MAY16 Issue 7
May 2016 |
1
Contents
Welcome to The Insiter Monthly! Exam season is round the corner again and Insite couldn’t leave its lovely followers without their little companion for the month! With the stresses of assignments and exams at a high, we are providing you with yet another set of three articles for that sweet, sweet break of leisurely reading you are craving for.
3
Read all about the nitpicker’s analysis of the students’ relationships with the university library, get to know what the hype on ‘L-gh’ is all about through their wonderfully illustrated article (and magazine cover), and finally treat yourself with Daniel Galea St John’s short story called The Art of Getting By. Come on, you deserve a break. All you have to do is click next! Nicole Borg
5
Contents 3
The Nitpicker’s Journey to the UoM Library
5
L-gh: The Final Works of the BFA students, in exhibition
8
The Art of Getting By
8 Executive Committee
Writers and Photographers
Matthew Charles Zammit Claudio Agius Kristina Saliba Rebecca Elizabeth Kemp
The Nitpicker L-gh Daniel Galea St John
Administrative Team
Federico Barbaro-Sant Siobhan Vassallo Nicole Borg Elisa Calleja Cyrielle Delmas
Deborah Faye Mercieca Jessica Arena Johann Agius Matthew Debattista Dionne Taryn Gatt Melissa McElhatton Sara Ezabe 2
| May 2015
Media Team
Cover Photo © L-gh 2016 Magazine Design Elisa Calleja Siobhan Vassallo
Opinion
THE NITPICKER’S JOURNEY TO THE UOM LIBRARY THE NITPICKER Students in exams are like the wildebeest in a David Attenberough documentary when they have to cross that perilous crocodile flanked river, only to be inevitably picked off and charge in a moment of frenzied panic. Except, instead of a nice warm scenic river in Africa, we take the struggle into the library. Abandoned by most for a large part of the year, the library springs to life every January and May, as disciples of various disciplines park their derrieres (that’s the French word for buttocks, in case you aren’t as elegant as me) in whatever space they can find. Tables are high on the list of preference, especially tables with chairs. These premium territories are marked through various implements, including but not limited to: the clothes that you are wearing, especially jackets, laptops and their chargers, securely logged out of Facebook of course, a rainbow of notes and sticky notes,
highlighted in various hues, and, for the truly bold, handwritten notes explaining that the desk is occupied under normal circumstances save for this brief instant in which the owner is either smoking, eating, or peeing (the French for that is pipi in case you’re wondering). But space is hard to come by in the jungle. Alas, some species are forced to lie down on the ground, or randomly left librarian’s foot stools, to be able to partake in the process of intellectualization. And what exactly is this intellectualization? Mostly it’s a feeling of being itchy from all the extra warm, extra dry air that they pipe into that place. The carpet, last cleaned sometime in I’d say, oh, 1970, doesn’t help. Above all else though, the library is a place of silence, and what is silence if not the viscous oil with which we lubricate our intellectual endeavours?
May 2016 |
3
“
Opinion
But space is hard to come by in the jungle.
“
Well, save for when someone’s friend comes over and they do the whispering/ well not really whispering dance. You and everyone in their immediate radius is then contractually obliged by the rules of the library, as stipulated from the dawn of libraries, to bestow menacing looks into their direction, signalling general displeasure with the situation. Sometimes when karma is on your side a librarian just happens to be passing by and unleashes a timely and deliciously disarming “Shh” into the general direction of the perpetrators. But most of the time, the chatterboxes remain undaunted. C’est la vie (that’s French for ‘That’s life’). And do you feel smarter after battling for a space and silence only to be met with heat, noise and that carpet? I can’t hear you, whisper louder. What’s that? Oh you feel dizzy? Tough luck.. or should I say, touche? 4
| May 2016
Feature
l-għ the final works of the BFA students, in exhibition
l-għ Three years of intense work and research from the first batch of graduating Digital Arts students at the University of Malta will culminate in a collective exhibition. Debuting on the 3rd of June and running for a fortnight, the exhibition is titled ‘L-gh’, a name which serves as an umbrella term to describe all twelve projects together, whilst simultaneously exploiting the individual uniqueness of each one. By playing around with the most iconic member of the Maltese alphabet, another five connotations were drawn out of the original name, resulting in a total of six themes under which the twelve projects were sorted in twos. These are:
1. the Maltese letter itself, enveloping notions such as typography and Maltese identity; 2. ‘l-ghajn’, the seeing eye, for the most visual projects; 3. ‘l-ghajn’ as a source, such as the popular ‘ghajn tal-ilma’, which houses projects related to stories and regeneration; 4. ‘l-ghajn li tghajjen’, or the cursing eye, taking into considerations notions of the spiritual and supernatural; 5. line as a connector, relating to linework and ideas of minimalism; and lastly 6. /la:jn/, the phonemic transcription which attributes sound to visuals, closing off the set with projects relating to audiovision and sound. May 2016 |
5
Feature
6
| May May2015 2016
Feature This elaboration allowed for the diversity and individuality of each work to be exploited and promoted as a unique product, whilst still keeping in mind the way in which each project complements another and these together form a unified work. The first of its kind, the visual identity developed for the exhibition and all the work done to advertise and promote it have worked together to bring out these very values, highlighting the project as truly unique. Despite majoring in either graphic design or animation, each participating artist shall be demonstrating their ability to work with a subject they personally have found and developed a connection with over the past three years. There is no lack of creativity or variety in ‘L-gh’: projects range from audiovisual experiments and curatorial work to interactive documentaries and highlythematic visual material. Despite being dissertation projects, all the works serve to highlight the increasing importance of art in Malta and showcase local talent.
‘L-gh’ will be inaugurated this Friday 3rd June, 2016 at the Faculty of Media and Knowledge Sciences at the University of Malta. If you are interested in learning more, make sure to follow us on our Facebook page for more information on the exhibition and the participating artists, and on Instagram for a look behind the scenes. May 2016 |
7
Arts
THE ART OF GETTING BY DANIEL GALEA ST JOHN
As the sun rises above the silhouetted rows of high buildings, I am already sitting on the most isolated bench in the school grounds, counting down the long hours left for school to finish. I have arrived early, but that is not down to an eagerness to be here and learn. With such an inefficient bus service I only have one of two options: arrive early, or miss the first lecture. I fiddle around idly on my mobile phone, accessing an app. I stare at it as I try to recall why I opened it but, failing to remember, I close it, only to open it again just for want of something to do. This seclusion epitomises the struggle in my head. The conflict within me is corrosive, eating away at my happiness. But, for some uncanny reason, I derive perverse satisfaction from my isolation. I crave alone time. It won’t be long before the bullies turn up and throw harrowingly distressful jibes in my direction, words that hit me like stones being hurled at my face. The external impact of these words is superficial. But inside, what was once an impregnable fortress has now crumbled to the ground. Barely five minutes have gone by when my heart skips a beat. They are here.
8
| May 2016
I pretend to be busy texting someone, but my pretence is futile, as always. An ironclad hand grips my shoulder and squeezes it hard. Before I can retaliate, a wave of swear words crash into my head, blocking out all my other senses. The excruciating pressure on my shoulder is alleviated, and I am given the rare opportunity to turn around. I find myself face to face with the two bullies and their small group of morally blind followers that have made it their life’s mission to make sure my life is mired in misery. The crude words start to hit me, words that attack my emotions, words that attack my senses, as well as a whole myriad of swear words that, alone, make me wince. Then, one of the bullies wraps a thick, gnarled hand around my wrist and tightens his grip until I feel the colour being drained off my skin. My hand turns numb, my face burning as pinpricks of sweat accumulate on my forehead. A whisper of a scream escapes my mouth. I can feel my hollow voice jar against the dry inside of my throat. I attempt to squirm free of the bully’s vice grip, but my retaliation is of no more consequence than that of a weak animal trying to escape the confines of a well-locked cage. One of the bully’s followers,
Arts
a simple looking girl who must have been inveigled into supporting this cowardly act by the bullies’ forked tongues, lets out a rasp of satisfaction at my discomfort. The sounds around me become blurred as I concentrate on the blinding pain in my forearm and shoulder. Beads of sweat roll down my cheeks and splash down to the rough ground, one by one, in a rhythmic motion I now associate with suffering. Suddenly, the bully releases his grip, spits a few more derogative words at me and then swaggers away with the rest of the squad of miscreants. I let out a temporary sigh of relief, unaware that the other bully is standing beside me, when a fist drives into my shoulder and delivers a sharp, jolting blow. My whole body quivers in agony as I watch the second bully wander away through my heavy, shuttered eyes. A few jeers float in my direction, before vanishing away. I have received a lengthy punishment for today, but they will be back for more later on during the day or – if I’m lucky – tomorrow.
School takes an immeasurably long time to pass, but when the tormenting day finally comes to a close, I feel as though I am transitorily free of this incarceration. But the moment I get home is the moment I enter my second experience of hell. My parents have a bizarre way of interpreting the hardships I face. They presume that my mental disorders and social inadequacies mean that I am a lesser being, an inferior person. They attribute my scrawny, bruised figure to being weak; they think that my loneliness means I am diseased. They expect me to pick myself up, not to be a pushover. They think I chose this life. They think I am this way because I want to. They expect me to snap my fingers and fix my frailties. They don’t want to accept the fact that I am being bullied, that I am insecure. It is because of this reason that I am well and truly alone.
May 2016 |
9
10
| May 2016