A meeting with a master

Amidst the unpleasant circumstances of the Malta visit, one particular hour stood out as a noteworthy (positive) event: a meeting with Professor Richard England.

A few weeks back, I managed to purchase one of the monographs which celebrate his contribution to the Maltese architectural scene. It occurred to me to attempt contacting England with the hope of getting an appointment and get it signed in some hasty meeting amidst his busy schedule. I did send an email to the usual "Contact us" address off the website and, to my great surprise, I received an email from his personal email account a few days later, inviting me to call him on his mobile phone and arrange to meet him during my Malta visit.

Once on the island, I did call him and he asked me to visit him at home on the Monday evening. And so we did, drove up to that familiar street off Paceville where I sometimes used to park during busy weekends. As soon as I opened the gate, Richard himself opened the door and ushered us into his home and to his studio.

Wow, is the unavoidable cliché that one will say upon setting eyes on the immense, ordered collection of books, figures, drawings and CDs. Richard broke the ice by asking our opinion on the current architectural status in the world and I urged him to stick to tiny Malta for the time being. With a sense of nostalgia, he confessed that there is no longer a Maltese architecture to talk about, only a "building industry".

It was a relief to hear that England still believes there are a "handful" of good architects in their early or late 30s, the foremost of which is, in his opinion, my own cousin Chris. We discussed Valletta, Piano's proposal, the prospect of highrises in Malta, our Ph.D. research in London, his view of the superstar architects and of sustainability and structural engineering. And of course, signed my book. Not only that, but he presented us with a marvellous collection of his architectural-artistic sketches and drawings. Also with a dedication and signed, of course.

A good one hour later, Richard warmly wished us well in our research and asked us to keep in touch and pay him other visits whenever we are in Malta. On the way out, he showed us a pencil drawing on tracing paper from Basil Spence's hand - one of the original proposals for Coventry Cathedral. England re-iterated the importance of architects using the pencil (or, in his case, the pen) and not the computer, for the latter "does not think" and only the hand can transfer ideas from the mind to paper.

A meeting which I initially envisaged as being intimidating, hurried and impersonal turned out to be warm, leisurely and of a kind which would almost be even beyond one between two acquaintances. Meeting Richard England, who is (almost) definitely the best living Maltese architect and (most) probably a very significant architect of the Mediterranean region, truly exceeded all expectations.

Farewell, nanna

There are few things in life which, despite all possible levels of education, I know I will always fail to understand; some things might be beyond my personal interest, say astrophysics or quantum mechanics, but when it comes to the metaphysical world, one issue stands out: death.

Until a few days ago, I have had the misfortune of enduring 4 family deaths and, sadly enough, this number has now risen to 5 with the passing away of my last remaining grandparent, Nanna Connie.

I was very eager to flying back to Malta for the Maltese long weekend; we had booked tickets way back in December probably and by Wednesday, I guess I already was in holiday-mode. Alas, on Thursday morning, my wife greeted me with a sad SMS from mum, which informed me that nanna had moved on to a better life in the early hours of the day.

I am not a man who easily expresses emotion, which is probably not a good thing, and will not do much of an effort to do so here, but as the last of my roots is now gone, I cannot not put paper to pen (so to speak) and share a few words.

Despite the 6 decade age difference, I can very much relate to nanna and trace some elements in me which make up the 25% I inherited from her: I am a man of few words, soft-spoken most of the times, love food and photos, probably will have high cholesterol levels in the future, and, of course, sport the omnipresent red cheeks channelled over to me via dad.

The trip to Malta which was supposedly a break turned out to be a sort of Micallef family re union (albeit in the most unfavourable of circumstances) and, in the most beautiful weather conditions, we all gathered for (probably) the last time at Marsa church - nanna's 2nd home for so many years - to pay our last respects.

Farewell, nanna. Give my best to nannu, and if you see any of the Grechs too, give them a hug on my behalf. I am doing my best to make you all proud, as you have always been of me.

Two years...

...since our wedding!

Almost unbelievable!

731* days!

Happy anniversary, Marianna!

* 2012 is a leap year

A triumphal performance

I hate labels, but probably more than anything else, I consider myself to be a musician. My interests are not solely limited to the piano and classical music, but range from classic rock to indie, from musicals to jazz. One genre has been a sort of mystery: opera. Probably because Malta lacks a proper opera house or perhaps I have only been to one opera in my life, Orff's Carmina Burana, which, despite its vocal beauty, lacked the theatricality of stage performance which one would expect in, say, a Mozart or Verdi opera. This all changed last Sunday when we went to see the Aida at the wonderful Royal Albert Hall.

It was a lovely day - spring seems to be making an appearance here in London - and we ventured off to South Ken on a Sunday late morning, for a very different reason from our usual Monday-Friday trip there. Tickets in hand and up to the topmost level, an usher asked us if we would like to get an upgrade to one of the (£65 worth) seats just off the 'stage' (which was really in the round). What sort of question is that? Surely a rhetoric one! We exchanged tickets and 1 minute later we were seated just 5m away from the edge of the performance area. And soon the show began.

A three-hour-long delight, a celebration of live music, powerful singing and a contemporary twist to the otherwise late 19th century masterpiece. In my operatic ignorance, I was only vaguely aware of the plot, except that it was set in ancient Egypt and even more unfamiliar with the music, except for the cliché that is the Triumphal march, but in its Shakespearean-tragedy quality, the plot was simple enough to follow, even if with the help of the English translation, and the outing proved to be a brilliant start to my interest in opera.

The next appointment by the same company at the same venue is in a year's time, almost to the day, with nothing else but Bizet's Carmen. You know what I am going to do next? I think I am going to book tickets...