Intelligent beauty

If it be true that, as John Keats put it, a thing of beauty is a joy forever, then surely, in the case of Luciano Micallef's paintings 'forever' has to be substantially extended. That has been no secret for quite a while. Abstracts, a book containing many of the artist's works in that genre, amply confirms and makes the fact popular knowledge. The book, launched by Luciano in his San Pawl tat-Targa Gallery 5 on Wednesday, is a joy to go through and savour.

The publication is beautiful merely to look at unopened. Open it, and it is like being admitted into the splendour of the rainbow preening itself like a peacock and inviting one to walk through its endless wonderful plazas.

Reading the commentaries running through the book, which were prepared by the artist himself and four experts whose erudite texts each presents material to enjoy and revisit, complements Luciano Micallef's work of art.

When Luciano first discussed the germ of his project with me about a year ago, I made two suggestions to him. One was that he should go solo. He is such an individualist that, I felt, notwithstanding his convivial nature he would find sharing responsibility hard going, and there would be serious pitfalls along the way.

I also tried to persuade the artist not to restrict himself to his abstract works, but to include at least some samples of his figurative offerings. On my visits to his studio over the years, I have seen some of his portraits, among which that of Richard England is truly incredible, of his nudes and of other works. All of them had a gripping effect on me. Luciano would not heed my second prompting.

He was adamant that he wanted to focus on abstracts, since an abstract painter is what he has become, giving himself completely to the genre. That happened through a process.

I first got to know Luciano Micallef (who has now passed the half century, though he does not show it) when he was still 17. We met in poet and critic Victor Fenech's house, in the heady days of the Sixties and early Seventies, which coincided with a sort of renaissance in all of the artistic fields in Malta.

Even then, he had a magnetism about him which was amazing. He was serious and deep, and wanting to be deeper in his knowledge of life, and more serious in the way he looked at and practise the visual art.

He was also studying philosophy at the time, under the guidance of the educator and writer Kenneth Wain. The philosopher nurtured in Luciano in those formative years has not stopped growing with time. He is there in the way the artist expresses himself, in his discussion of his work, in the way he moves towards his objective, and almost effortlessly takes others along with him. As well as, for those who can discern it, in his paintings.

At Wednesday's launch Paul Sant Cassia, a Reader in Anthropology at the University of Durham, one of the panel who made brief interventions, incisively observed how articulate Luciano always is. He is that, to a fine point. His time is precious. But not for him the hesitant staccato of some visual artists, who cannot match their artistic talent with easily flowing words. Luciano is never easy. He is simply always at ease with himself, and never more so when he talks about his work as well as that of others.

He did not heed half of my advice, so those who have not travelled with him from his early works have further enjoyment to look forward to as they discover his figurative paintings, which also include experiments with various media. Who knows whether he may yet allow himself to be persuaded to publish another book, to include his choices from that period of his younger artistic life.

Luciano, however, did not need me or anyone else to press him too much on the second point I suggested to him - to be totally in charge of his project. He selected and photographed his abstracts, designed the layout for the precious book that would host them, along with exactly where the commentary was to go, where to begin, stop, or carry on, to the last tee in the text and bit of shadow around the reproduced paintings which make them appear as if they wanted to leap out of the page through their very own dynamic.

On Wednesday evening he told the gathering why he did that. He mentioned an obsession with detail. He certainly is obsessed with that and anyone who imagines that abstract painting is some loose form of expression will swiftly conclude otherwise as one familiarises himself with the Luciano Micallef abstract technique.

But the artist gave a more basic reason why every aspect of the project is his and his alone, other than for the picture of him on the jacket and within the book, which was taken by his daughter, Chiara, who was the beguiling mistress of ceremony, as her mother, Patrizia, watched with restrained serene pride every word and movement of her husband and their daughter.

Luciano said that he had kept control of all that took place to bring his book of abstracts about in the name of authenticity. What a fitting single word to describe so exactly my friend, I thought, as I followed the proceedings from the back of the gallery. Luciano Micallef is nothing if not authentic in every thing he does.

His paintings, whether the figurative works of old, or his beloved abstracts, are authentic beyond description. Unless, that is, the describing as done by expert critics like Doris Zarb, an educator, philosopher and organiser of art productions, and Donald Friggieri, presently director of the MCAST Institute of Art and Design, another two of the members of the panel, which was made up of the writers of the commentaries in the book.

Luciano is an authentic individual and an authentic artist. He is so real that one feels the essence of him before he opens his mouth, or after taking one look at his paintings. He is so much an intelligent reality, as the panel members, each in her or his own way pithily emphasised.

Professor David E. Cooper, the fourth panel member, who is professor of philosophy at the University of Durham, could not have put it better. Among other things, he spoke of the brightness in the visual art of Malta's Luciano Micallef.

What a brightness it is! The abstracts hanging in the gallery during the launch typified it. One was not dazzled by it simply because of the subtlety whereby the artist blends together the colours he uses with such detailed attention.

For those to whom abstract is a medium that does not really say anything specific, the Micallef abstracts gently but insistently suggest that they think again, and quickly, so that their foolishness is not discovered.

The abstracts on the gallery walls expressed themselves eloquently, like the master who painted them eloquently expresses his thoughts on any subject he might happen to be discussing. Go through each page of the book - which is prefaced by Edward De Bono, the world renowned expert on creative thinking, who sees Luciano's work as the visual equivalent of powerful and flexible thinking - and the eloquence is audible.

It mixes with the brightness which Professor Cooper linked with Luciano's bright mind.

Abstracts, the book which includes the selection of his works offered by Luciano Micallef, and was beautifully printed at the Gutenberg Press, stands on its own as a work of art.

It will become a collector's item, a fitting contribution to an artist whose works grace so many homes, hotels, and public buildings.

And, I continue to hold in happy disagreement with my friend, that is only part of Luciano Micallef. As Keats put it more fully, a thing of beauty is a joy forever, its loveliness increases, it will never pass into nothingness...