I wake up shortly after the first rays of the sun. It’s strange for me to sleep at dawn. Before I even open my eyes, I won’t forget to smile. It’s forever. When I open them, I thank life, God, or some higher power that has decided to rank me among its living ones.

I am beginning a ritual that I have followed without interruption for over fifteen years. I listen to my breath and practice meditation. I cultivate an hour of quiet time with myself. I check whether my thoughts and decisions are fruitful, whether they obey the laws of justice and prudence. My spiritual connection is more important than anything I do. No career is worth losing my inner peace, which is why I try to provide him with the holiness he deserves.

I swim in an outdoor municipal pool in my area. The last few years have been the greatest gift I have given myself: to harmonize every day, rain or snow, with a sense of joy and strength. In the water my body and spirit flourish. While I’m swimming, I’m uploading ideas for my role, mentally scrolling words through myself, changing accents, thinking through movements like an underwater rehearsal that, when I’m swimming upside down, is grafted onto the sun, clouds, and sky. I step out of the pool and take deep breaths while stretching. At the same time, I watch my older teammates. At this time, I usually meet older people who teach me that discipline and self-acceptance knows no solar limits. I am grateful that I met them, we arrange a meeting for tomorrow, at the same time, in the same place, I greet them and leave.

I complete all the tasks of the day. Teaching, seminars, conversations with parents, colleagues and friends, I try to finish everything by noon so that I can devote myself to preparing the show. From now on, until I go to the theater, I am silent. I feel like a monk preparing for Mass. I sit at my desk and look at the opposite wall. I’m looking at a colorful mosaic of Andy Warhol paintings and photographs stuck together with blue duct tape. I consider myself the happiest person in the world who had the opportunity to embody this inimitable artistic genius. I read my notes, I consult my sources, all the material that has been with me for the nine months since I started studying Warhol.

I arrive at the Theater of the New World. I greet Nora, Christina, Marina, Dina, Dimitris and the rest of the valuable staff of the theater and go up to the roof, where the performance will soon take place. I prepare my voice and body and arrange the scene a little. My theatrical family is coming soon. Nalia Zikou, assistant director and audiovisual curator of the show, and of course Dimitris Agiopetritis-Bogdanos, mastermind and director of Andy. When we hug each other tightly, I think about the rarity of this coexistence: to tune in to the same creative frequency of professionalism, kindness and cordiality with people you love, appreciate and trust. I am listening carefully to Dimitris’ remarks at the previous performance and we are discussing their incorporation into today’s attempt to introduce this unique artist.

“I don’t care about my image at all in order to keep the secret of an inaccessible artist. The life of such people is short, in a few years they will not even remember us.”

The transformation begins. Magical moments of transition from social time to stage gathering. I turn on the light in the dressing room and start taking care of the makeup and wig. What I see before me brings me face to face with the essence of my art. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I understand that I am not here for myself, I am here for another, well-meaning conductor who has something to talk about about something much more.

The time is near. I take a deep breath, hoping to remain open to the unknown, to accept today’s unpredictability. Be present, interact. The show is a monologue, but luckily I’m not alone. Low light. The first darkness falls.

I washed my hair and go down to the lobby. I listen to smiling comments, impressions, congratulations and objections. I give a warm hug to any viewer who wants to do the same. I don’t care about my image at all, in order to keep the secret of an inaccessible artist. The life of such people is short, in a few years they will not even remember us. Human contact has value, kindness, authenticity and virtue, that’s basically what I try to invest in.

I’m in the arms of my man. I reflect on the day I left behind. What did I do well? What would I change? What would I do better? I open a book next to my bed, read a couple of poems, and let my soul return to the innocent state called sleep.

The play “Andy” written and directed by Dimitris Agiopetritis-Bogdanos and performed by Miltiadis Fiorentzis is presented at the Neos Kosmos Theater every Friday, Saturday and Sunday until April 9th.