To see music is to witness rhythm without sound. A soft pulse of violet echoing a cello’s line. A chord suspended in layers of crimson and cobalt. Each colour carries time. Each band follows a phrase. Elizabeth Mikellides creates these moments with intention. Her work doesn’t allude to music. It reads it.
At Camberwell College of Art, where she studied drawing, she reached a point of convergence. “It was during that ‘discovering your voice’ stage”, she says. “I realised I didn’t have to separate music and art. I could bring them together. That discovery shaped everything that followed”.
Structure as language
Her process is exact. Classical scores unfold across time and harmony. Horizontal lines hold melody. Vertical stacks form chords. Elizabeth reflects this in her paintings. “The vertical stacks become layers of colour. The horizontal movement appears in the length of each band, depending on how long the note lasts. The result shows both rhythm and harmony in a way the eye can follow”.
When the process begins from image rather than sound, she still draws from musical principles. “I don’t think like a composer”, she says. “I stay rooted in drawing. But I observe, translate, and look for structure”.
Her foundations were shaped in Cyprus during her teenage years. She trained in the studio of painter Petros Ptohopoulos, focusing on proportion, measurement, and careful observation. “Those lessons taught me how to see”, she adds. “They still underpin everything I make”.
Elizabeth recalls the moment when her practice began to feel like language. The shift came through her early pieces Hermes and Apollo, portraits of classical busts expressed as visual scores. “Those were the first works where my voice felt fully formed”.
Portraits, patterns, and the quiet work of listening
Her current project, Portraits in Translation, extends the concept with greater emotion. The series begins with figures like Glenn Gould and Clara Schumann, whose music and character continue to resonate with her. “Gould’s interpretations of Bach revealed structure in a way I hadn’t heard before”, she expresses. “And Clara’s strength and determination stay with me. She gave space to others, but her own work deserves equal attention”.
This new series brings representational painting back into her work. It also opens space for personal reflection. “I’m still working with systems, still translating sound into form, but I’m also thinking more about the lives behind the music”.
Reflection plays a central role in her creative rhythm. An imagined residency on Art Seeker Island, prompted by a podcast, gave her time to pause. “I thought about which pieces hold meaning for me, and why. I began asking different questions about myself and about the kind of artist I want to be”.
Her interest in repetition and minimalism finds shape in her bar pieces; works built from a single idea repeated across the canvas. “There’s a clarity in that kind of structure”, she says. “It creates movement but also calm. The colour brings energy, but the process creates space”.
Although her pieces begin with music, she doesn’t design them for sound. “I’m not creating something to be performed”, she says. “I’m offering a visual path into music, especially for those who might not read a score or play an instrument. There’s beauty inside the structure, and I want to make it visible”.
To emerging artists still searching for direction, Elizabeth offers reassurance. “That quiet voice inside knows where you’re headed. Make space to hear it. Do what energises you, even if it doesn’t seem connected to your work. The link will come. Trust the process”.
Her work continues to evolve, but the foundation remains the same: discipline, curiosity, and a belief that art and music are different expressions of the same structure. One can be heard. The other can be seen.