Spyros Haritou was a renowned photographer, born in the picturesque village of Kissonergha, located in the region of Pafos, in the year 1901. During his childhood, he spent much of his time in Smyrna with his father, where they lived together before being forced to flee as refugees. Seeking refuge, they eventually made their way to Athens, where Haritou discovered his passion for the art of photography.

In the early 1920s, Haritou repatriated to Pafos and embarked on a new journey, opening the first-ever photography studio in Ktima in 1925. Driven by a desire to further refine his craft, he emigrated to the United States in 1929, where he spent two years studying and experimenting with new techniques.

In 1931, Haritou returned to Paphos, where he would spend the majority of his career capturing the smallest and greatest moments of the district's residents through his lens. From prominent personalities and landscapes to parades, national celebrations, feasts, flower festivals, and religious ceremonies, Haritou captured it all. He also traveled across the island, capturing the beauty of its landscapes and monuments.

With a career spanning nearly six decades, Haritou passed away in 1991, leaving behind a rich legacy of photographs that have become an important part of Pafos's cultural heritage. His work continues to be celebrated and admired by many, and his contribution to the art of photography will never be forgotten.

As I delved deeper into the story of Spyros Haritou, I knew that I had to track down his son, Michalakis, who lived in Athens and was one of my father’s best friends. With the intention of preserving and showcasing the value of his father's old photographs, I set out to visit Michalakis with the idea of creating a set of different themes or even a biography of Spyros. It seemed like the perfect project for me to pursue in parallel to my father's retrospective and other plans I had in mind.

During my discussion with Michalakis, I was delighted to discover that he too had engaged professionally with photography and that he had kept his own archive of photographs that were worth exploring. This is how the project "Limanaki Kato Pafos 1974" came to be. Michalakis also verified the existence of his father's archive, but other than it being kept in the basement of their family home in Paphos, he knew nothing more, as he had lived in Athens since 1977.

Eager to delve deeper into Spyros's archive, I asked Michalakis if I could take a look at it and perhaps work with it. He promptly gave me a carte blanche, granting me full access to the archive, and thus providing me with an invaluable opportunity to further explore Spyros's legacy and contribution to the art of photography.

With Michalakis' blessing, I returned to Cyprus in 2006 with a sense of purpose and determination. Upon my arrival, I made a beeline for the family home, eager to reconnect with my roots and gain a sense of belonging. What I discovered there was nothing short of astounding. Nestled in the basement of the home were thousands of small boxes, meticulously archived by date, but sadly in a state of ruin, with some on the brink of disintegration. The boxes included dry glass negative plates, now stuck with each other into solid blocks. As I gazed upon this treasure trove of history, I knew that I had stumbled upon something truly special, and I knew that I had to act fast to preserve it.

I immediately set priorities, and in the months that followed, I gathered a team of experts - architects, civil engineers, photographers, artists, curators, and friends - to help me harness the potential of this incredible archive. We brainstormed various plans, fully aware that none of us had prior expertise or familiarity with materials in such a fragile state."

As the years passed and my first projects began to take shape, my focus turned to the archive. I worked tirelessly to preserve and protect the fragile contents, all the while taking on new projects, such as Risky Travels - my proposal for Paphos' candidacy for PAFOS2017 - European Capital of Culture. It was a challenging, but ultimately rewarding journey, as I was able to breathe new life into a forgotten piece of history, and share it with the world.

I remember the moment vividly, as I attempted to scan a few plates that were haphazardly stacked on a coffee table. It was a random choice, but the results were nothing short of transformative. The passage of time had left its mark on the glass plates, creating a unique fusion of imagery as humidity from the water channel flowing beneath the house seeped into the plates, crafting its own imaginary worlds. This natural, random fusion of the plates, which would require special care to separate, urged me to experiment and look for other scanning techniques. The outcome of this process was always a surprise, resulting in images never seen before.

But fate intervened in the form of Michalakis, who, in the middle of 2015, informed me that he was considering selling the family home. This sudden development made it clear to me that time was running out, and I knew that I had to act fast to ensure the preservation of the archive.

With a sense of urgency, I set out to find a new home for the archive, a suitable space where it could be properly cataloged, studied, and preserved for scientific evaluation. I searched for the perfect location in town to house this invaluable collection of history. After much effort, I was able to secure a suitable space where the archive could be properly stored for further evaluation. 

The results from my research, concerning the archive and my art, were first showcased at the inaugural Larnaka Biennale in 2018, where I submitted three fused photographs enlarged to 1.5 meters and titled "Souls of Paphos". The project received wide recognition and was awarded a prize for excellence, but I knew that more could be generated from those images, than just recognition for my choice. I wanted to push the boundaries of what was possible and create something truly unique.

A friend of mine, a sculptor, urged me to step in and intervene in the photographs, to make additions and forget about my personal art for the moment. His intervention had a profound effect on me, and it fundamentally changed the way I approached the archive. I began to engage in a new dialogue with the photographs, making room for my own voice and perspective. I experimented with various techniques, patterns, and brushstrokes, always keeping in mind both the preservation of the Haritou (what had been saved from the archive) and the passage of time that had determined their current state.

As Mr. Bakirtzis so eloquently put it, by "destroying" the work, I was able to create something new, something that launched a new dialogue with the viewer. By applying harsh brushstrokes over the faces of the depicted characters, I eliminated their identity and created space for my own intervention.

My recent experiences have led me to develop a deep appreciation for serendipitous events. One such event was the state in which the archive was uncovered. The imperfect condition of the glass plates presented an opportunity for my artistic proposal to come to fruition, and it's something that I am deeply grateful for.