For some reason, sculpture has always been the Cinderella of Maltese art, and one look at a few of the statues "gracing" our roundabouts does nothing to dispel this opinion - the one at the Rabat/Żebbuġ junction being a case in point. It is for this reason that it's such a pity that someone as talented as Andrew Diacono should only show his works very, very rarely.
There are artists and there are real artists, and certainly Mr Diacono fits into this latter category, having worked hard at his art over the years, establishing a style and reputation from quite early on. Although many of his present works still recall that style in the caricatures of Maltese figures, the rotund men and women who populate his head, caricatures which, while they don't flatter, are never cruel. Seemingly rough and crude, yet under Mr Diacono's deft fingers, these figures come to life, taking on a character all of their own. The Marching Band is a sheer delight; seven almost perfectly circular musicians stomp down the street jubilantly and obviously noisily, one can almost hear the din.
The Cowboy with his Mintoff belt-buckle and enormous bulk makes one wonder if the figure is a play on John Wayne masculinity; bravado with no substance, while his drunks loll and sway almost visibly.
Mr Diacono is always much harder on his own gender than on women, possibly a reflection on his own self-image. While his men tend to be one-dimensional, his females get a much better deal; the plump ones are treated with sympathy, unlike the drunks their vices are hidden.
No less than three Mother and Child and the odd Madonna grace the exhibition, along with his "prophet" and terracotta archbishop, a tribute to his deep-rooted faith. However, what really strikes one is how Mr Diacono, a firm believer in the material dictating the theme, should see a Last Supper in a long plank of wood.
It could be argued with good reason that Mr Diacono's mixed-media works are his forte. While the prudish Victorians covered the legs of their tables for fear that they would excite men with the thought of a woman's dainty ankle, Mr Diacono excites us with a whole woman made out of bits of a Victorian chair.
Taking this passion to create something out of nothing - debris and junk - Mr Diacono creates his wonderful Bird out of two broken old enamelled coffee-pots taken apart and soldered together to make a wonderful creature.
All of Mr Diacono's work is figurative except for one lone landscape: Blue Townscape, where two lone figures seem lost and overwhelmed by the buildings that tower over them menacingly. One cannot help feel that this is Mr Diacono's comment on the destiny of his hometown, Sliema, whose once-gracious streets he abandoned for an area that retains its more human dimension.
Mr Diacono's work has such a special aura to it, one that cannot be fully appreciated in the crowd of an exhibition opening. It is a very personal experience, to be relished in the silence of the empty gallery when it becomes an almost spiritual experience; then you will feel that you have savoured real art.
There are artists and there are real artists, and certainly Mr Diacono fits into this latter category, having worked hard at his art over the years, establishing a style and reputation from quite early on. Although many of his present works still recall that style in the caricatures of Maltese figures, the rotund men and women who populate his head, caricatures which, while they don't flatter, are never cruel. Seemingly rough and crude, yet under Mr Diacono's deft fingers, these figures come to life, taking on a character all of their own. The Marching Band is a sheer delight; seven almost perfectly circular musicians stomp down the street jubilantly and obviously noisily, one can almost hear the din.
The Cowboy with his Mintoff belt-buckle and enormous bulk makes one wonder if the figure is a play on John Wayne masculinity; bravado with no substance, while his drunks loll and sway almost visibly.
Mr Diacono is always much harder on his own gender than on women, possibly a reflection on his own self-image. While his men tend to be one-dimensional, his females get a much better deal; the plump ones are treated with sympathy, unlike the drunks their vices are hidden.
No less than three Mother and Child and the odd Madonna grace the exhibition, along with his "prophet" and terracotta archbishop, a tribute to his deep-rooted faith. However, what really strikes one is how Mr Diacono, a firm believer in the material dictating the theme, should see a Last Supper in a long plank of wood.
It could be argued with good reason that Mr Diacono's mixed-media works are his forte. While the prudish Victorians covered the legs of their tables for fear that they would excite men with the thought of a woman's dainty ankle, Mr Diacono excites us with a whole woman made out of bits of a Victorian chair.
Taking this passion to create something out of nothing - debris and junk - Mr Diacono creates his wonderful Bird out of two broken old enamelled coffee-pots taken apart and soldered together to make a wonderful creature.
All of Mr Diacono's work is figurative except for one lone landscape: Blue Townscape, where two lone figures seem lost and overwhelmed by the buildings that tower over them menacingly. One cannot help feel that this is Mr Diacono's comment on the destiny of his hometown, Sliema, whose once-gracious streets he abandoned for an area that retains its more human dimension.
Mr Diacono's work has such a special aura to it, one that cannot be fully appreciated in the crowd of an exhibition opening. It is a very personal experience, to be relished in the silence of the empty gallery when it becomes an almost spiritual experience; then you will feel that you have savoured real art.