Valletta

A capital city with the capital "C". A city with so much to it. A city that few like it deserve to be called so. A place which has been through so much in time and history.

A City which in so many ways is just like a book which has been and is still being written, with so may facades that have the history of our country

written in their stone.

A history so rich and yet unknown by most of the commuters that walk through its streets daily.

Its pedestrians who rarely bother looking past the height of the shops' glass windows, few are those that dare wander through the streets and alleys deep in the belly of the City towards the forgotten locations which our fathers have fought for so bravely, shedding their blood to save our identity.

Men whose names have gone forgotten with the passing of time, their blood washed away off the streets they had fought to protect.

A City that has the names of people such as Caravaggio, Mattia Preti, Melchiorre Gafa', Francesco Fieravino and many others to mark its beauty.

Few are the people that know Valletta the way it should be known, partially because there are so many sides to it. If a country had to have a foundation stone, Valletta would have to be the one for Malta.

A City that has been transformed into an architectural museum by the many eras it has been through.

Many battles have scared its streets, facades, and citizens. Many wars have been the cause of its destruction and reconstruction.

Few places on this planet have endured so much.

Few Cities have had so many rulers and governors as Valletta did.

Many are the islands in the Mediterranean but few have had the luck to be placed in history with so much glory and honour as Valletta did.

I dedicate these few photos to my granddad. A man whose soul has left this City a long time ago. He used to tell me stories of battles which had taken place in his City with such pride. Whilst walking through these streets I can still hear his voice, feel his hands on my shoulder. And many like him have made way to what we are.

I will keep walking these roads and hoping to see catch a glimpse of you with your friends some time.

See you Nannu.

Light through glass

Or even better the art of recording light in the way that we see it. Photography.

I have always been fascinated by the fact that time passes by and together with it so does our life, our experiences of joy and sadness.But then on the other hand it takes some little thing to trigger our memories and bring us back to the past, flashes from our history. History which might have been very insignificant at the moment but when contemplated upon some time after, may uncover to us why we are what we are and who we are.

And that what brougt me to photography, an aid to my faulty memory.
And it is an art, because as a painting captures and conveys back to the viewer the artist's feelings that did stimulate him in his composition, so does a photo which has been methodically captured. It's the colours, or the lack of them, the light being radiated out of the photo, the composition that is aimed towards the unconscious eye, this is what makes a photo. Its not the different cameras, the megapixels, full frame or not, all these things are usless if some one does not know how to express himself through the language of photography.

It is all about stopping power, our eyes are subjected to an uncountable number of images every day, but what is it that makes us stop on one image more than another? What is it that makes us get intrigued by a picture causing us to stop and give attention to it, holding us there in front of it with our minds traveling through the representations on it? Are all our minds triggered by the same composition? Does it have to do with our past?

Well that is an endevour that I am about to undergo with this blog. I want to see what stimulates you, the viewer, and I need you to convey back to me what you feel when you see my images.

Feel free to comment and post back to me.

George