International Perspectives on the Decorative Arts: Nineteenth-Century Malta

Vol. 1: Studies in Central Mediterranean Decorative Arts

reviewed by Christian Attard

Editor: Mark Sagona

Published by Midsea Books, Malta, 2021

110 pages, illustrated

ISBN 978-99932-7-829-0

€45

Available from all local leading bookstores decorative arts. Hugh Honour, in his seminal book about Neo-Classicism, argues that the lofty ideals of the style started to get trivialised especially with the establishment of the Empire. This trivialisation, he states, is bound to be present across all the art disciplines but possibly more so in the decorative arts. The picture of an 1810 Empire clock that he includes in his book certainly highlights his point. Here, David’s noble idea of a heroic, selfless death is turned into an insipid statement of good taste. Yet, it was not always so and, as Alaine’s paper shows, the seriousness of the style with its demands for greater simplicity, sobriety, and solidity did transfer itself well in the decorative arts especially when in the right hands. The French Lebrun family of silversmiths, which established itself in Malta during the last phase of the Knight’s period, would create some exquisite works in silver, all tastefully elegant. The wine ewer at Palazzo Falson in Mdina is such an example.

Alaine also shines a light on Salvatore Ittar, the son of Stefano, known for his (somewhat ill-fated) design of the Bibliotheca, the last important building built by the Knights. Like his father, the young Ittar was drawn to the rigour of Neo Classicism, but rather than becoming an architect he trained as a silversmith. A study on Maltese nineteenth-century silver, however, would not be complete without discussing works by the Cannataci family, especially those of Saverio. The picture of an 1824 coffeepot that accompanies this study is a perfect example of the clean designs and superb craftsmanship achieved by this family.

Francesca Balzan deals with nineteenthcentury jewellery in Malta. This was a time when the Maltese, especially those belonging to the upper rungs of the social ladder, started to show an interest in the fashions and type of jewellery worn and paraded by the wives of the British officers stationed in Malta. Using an imaginative collection of primary sources, ranging from Grand Tour accounts, fashion journals, Monte di Pietà records, auction-house records, portrait paintings and almanacs, but especially an assiduous use of contemporary newspaper articles and advertisements, Francesca pieces together a culture that was beautifully mixed, still unabashedly attached to Italian tastes but equally receptive to the trends made fashionable by the British. Francesca goes on to suggest another fascinating source of influence on current fashion trends: the presence of the British in Malta as providing a link with other British colonies and, thus, other cultures and tastes. Far-away India, especially with the opening of the Suez Canal, was no longer that far away and exotic fashions started to reach the islands, which also influenced tastes in jewellery design. In turn, Maltese artefacts, especially silver filigree, started to be exported to India and other countries.

Francesca’s study might be about a very specific subject, yet, as much as she deals with the minutiae of jewellery, she just as much manages to move back and take in the wider picture, or, to use film jargon, the long shot. This moving in and out, a juxtaposition of the micro and the macro, is exactly what makes this kind of writing so interesting.

Among the images that accompany Francesca’s paper there is a fascinating portrait of Caterina Ribotti, wife of the commerciante Manuele. Bedecked as she is with jewellery, which she pompously sets off by what she wears—a black dress trimmed with lace—she is the epitome of the Maltese upper class. She might be a Favray lady as much as a Victorian exemplar of dignity and restraint. I really love her strained, wooden half smile. As a woman, she is far removed from the consumptive appearance which was all the rage in Victorian England at the time (let’s face it, she is far too big boned to fit in the consumptive beauty standard!), but the assertive way in which she presents herself, dressed up to the nines in jewellery and ostentatiously holding a letter which gives us some information about her social standing, indicates a notable level of self-worth.

The marble tabletops of the Darmanin family are the subject tackled by Jessica Muscat. The Darmanin family, especially Carlo, would become synonymous with nineteenth-century papier-mâché statuary, but Jessica discusses another equally important facet of this family: the Darmanins as marmisti. The success of this marmista family was mainly determined by the shrewd way its members tapped into the market of rich British tourists or travellers who would have stopped in Malta along their Grand Tour voyage.

With this well in mind, the Darmanin artists made sure to employ a volley of images in their tabletop designs that would have been loved by these travelling culture-vultures. These included images such as Pliny’s Doves, known as the Capitoline doves, and the Carthaginian warrior. Especially popular were Carthaginian and Punic motifs, an interest which coincided with a renewed love for Mediterranean archaeology; the Darmanins made sure of having their shop, strategically situated next to the Grand Harbour in East Street, well-stocked with such images.

Equally sought after were marble intarsia tabletops which displayed coat of arms or family crests. Again, and as expected, these would have been popular especially amongst families, mostly foreign, with pretentions to grandeur. What I found intriguing with this paper is the very expensive materials that the Darmanin artists employed, ranging from lapis lazuli to malachite and Carrara marble. As Jessica argues, the period during which the Darmanins were active, Malta was fraught with financial difficulties. But this marmista family, perhaps because the fine works it produced were from the outset intended for a particular type of consumer, seems to have risen above such difficulties with relative ease.

The connections between Catania and Malta in the context of ecclesiastical silverware is the subject tackled by Roberta Cruciata. This Maltese-Sicilian connection Roberta writes about is another example out of the many artistic crosscurrents that existed between the two Mediterranean islands throughout the ages. From the outset, Roberta clarifies that nineteenth-century silverware made in Catania generally tended towards Baroque ornament synonymous with previous times rather than opening itself up to the more fashionable and rigorous classical tastes.

Roberta shines a light on several Sicilian silversmiths whose works ended up in Malta. As to how these works made it to Malta Roberta prefers not to jump to conclusions and she cautiously refrains from declaring whether these works were direct commissions or if they arrived in Malta with their makers.

Roberta suggests that one of these artists must be Santo Calogero, a silversmith and goldsmith from Catania. She is of the opinion that an intriguing thurible in the Monastery of St Ursula is by this Calogero; her hypothesis is based on a partially incomplete consul mark. The thurible is a heady and beautiful mixture of Baroque and Neo-Classical ideas that somehow work perfectly together.

Another silversmith Roberta writes about is Pietro Paolo Aversa. His is the superb chalice in a private collection, with its anthropomorphic stem in the shape of a female figure representing the virtue of Faith. Again, Aversa indulges in a nice mixture of Baroque exuberance, but toning it down a little with some cursory nods to the Neo-Classical. If nothing else, Roberta’s paper makes it amply clear that during the nineteenth century artistic tastes in Catania were as visibly eclectic as they were in Malta.

Mark Sagona’s paper deals with the creative process; a subject that I hold most dear. It is important to see and appreciate the finished work, but one must keep in mind the long hours that would have gone into the creation of the object of admiration: the many dead-end drawings and failures, the dithering between moments of elation and others of frustration every artist experiences during that arduous process of creation. Mark’s paper touches upon this. The works discussed here were not meant to be finished works of art; they were just a means to an end, meant to be turned into some other material, rendered in wood, embroidery, stone, marble, or bronze, by those same designers or, very possibly, by other collaborators.

It is clear, however, that these working drawings, all of which have a strong steady line, as if the artist had known from the outset exactly what the outcome was to be like, are far from being the artists’ first attempts. They are finished drawings. Complete works of art. I suspect that the first, tentative, unconfident drawings would not have made it down to us. Artistic pride would have got the better of the artist and made him or her resolutely consign those vulnerable drawings to the paper bin. Indeed, it would be very interesting to see these artists’ first ideas, unpolished and wild. But, as Mark states, it is already a little miracle that the drawings discussed have been preserved and that we can actually see and study them.

One last concluding note: as amply explained in this book, the decorative arts also embrace those art forms that were traditionally (and hopefully not anymore) considered as less important, embroidery being one such example. Embroidery is, for many reasons, connected to female rather than male artists. Yet, when embroidery designs do feature, as in Mark Sagona’s paper where he discusses some exquisite examples, the design was again made by a male artist, in this case Cesare Galdes. Perhaps it would be interesting to know the identity of the embroiderers who eventually did work on the antependium centrepiece for the high altar of the St George parish church in Gozo. My point is that even when dealing with art forms where one would expect a stronger female presence, this is seemingly and unfortunately not the case. This is not so with the actual contributors of the present book, however. Out of the five main contributors working here, four are female scholars.

As I am sure everybody would agree, there is very little that could in any way be considered mindless, decorative, and delicate with the works of art discussed in this book— adjectives that were, in the past, ascribed to both the producers as much as the products that fall within the decorative arts category. I hope that this book goes a long way into making us rethink and revaluate the decorative arts in general, and especially those belonging to nineteenth-century Malta.