Move your body dance with me, come on baby dance with me, move your body…(repeat)
And if you do touch Daphne’s memorial, you should know that unlike your polystyrene statues, it would not break; it will grow. That is the nature of art that you fail to understand.
Polystyrene Culture
By now much has been written and said about the opening of Valletta 2018. And I am bored of adding to that discourse. It was what it was, a festa on steroids, organised by this government to please its voters. Who cares if the Catalan giant and crane were used before.
“At the end of the day, does anybody recall the opening of any other European Capital of Culture?” The Lawyer said exasperated.
“No.” I replied.
“Exactly!” He downed his drink.
The Gorilla stroked his pug and grinned, the Argentinian sat perplexed on a bar stool, and the Journalist drank more Jager.
The intention to go to Valletta was there, but lunch in St. Julian’s went sideways, and we only managed to get to Lady Di Pub. There were many pitfalls along the route. From the bar’s big screen television we could see that the 110,000 strong crowd across the water were on a different trip to us – attendance may have resulted in severe neurological failure.
There we sat, ordering one black label after another, watching in disbelief, the Malta Philharmonic Orchestra supporting DJ Tenishia.
Move your body dance with me, come on baby dance with me, move your body…(repeat)
Side note: the MPO sounded phenomenal.
Culture or Kulture? We’ve sure been hearing a lot about culture. This culture, that kulture, their culture, high kulture, low culture, local kulture, European culture. A puddle of culture and barely a drop of art.
What did people expect when architect David Felice was replaced (after his team won the bid) with government lackey Jason Micallef. Now affectionately known as Cermen J.
Former Secretary-General of the Labour Party, unwanted Labour Party general election candidate, head of the Labour Party media wing, Eurovision director hopeful. Yet he was given the chairmanship of the Valletta 2018 foundation.
It was doomed to be a government-sponsored affair.
And you wouldn’t expect anything else from a government that has a Ministry for Justice and Culture run by Minister Owen it-Topo Bonnici.
Mario Philip Azzopardi: Why does the government insist on saving relics like him, and not gems like the Roxy Theatre Hall? I’m sure it would cost less.
It’s all become one tight sweaty fat political circle-jerk, and Valletta, the cum-addled biscuit in the middle, out of which everybody wants a bite. That could explain the unearthly amount of white plastic tents around the city.
But from one cultural crisis to the next. The latest is the vandalism of public polystyrene art after only a day or two in the public forum.
Not to go into the artistic merit of the project, or that of the artist, but why the hell would you put breakable polystyrene statues covered in thin coat of plaster outside? Then cry foul when they inevitably break.
An ice-sculpture melts in the sun, sand-sculptures blow away in the wind, origami dissolve in the rain, and polystyrene-sculptures just break. It is the nature of the material, it breaks.
No matter the amount of signs pleading the public not to touch this, or mount that, they will touch it, and they will mount it. It is the nature of the public, it’s curious.
Don’t step on the grass. Motherfucker, I am gonna step on the grass! The grass feels good between my toes. So when considering placing some form of art in the public realm then make sure it allows for public interaction.
You can’t give the public something and command it – look but don’t touch! ‘Cause Adam touched.
It wasn’t vandalism, or a failure of society; it was a failed attempt at public art.
Prior to the polystyrene predicament, Cermen J had some harsh words for Il-Kenniesa’s projection of a couple of slides against the façade of the Auberge de Castille, the Office of the Prime Minster. Asking “Who killed Daphne?” and naming OPM as the “House of Impunity.”
Chairmen J decried it an abuse of democracy! An attack on public monuments! Calling on the government to be tougher against the rogue public!
Again, Jason, a public space/building/monument is owned by the public. All the public. Hence the word public. Castille is as much mine as it is yours.
For a supposed socialist, Cermen J displays all the flare of a flaming fascist.
He now turned his cultural beak towards Daphne Caruana Galizia’s memorial at the foot of Antonio Sciortino’s monument to the fallen of the Great Siege.
Faith, Fortitude, and Civilisation have never had as much public relevance and attention as they do now.
It is a public monument that lends itself to severity of the current situation. And if you can’t see that, your Charlie Hebdo grandstanding is as cracked as your monuments of jablo.
Daphne’s memorial belongs to us. It belongs to Malta, whether the whole population understands it or not. It is part of a public sentiment; it is asking the judiciary for the truth.
You don’t like it because it reminds you that Daphne, like Sciortino’s Great Siege monument, is a public statement against the corruption you and your pals have unleashed upon a European State.
Go ahead and swindle European cultural funds, put on your lavish government endorsed festas, neglect the country’s actual ailing cultural infrastructure. That’s fine because the artists on the island are doing their thing.
And if you do touch Daphne’s memorial, you should know that unlike your polystyrene statues, it would not break; it will grow. That is the nature of art that you fail to understand.
Faith, Fortitude and Civilisation.
Hey do we know how much this opening spectacle cost? All them tents, lights, projectors, dancers, giants, speakers, go-carts, and all the rest of it…
Published on TheShiftNews.com
Round and round the roundabout
That’s Transport Malta for you. Logic is not their strong suit. Countless reports, articles and first-hand experiences can support that statement.
Red to amber to green, I put the car in gear and drive past the Fossos and the MITP car park. Green, amber, red, I stop the car, barely driving 20 metres… another set of traffic lights placed in front of the Il-Mall.
I open the window and tap my fingers on the steering wheel to Paolo Conte singing “Gelato al limon, gelato al limon…”
“Sir, Sir…” a voice shouts. I look through the passenger window: a petite warden, her pretty face jarring with that loathsome green uniform, her hair tucked under an over-sized hat and her hands resting on her side above her utility belt. Confused by the unusual sight of a slender warden, I try to understand why she is gesturing me to move my car forward, light still red.
“Move forward a bit, sir,” she says in a thick Maltese accent. Still confused I comply, inching my car forward towards the crossing pedestrians. Seeing this, the pedestrians quicken their step, thinking I have been instructed to drive through a red light, when the green man is still showing their right of way.
I look back and realise the new set of lights has created a line of cars behind me, ending at the previous lights, blocking off the junction.
That’s Transport Malta for you. Logic is not their strong suit. Countless reports, articles and first-hand experiences can support that statement.
Mobility in Malta is shit. Starting from our road habits to our bus stops. Better words could be used to describe it, stronger ones, but I fear my editor would refuse to send the article to print.
Take the recent resurfacing of Valletta’s ring road. Not executed for the benefit of the local population or the embellishment of Valletta. It has been resurfaced to provide an illusion to visiting dignitaries. The tarmac is already coming off, clumping in random areas and bumping where it meets an older strip.
Driving down any road seems like a bad version of Crash Bandicoot Karting; stripped sections of tarmac suddenly appear, plastic red bollards popping up from nowhere, red and white plastic barriers placed willy-nilly, slipping and sliding with any gust of wind or drop of rain. Missing markings or an exaggerated use of signings. Pot holes, super massive black holes, slippery tarmac, Maltese drivers. It is harder than ever to manoeuvre your vehicle, especially when drunk.
Drink driving – just one of the many colourful prerequisites of living on this island. Like most, by the age of 18 I had to learn to operate a car under the influence. I have been lucky, a lot haven’t, and the older I get I fear my luck will run out.
The government says it wants this to stop, and I agree with them. But merely announcing an increase in roadblocks, threat of breathalyser tests and exorbitant fines will not cut it or come close to solving the problem.
Elsewhere in Europe you wouldn’t dream of driving after a night of revelry. You order a taxi, hop onto one of the various public transport systems, or you walk, mount your bicycle or skate. Here, options are limited. Taxis are expensive and the public transport service is incomprehensible during the day and non-existent at night.
Too long have we been complaining about this situation, yet why is nothing done? All we get are resurfaced roads, bypasses bypassing bypasses, and threats of island-connecting bridges.
I am fed up of using a money-guzzling, polluting machine for mobility. Fed up of administrations that shirk their responsibility to provide a healthier and up-to-date, living, national infrastructure. Fed up of having to pen this article after reading so many on the same topic. All of us want a change. Some in their own way are trying to effect it.
More people are using bicycles to commute, even though adequate bicycle lanes are non-existent, risking their lives and lungs to get from A to B.
All we get are resurfaced roads, bypasses bypassing bypasses, and threats of island-connecting bridges
A new bicycle-sharing initiative, Nextbike, has been launched, something akin to Boris-Bikes in London. Yet I fear that although this is a nod in the right direction, the bicycles may be inadequate for the Maltese situation.
Most cities have had bicycle sharing for a while, some more advanced than others, and tailored to the city’s needs. Madrid has pedal-assist bicycles that help with the city’s hills, and in Copenhagen you can rent a Bycyklen, one of the first smart bicycle sharing systems. In Malta, bicycles may need to be equipped with airbags and warning systems, as countless feckless drivers surround riders.
A bicycle courier service has only recently been launched: Fetchit, delivering items and food, servicing (for now) a select number of localities. Divorce, gay marriage and now bicycle couriers… what next? Medical marijuana?
This is good news for young people looking for a flexible job, and for those stuck behind their desks wanting their midday fix without having to get behind the wheel.
So addicted to our cars are we as a nation that anything related to bicycles seems to be a wholly new concept in 21st-century Malta.
These are sparkling, young and private initiatives. While at a government level things seem to be dim. Minister for Transport Joey Mizzi has the lowest public approval rating, nothing surprising there, but within the current corrupt Cabinet that is saying something.
Shadow minister Marthese Portelli would not do any better. She embodies the uselessness of the Nationalist Party.
Having said that, Transport Malta has been busy compiling the National Transport Master Plan 2025 and the National Transport Strategy 2050. We are told that this is the first time a master plan of this nature has been put together. So everything that I am about to write has probably been considered or rejected by people who are far more competent (?) than I. I am only an observer, and what I see is utter chaos.
You could say it’s about time, but the work is there, so thank you Transport Malta for that. We will wait and see when and how our politicians will engage with your work.
If these documents are too much for one to read (which they are), then I suggest looking up the 2016 published study, Sustainable mobility, liveability and public space in historic village cores – a case study of Lija, Malta, by Prof. Maria Attard, Perit Jacques Borg Barthet and Perit Alberto Miceli Farrugia. There are some good pwieret out there.
We need to be innovative and bold. Turn village core streets into bicycle priority lanes. Create pedestrian-friendly routes that connect neighbouring localities. Invest in an innovative transport infrastructure alongside the one we already have. Increase ferry services from harbour towns. Create a new express ferry service from Gozo to Pietà. Connect Pietà to Valletta, St Luke’s Hospital, Mater Dei Hospital, University of Malta, etc., with an independent bicycle-lane infrastructure. Provide the public with bicycle silos. Have a park-and-ride-monorail system, whisking you to Smart Shity and back. Incorporate taxis into a public transport system by partly subsidising them and regulating them.
We need a green, healthy, safe and logical mobility infrastructure. We need to use our size to our advantage and not let it choke us.
More trees less tarmac.
Any cardiologist will tell you that a heart can only undergo so many bypasses, stents and pacemakers before it stops beating. The only way to ensure the continual beating is to change your lifestyle. We are all on the same roads together, even though individually separate in our own car.
P.S. The drawing is obviously not to scale.
The little bag
At that moment I understood Minister Scicluna’s rare political talent; he is boring
“And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall”
Friday April 12th 1963, Town Hall, New York City. Where were you? I wasn’t yet born, but since you are reading this newspaper then I can safely assume that you were probably born, if not already in your thirties.
So where have you been my darling old one? Look where we are now. Tuesday 18th October 2016, Malta. Living an economic wonder of congestion, construction and corruption. Getting fat, sitting, waiting for the hard rain to fall.
I watched the budget speech…tried to… quickly bored I began zapping through the local channels; TVM, NET and ONE and again TVM, Net, and ONE, and again, and again, the voice of Minister Scicluna in time gaps, the all suited male panel on Net, quick angles of MPs just pee-eye-Emm-Peein’, it was a vicious cycle, one quite hard to break.
I settled on TVM. Within 5 minutes, probably less, I zoned out. It happened a number of times until I was about to sleep…I would be damned if I slept to the voice of Edward Scicluna, quick switch off the TV!
At that moment I understood Minister Scicluna’s rare political talent; he is boring. He may be intelligent, but his political strength is his ability to bore the masses.
Lauded lies and whispered truths may be a politician’s M.O. But the opening of the government’s yearly budget is something unique; a closely followed parliamentary speech that is not delivered by the Prime Minister or the leader of the opposition. It is the Minister of Finance who hands out the yearly fiscal forecasts from his little bag (bougette).
Your personal finance and stuff is hard enough to digest, let alone that of a nation. Yet it is important and should be easily understood by people, but do they understand it? Cause I don’t, especially when the information is being read by Minister Scicluna’s hypnotising voice.
There lies his political talent, he takes information of national importance, which in itself is already boring and he turns up the boring. And we the people don’t do boring, not when there is the next episode of Narcos you want to watch.
“Te lo prometo Tata…”
Whether or not he wields the Sith-Power of boredom willingly, it works; I was disinterested. The boringness of it all. The bored faces of other MPs, phubbing, picking, jeering, pounding, in their limestone cavern, it appealed to my apathy. This stuff doesn’t change either way, we’re all on the gravy train, and they‘re laying the tracks, whichever way they see fit.
To say that the budget was a bit, bleh, is an understatement.
The media reported that the Budget was bleh.
They noted the Minister said “Bleh!” and this other Minister said “Bleh?”
The opposition leader said “BLEH!!!!!”
Both the GWU and GRTU said “Bleh…” in different tones.
Franco Debono wrote,
“Bleh bleh bleh bleh BLEH,
Bleh bleh bleh bleh bleh Bleh BLEH,
Bleh Bleh Bleh bleh Unz.”
Bigger cruise liners, more tourists, what’s best for Air Malta, upped prices on detergents, toiletries, tobacco, alcohol, soft drinks, concrete, steal. Road works, more road works, car-pooling, random bike racks, quick fix public transport gimmick, a laughable fuel decrease, underwater tunnels, underwater connectors, property incentives in Gozo, another Mattia Preti…Bleh!
More of the same; the same taste of dust in the air, the same taste of exhaust through the window, and the same taste of fish farms in the sea.
“Maaaa how negative ta, on a Sunday” you say.
Don’t forget I’m writing on a Tuesday.
It is useless for me to cry out, we need something better, something more. What’s the point of me writing about a bespoke infrastructure, a master plan tailored for the needs of the Islands of Malta, these gems we call home. It feels useless.
Can’t we have a uniquely Maltese public transport system? More ferry connections, smaller busses, bus shelters, bicycle priority in village cores, suspended gardened bike highways, government or private owned electric bicycle silos, a mono-rail or an underground, which ever suits our needs best, cheaper taxi services, Uber, and no horse-cabbies.
A mix and match solution, where you catch a bus from Mgarr to University, hop on a peddle assist bicycle, cycle to Valletta, or Sliema, board an express ferry from Pieta to Gozo.
To be fair we currently have a uniquely Maltese energy situation. Involving China, Gasan, Panama, a Minister without a portfolio, fossil fuels, and a frightfully large LNG tanker called the Armada, which as I type is attempting to dock at our shores. As national situations go, this is as Maltese as it gets. What could go wrong? Another Preti?
As I said, what’s the point indeed? This gravy train will keep on a-chuggin’. Till we run out of track or space, which ever comes first…
Hold on tight “my darling young one”, il- Gid se jasal.
S.T.B.