations in his paintings. Portraits of his sister are imbued with the experiences of his parents – and set against the backdrop of his grandparents’ spacey 70s wallpaper. Wallpapers, carpets, patterns, and textiles altogether play a key role in his designs – as symbols of home, homeland, and cultural context. To this end, Tompolidis often uses a specific imaging process that allows him to inseparably fuse printed paper with the canvas. By means of chemical treatment – he does not reveal the formula, of course – the motifs burn themselves into the canvas while the paper carrier dissolves. Thus, most of the wallpapers that emerge in the paintings were, indeed, genuine wallpapers. Picturing them, quite literally, without taking a detour via painting expresses a special interest in things. This is also reflected in Tompolidis’ works in the form of (painted) antique Greek vases, everyday objects of life in Germany’s “economic miracle” years or the recurring lucky charm, the Eye of Fatima. They complete the young painter’s alphabet and help forge links between his parents’ Greek origins and the treatment of homosexuality in ancient Greece or the post-war reality of his grandparents. At the end of the day, the painter is forced to ask himself a question that none of us can escape: What do I make of all the things, of all the elements that make up my biographical and familial fabric? What do I accept? What do I reject? And what do I add? And what do I call home or Heimat?