I thought I’d share with you the only feel good news story I could find in the Greek newspapers this week. Just about everything else addresses the country’s threatening to explode financial crisis, how it’s being handled (or mishandled), and an interview in this weekend’s The New York Times Sunday Magazine with Greece’s Minister of Finance which—like the Minister himself—is generating a lot of heat.
|Just looks painted.|
“Greece’s Last Film Poster Painter Soldiers On,” is a story written by Sophie Makris appearing in Greece’s Ekathimerini newspaper reporting on how a life can be well-lived even through the most difficult of times. Here it is, in its inspirational entirety:
Vassilis Dimitriou is 80 years old, works alone and knows his days on the job are numbered -- his left hand trembles from the early onset of Parkinson's disease.
But Dimitriou, a survivor of Greece's wartime occupation by the Nazis, remains determined to fight his lonely battle against digital printing for as long as he can.
For more than 65 years, the diminutive, beret-sporting artist has depicted all the big names, but some he pays extra attention to.
"For instance I have drawn Clint Eastwood 50 times. If I close my eyes now I can start drawing Clint Eastwood," he adds.
During the 1960s when cinema was at its peak in Greece, Dimitriou would be commissioned to paint up to 10 posters a week.
Nowadays, only one cinema in Athens, the Athinaion near the center, has held onto the tradition.
"The laminated billboards are something you use one day and throw away the next. We are not of this mentality, we like tradition, we like keeping this connection between the arts," she adds.
"Music, painting, dance, cinema for me are one," Axioti says.
Born in the working-class district of Kypseli [of Athens] in 1935, Dimitriou apprenticed beside a Czech poster-painter and later developed his own style.
In his heydey he had two assistants as well as his wife to lend a hand, and could turn out a poster a day for a dozen cinemas in Athens.
Today, a commission takes three days.
On the busy highway in front of the cinema, thousands of commuters pass every day with only a cursory glance at the Athinaion's marquee.
But it was not the case a few decades ago, when film posters could inflame passions.
"The owner had to call me in because a group of angry harpies had gathered in front of the cinema. I had to bring out my brushes to cover the lady up a little," he says.
A few years later, the opposite happened -- Dimitriou was summoned to "undress" Sophia Loren, whose chest was deemed to have been excessively covered.
"When I descended from my ladder, several men had gathered to applaud," he says.
A child of Athens's traumatic occupation by Nazi German forces during World War II, during which thousands died of starvation, Dimitriou still remembers going hungry most of the time.
"My mother kept on saying, 'our children are going to die,'" he says.
Like most children his age, he would climb a tree adjoining his neighborhood's open-air cinema to steal looks at the films being shown.
One night, cinema employees dragged him down and he fell inside the cinema courtyard, a story that would play out similarly to the plot of Italian classic "Cinema Paradiso."
"It was my opportunity. The projectionist offered to let me watch the films for free if I helped him with the booth," he says.
"Later on, the manager saw some of my sketches and told me to seek an apprenticeship."
The painter says he is determined to stick to his art for years to come. "I feel I can always do better," he says. But Dimitriou no longer goes to the movies.
He says he misses the era "when one would dress up to go to the cinema, and later meet in the foyer for a drink at the intermission."
Don’t we all.