This is my blog “Grape jelly”

My practice moves between film, writing, painting, and constructed worlds. I build narrative environments where images behave like characters, and characters behave like unstable systems. Each work becomes a site where identity, memory, and emotional rupture are observed rather than resolved.

Working across mediums allows me to treat fiction as material. I stage encounters, gestures, and symbolic objects, then follow the fractures that appear when a story begins to break down. The result is a visual language that blends cinematic tension with painterly intuition: layered, shifting, often disorienting, but always anchored in lived psychological truth.

In the gallery space, my films and paintings function as fragments of a larger world. They are not separate disciplines but interconnected structures — scripts made of images, images made of atmosphere, and atmospheres made of unresolved narratives. I’m interested in how a single gesture, a glitch, or an interruption can expose the instability of a persona or a relationship.

My work does not aim for catharsis. Instead, it documents what emerges when the surface of a world begins to slip: the masks, the ruptures, the residues left behind. I treat the gallery as an observational field, a place where these narrative organisms can be displayed at their point of collapse.

Contact me: helenadamidou@gmail.com

STOP
I STOP
I STOP
we STOP
we STOP

troubles away
I get my sun-tan
immersed in my day
the dirty water’s flyin’ down
And I am slow
But when I watch my son
He has to stop to watch me
want no troubles either, just troubles away

he watches from a distance
his face is unmoving
It’s his eyes that feed me strength
normally I am offended by their revealing look, but today
I am grateful for their attention

—

And it used to make me happy, but
I have stopped trying because
I have seen this before
In ages that are waiting to unfold

—

My son, I stand faceless
To offer in a mute gesture
This poem.
The years I have left in this world I spend trying to save myself, But the best I can do is hold the line The blood of those who’ve fed my appetite Keeps flowing, and it’s sickening to watch The sight of your mother, her face twisted in sorrow As you leave me, she begs you to stay And I, I am nothing but a mirror

outside the door behind me
he doesn’t say a word

—

Some days I can’t tell if my son told me why he’s afraid of the dark, of bugs, and giant squash. What would I reply? That I am too? If he says his bedtime prayers to me, he should know I’ll be there, and what I can’t say to his face, I will whisper to the chance He does not come. Home again. He’s left me without a word, so I’ll be doing penance for not protecting him. I’ll never be the same. I see the fear in his eyes. He’s just a little boy who needs to feel safe and loved. He’ll never feel that way if I’m not here to say goodnight. He’ll never be the same, son told me he’s afraid of the dark, bugs, and giant squash. What would I reply? That I am too? If he says his bedtime prayers to me, he should know I’ll be there, and what I can’t say to his face, I will whisper to.

—

She would stop breathing for months on end, and then one day, she might start again for no apparent reason, pulling new air in and around, the way a tree pulls water from the earth. He knelt down by her, touching her hand as she breathed. No, he didn’t tell anyone. Not even ____ The walls started to pulse around us, each sound carried on something like a stream of water, through currents and tunnels, I felt this regret for being alive, this regret like a weight on my chest. He would stop breathing for months on end, and then one day, she might start again -for no apparent reason, pulling new air in and around, the way a tree pulls water from the earth. He knelt down by her, touching her hand as she breathed. No, he didn’t tell anyone. Not even me —