A thousand eyes gaze out from the walls of Maria Pagkalou’s world, some melancholic, some mischievous, all magnetic. Among them are Maria Callas, Vincent van Gogh, Nikos Kazantzakis, Emma Stone, and Medusa. Known by her pseudonym Little Miss Grumpy, Pagkalou conjures portraits that blend the whimsical and the brooding, offering snapshots that seem to capture effortlessly the spirit of literary giants, mythological icons, musicians, movie stars and many others.

At 34, Pagkalou has turned her passion into a tangible space. Two years ago, she opened a cozy corner store in Athens where she sells her artwork and curated objects. The space is part gallery, part cabinet of curiosities: salon-style walls hung with prints and postcards, shelves lined with notebooks, embroidery, calendars, and coloring books. The store isn’t far from Dilos drama school, where Pagkalou studied theater and acting.

How did you find your distinctive style as an illustrator?

I went through phases. At first, like many others, I tried to imitate creators I admired. But little by little, I realized that the most honest and personal style emerges when you stop trying to impress and simply draw based on what you feel. My style was shaped through repetition, experimentation, and most importantly, self-observation.

How would you describe that style?

A melancholic line with humor. I would say it is abstract, with strong expressive elements and a subtle sense of humor or irony. I focus a lot on the gaze, the posture, and small details that can convey emotion without unnecessary noise.

You have said the name “Little Miss Grumpy” is a sort of in-joke because you occasionally complain about everyday life in Greece. Does some of that dissatisfaction show up in your work?

I’m grumpy because I care. And because I can’t change the system, I make up characters who would change it. I live in Greece — complaining is part of our culture.

Which artists have inspired or influenced you?

I started by observing Fafi, a French street artist who draws the most seductive girls. I am also inspired by Tsarouchis and KYR [cartoonist Yiannis Kyriakopoulos], whose cartoons always had a subtle social irony that I love.

Your illustrations feature many famous figures alongside characters conjured from your imagination. How do you choose your subjects?

My choices are usually based on personal emotion or interest. I’m not only interested in the historical significance of a person, but also what emotions they might evoke today.

Do you research your subjects before you draw them – figures like Virginia Woolfe, Elvis Presley, Hamlet, and Medea?

Yes, I have a little ritual: I read, I look, I listen. I want to put myself in their shoes a little bit before I put them on paper. I’m not interested in realism. I’m chasing a feeling – a look, a posture, a gesture that quietly says: “That’s them.”

Many of your illustrations depict writers, including modern Greek poets and authors like C.P. Cavafy, Stratis Myrivilis and Alki Zei. Is literature a passion?

When reading Greek writers, the images that are born are familiar. I am interested in their voice, their rhythm, the way they see the world. I really liked literature class at school, but I connected with it more deeply while I was studying acting. I do not have a degree in painting or literature. I studied drama.

How do you decide which passage from a writer’s work to use? Do you go by feeling? A favorite of mine accompanies your illustration of the lyrical Greek writer Alexandros Papadiamantis “And he had fallen in love…”

It’s instinctive. Sometimes I read something and feel numb in the best way—like I’ve found it. Then I stop searching. It’s as if the writer whispers the passage to me, and I simply give it a face. That passage comes from “Love in the Snow,” a story of unfulfilled love. I studied this particular work for a whole year in school, trying to adapt it for the stage. Every word still moves me, even the punctuation.

How about the Greek and English phrases that accompany your original characters?

They are like fragments from a diary. Sometimes they pop up while I’m drawing, other times they are words I jotted down in a notebook months ago. I choose them intuitively. They could be sentences from a literary work or thoughts that were written spontaneously. I believe text and image shouldn’t explain each other but create something new together.

How do you capture authentic emotion in a portrait of a famous writer who may not have been so expressive in real life?

I don’t see them as “icons.” I see them as people, with pain, joy, fear, laughter. When I draw, I imagine us sharing a moment of silence. That silence becomes a line, a color, a gaze.

Little Miss Grumpy is a brand and a store, but it’s also a pseudonym. Is that small amount of anonymity a comfort to you artistically?

Yes. It gives me space to express myself without feeling constantly exposed. It gives me just enough distance to move more freely – creatively and professionally. In this way, you can be more subversive. At the same time, one can see aspects of my daily life, including my real name and face, on Instagram. But the persona is liberating.

In your store, you sell objects from other artists and artisans. How do you select them?

These are things I would like to have in my home: ceramics with character, jewelry with a history, hand-sewn fabrics. I choose like I’d choose a friend – I go by instinct and admiration.

You have been successful at showcasing your work online and collaborating with bookstores and publishers. How do you navigate Greece’s tough creative economy?

It takes persistence and a lot of work. Being an independent creator in Greece means that you are a graphic designer, a salesperson, an accountant, and a warehouse worker. I learned on the job how to manage all of those things. I also try to keep my aesthetic and my voice intact, even in commercial collaborations. That balance is everything.