The exhibition is broken into thematic rooms. There’s a graffiti room, Landy says, evoking the glut of sentiment sprayed across Athens’s walls. (A solid percentage of the graffiti, he notes, directs bile at Angela Merkel and the German establishment seen as responsible for austerity demands.) Another room focuses on money, or the lack thereof. One drawing here replicates portions of a suicide note left by a 77-year-old man who, after having his pension slashed, shot himself in a public square.
“I’ve always been in charge of content,” Landy reflects. “But this time, that’s what different—to open up some communication. I’m not Greek, so I’ll never completely get it—I’m not in control. This show is for the left, the middle, the right; it’s for everybody, and everybody can take part. I tried to make it as inclusive as I could.”
Still, Landy did exercise a discriminating eye. Not every submission was worth turning into a completed drawing. “People were sending pictures of rooftops, their pussycats, things we weren’t really interested in,” he says, before clarifying: “It’s not that I don’t like cats, but there’s only so much one can take.”