This painting came about for two reasons – well three really if you count the person who it is intended for. Ivan, my grandson asked for a painting for his upcoming birthday in August. I will not be home at that time so I had to do something before I left for my vacation.

But what would please an eleven year old boy? He’s no longer a little child so nursery rhyme characters no longer cut it. Still he is a boy so the subject of the painting couldn’t be something that would please an adult. My son’s girlfriend suggested a fantasy landscape since that is the kind of book Ivan is always reading… you know, things like Lord of the Rings and the Narnia Chronicles. Then Dave , a member of Let's Make Art posted a  fantastic one minute video clip of a spray space landscape and the penny dropped. Of course those spray artists do their job in seconds because their medium permits it, but I reckoned something like that could be done with acrylics and brushes… so off I went.

I started with a blank 16x16 (41x41 cm) canvas which I gessoed and sanded twice even though it was already primed. And then using a pastel pencil I laid down a very basic sketch just to see how the composition would work.

Ivan and Maya, my two grandchildren... they've just left for the airport. They're flying, accompanied by a friend of their parents, to spend the first month of their summer holidays with their paternal grandparents in Serbia. They've been so excited these past few days... and the excitement reached record levels today.

I shall miss them, even though I understand their other grandparents miss them too. They saw them grow up in the first years of their lives because at the time they lived here in Malta but now they've been away for a year and half. I shall miss them more than anyone because I shall only see them for twenty-four hours when they come back and then I myself will leave for Canada.

We all went down to their parents' place for a chat, a drink and a "goodbye and have fun" and a million hugs and kisses. Before I left I asked Ivan what he wished for his birthday since I wouldn't be home at the time. He said he had prepared a "scroll" for each one of us which he had left on his desk. And sure enough there were the scrolls of rolled up paper - one for mummy and daddy, one for nannu and nanna and two for his uncles.

Under my name he had written: from you nanna I would like a painting or some nice books... then the "or" was crossed out and "and" written instead! I felt flattered. I had given him a painting for his last birthday - the dolphin - and now he wants another one!

I don't have much time to do it... I don't even know what would please an eleven year old boy... but I will think of something.

Have fun little ones and come back full of the joy you always bring.

Yes, despite what my body says, I refuse to grow old!

My youngest son Andrew turned twenty-one today. When I was a kid twenty-one used the be the year you "got the key" - that's the age you got to vote and were considered an adult... so metaphorically and literrally you got the key - the physical key to let yourself in and out of the house. I can still remember birthday cakes with large silver keys as decoration.

But let's get back to Andrew. He's a really sweet kid - quiet most of the time and very , very sensitive. About this time last year he went through a very hard time but thankfully he is now well and truly over it. He was really tiny as a kid and took his time growing up but now he is really coming into his own - very intelligent, with a good argumentative mind and an equally good pen. You would still think of him as being quiet but in truth he is very passionate about a lot of things.


And how do I come into this. Oh well - if Andrew is getting older then I must be getting ancient - he is after all the youngest of three children with a full five year gap between him and his older brother. But I refuse to grow old. My body fails me occasionally - sometimes it fails me big time. But my mind refuses to be defeated.

I will go on being inquisitive - searching for new experiences. I will go on being playful. I will go on enjoying a good laugh everyday. I may not be so physically active anymore but as long as I have my mental faculties I will go on taking them to the limits. I refuse to grow old!

Happy Birthday Andrew.

How does one measure life?  Is life measured by the number of years? I don’t think so.  I think there are more important criteria by which life can be measured.

It’s Mother’s Day today.  So how do I measure up as a mother?  Surely it’s not by the number of children I have had.  More likely it’s by the times I have been there when my kids needed me… the times when I left a mark on their lives that perhaps helped them to become better people… more confident in themselves. Probably the measure of motherhood is how far the mother succeeds in making the children individuals – unique individuals -  rather than copies of herself.

 As an artist, how do I measure myself?  Again not by the number of pieces I have produced.  I think it is more by the moments when I felt I had discovered something new, saw something in a different light. I measure my growth by the times I sat with a problem and experimented with ways to solve it in a manner that was both realistic and pleasing –exciting both to me as the artist and to the viewer.

 In her novel To The Lighthouse, English author Virginia Woolf says that life is not made up of big, dramatic episodes but of tiny, seemingly insignificant moments. That is a quote that has always remained in my mind and has coloured a lot of my life.

 So maybe I shall measure my life by the number of  onions I have peeled and chopped and the number of  onions I will in future peel and chop…. the times when I do something, unpleasant as it may be, that is intended to  for the pleasure and sustenance of another… the times I manage to forget myself.

 A Happy Mother’s Day to all mums and grans.

Return to main website Pencil Pastel Brush.

No I'm not being cryptic or psychotic (well that I am but only on Wednesdays ) I'm not referring to voices of the Joan of Arc type... the ones that tell you what to do. I mean the voices that articulate your thoughts in your head. Like very often I think in English (and don't say "duh!" - I'm not English). But sometimes it's even more than that... it's a particular accent. Like the one in a video clip  I watched today for instance... that very heavy American accent which is so foreign to me but that sticks to my mind and I think my thoughts in Cheap Joe's accent!

Some people take that even further... they not only hear the voices but can also reproduce them to perfection - and then they become impersonators. Our youngest son Andrew is perfect at that sort of thing. When he's in a good mood and manages to overcome his innate shyness he has us rolling under the table laughing at his impersonations.

Maybe I am a little crazy or a lot crazy, it doesn't matter. You know the other day when I forgot to take my hand out of the car like I did with the rest of my body. My first thought was: hey, why can't I walk away from the car? And then I realized what had happened as the pain suddenly hit home and I was just about ready to faint.

But maybe it's not just me that's crazy... maybe the whole world is crazy. It's well after 10:00pm here so it should be pitch dark now shouldn't it. Well it isn't. The sky is so overcast (and probably laden with Sahara dust too) and there is so much light pollution these days that rather than black the sky is a sort of orangey mauve.... very eerie... very strange....maybe because it is such a still night too.

But there's one very good thing about tonight. The evening scented stock out on the balcony is giving off the most wonderful scent... it's wafting in through the window...filling the house with touch of mystery....

..... and I hear voices........


First pulished on 2 May 2008 on Let's Make Art.

I went back there today. Someone had left a note - I read it, replied. But all else was quiet - a hush that was palpable in it's stillness. I saw some footprints of others who had been there recently but now they too were gone... off to greener pastures.

I brought out the dust sheets, looked for the planks and tools to board up the windows. I painted up a big sign... telling the world that soon the place will be closed - yes I did leave a forwarding address. Maybe someone will come looking for us... I don't want them to get lost.

I'll go back there in a couple of days - just to make sure that everything is locked down and safe. I know I will return from time to time... to look for the little treasures strewn all over that place even if on the outside it looks so humble and unassuming. I will go there to read what one time made me laugh... gave me joy... inspired me to go on. I will go there from time to time to retrace friends lost in the passage of time.

Dear old Porboards Let's Make Art - our first home. We are leaving you but we will not forget you.

First pulished on 26 April 2008 on Let's Make Art.

Philip, my husband is still in a lot of pain from the shingles. With painkillers and all he still has episodes of acute pain and has hardly slept at all for almost three weeks now. At the hospital two weeks ago they prescribed antiviral drugs but they didn't seem to be doing much.

So earlier this week he again called the doctor. The doctor was practically tearing his hair out when Philip showed him what he had been prescribed. He said those might cure him but it would take weeks if not months. He prescribed another drug - one that is also an antiviral but more specific to shingles. AND - these drugs cost an arm and a leg.

Naturally we bought them immediately but that is not the point of this blog. The point is - supposing we could not afford these drugs would that mean that Philip would be in pain for God knows how long? What do people of lesser means do? Should health and quality of life depend on how much money you have? We're not talking about what make of car you get here... we're talking people's lives! I always get very worked up about such things.

Meantime even these new drugs don't seem to be doing much for Philip. We read on the internet that for them to be really effective they would need to be taken within 48 hours from the onset of the attack. But since the hospital prescribed something else who knows what will happen now. The last advice we've had from the doctor was that if the pain continues to be unbearable he will again admit him to hospital to have painkillers injected into the nerve...... scary stuff!

First published on 25 April 2008 on Let's Make Art.

All right - I'll admit it. I am a very sensual person. By that I mean that I perceive life experiences as a series of sensations - colours, smells, sounds, feelings. The change of seasons is another such experience.

Now it's spring - blue - blue skies, blue sea... but also green - a countryside still moist from the winter though about to turn to brown... but catch it now while it is still green, while it is still Spring.

Spring is the smell and taste of fresh broad beans and white onions.... and strawberries... red and luscious. Oh yes, and our special type of zucchini , round and fleshy - crying out to be hollowed and stuffed with meat and baked till a golden brown on top ... filling the house with that rich smell of home cooking... the aroma of fennel seed... and rosemary on the roast potatoes.

Spring is the reawakening of the senses... the desire to start afresh - new life.

Only one drawback about Spring. If it rains it's a dusty rain - laden with the sand of the Sahara ... turning everything an orange red.. but that too is Spring.. that too is life.. that too is fertility.

First published on 19th April 2008 on Let's Make Art.

With your permission I'll be the proud mum again today. One of the local independent Sunday papers carried an interview with my son  Alex who, as I wrote before in this blog, will be contesting the up coming General Elections in Malta - a two page spread complete with large photos. [Picture above]

The paper, and therefore the interview, are in Maltese but the title is a quote from something Alex said at one point. He was talking about his party and said that when he first joined he felt immediately comfortable there because it filled him with a sense of can do.

It is a hard hitting interview asking a lot of tough questions but I think Alex did really well in his replies. This is not something I'm saying only because I'm his mum. It is also the feeling one gets when reading the opening and the closing of the interview, which are basically the journalist's own impressions. I shall translate faithfully for your benefit:

"You will not see his face on the Nationalist Party billboard which identified those candidates of the Labour party that have been around for years. Alex Sciberras is one of the the new faces of the MLP.

Although he is only 25 he has been the mayor of Msida since 2006 and represents a rare new political generation that participates in politics because of its ideological beliefs not because of any personal convenience. At least that is the impression one gets when one speaks to him."

..... the text of the interview follows and then the article ends...

"The interview ends here and as we leave the building Sciberras is stopped by a man who asks him for his autograph on his visiting card, as if he is some famous actor or football player. Visibly embarrassed Sciberras turns to me and says: This is the first time this has happened.

Who knows, maybe this is a sign of how the electorate will receive this young candidate when they cast their vote in three weeks time."

I've just eaten an orange straight off the tree.  I swear nothing in the world beats a Maltese orange for taste and goodness. It packs a load of sensation, warmth, optimism and good feeling.

Which fills me with a sense of optimism and good feeling for the rest of my country.  Malta is really a tiny rocky island.  It produces very little.  But what it does produce is of very high quality... I would even say excellence.

I cringe when I see some of my countrymen belittling our native land because it is so small, perhaps claustrophobic, and seems to lack so much that other nations have in abundance.  They miss the point completely.  They seem to forget that our very littleness is our greatness.

What other population of less than half a million  has it's own national identity, it's own culture, it's very own language complete with centuries old literature. What other tiny island has held on to it's own characteristics through all the viscisitudes of history... has  in fact influenced history.

I like to call Malta a cameo... an excellent work of art in miniature  - packed with  excellence and good feeling.... much like a Maltese orange.