Some weeks ago I was invited to the opening of an exhibition by Anna Runefelt. Entering the lobby at Hotel Juliani from the sweltering heat, I was greeted by a number of unusual photographs. As I gave each one of them my time and took down notes about how they made me feel, I realised that writing about this collection was not going to be a piece of cake for me – so many mixed emotions brought on by the artist’s creativity and talent. As I was leaving later on, it hit me – the proverbial muse that first nudges you and then forces you to put pen to paper NOW – otherwise it will nag and nag until you do. In other words – WRITE. NOW.

And so I did, frantically putting the words down before I even knew what I was writing. Read the full article on eve.com.mt here.

This is the piece:

disquiet,

alone in the world and unashamedly beautiful.

Nobody is looking, so she is dancing.

Sometimes she wants to be understood, but mostly the veil of mystery is her comfort.

There is a barrier that is somehow disconcerting, as though we are intruding into her world and she cannot quite remember inviting us.

Who is she? Is she a moment inside all of us?

She is silent and golden, perched perilously on the rocks.

Then she is stark naked and thoughtful on a sunny afternoon.

First she blends, then she is obvious, then she is remarkably fashionable.

She dies a little with every little death,

whispers within whispers, whirlwinds of shadows

a bold statement, a presence that captures your gaze.

– Miriam Calleja


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