In 2016, during an artistic residency and workshop at UNIDEE–Fondazione Pistoletto in Biella, Italy, I began exploring ideas surrounding alternative photographic processes, transient memories, ephemeral documentation, and impermanence. My brief research led me to the anthotype process—a historical image-making technique that captivated me with its intriguing blend of simplicity and complexity. Fascinated by its potential, I began experimenting with plants and flowers to create anthotypes, collaborating closely with artist daz disley.
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The term anthotype originates from the Greek word anthos, meaning flower. It refers to images produced using photosensitive pigments extracted from plants. This process, first formalized by Sir John Herschel in 1842, stems from his studies of light, color, and botany. Herschel developed the technique by harnessing the photosensitive properties of flower pigments to create images. However, earlier experiments date back to 1816, when Henri August Vogel experimented with emulsions made from violets and poppies, observing their sensitivity to light.
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Practically, anthotypes involve creating an emulsion from crushed flower petals or other photosensitive materials, such as fruits, vegetables, or plants. This emulsion is applied to a sheet of paper, which is then dried. A transparent photo positive is placed atop the coated paper and exposed to direct sunlight. The uncovered areas of the paper bleach under the sun's rays, while shadowed areas retain or subtly fade in color, creating an image. However, anthotypes remain light-sensitive, meaning the image cannot be fixed and will eventually fade and disappear when continuously exposed to sunlight.
Anthotypes challenge the notion that photography must preserve an event indefinitely. Instead, they embrace the ephemeral, aligning photography with transient art forms like dance, where impermanence becomes a defining characteristic.
UNIDEE - Biella 2016. Photo by Fenia Kotsopoulou
Research on anthotype process
Mrs Mary Somerville
anthotype by Fenia Kotsopoulou, using Blue Iris.
After a period of experimentation, and still captivated by the intricate simplicity of the anthotype process, I embarked on a creative journey exploring the performativity of photography, as well as themes of memory, ephemerality, intimacy, portraiture, and time.
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In 2017, during my participation in the ART WEEK | Workshop Series 2017: Joint Performance Summer Class by La Pocha Nostra and VestAndPage in Venice, Italy, I found myself surrounded by inspiring artists. It was in this environment that I decided to capture my first twenty individual portraits, which would later serve as the basis for anthotype experiments. This marked the so-called proof of concept. The process followed a simple yet intentional score:
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In a one-to-one encounter, I asked each participant to close their eyes and reflect on a single question about memory—a question that remained consistent throughout the project. Sitting opposite them with my camera, I waited silently, attuning to the moment, until I felt compelled to take a single photograph. There were no second chances—the click of the camera marked the end of the silence.
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Afterward, the participant opened their eyes and anonymously wrote their answer to the question on a piece of paper in their chosen language. Each portrait was later developed as an anthotype, with the corresponding written answers forming part of a collective text. Together, the images and responses became a meditative exploration of memory, individuality, and the passage of time.
anthotype "MARY" and handmade book by Fenia Kotsopoulou
text-based responses by participants, sewn together by Ann Disley
In some instances, at the end of the encounter, I ask participants for a small lock of their hair. This hair is preserved, awaiting its eventual integration into the project—a moment that has not yet come to fruition. Yet, even in its dormancy, this act adds another layer of intimacy to the project. Hair, death, and memory are deeply interwoven. As Abigail Heiniger notes, hairworks in mid-nineteenth-century America were not merely decorative but served as cultural artifacts, embodying remembrance and mourning. While a strand of hair is biologically "dead," I perceive it as an intimate fragment of someone's identity, imbued with personal history.
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The ritual of cutting and offering hair becomes a profound act of shared intimacy and trust. It introduces an additional weight of responsibility—a sense of sacred obligation to treat this offering with respect and purpose. I continue to wait for the right moment, the respectful and meaningful way, to incorporate this element into the work.
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"Scents of Evanescence", is not bound by deadlines or a need to reach a definitive conclusion. Perhaps there is no destination at all. The work unfolds in its own time, developing a rhizomatic, hybrid existence that transcends my ownership. I see myself more as a facilitator or curator—someone who nurtures the process. Without the contributions and participation of others, it would not exist.
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At the same time, this project serves as a personal creative tool, a way to explore co-creation and connection. It helps me navigate my own fears—the fear of forgetting and being forgotten—and teaches me the profound necessity of letting go.