Looking at my past, lost in the depths of the sea, pushed ashore today I rest on this solid ground, dried out from my luxurious shine by the scorching rays of the god of light.  Overlooking my fellow companions, watching them following the path that I hath laid.

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I would like to thank all those who visited the exhibition and for sending in your comments about my exhibiting shots.  I believe that all the work exhibited of all the 24 Photographers is of optimum quality, besides the devotion given in by the curator Kevin Casha who has taken care of this opportunity for us the emerging artists.  Thank you.

For the courtesy of those who could not visit the gallery I have herewith included my expressions that have been exhibited.

A fascinating photographic exhibition is coming up in Valletta, opening on April 30th. What makes this event noteworthy is that it brings together 24 very different, local photographers. Unusually, the work of practised professionals and award-winning photographers will be displayed alongside pieces by relative newcomers.

The exhibitors have been brought together by Kevin Casha, one of Malta’s foremost photographers, and curator of the exhibition. Most of those taking part are current or former students of Casha, who hit upon the idea of a collective exhibition as a way to encourage the participants to ‘go up another gear and take the plunge to exhibit their work’.

For the majority of the participants it is the first time they have shown their work publicly, so much of the work is characterized by a fresh and unshackled approach which Casha says ‘..is many a times an eye opener and reminder for seasoned professionals to keep trying to be innovative, creative and artistic.’

With this in mind, all of the works have been selected for their originality, with not a hackneyed shot in sight. Although many of the artists have their own particular theme or style, when seen as a whole the exhibition is a stimulating showcase of the art of photography.

Different techniques, perspectives and approaches will all be on view, demonstrating the depth, beauty and possibilities of photography – whatever one’s background.

The exhibition can be viewed at No. 68, St Lucy Street, Valletta. The venue is a spacious, airy, 400 year old town house which has recently been restored as an exhibition space in the heart of Valetta.

All works will be available for sale.

Public viewing: Friday May 1st – Friday 15th May

Viewing Times: Mornings 10.30 am – 1.30 pm
Evenings 4.00 pm – 8.00 pm (Monday – Friday only)

Blue skies, cumulus clouds, inspired by the dominance of the silence that lays beforth me.  Valletta was speaking again or else it was myself who started to listen again.  Hopping from one rock formation to another, beneath the fortifications I realize the grandeur  of this architectural marvel.  It is unbelievable that this fortification has undergone two great wars and they are still standing, and which probably will still stand triumphantly for the years to come.

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I watched as a stone caught in the currents of an early January morning shower, fought its way up the stream.  Then I thought, Janus, the door, the opening month for hope, towards the new year.  Nevertheless the year was still breathing its early gulps of air, and the stone was now rolling down, alone, unprotected from the grips of some crevice in the limestone beneath.  Nearby a waterfall captured my attention, and slowly I moved beforth, forgetting the stone to its destiny.  My pallid face, colourless, faint, lacking the warmth of those rays of light that indulge my present.

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I looked at each wave, as if staring at a magnificent piece of art, just like a newborn looking out of the protecting hands of his mother at the external antagonist world. And as I was there in a would be magnificent world another wave came rushing over as if to remind me that I was dreaming, for I was just passing by like a number in an accountants’ ledgers.

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Lost into the depths of alienation, wondering from one place to another, venturing into places I have never been before, lost.  For so long I have not seen my reflection, I have not heard my voice anywhere, my Qi wondering off like a dandelion carried by the winds of society.

Searching through the clouds

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They ran away, far from where I was, away from the silence of where I stood.  The sun hath already been warming the other hemisphere of the planet and I could almost sense the nightly cool breeze of the Mediterranean.  A yellow light was enough for me to appreciate this city in its most magnificent moments cuddling me in its warmth.

One of the Balconies of the Presidents

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Once again I wait, for a moment, for an instance, for a shot.  I wait for this is the only task I can reach, the only instance I can achieve, the only time I can be myself.  My senses are not as alert as they should be but aware, enough to know that I am not alone.

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Looking out of the window, watching the days go by, and wondering if reality was as real as its name implied.  There was a slight reflection of myself in the window created by the glimmering yellow light bulb of the bed lamp.  The sea in the distance glowing the obscured light of a half moon and the skies as black as ever, with little white dots like salt flakes reflecting the few light that penetrates through the winter clouds.

There was nothing more than sheer silence, accept for the occasional squeaking of the doors from the neighbouring rooms and the soft synchronised sound of little droplets controlled, that seemed as if they could last for ever.  In the distance, planes crossed through the skies like shooting stars un-effected by the earth’s atmosphere.

My thoughts ran faster than my hands could handle and like alcohol evaporated through the midst of the night never to be thought about again.  I thought why it had to be misfortune or ill happenings to make me write. Why it had to be silence to drive my pencil to dance as if it were shy to be seen moving. Like a promising writer who writes then throws his notebook into the sea, so that only the crystalline water can feel his thoughts.

Just next to me is Einstein’s’ Biography and beneath that the National Geographic, looking at me as if questioning why they have been left un-opened for these last days.  Lacking the interest they remain untouched for my thoughts are elsewhere from the science of understanding matter or from comprehending the laws of relativity.  I am questioning what could be my endless search, or maybe just dreaming and looking out there hoping to find the answer.

I then hear a cry, a weeping sorrow, panic, and once again I fall into the pit of questioning, looking out towards what could be an un-answerable horizon.  There is nothing more painful than hearing sorrow here in my own silence.  So then just like religion I look out of the window to alienate myself, to cover my eyes from the reality behind me.  Questioning whether it is the host in me that wants me blind or the society that has bred me for so long helping me to become in such a controllable manner.

My reflection remains motionless as much as thyself and there I remained in silence.