Last Thursday, I stood in MUZA’S Camerone Hall, surrounded by shadows and silence on the walls, as Tonio Mallia’s paintings whispered stories from Malta’s haunted past. The exhibition Tuitio Fidei – named after the Knights of Malta’s motto, ‘Defence of the Faith’ – is not just a collection of artworks. It’s a reckoning.
Friends, family, collectors and admirers filled the hall. Many walked round slowly, sometimes sipping wine, as they contemplated each dark panel and came to their own conclusions. Others, stood talking in groups. Present were a number of artists I only meet at exhibitions and it is always a pleasure to catch up.
I had the privilege of interviewing Tonio for The Malta Independent on Sunday, an interview which appeared in last Sunday’s paper. But seeing the actual paintings added a visceral layer to the interview. The rich textures of each panel can never be transmitted on newspaper print. Nor can the colours, the contrasts, the use of Indian ink and layers of rice paper.
What immediately came to mind as I admired these panels was that beautifully haunting phrase by St John of the Cross, ‘dark night of the soul’, which describes the soul’s journey through spiritual desolation and the emptiness on its way to union with the divine. The yearning for the divine in these paintings is evident to me. I may be wrong about this and the artist possibly had other thoughts in mind, but we are spiritual beings after all and our earthly sojourn is but a short, often painful, journey.
Let me say something about two of my favourite panels, Prayer and Galleys, which struck me deeply and which I am reproducing on this page.
Prayer glows with spiritual longing, candlelight flickering against the dark – a quiet sanctuary. The maternal tenderness on the left is a poignant counterpoint to the chaos and threat which is happening outside. The glowing halo suggests divine protection, hope amid darkness.
Galleys, on the other hand, is a storm of emotions: a child held close – surely St Anthony of Padova, after whom the artist is called – a ship looming in the smoke, the sea reflecting fire. Protection and peril, side by side. It’s as if the artist is saying: even in the face of invasion and destruction, humanity endures. The ship itself – dark, massive, almost spectral – could symbolize the arrival of danger, or perhaps the inevitability of change.
Much prayer must have gone on during the Great Siege for, ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.’ In this secular world many of us continue to believe that. It is faith, after all, which brings hope.
Tonio’s ability to evoke myth, memory, and emotion through texture and shadow is extraordinary. His use of symbolism – the cross, the sword, the galley – is never literal, always layered. Each painting feels like a portal into the siege of 1565, yet also into our own modern anxieties. Thoughts, as I admired the paintings, flitted in and out of my mind, like autumn leaves: ancestors who went through this siege. Others through two world wars. At present the suffering in Gaza and the Ukraine. The war against migrants.
Enough said. The only way to appreciate this exhibition is to go and see it.
It runs until 21st September at MUŻA, Auberge d’Italie, Merchants street, Valletta. I hope people keep on going. Not just to admire the art, but to feel something. Tonio wants each viewer to find their own meaning within the mystery. To reflect. To remember. He said he hopes visitors walk away with compassion. I did.
