Alexis Akrithakis, "a dreamer who wonders about the texture of the world and reflects this wonder in the almost automatic act of painting," according to Christos M. Ioakeimidis, witnessed, as Kostas Tachtsis describes, one morning in '67 from his balcony the horrific sight: "At the corner of the street was a tank, workers were walking downhill, like clockwork, towards the city center, and the morning newspapers were not hanging at the opposite kiosk. I looked at him: his eyes were also teary." Shortly after, he left, went to Berlin, as did other children of his generation who "grew up in a world they did not approve of and knowing how difficult it was to change it, turned their backs on it." Alexis Akrithakis was deprived of only one thing in his tumultuous life: the good of freedom. And he completely ignored one thing: the instinct of self-preservation or, in general, preservation. In his painting, you do not suspect the pain, you enjoy the freedom of expression and a clear view, an innocence that art parted with as long ago as the 4th century BC. This small book by Niki Marangou is a remembrance of the artist and a dedication to him. It describes a night from his life and preserves in 23 photographs from 1968 in Berlin moments from his daily life. Thus, we also get an idea of "the most honest, his form."