Drawing board politics

One grey morning 6,000 years ago, a bored native of this island sat down in a field in what is today Mġarr and amused himself by making a little stone sculpture of an important building. The next thing the model knew was a team of archaeologists swooning over it and wondering what significance it might have had to our long-departed sculptor. To me, it is perfectly clear that the model, and similar contemporaries, represents the first known instance of Maltese politics.

I have in front of me Harrison and Hubbard's 1945 proposals for the post-War reconstruction of our cities. Among other things, the authors talk about the design of City Gate and the theatre. It seems that then, as now, many people wanted the old theatre rebuilt to the original design: "We learned that it was the wish of all those we consulted that the destroyed building should be resuscitated. Such striking and, in our experience, rare unanimity of opinion must be respected."

It is interesting that, 60 years of Gehrys and Bottas down the line, public opinion hasn't really changed that much. One might say that the rebuilding of the original theatre is a recurring national fantasy.

If, as Christopher Woodward puts it, contemplating ruins is contemplating our future, the future we want is really the past. In other words, nostalgia. Judging by the prices fetched by Giannis and Luigi Maria Galeas, and the popularity of Ellis's photographs, nostalgia is alive and well in Malta.

Which is why government's anointing of Renzo Piano, who is not exactly well known to pander to nostalgia, comes as something of a surprise. Back in 1992, Leonard Mahoney called Piano's work a 'plumber's dream', and I dare say most Maltese people today will wonder why the Pompidou Centre in Paris is all drainpipes and no building. This, after all, is the country where band clubs are falling over each other to build piles that look like the Adams' haunted mansion. In other words, a project by Piano - or anything that looks vaguely 'modern', for that matter - is bound to raise the collective eyebrow.

The government, of course, will have none of this anachronistic silliness. It is forward-looking and visionary, and committed to architecture that speaks the same language. Piano it will be, then.

I am incredulous. Not until I put my finger into the wet cement will I believe that anything is being resurrected on Freedom Square. My doubts stem in part from the theatricality of it all. It is interesting, for instance, that the Prime Minister himself visited Piano in Paris and discussed the plans in person. Very much in line with Lawrence Gonzi's presidential image. There are many historical antecedents of this personalised relation between power and architecture - Charles I and Inigo Jones, Mitterrand's hands-on hests for Paris, and Mussolini and his piccone (pickaxe), to mention a few.

I am not implying that our Prime Minister is otherwise comparable to Mussolini. Nor do I have much hope for a latter-day Jones changing the face of Valletta. The point is that the histrionics of visiting Piano in person rehearses a well-honed technique of power, namely the direct commissioning of prescriptively-iconic architecture.

There are other reasons behind my cynicism. I honestly don't know where the money will come from. Let us remember that City Gate and the theatre are rather at the back of this particular queue. It is barely a few moons since we were bombarded with images of what the harbour area will look like by 2013. (I have proof, I've kept the brochure in a safe place.) The PN won the election, which means that we're stuck with a meagre 20 harbour projects to the Labour Party's hundred. Even so, 20 projects cost a hefty stack of cash, and I'm not sure any will be left for Piano.

Unless, that is, the harbour plans are 'shelved'. Which brings me to the rub, and to my main point. (I've taken the precaution of writing this over a drink, so as to avoid any risk of unnecessary gloom.) I rather think that what we are looking at here is a classic case of what we might call 'drawing board politics'. This usually involves a choreographed ritual.

First, a press conference is called and some magnificent project 'inaugurated'; this usually comes out of the blue, in order to convey a sense of inspiration and genius.

Second, we are flooded with artists' impressions of what the finished piece will look like. The smartest computer graphics, 'greenery', and pedestrians are wheeled straight out of Chinese propaganda posters to paint a picture of serenity and beauty to come.

Third, the media, and especially the excitable blogs, go into a (an induced) frenzy: Should the architect be Maltese (oh dear)? Where will the money come from? Will the project disturb the Roman remains? And so forth.

Fourth, the whole thing is quietly forgotten. The plans are consigned to the in tray of history, possibly to be rediscovered in 6,000 years' time.

Archaeologist David Trump has one last thing to say about the temple model: "Was it another architect's presentation piece, turned down flat by either the developers or the planning committee?"

Tongue out of cheek, Trump. If history really does repeat itself, you may well be spot on, or near enough.

mafalzon@hotmail.com