I love Għadira in the winter when it drizzles. When it is neither bustling nor garish and when, in its abandonment, it reminds me of the wide expanses of deserted beach and roaring waves that suit the cinema so well.
As I was growing up, a young boy on an island colony during the Cold War, I was aware of a strange e...
Of late I have been thinking a lot about Caravaggio. I’m not sure exactly why. Although the link i...
It’s Friday and the wind is picking up. I can hear its ominous whisper rising and falling through ...
The focus is on the hitherto ignored figure of the black servant, who, rather than being perceived a...
“He is not necessarily beautiful in himself but is made beautiful by the projected desire of his a...
Sometimes, after work, when I leave my office and turn the corner into a street lined with cafes and...
“Beauty is a simple passion. But, oh my friends, in the end You will dance the fire dance in iron ...