The choice of Athens isn’t incidental. That’s the mirror Teller found. Its creative landscape sits somewhere between exhaustion and ignition, a place of tension, noise, and fragile hope. Showing this work here, in a derelict factory with no pretension of neutrality, feels right. Teller doesn’t belong in clean white spaces; his photographs demand air, dust, conflict. Onassis Ready provides exactly that, an arena rather than a gallery. Walking through the space, the show feels less like an exhibition and more like a confrontation. Teller’s imagery doesn’t perform for you; it faces you down. There’s a physical honesty to it as if the walls themselves might start sweating. The factory space didn’t get the white cube treatment. Good. Doesn’t want it. The raw context suits him. The fractures in the building echo his own fractures: exile, loss, humour as armour. When Brexit hit, he says he felt the outsider slot tighten on him. He left Germany, landed in London. The camera then became his tribe. The shock of foreignness became his fuel.

The title comes from a church leaflet: you are invited. Simple, disarming, and totally Teller. It’s not an invitation in the polite sense. It’s a dare. Enter his world and risk discomfort. Look too closely and you might recognize yourself in the distortion. What you are invited ultimately reveals is how consistent Teller has remained, not in aesthetic, but in attitude. His work has always rejected perfection. It exists somewhere between instinct and accident, clarity and collapse. He photographs like a person thinking out loud. Four decades on, that honesty still cuts through the noise. Teller’s vision remains disarmingly direct. In Athens, it feels newly relevant: human, messy, and defiantly alive.

This isn’t nostalgia. It’s continuation.
And the invitation stands.