STITCHED UP

Forgive me if I've used the title ‘ere above before, though it might have been in my Saturday column, since it didn't appear in the list of my blogs that appears below.

More precisely, I didn't see it there, but it's virtually the crack of dawn when I'm writing this.

On Thursday, I went to the opening of the exhibition being held at Number 68 in St Lucy Street, Valletta: it's an exhibition titled "The Life Model" and it tackles the human form, mostly unclothed, hardly surprisingly.

It was with some trepidation that I approached the venue. Not because I was expecting the denizens of the area to be up in arms because their sacred ground (aka parking spaces) had been desecrated. To start with, it hasn't, since exactly the same number of spaces remain after the Council's adjustment and, secondly, people like the cowards who are bugging the gallery owner about the matter don't come out into the light.

No, I was worried because by attending a public event where, horror of horrors, images that might be of a corrupting influence were exposed, I might in turn expose my myself to the full rigours of the law and bring upon myself the wrath of the fundamentalists personified and exemplified by such as Ms Theresa Friggieri, the Chair of the redoubtable body of men and women that has arrogated to itself the right to tell me, and sundry other adults, how to exercise my freedom to acquire information.

Fully expecting to have to knock three times and then knock again, briefly, in order to identify myself as a non-fundamentalist, I needn't have worried, as apparently, the forces of darkness have taken some time off. So I was informed by a young legal beagle, who told me that the case instituted to have the ban on Stitching reversed, has had to have been put off to 25^th September because one of the defendants was away.

Or something like that.

The hearing in September promises to be quite a bit of fun, I hear. A number of worthies have been summoned, amongst whom, apparently, is former Chief Justice Mifsud Bonnici, who has already expounded on the matter in that vehicle for the dissemination of philosophy and deep thinking, Xarabank. An enterprising Director of Courts would contemplate moving the show to a larger court and selling tickets, the proceeds of which would go some way to ensuring that proper air-conditioning is available, lest a functionary be incarcerated for failing to ensure cool sweet air in the hallowed halls of justice.

Getting back to the exhibition, it was still on when I left, about 45 minutes after the speeches had ended, and on my way to a rather decent salad at Jubilee just above the road, I didn't spot any suitably attired Thought Police getting ready to storm the place and ensure that the populace is not intellectually challenged by having to look at nekkid bits and bobs.

Frankly, I am appalled.

How remiss of those who would seek to ensure that I only think what they want me to think, I only see what they think I am capable of seeing. The opportunity was there for some good, wholesome pictures to be put up, to cover over that awful filth, and it was eschewed, leaving me and my psyche vulnerable to the full impact of, not to put too fine a point on it, nudity.