Cutting the strings
a story by an artist from Athens
May 9th, Athens
In front of the Tower of Winds, beneath the shade of a spreading tree, Lydia has created her own small universe. An Athens-born pyrographer, she presses burning iron to paint on leather. With this simple tool, Lydia designs patterns, symbols, and imageries that transform raw material into stories. Bookmarks, notebooks, wallets — each piece inhabited by characters and narratives she's working on.
"Life is a cardiogram with ups and downs and moments that stagnate," she says, pointing at a painting of a little cartoonish figure with a long hat walking along the peaks and valleys of a heartbeat.
I find the same figure on a notebook cover, this time walking on planet Earth. When I turn to ask Lydia about the meaning, she sets down her burning pen and walks to the left edge of the stand, where a metal puppet hangs.
“This little person used to feel like a puppet, controlled by all kinds of things — rules, society, expectations. But one day, she takes a pair of scissors and cuts the strings that tied her to everything... and she is free. Yet strands still hang, reminders of how she used to feel as she continues to move forward. Her clothes are worn, so she patches up the holes because she doesn't care about what's outside, only what's in the heart.
A story I've been working on," she says, smiling shyly.
Only after we free ourselves from all that is expected of us can we start to write our own rules.
Another notebook has a turtle on its cover. Catching my glance, Lydia tells me she loves turtles because they always reach their destination, no matter how long or slow the journey takes.
Then, I remembered something else about turtles. They periodically shed their outer scutes during growth to make way for bigger ones to accommodate their expansion. This also removes parasites or algae, repairing damage.
Beside me stands a curly-haired young man from Berlin, whom I overhear as Lydia asks about him. He holds a rolled cigarette between his fingers, wearing a Sony α camera cross-body, and an outfit that makes me think of my friend Liam from college. His shades are pushed up to his hair. When he insists on paying extra for the necklace Lydia threaded through a leather lighter holder, she gently refuses. So he buys two more keychains, each with stories that Lydia carefully explains.
"You have a beautiful face," Lydia says as boy-with-a-beautiful-face pockets the treasures.
Something about this whole encounter touched me deeply – Lydia and her stories, like threads of silk pulling from a cocoon of imagination.
Here is a piece of Athens, an ancient city that once dazzled the Western world. So much has blunted its edges, but the city will never cease to inspire, so long as people are bent over their tools, tinkering and looking up to find the sun, trees, and friendly faces listening patiently to the tales that spellbind us.
I haven’t carved out much time for writing lately — the pressure for polishness and structure can feel deterring. Writing is my most reliable therapy. In its absence, my mind reels with all that remains unprocessed. It’s only early May, yet the month is already full of happenings: a beautiful retreat in the Lake District that first weekend — new friends, deep conversations on long hikes, wild swimming, reconnecting with nature, and surprisingly good English food — I savor every bit. Spring can be emotional; no other season feels more like a metamorphosis, where the past opens into fearless possibilities.
On the 8th, I flew to Athens. I had booked the trip months prior, when I thought I needed a mandatory break to shield startup burnout. Because what refuels the brain more perfectly than marveling at UNESCO sites? The truth is, our launch has been delayed, and I have not made nearly as much progress as I would have wished with Glia. Wandering around the Acropolis and the Agora, listening to an audio guide about the birth of democracy and the everlasting great ideas, I gazed down at my dusty sandals and realized how much I missed being at my desk in London, working on Glia.
The past month, work has felt like stubborn stagnation that I struggled to break through. I crave the rhythm of building fast again — ticking off everything on my to-do list each day. We don't get many chances to full-send on something like this — to take our best shot at bringing the wildest ideas to life, hoping they'll mean something. So I shortened my trip and came home, feeling ready and grateful.
love you Erica - blessed to read your words today. I'm sure your desk is happy to have your inspiring and churning mind back in its presence too <3