Our meeting was arranged for 36 Dimitriou Soutsou Street, in the Ampelokipi neighborhood of Athens. There was something almost ritualistic about it. I found Amalia Kavali waiting for me in front of the sealed basement window of a tall apartment building—once the home of poet Nikos Karouzos. In a corner nearly invisible to passersby, who walk past it without a glance, the actress stands as if waiting for a hidden door to open.
This is where we begin a unique kind of urban exploration through central Athens—seeking out the former homes of artists and intellectuals, trying to catch glimpses of memory in the cracks of the city. This is the spirit behind Χartες (the Athens Art Map), a personal initiative by Amalia Kavali inspired by the English Heritage Blue Plaques project.
“I spent six years of my life in the UK,” she explains. “There, municipalities in almost every city put up plaques to mark the homes of significant figures. As I walked through those cities, I’d come across a name I didn’t recognize, and I’d look it up on my phone. Suddenly, I’d be discovering something new—something I wouldn’t have sought out on my own, maybe because it wasn’t directly in my interests. But when the city gives you that information through chance, it leads you to unexpected areas and stories.”
Wandering During Lockdown
With that memory in mind, Kavali began taking long walks through an eerily empty Athens during the COVID-19 lockdown. She observed apartment blocks, neoclassical buildings, and faded nameplates. The idea returned to her—and this time, she decided to adapt it to the Greek context.
“After quickly exhausting my usual routes through the center, I realized that nothing like this existed here. Sure, some buildings have plaques, either put up by the city or the residents themselves, but it’s not systematic,” she recalls.
“So I began doing research at night, starting in my neighborhood—Lycabettus and Kolonaki—quietly creating my first map without realizing it. The next day, I’d go out walking to find the spots I had researched. I started posting these discoveries on my personal Instagram and Facebook. When I saw people were interested, I created a new Instagram account (@x.art.es) specifically for this kind of research.”
Karouzos’ Basement
A quick look at that page now reveals a treasure trove of maps, photographs, and notes—traces of great minds and creators in a city that seems increasingly forgetful, overwhelmed by modern gray buildings and Airbnb renovations.
One such haunting trace is the name “Nikos,” still faintly visible on the doorbell of Karouzos’ old basement apartment—35 years after his death. Kavali shows it to me, along with a photo of the poet in the window, and quotes his verse: “I speak to you from a basement, I speak to you from the upper room of Greece.” Though his life was modest, his body of work remains significant—most of it written two meters underground.
There’s a similar remnant at 1 Thesprotias Street, on the buzzer of the building where author Elli Alexiou lived for many years. As Kavali shows me pictures she unearthed during her research, an elderly woman opens the door to do some cleaning. When we explain our purpose, she smiles and recalls stories of the beloved neighbor who once knitted her baby red socks—a gift she has kept ever since. These moments of connection with longtime residents often yield priceless details that don’t exist online.
“I Ring Doorbells”
“Much of this information is technically already available,” Kavali says. “But it’s hidden—things we’ve walked past without noticing because we weren’t looking.”
“Artists often mention their addresses in correspondence or interviews. But what excites me most is when I have a hunch that an artist lived in a certain area, and I start asking neighbors. Sometimes they remember, sometimes they don’t. I literally ring doorbells.”
She also relies heavily on tips from followers of her account—often solving research puzzles thanks to their input.
Now we’re walking past a house on Deinokratous Street that belonged to Lykourgos N. Kogevinas, the man who introduced printmaking to Greece. A bit further is No. 9, once the workshop of painter Yannis Moralis, next to the home of poet Nikos Kavvadias—when he wasn’t out at sea.
Then at No. 60, we stop at the former home of author Georges Sari, who lived there from 1972 until her death in 2012. Her name remained on the doorbell for years, until the building was sold and renovated. Fortunately, the new foreign owner, prompted by Kavali, placed a commemorative plaque on the marble steps outside.
“It’s not just about mapping,” Kavali emphasizes. “It’s that I’m discovering the city alongside these artists. It’s a physical experience—I’m walking, I’m seeing similar environments, similar perspectives. My eye is trained on the same visual field. We talk about their lives and work—not as untouchable icons, but as people. We reconnect with their human side, which is often overlooked, even though it’s vital to understanding their art.”
A Changing City
Next stop: 49 Dimokharous Street, where poet Kostas Varnalis lived most of his life. Though not originally from Athens, his work drew deeply from urban life, and from this house he chronicled the capital at the turn of the 20th century. There’s a park nearby that bears his name, but few locals know the reason.
Initially, Kavali had misidentified his home, confusing it with another house on the same street. Neighbors later helped correct the mistake, pointing out changes in street numbering over the years.
“The hardest part is verifying the exact locations,” she explains. “I research artists spanning from 1900 to the present day, and central Athens has changed dramatically. For example, Exarchia has been completely rebuilt, so I have to identify buildings based on what remains around them.”
A bit further along the same street, at No. 9, she shows me where Melina Mercouri lived with director Jules Dassin—a house that looks nothing like it used to after renovations. However, the family’s original home at 26 Tsakalof Street in Kolonaki still stands and proudly displays two plaques, one for Melina and one for her father Spyros.
What’s Next for Χartες?As we wrap up, I ask Kavali about the future of Χartες, which by now clearly goes far beyond Instagram.
“I tried to create a self-guided tour app, but I couldn’t secure funding to cover development costs—it’s expensive,” she says.
“So I posted a call on my account asking for volunteers to help us build a prototype. That way, we could simplify things a bit. I’ve realized that when I’m deeply involved in theatre or television, I can’t always dedicate time to the maps. That’s why I now work with two amazing volunteers—Anastasia Adamoudi and Natassa Kornilaki—who help me with the mapping. Collaborating with them has brought me so much joy—it feels like we’re sharing a vision, and a game. There’s this passion, excitement, and sense of discovery. It’s deeply moving.”
Χartες isn’t just about memory—it’s about presence. It’s about reclaiming cultural space, one doorbell at a time.
