Diary
or my walks
along the paths of relief, belief and make believe.
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quote :
- MAGNIFICAT ANIMA MEA CREATIONEM -
(2nd. December 1965)
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today I took out my brush and paints from the cupboard because i am making a new painting. i want to do a seascape.
i fill the sky with very dilute light cerulean blue. then i fill the sea area with ultramarine blue, a bit thicker on the brush to make the sea look dark. i squeeze the paint tube and put more ultramarine blue paint on my fingers, rubbing it on the sea area to make it more and more blue.
on the right side i paint a boy. he is sitting, giving his back towards the front plane, gazing at the horizon. i paint him wearing a prussian blue coloured t-shirt. on the back of his t-shirt is written "is blue really blue ?". he is also wearing a cap of cobalt blue colour. when i grow up i want to be like this boy.
should i add some viridian to the sea ? viridian is a green, but a very bluish green and looks like blue. no, only blues for this seascape or bluescape.
i have finished the painting but still have not decided its name. i write my name and the day on the left side. my parents like it. it has already dried and they hang it in a gilded wooden frame on the bare naked yellow stone wall in the living room, so everyone would see it. the painting with so much blue looks nicer surrounded by the yellow. i am happy. if i grow up i want to be like that boy, gazing, gazing, forever lost in an infinity of blue.
blue paint still daubs both my hands, its odour pleases me like perfume and i will not wash it off for today. i am very happy. maybe i should call this painting "GODWIN BLUES".
(1st. December 1973)
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It is Sunday. I am at my art lesson and today my teacher is teaching me the rules of linear perspective. He tells me these rules are very useful if I will draw houses and architecture. In the previous lessons he taught me to draw the fork, the spoon, the umbrella, a pair of shoes, the cloth and other still life. For these exercises I use soft pencils and a rubber on paper. I am the only student in this class. My teacher’s name is Michelangelo. My father brings me every Sunday in our white Mark1 Ford Escort to my art lesson as the venue is distant from home. During the lesson father waits for me in the car, reading the journal.
My parents are very dedicated to my spiritual and academic upbringing. At home they see me frequently drawing, painting and modeling in clay.
Once when I returned home from school I narrated to them what had happened during the art class. That day our art teacher gave us an exercise to make an abstract design by drawing straight pencil lines with a ruler, randomly from one perimeter of the page to another, and then filling the resulting spaces with colours. Everyone in class did this exercise following the steps as teacher had told us. But when I finished the colouring, on my own initiative I decided to make a step further passing over and reinforcing the pencil lines with a black ink pen, and this made my design throb with contrast and energy. Our teacher noticed this and successively invited my classmates to see what I had done. Returning home I proudly narrated this to my parents.
My parents are very dedicated to my spiritual and academic upbringing and they desired that I should have more art instruction. So they took me to the nuns, but these gave lessons only to girls. Then they took me to this man called Michelangelo, and luckily for me he accepted.
Now my hour and a half lesson is over today. I have tried to observe, to draw, to shade, to give an in depth illusion, to erase, to correct, and to discipline my spirit. Teacher tells me to draw boxes in linear perspective as exercise during the week, and then to show him for correction next Sunday. He tells me next Sunday he will teach me to draw the cylinder.
As I walk back to my father, I ask myself what perspective my life should take. I remember to have seen in books some old paintings with elements represented in different perspectives which defy the rules of natural perspective giving them a trascendental spirit. I ask myself which may be the best choice, between designing my life in perfect natural perspective I learnt today or in other perspectives. Maybe I should try to walk along the narrow path in the middle.
(December 1980)
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This cold grey december afternoon I was walking along via Gallia, a very big busy street and stopped in front of the church. I sat on the steps of the church parvis, watching the cars and the people rushing by.
On the parvis, rising up behind my back is the gigantic wooden crib I designed and coloured some weeks ago. Joseph is standing looking calmly, in an effort to understand what is really happening. Mary is on her knees in silent adoration. There is one shepherd, who with a lamb has brought the can for water, but forgets it there overturned. This kneeling shepherd outstretches his hand to touch the manger and the Saviour. The Christ is the very centre of the composition, with his hands wide open, maybe to welcome everyone, or else to herald His crucifixion. All is set in front of an abstract background which looks like a tent to shelter our Lord who made his home in this World.
The composition is a triangle which gives stability, with very bold diagonals. Very light transparent glazes of violet, pink, blue, green, red, brown, white and yellow in a deep black contour, stand out brightly in contrast with the greyish brown church fascade.
The crib was set up some days ago for the very first time on christmas eve. It was lighted for the dark. In deep appreciation people of the neighbourhood brought and put flower bouquets in front of it. I was told that a homeless old man even spent the night behind the crib, sheltering himself from the cold.
I have now taken a handful of peanuts from my pocket, as I sit on the cold steps of the church parvis. This evening I was wearing my favourite dark blue jacket on which is written "rome monochrome". As I slowly munch a peanut, in front of me life, people and cars are passing briskly by ; no one knows me, but I don’t mind. I have no home of my own, I am not sure if I will have a shelter for tonight, but I don’t mind. I don’t know if I can buy something to eat for supper with the little money I have in my pocket, but I don’t mind. As I munch another peanut, I look back over my shoulders and realize how colourfully coloured is my work, presenting the BIRTH OF THE KING to one of the major streets of Rome, and to the World. I don’t know why, but I feel like a king of kings.
(Rome, December 1988)
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It is early afternoon and I am sitting in the church. It is very quiet. In front of me looms a huge dark apse with a central window through which streams a golden sunlight. This stream of light has departed from its source millions of light years ago, found its way through this window and is now generously giving me Light, healing my spirit. A light that has been strong enough to make this long journey across the Universe, and yet soft enough not to hurt my senses as I contemplate it.
I am sitting in the church during the break from work. The Institute I frequent is carrying out conservation and restoration treatments on two 14th century frescoes in the cloister annexed to this church. The frescoes depict "Santa Margherita" and "Sant’ Omobono". I am fascinated how these artifacts have lived and survived all these centuries and arrived to our time to instill to mankind an emotion. I feel blessed to contribute to their conservation that in future they may continue to instill an emotion to mankind. I am healing them and they are healing me.
It is early afternoon and I am sitting alone in this church. Some minutes ago I was by myself in the cloister garden, taking a quiet walk. The silence sang awesome gregorian chants to my spirit and the solitude wrapped me making me one with mankind, with the World and with the Universe. Seduced by this bliss I sat down, took out my blue ink pen and white fabriano paper and made a sketch of the cloister architecture massing. I always carry my design accessories with me, wherever I go.
This cloister complex is the "Abbazia delle Tre Fontane" and I think this is my favourite spot in Rome. In the years I am living here I come again and again to this church of "Santi Vincenzo e Anastasio" to pray. This church seduces me as its eloquent stone structure shapes it so naked and yet so sacred. Trappist monks live here and no visits are allowed inside the cloister. Now by pure luck destiny wanted that my Institute be commissioned to carry out this conservation and restoration project inside the cloister, and in addition I am part of this team. Destiny has always generously showered me with blessings, there seems to be a Hand mysteriously giving me a hand. At the cloister entrance is a big statue of St. Benedict with written “Ora et Labora”. This afternoon I have made up my mind one of my future projects to be an exhibition of my paintings with the theme “Ora et Colora”.
I am now smiling as I am remembering the Saturday afternoon some weeks ago when my friend asked me to take her to my favourite place in Rome. She is Greek, young and very lively. Some days I think maybe she is my girlfriend, other days I think she is not, I don’t know. When she asked me to accompany her, a bit because I forgot she likes the World with its pleasures, a bit because I may be an "omo bono", so I brought her to see this church and the outside of this cloister, narrating to her the little I knew about the complex yet doing my best to seem I knew a lot. As time went by her face became more and more blank, till at one point she asked me when will we arrive to my favourite place in Rome. Her questions and her thoughts sound like Greek to me, but I admit she is a lovely or a very very lovely girl.
It is afternoon and now it is time for me to go back on site to resume the work on the frescoes with my schoolmates. I look again at the window and let its light caress my senses, till next time I come back again, maybe tomorrow during break. As I walk back to the scaffolding, I look at the modest drawing I have done today in the garden. It may be or it may not be a work of art, I don’t know and I have little or no desire to know. But I hope this drawing will one day bring back in me the bliss I was given as a gift this afternoon. Maybe in the years or centuries to come this drawing would be instilling the wonder of my emotions to someone else, still.
(Abbazia delle Tre Fontane - Rome, September 1989)
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This morning I am in Piazza Navona. I come frequently here early morning to make some drawing practice from the Bernini fountain. I love this square at this hour because it is very quiet, the shops are all closed and I am alone. The only sound are the doves around me.
I left my room at about half past five, got bus 87 and at about six I am already on the spot. As I alight from the bus, approaching this square is always exciting as it is hidden among the buildings ; a short walk along a relatively narrow street, and the square suddenly opens up, welcoming me, embracing me, absorbing me.
At this early hour the air is cold and blue. As I take out my design accessories, I say good morning to the fountain Giant, who smiling returns with his usual “buon di`”. He begins to talk, asking me if I slept good and what plans do I have for today, I tell him not to move as I have to draw, and draw and draw again.
The sun is rising, the white sculpted stone slowly turns orange and red under a fiery sky of pink and blue. The shadows are dramatically long and emphatic.
As I draw, today the kind Giant tells me Bernini made him in a position of fear as if the facade of the church in front is about to fall. Perched high on the church is a statue of Santa Agnese reassuring the Giant that the rival Borromini facade will never decay or fall. Then the Giant’s face takes a sad look as he confides with me that he is actually in love with Santa Agnese.
I have finished the design now and packing. As I walk away, I hear the Giant singing softly :
“‘gnese vie’ giù
lo sai quanno te chiamo
che morirebbe si
nun t’avessi accanto
ieri sera nun t’ho detto
quanto t’amo
e te lo dico mo
tesoro santo
La luna è sparita
e facce di score
il giorno c’invita
vie’ famo l’amore
l’aria serena, dorce e delicata
e ’na carezza de innamorata…”
(Rome, September 1990)
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Today early morning I returned to Piazza Navona to continue the HB pencil sketch I began yesterday of the Bernini Fountain nude Giant.
Today morning I made quick 3 minute black ink line drawings of the Italian provinces nude sculptures at the Stadio Olimpico.
Today I finished an original charcoal design for the 5 metre high crib, to be set up at the "Parrocchia della Nativita` di Nostro Signore Gesu` Cristo" facade on the 1988 Christmas eve, and for another 18 successive Christmases.
Today during the lecture at the Institute I frequent I felt very bored and so secretly made two or three quick green ink drawings of the lecturer.
Today on the scaffolding I made blue ink drawings from Giotto’s "Life of the Virgin Mary" fresco cycle, at the midday break during the conservation and restoration project my Institute is carrying out at the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua.
Today on the same scaffolding I made a blue ink portrait from life of one of my schoolmates, which afterwards I gave her as a gift.
Today during my 3 hour train journey I made blue ink drawings of male nudes in great toil from my dreams of Virgil’s "The Odyssey".
Today afternoon I drew in sepia pencil from the female nude model at the Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato.
Today afternoon, walking aimlessly in the streets, I entered a church in which to my surprise there happened to be a Bernini angel sculpture, so I made some pencil sketches from it.
Today late afternoon I sat at Stazione Termini making quick ink line drawings of people (without their knowing).
Today evening I made a self portrait in burnt umber pastel pencil with the help of a mirror in my little nest number 52, at Via Iberia 27.
Today late evening I went back adamantly on the bus making quick ink drawings of people on board, despite the fact that I had already been sent to hell for this.
Today late evening using a mirror and drinking several glasses of wine to keep me warm, I sketched myself, wearing only the wrist watch my uncle’s gift for my First Holy Communion on the 4th. of June 1972.
Today night I began the pencil design for a low relief sculpture end of scholastic year project with the theme "Love", in which I have decided to depict the Love story between Penelope and Ulysses. Today night I am continuing, I am continuing, I am continuing the pencil design for the same low relief sculpture, in which I am shaping my beliefs of solid spiritual and family values in which my beloved parents have made every effort to bring me up. Today night I finished this pencil design for this low relief sculpture, successively successfully executed in gesso and exhibited with the best 10 at the Istituto Poligrafico and Zecca dello Stato for a whole year.
Tomorrow my design will shine my golden yesterday.
(Rome, June 1992)
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Come stai ?
Ma, me sento in una situazione parecchio strana, perche` per un terzo so’ mezzo sposato, per un altro terzo so’ ’na via de mezzo tra un eremita pressappochista e un emo qualunquista. Dell’urtimo terzo, i primi due terzi so’ mezzo cazzaro. Poi per l’altro terzo dell’urtimo terzo, che te posso di’ . ..me sento p o e t a me sento.. .
Mmmaahh.
(Rome, 1st. December 1993).
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quote :
- mIO dIO, dIO mIO, CHE PALLLE -
(2nd. December 1993)
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"FIL-HEMDA" (a rhyme)
F’inzul ix-xemx ghall-hemda
Wahdi l-Lunzjata kont,
Gurnata kollha bnazzi
Li nkun hekk dejjem hlomt.
Lejla kienet li fiha
Hassejtni wisq ghajjien,
B’dan mohhi dejjem jhewden
Jistaqsi u hosbien.
Madwari bdejt infittex
Harist ma’ l-erba’ rjieh
Forsi xi ftit intieghem
Id-duwa tal-mistrieh.
W’ghajnejja bhal infethu
Mohhi nhall mill-irbit
Donni bil-mod bdejt nara
U gheb kull hsieb imqit.
Il-Jien ra lwien hekk sbejha
Li qalbi dlonk imtliet
Bil-hena liema bhalha
B’ tas-sema il-hlewwiet.
Iz-ziffa li mellsitni
F’dik il-lejla ta’ Frar
Nessietni ta’ di’ d-dinja
L-ugiegh, il-hemm, l-imrar.
Min jaf kienx Alla nnifsu
FiH tant fittixt serhan
Li f’dik il-lejla hiemda
Ghamilni hekk ferhan ?
(25th. March 1998)
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"X’INHOBB" (a rhyme)
Inhobb il-hbiberija
Ta’ tnejn tlieta min-nies,
Li maghhom gieli naqsam
Bil-ghaqal jew bla qies.
Inhobb iz-ziffa friska
Ghax meta nkun gharqan
Lil mohhi u lil ruhi
Taghtihom is-serhan.
Inhobb nahseb fuq Alla
Misteru daqstant kbir,
FiH nehda u nithenna
Minghajru kemm jien fqir !
Inhobb il-gmiel tal-mara,
Mieghu wiehed insir.
Gieli jsewwidli qalbi
Ghax tieghu jiena lsir...
Inhobb nara z-zmien jghaddi
Bilqeghda niggustah,
Nitbissem meta nara
’L min minnu jimpurtah.
Inhobb il-platt imfawwar
Bil-qalb innizzlu zgur,
Ma ngergirx fuq it-toghma
Jekk bl-imhabba misjur.
Inhobb is-solitudni
Ghax timlieni bis-Skiet,
Hija habiba ghaziza
F’di’ d-dinja kollha swied !
Inhobb ix-xoghol li jghinni
Mohhi nzomm dejjem frisk,
Jekk nibqa’ hekk nistaghna
F’elf sena nsir bhac-Cisk.
Inhobb nara lil ommi
Biezla tahdem id-dar,
Tithabat forsi tara
Id-dinja ftit ahjar.
Fuq kollox inhobb Lili,
Kapulavur sabih
Ta’ dan nizzi hajr ’l Alla
U b’ hajti gieh naghtiH.
(July 1998)
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Yesterday afternoon I set out for my daily walk. The walk took me towards "Il-Ghajn il-Kbira", a very old fountain situated in my native city Fontana. It is sheltered under a stone ceiling held by robust stone arches, out of its rocky walls water is always flowing. Its old stones narrate the story of the many people who came to get water throughout the ages.
It was dusk. Lured by the soft sound of gurgling water amidst all the stillness, I stopped and sat there, gazing around aimlessly. To my surprise, I see an unusual vision coming alive in front of me. Opening my eyes wide I realized they were all the works I had done till then with the theme "Il-Ghajn il-Kbira". They were six, four oil paintings on canvas, and two pencil designs on paper.
The works were alive and arguing among themselves which of them was the best. Between belief and disbelief, I reached out with my finger to touch them and yes, I could feel the canvas, the paint, the paper. Hearing their hot discussion, the fountain water flow began to diminish as if struck by this unusual scene.
One work was The Nativity of the Christ, a drawing I had done when the Fontana Local Council commissioned me to design a Christmas card. For this I had designed the Holy Family, set in our fountain. The birth of the Christ framed by the huge front arch conveyed the strength and the hope this event would bring to mankind. In history the arch was frequently used to convey a sense of triumph, such as framing tombs in early christian catacombs, and also the triumphal arches built by the Romans to welcome the return of a victorious emperor. I believed this was an original thought for a christmas card, most befitting my native city. "I am the best because I depict the Nativity of the Saviour", this drawing was insisting.
Another work present in this apparition was a painting which again had been commissioned by my Local Council to be given to the Prime Minister of Malta who happened to be visiting Fontana. The subject I chose for this occasion was our fountain. I composed this work as a painted mosaic, with only red and blue "tesserae" which are the colours of the two main political parties in my country. These two parties are in disagreement all year round except on "Our Lady of Sorrows" day, where some follow this devout procession even barefoot. But in this painting I made an effort to compose a harmonious whole. Of course with red and blue I also put their derivatives (orange red, violet red, greenish blue and violet blue) in a myriad of tones. Having successfully made it with such a restricted palette added to the pride I felt when my work was being presented to the Prime Minister. "I am the best because I was proudly presented to the Prime Minister".
There was another design I had made when the Local Council commissioned me a trophy to be awarded annually to whom in some way gave a positive contribution to this city. For this I had turned my attention to the Fontana emblem, of which there is an old one and a more recent one, but both refer to "Il-Ghajn il-Kbira" and its flowing water. So I shaped this trophy as a fountain consisting of three elongated vertical arches from which water is flowing (the old emblem), resting on top of a half dome base on which are wave lines suggesting flowing water (the new emblem). For this I successively prepared a clay model, which was later cast in bronze. This trophy is still used to this day. "I am the best as I became an important emblem in bronze" was saying repeatedely this design.
While all this was unfolding in front of me, I slowly took off my shoes barefoot so my body and spirit would have closer contact with my works and with the environment.
Another artefact present was a painting which had been sold to a private collection in Sliema. I had made this painting just after I had successfully finished my artefact conservation studies in Rome, so I decided to give this work the look of a painting during a cleaning process. In fact, after painting an elevation of "Il-Ghajn il-Kbira", I put a dark blackish transparent glaze to blur and dirty some areas, leaving some windows to indicate the "cleaned" areas. "I am the best as I remind everyone that life sometimes is blurred and sometimes bright".
Yet another work was a painting with which I had participated in a fund raising collective exhibition for a charitable community in Malta. I depicted "Il-Ghajn il-Kbira" in elevation, with heavy shadows cast by giant buildings gradually approaching in from the front plane and threatening to engulf and bury this relic. This painting was mostly pointing at the threat excessive land development is doing to the natural beauty and history of these islands. "I am the best because I protest against the destruction of the environment" cried this painting.
There present was another painted depiction I had done of how "Il-Ghajn il-Kbira" might have looked on Christmas night. No figures this time, it shows the fountain at night, with a mysterious light glowing in the sky. I exaggerated the flow of water abundantly flowing at the very centre under the arch, pointing to the abundance of goodness the birth of the Christ would bring to the world. There is also a prickly pear tree, the sweet fruit with the thorns on its outer skin, so common in my native country, and which reminds that "no pain, no gain". This painting remains in my private collection. "I am the best, for my mysterious aura" was yelling.
At the end, the six works quieted down and were all looking at me. By now the flow of water had completely stopped, as if to hear what would my reaction be. "Each one of you is fruit of God’s will and Godwin’s toil. Go back to where Destiny has located you, you are the best every time you bring relief to anyone who tries to dialogue with you". At that instance, my six works smiled and disappeared. The fountain water began dripping and gradually flowing again.
It was dark by now. I put on back my shoes and was suddenly feeling cold. I felt so glad to have seen these six works again as they connect me to my native city, to my roots. As I walked towards destination, the fountain of my spirit was vigorously flowing with a renewed Hope.
(Fontana Day, 1st. December 1998)
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quote :
- VENUS ILLUMINATIO MEA -
(2nd. December 1998)
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c a r a,
.....stamattina presto abbiamo fatto colazione insieme con cappuccino e cornetti caldi (due al cioccolato, uno alla crema, uno e mezzo alla marmellata) al bar sotto casa tua............... ......
..stamattina abbiamo fatto una foto in bianco e nero insieme nel laboratorio delle tele dell’istituto........
.......................oggi mi hai regalato una t-shirt grigia (con scritto "la vita e’ a colori, ma il bianco e nero e’ piu` reale") per l’estate, un maglione blu scuro per l’inverno, ed una fiaschetta per il whisky per tutte le stagioni....
..questo pomeriggio m’hai invitato a salire sui punteggi della chiesa del gesu’ dove lavoravi, per farmi vedere da molto vicino gli interventi di restauro sul grande affresco centrale del gaulli` e sugli stucchi.........
....questa sera mi hai per un’altra volta invitato per cena e gli gnocchi al formaggio che hai cucinato erano una favola.....................
................... ........questa notte mi hai ospitato a casa tua, e sulle lenzuola pulitissime sentii il profumo afrodisiaco della tua eterea eterna bellezza.......
........oggi lo sguardo dei tuoi occhi restaura l’equilibrio nel piu` profondo del mio intimo...
..oggi, o forse da sempre, il tuo sorriso conserva l’equilibrio nel piu` profondo dell’universo.....................
........ ...g r a z i a... .........grazia........
... :: :: : AVE grazia GRAZIA, GRATIA PLENA :: ::....
............ ..........g r a z i a................
(Rome, September 1999)
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You were a teacher and my teacher. You taught me to paint an arch of violet indigo blue green yellow orange red next to another arch of red orange yellow green blue indigo violet in aerial perspective, when my palette was grey or too grey.
In return, I painted your sky with very heavy lead dark greys.
(24th. October 2002, first anniversary of my father Joseph demise and inauguration of my permanent painting exhibition at Galerie Aux 3 Aches, Lyon)
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These days I am living in the garden of eden. Around me nature grows abundantly abundant, free and wild. In the middle of this garden is an apple tree.
I walk barefoot on a greyish coloured sand along the seashore. I feel the warm gentle sea waves coming up and down wetting, caressing, kissing and cleansing my feet. The air is clean and clear. The only sound is a slight hush of the water waves. A butterfly is flying around me, its wings are of red, blue, with a white equilateral triangle containing three, 5-pointed stars and an 8-rayed sun of yellow. Sun flowers have their face turned attentively following the walk of the sun. I am in the garden of eden, I walk in the garden of eden.
Beside me is a girl. She is brown, slender, with very long straight deep black hair hanging free and wild down her shoulders and her back. The penetrating look in her dark brown eyes narrate infinite mysteries and desires she treasures deep in her being. She puts levander oil to keep her skin always moist. She looks perfect, like the garden of eden.
She reclines on pure white bed sheets and I begin to paint her. In this daylight her black hair beautifully gleams with blue reflections which complement her brown complexion. She smiles as I paint her as it satisfies her ego knowing she will be in line with the Giorgione, Titian and Velazquez Venuses, with the Goya Maya Desnuda, with the Manet Olympia. On her slender body the lighter signs of her bikini are clearly marked by her golden sun tan. Today she is wearing a pale yellow flower in her hair.
I am still working on the painting. The girl gets up and holding me leads the way to the apple tree in middle of the garden. She slowly outstretches her hand and cuts an apple. Whispering I remind her that we could eat any fruit in the garden except from this one. She bites it and smiling sweetly hands it to me to bite. I look in her eyes twinkling like precious pearls. I am burning with desire and my heart is throbbing wild. Smooth in my hand I feel the apple still warm with her touch. Confused, I bring it very close to my lips feeling the seductive natural taste of her lips. As I open my mouth, the butterfly stops flying and with its wings open stays suspended in mid air waiting to see what I will do. The sunflowers also turned their face away from the sun and look at us. As I hesitate the girl’s eyes mirror her broken heart and gleam with a thick transparent veil of tears, but I do not bite.
We go back hand in hand to the painting. I finish the work successfully and on her desire begin and finish another, another and another painting as she turns to another, another and another position. The butterfly is flying again around us, as the sun flowers turn their smiling face towards the sun. Even an unusually big moon has come out in the skies now.
The girl is brown and I am white, but we are one as we walk together forever and ever in the garden of eden.
(April 2004)
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This afternoon I am looking at an apple tree in the garden. On the soil under the tree many apples have fallen, no one seems to notice them. I walk to the tree, kneel on one knee and look closely at these apples. They look identical, yet each one is unique in its shape and sfumato, each one is a masterpiece. I am always awed by Man’s inventions and genius, but the greatest of these looks clumsy compared to the effortless Beauty of just one of these apples.
I am spending some days in this guest house in Ehreshoven, as I am having a personal painting exhibition. The room I am staying in impresses me for its pure whiteness and cleanliness. The only sound out of my window is the singing of the birds and sometimes the mooing of the cows grazing in the nearby fields. In the distance I admire a medieval castle and the mountains further on. The receptionist knows I paint and as she accompanied me to my room told me smiling that during my stay here I should paint the view with the castle from the window. I reply with a serious tone that my one and only intention is “to eat and sleep, to sleep and eat, to eat and sleep again”, and her soft laugh showed me this made her day. It is healthy for me to spend some days here where silent Silence silently pollutes the noise and noisemakers of the World.
These days I spend lots of time in the small quiet chapel in this house, just sitting, letting the Silence invade my spirit. Sometimes in this chapel I read pages from the Hermann Hesse “Wanderung”, which is the only book I read these years, over and over again, the only book I always carry with me in my travels.
These days I make long walks along the main road in the vicinity. My walks have no destination, just to waste time and keep my spirit in shape. Along the way, for about a hundred metres this road is thickly flanked on each side by very tall trees, giving it a peaceful shade. From the beauty of this World, each one of these trees seems to be proudly rising in an endeavour to reach the Beauty of the sky.
Yesterday I went for a day to Cologne which is quite near. I spent most of the day just sitting in front of the Cologne cathedral belfries. In their presence I am overwhelmed, as they humbly rise from the beauty of this World, reaching and touching the Beauty of the Skies.
This afternoon I am in this garden, kneeling in grateful admiration or adoration, contemplating the sacred Beauty of each one of these Apples, of this Apple Tree, of Nature and its Maker. I pick all Apples from the ground under this Tree and stand up on my feet. I wash and eat two, tasting their sweet goodness as I munch them very slowly ; the other ones I will eat later. I count them and to my surprise I realize that I have picked fourty one Apples, same as my age, one for each year I have lived till now. I smile as I remember that fourty one is also the number Judas Ben Hur was assigned while he was prisoner on the Roman galleys. With a fanfare of Silence, this afternoon my spirit rejoices in a renewed Hope.
(Ehreshoven - Germany, September 2006)
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"YOUR SMILE" (a rhyme)
Night stars are shining brightly
My Soul is very sad
The hours go by slowly
It’s long, it drives me mad.
And now it is late morning
I’m tired still in bed,
The yellow sun is dawning,
Black clouds fill up my head.
I’m trying to start working
My heart is full of dread
All round me bored and boring
I feel as if I’m dead.
In my past education
With good thoughts I was bred
Search truth and you’ll be happy
Was told and also read.
As I munch down my dinner
Meat, fish, good fruit and bread
I should be feeling thankful
And yet it tastes so bad.
As I mix up my colours
Blue, orange, white and red
In vain I search for Beauty
Been better wish I had.
But now Kharine you’re smiling
My heart starts feeling glad
My troubles get so lighter
From me black thoughts have fled.
(January 2007)
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LETTER TO THE HON. PRIME MINISTER OF MALTA DR. LAWRENCE GONZI REGARDING THE VALLETTA CITY GATE PROJECT
84 Triq il-Kappillan Hili,
Fontana FNT 1012, Ghawdex.
L-Onor. Prim Ministru Dr. Lawrence Gonzi,
Il-Berga ta’ Kastilja, Valletta.
21 ta’ Lulju 2008
Onorevoli Prim Ministru,
Jien malti cittadin komuni u gentilment nixtieq naghmel zewg suggerimenti dwar il-progett tal-Bieb tal-Belt Valletta u s-sit tat-Teatru Rjal.
L-ewwel suggeriment hu li kemm Bieb il-Belt kif ukoll il-fdal tat-Teatru jigu kkonservati kif inhuma u jigu pprezentati b’mod xieraq. Fi ftit kliem dan isir billi :
— Wiehed jara jekk jehtigux xi tishih strutturali. Dan zgur ighodd ghall-hnejjiet li baqa’ tat-Teatru, li llum qed izommu mirfudin b’injam u gebel.
— Imbaghad kemm Bieb il-Belt kif ukoll il-fdal tat-Teatru jigu mnaddfa minn haxix, min-nugrufun u minn elementi estraneji ohra li ngabru fuqhom maz-zmien.
— Wara dan, ghall-fdal tat-Teatru, jekk ikun mehtieg issir ir-reintegrazzjoni jigifieri l-fdal jigi pprezentat b’mod li jkun jidher iktar maghqud u sabih ghall-ghajn.
It-tieni suggeriment hu li wara li jigu kkonservati u pprezentati b’mod xieraq, dawn jigu kemm jista’ jkun rijabilitati, jekk possibbli. Gieli fuq Bieb il-Belt rajt arbli bil-bnadar u nahseb li dan ga pass ‘il quddiem. Kemm il-Bieb kif ukoll il-fdal tat-Teatru jistghu forsi jigu mdawla (jekk mhumiex ga), l-iktar taht il-dahla tal-Bieb biex ma jkunx hemm abbuzi fid-dlam. Fil-btajjel pubblici jista’ forsi jsir xi spettaklu ta’ dwal fuq il-Bieb. Fil-qrib jistghu forsi jitqeghdu xi qsari jew sigar b’ward imlewwen.
Inhoss li Bieb il-Belt u l-fdal tat-Teatru mhumiex xi mostri koroh. Ahna u resqin biex nidhlu l-Belt, il-fethiet tal-Bieb joffru “serial vision” (juru hjiel tal-gmiel u jahbu bicca mill-Belt fuq wara, halli tikber ix-xewqa biex wiehed jidhol u jara iktar). Il-fdal tat-Teatru wkoll ghandhom seher.
Huma parti mill-Istorja tal-Belt Valletta u z-zewg suggerimenti li qed naghmel ikomplu jirrispettawha. Madanakollu ma nixtieq b’ebda mod infixkel xi pjanijiet li ga jista’ ghandek ghal dan il-progett. Inselli ghalik u niehu din l-okkazjoni biex nirringrazzjak ta’ hidmietek b’rizq il-gzejjer maltin.
Dejjem tieghek,
Godwin Cutajar
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the fab 4 :
GOD
RODIN
GAUGIN
GODWIN
ps : a me ringo, george, paul e john me fanno ’na pippa.
(Paris, June 2009)
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My alpha(omega)bet :
b for Beauty,
c for Creativity,
d for damnatiomemoriae,
e for energy,
f for fulcrum,
g for golden Godwin,
h for hallelujah,
i for infinite infinity,
j for journey,
k for Kharine,
l for lumaca,
m for majjistral,
n for Nature,
o for oooooooooooo,
p for Peace please,
q for quiet quintessential quest,
r for ramaya,
s for Spring,
t for tequila,
u for Universe,
v for Venus,
w for walk,
x for xoxo,
y for yellowish yellow,
z for zero,
a for adieu`(a to, Dieu God).
(February 2010)
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quote :
BEAUTY, WILL YOU SAVE THE WORLD ?
(London, 30th. June 2011)
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I am walking along the path. I look back over my shoulders and see the long path behind me. I have been walking along this path for almost nine months and now my body feels heavy and exhausted.
My spirit is aching and I want to make a painting. I stop on the edge of the path and prepare my painting accessories. I feverishly begin to stain the canvas with yellows of ochre and cadmium. Kyrie eleis on. With prussian and cobalt blues I shape out a big yellow rectangle near the lower right corner, and two bright yellow spheres on the upper left corner. Pain in my spirit is increasing dramatically as I try to make the rectangle contour look like the xlendi tower, the spheres’ contours of a moon and a star very near each another, almost one body.
I look back over my shoulders. My path is full of golden childhood memories, when father and mother took me with the family to swim and spend the day at xlendi bay which is very near where I dwell most of my life and where my ancestors worked as fishermen. The xlendi tower stands at the opening of this bay for centuries, facing the wildest of wild storms, winds, rains, seas, wars and most of all shows no signs of surrendering. The far off horizon may look sleepy or sleeping, but this tower stands very upright on its feet and constantly awake. It stands lost in stoic solitude gazing, gazing and gazing at Infinity. This tower injects my decay with Faith, Hope and Clarity.
I am on the side of this path and my spirit is screaming with the throes of birth as I struggle with my painting. Ky rie e lei son, c h riste el e is on. If each tower stone narrates so much history, I want each one of my painted stains to radiate the equivalent of mystery. In pain and paint my tower is lost in the very dark blue night sky, but bathed in the redemptive Light of the moon and the star. I add a spot of titanium white to the moon and the star to make them the brightest. I infuse this painting with energy to an exponential power of a million millions, so I dab it once with vermillion, the colour of passion, life and strife in rife. With the tip of the brush I sculpture the names of my mother and father in the soft paint impastos.
I think I have finished this painting. For long I have been pregnant with it, now I feel very relieved it is born. I sit down and look at it. Against all adversities, I want to resist like this tower. Among all distractions, I want to contemplate Infinity like this tower. I pray my mother to call out my name as she did during her lifetime. I pray my father and my mother to continue light my walk. Kyrie eleison. Christe, christe eleison. Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison. I kiss my painting and hang it along the path.
It is time for me to proceed with my walk. It is getting dark and night is approaching. As I walk I look at the sky, it is full of shooting stars.
(10th. August 2011, 53rd. anniversary of my parents’ marriage)
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She was a girl with a pair of rosy cheeks and red coral lips. She played and fell, but always got up on her feet. She liked to wear colourful dresses. I nicknamed her Rose.
She grew up to a fine teen with a pair of rosy cheeks and red coral lips. She met a man who on an August day in which she wore a magnificent black dress made her his Queen. After that day she worked and fell, but always got up back on her feet. She wore colourful dresses and a crown with four shining stars. I nicknamed her Violet.
The thunder crushed, the rains poured, the sun eclipsed, the torrents roared, the stars twinkled, the winds blew and the sun shone. She worked and fell, but one August day she never got up on her feet. As she was laid to rest wearing a white dress and white stockings, a very magnificent bright white dress and white stockings, I put some makeup on her pale yellow face so she would have coral red lips and rosy cheeks. Flowers I put in her cold hands so she would still look colourful like when she wore her dresses. Her name was Phyllis.
(22nd. August 2011, first anniversary of mother’s demise).
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Dear Kharine,
If you and I will ever make a son I wish to call him LANDA. If you and I will ever make a daughter I would also like to call her LANDA. All the children we may make together I would like to call them LANDA, why, I don’t know.
If I will ever have a dog as a pet I will name it DOGWIN.
(Sunday 27th. November 2011)
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Dear Kharina,
I like music.
When I grow up I dream to play music in discotheques and nightclubs working as a DJ.
My nickname will be DJ MISTER MINESTRA.
(Sunday 27th. November 2011)
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MAKEUP FOREVER.
BROWN KHARINE, NEVER SAY NEVER.
ENDLESS BLUISH BLUE ENDEAVOUR.
G( )DWIN, GOLDEN G(o)DWIN OR VERY GOLDEN G_DWIN, WHATEVER.
QUEEN KHARINE FOREVER.
QUEEN KHARINE, TOGETHER FOREVER AND EVER.
(Tuesday 29th. November 2011)
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Dear Kharina,
The sun is rising, it is eight. As I begin to make my bed, Chabuca Granda is singing "Puente De Los Suspiros". Echoes of an effortless Beauty drain my brain.
Today I will continue to walk my Walk, exploring black realms for another precious pearl or two. I will touch the cold cobwebs and the wet dark of my broken yesterday, but the warm yellow light of hope is my dope. Yellowish and reddish blues, with pale pain hues, strain and stain my brain.
I slowly even the many wrinkles in my four bed sheets. I have the illusion of being a little Maker of order in this disorder, putting my bed in its best, till it is time again to rest. Wow, will I arrive to the next eight ? How ?
"Puente De Los Suspiros" has ended. My bed, or the bed is ready and white. The sun is shining bright. Today I will live, sigh, die, cry, give, live, live, try uncover an endless Beauty for the universe to behold. My spirit silently begins to hum the fab four "Let it Be".
TOTA PULCHRA ES, KHARINA.
(Wednesday 7th. December 2011)
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a thrilling trilogy :
in god we trust,
i n g o d w i n t r u s t,
in good wine trust.
(Thursday 15th. December 2011)
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Come stai oggi ?
Oggi me sento emo.
E che vor di` ?
Ma niente. Vor di` che trascorrero` quest’oggi vivendo la tristezza, la noia, la malinconoia, la malinconia, la malinchromia, la monochromia, al limite pure la depressione, l’oppressione, la repressione, la regressione e la confusione.
Ma va a caga` va...
(Sunday 18th. December 2011)
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quote :
too blue to blue today
(Wednesday 21st. December 2011)
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Tonight I got in bed, but I am sleepless.
Tonight in bed I am day dreaming of your sweet devil or wicked angel face.
Tonight I got out of bed, picked my paint and brushes to proceed with my endless endeavour to capture the wonder of your naked browns, black and blues.
Tonight I am again in bed praying God to give you a sleepy night and not a sleepless one like mine.
Tonight I am feeling cold, so I made a cup of green china tea to warm my spirit.
Tonight I sit with closed eyes in the dark, hoping sleep would envelop me from head to toes.
Tonight I peeped out of the window, the moon outside is unusually big, bright and shaped like a sleeping letter “C”.
Tonight the stars are coloured of your light pink, light blue and bright red dresses.
Tonight I am still feeling cold, so now I make a cup of yellow china tea to which I add thirty two drops of whisky.
Tonight in the dark I contemplate your natural shapes and colours, which everyday are my light and my delight.
Tonight on utube I softly play and sway with the missa luba """kyrie eleison""" which transmits the same powerful rythms of your Beauty.
Tonight I try to remember what I was doing that day and that hour you were born.
Tonight I am remembering the very first night we were together.
Tonight I light a candle in the dark and the shadows it casts entertain me as they dance like very crazy frogs.
Tonight the thing I desire most is to be raped and enslaved by the sweet chains of your Beauty which frees me from every pain.
Tonight, echoes of your smooth brown velvet voice warm and heal my spirit in this infinite silence.
Tonight I get again in bed and I am trying to sleep.
Tonight I gave birth to a new painting and successively rubbed its rear with levander oil to give it a special scent.
Carine, tonight the night feels a hundredfold more night then usual, but I am a thousandfold blessed as tomorrow you will be thirty two years young.
(January 2012)
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It is afternoon, I am sitting in the garden at the house where I live.
Today is a very cloudy day. The sky is very thick dark grey, and I have had to struggle to keep my eyelids open all day. Air is very humid and everything is sticky. I have tried to continue the painting I am working on, but I can barely see, so it remained at a standstill. I had an appointment on the bridge with a close friend but he never showed up.
Now I am in the garden. I have taken out a small table. I have taken out also my box of colours and a drawing book. I still keep this colour box of wax crayons and this drawing book from my childhood. The crayons are very much worn out, but they never seem to finish and I hope they never will. The drawing paper sheets are veiled by a yellow patina. The day is very grey and dark but in the trees I could hear some birds singing. Strangely enough I seem to have heard this melody before, but I cannot remember what it is.
On the paper in pencil I draw a garden full of flowers and the sun in the sky. Near the centre I draw two butterflies flying on the flowers ; I draw them close to one another as if they are fast friends. How will I colour my drawing ? The sky, the sun, the flowers and garden I decide to make in monochrome and fill all outlines in grey. I have only one grey crayon, so to achieve different tones I rub it in different densities. But the butterflies I want to make in polychrome. I colour the wings of one butterfly in brown and in this brown I draw red and white broken hearts in a black outline. As I colour this butterfly I ask myself where do broken hearts go ? I think they go to the Sun, the golden goddess that gives hope, light and life, so I colour the wings of the other butterfly in navy blue, with a big bright yellow orange sun in the middle across the wing span.
My drawing is ready. I look at it and the playful colourful butterflies I have made on this grey background on this grey afternoon are my spirit’s delight. The birds are still singing and now to my surprise I realize it is the melody of the Gypsy Kings’ version of “Volare”. My day, my afternoon today is grey but I don’t mind. My day tomorrow may be grey and I don’t mind. My days tomorrow may be very grey, but I have no fear.
(13th. February 2012)
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