I clearly remember the days, back when I was around 15 or 16, when Madonna’s songs seemed to me to be a manifesto of the way I wanted to live, of the things I wanted to say. Continue reading
(Warning: long read. An edited version of this post first appeared in Times of Malta here.)
Travelling down a narrow, dusty road lined by the typical yellowing globigerina limestone, seemingly arriving at the very end of Gozo to meet an American writer, was an incongruent experience.
This is what the artist had to say about his work:
My drawings inspire, and are not to be defined. They place us, as does music, in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined.