An Artist in Hydra

Walking through the narrow streets of Hydra with Michael McGregor is an amusing experience. He stops to shake hands and cry out various greetings, to shopkeepers, restaurant owners, other artists and a few old bohemians who lounge in the cobbled squares, like sun-baked iguanas in bandanas and denim cut-off shorts. He’s been spending weeks at a time here over the last few years; a local fixture in a rumpled linen shirt and paint-splattered running shorts, a permanent glint in his eye. 

Hydra has long drawn in artists and free spirits. Leonard Cohen arrived in the 60s as a down on his luck poet. Henry Miller, Cyril Connolly, Axel Jensen, Patrick Leigh Fermor, and the painter John Craxton—all working, writing, drinking, misbehaving, smoking; lounging in the sunshine and in the squares down by the old port. Miller eulogised Hydra as a place of “Wild and naked perfection.” 

In the mornings, the town’s population swells with tourists decamping from the quick ferries and dead heat of Athens, crowding into the cafes and tavernas along the water. McGregor rents a bedroom and a studio nearby. He rises late and swims in the sea, he fills sketchbooks and jots down notes for future paintings. He often eats dinner at a restaurant run by a formidable woman called Tatsoula, who will happily throw inconsiderate or insolent diners to the curb if they break any house rules (we’d advise against feeding the local cats in her presence). He drinks at L’Americano and goes where the night takes him. A moveable feast. 

Over the last few years McGregor has expanded his output to include books, alongside the playful oil stick canvases of bacchanalia, primary-coloured flowers, and vivid renderings of everything from boxy cars to vintage tennis posters, candelabras, and club sandwiches. He captures the banality and beauty of living a good life in transit. 

His latest book, Memories of Hydra, was captured in a five-day haze of productivity. A loose, diaristic, flow of ‘point-and-shoot’ drawings, the donkeys, sunsets, and idle moments that make up life on the island. 

“This place has brought me so much joy over the years...so many new friends, so many laughs, so many night swims and so many hangovers. This book is dedicated to all the people who have made my extended stays on the island profound, silly, and full of love and light.”

On the balcony of a house a short walk from where Cohen fell in love with the island and found his voice, we drink cold Alfas and amble down to the rocks, where you can dive straight into the sea, a late afternoon shimmer dancing on the water. He’ll be here for a little while longer, following a routine of joie d’vier, before LA, or Mexico City, London or Paris beckons. A show, a book launch, a quiet studio to piece it all together, an idea on a piece of hotel stationary. 

There’s a quote that’s attributed to Leonard Cohen that might be apocryphal, but sounds good anyway. “There is nowhere in the world where you can live like you can in Hydra, and that includes Hydra.”