His abstract paintings, with their bold, vibrant colours, are immediately recognisable. But who is the man behind the persona? Josanne Cassar meets Luciano Micallef as he prepares for his forthcoming exhibition Transitions, for lunch at Rubino in Valletta

When I arrive at Rubino, Luciano Micallef is already there, talking to the affable owner Julian Sammut.

Not only does Luciano love the food here, but Julian also used to be his neighbour.

Everyone knows Julian in the same way that everyone knows Rubino – without a doubt one of the most often-requested restaurants in this series. Today, as usual, he is fully booked and at each table there are people who are high-profile public figures. Don’t make the mistake that I did, however, of telling Julian that his restaurant is the “in” place. He literally winces, because the last thing he wants is to be considered “trendy” – “people enjoy it here, they keep coming back, and that’s all I care about.” His personal touch at each table ensures that everyone is well taken care of and then, of course, there is the carefully prepared food…

“We’ll start you off with some meze,” he tells us, then goes off and returns with bruschetta with mozzarella di bufala and tomatoes, olives, anchovies, various dips and small rolls.

The Italian touches are welcome by Luciano, whose affinity for Italy can be heard in the way he lapses into the language in casual conversation.

“Well, we speak Italian at home,” he explains. “There is a Sicilian connection because my wife’s mother is Sicilian so they speak Italian between them. I also spent a number of years studying in Italy which was a major influence. Their temperament is very similar to ours, but I also like their way of life. If financially I could afford it, I would even consider spending more time there than I do here because I feel the magic of Malta is gradually vanishing. I find that very upsetting because I never thought Malta could be replaced. In any case, I feel more that I belong to the Mediterranean, rather than just being Maltese.”

Luciano has come a long way from his childhood in Birkirkara, the middle child of nine children.

“I remember I was critical of everything even then, and would ask my mother why there had to be so many children. I was the only one who ever asked such things!”

Perhaps because of the inevitable crowded conditions, even as a child he always yearned for his own space, something which lingers with him to this day. At his home in San Pawl tat-Targa, the studio is an area which is “his”, where he can work and relax and even sleep if he chooses to.

He loves travelling around the island on a motorbike, stopping to roam around the pathways and countryside of the villages. He used to run regularly, which probably explains his trim figure, and he is still a light eater.

He is analytical, pensive, forever questioning the forces which lead us down one road and not another.

“We didn’t choose anything in our life, we are the way we are because of the energies around us influencing our lives and our decisions. Even when we think we have made a conscious decision to do something of our own free will, in reality it was a series of events which led us to that decision.”

These are philosophical issues which can be debated ad infinitum, and given half a chance, Luciano would probably do so. One thing he does not adhere to, however, is the stereotypical image of the artist as someone who is necessarily more sensitive and aware of aesthetics than anyone else.

“There is this notion that the artist is a bit of a star – someone with this self-centred need to somehow attract attention – but I don’t agree with this. I don’t think artists are ‘different’ in any way from other people. My main concern is to, hopefully, make art a means by which to reveal something.”

By regularly leaving the island for periods of time, and then coming back, he feels that he can look more objectively at his own artistic development and how he would like to change. The decision to open his own gallery ten years ago came about after his return from the States.

“It was one of the most important decisions I ever took – to create my own space. Because what’s the point of doing work and then not having anywhere, a decent space, to exhibit? I think the idea of a gallery here in Malta is still not quite understood. It’s not just a matter of exhibiting or selling paintings, but by opening or running a gallery, one is also selling one’s convictions. It could be abstract, avant garde, whatever. Mainly, the problems are financial but there is another aspect – the person should not only be interested or have a passion for art, but he should also be qualified in the subject and know what he is talking about so he can distinguish between a painting and a painting.”

Luciano confirms my niggling suspicion that there is no real criteria or benchmark when it comes to putting up an exhibition.

“When you examine what is happening in certain ‘spaces’ – because I hesitate to call them galleries – you will realise that they are willing to exhibit whatever comes along.

“Abroad, for example, you will have certain galleries which will exhibit only certain artists, certain types of art like naïve paintings or conceptual art. The idea is to provoke a movement which they are convinced of.”

He estimates that of the artists who have emerged in recent years, only about two per cent have real potential.

“I would say that we are still struggling to identify what art should be taught in our schools. I was a teacher for many years and this was a big issue. There is this idea that art has to do with reproducing an image. Everyone seems to think that the smartest thing to do is to paint a view of Malta! It’s a hotchpotch of impressionism, post-impressionism or a bit of expressionism – the people themselves don’t even know what they’re talking about because they have no notion of the history of art. Yet they are convinced that what they’re doing is inventing the wheel. It’s dilettantism.”

Luciano feels that part of the blame lies with the fact that someone who suddenly pronounces himself as an “artist” will easily find media exposure, practically overnight.

“All you have to do is have one exhibition and you are in all the papers, magazines and television! I criticised the Museum for Fine Arts because they were letting just anyone exhibit – and I paid a big price for it,” he adds ruefully.

It is no coincidence that his decision to build his own gallery came after a visit to the US. There he saw the kind of attitude which he admires, of people who achieve what they set out to do simply because of a positive attitude.

“Of course, we always desire more than we can afford. I suppose if one manages to find a balance between the two, then that is ideal.”

He became a teacher at the Art & Design Centre more out of necessity than out of a vocation.

“What else could I do? The idea of the romantic painter, painting away is just that, an idea.”

When the centre was about to shift to MCAST, under a completely different set-up, he decided it was time to stop teaching.

“If I had to be honest, I would say I didn’t really enjoy teaching. It is all a question of how much one expects in compensation in terms of feedback and so on. Maybe my expectations are very high, even of myself, of course.

“When I look at my work, I examine what is wrong; my concern is to correct it, not to simply receive some kind of praise. My major concern is: what’s wrong with this? Something is always wrong. Perfection is part of every expression, no matter how much you try to do your best – because we are essentially imperfect beings. What I enjoy most is when I establish a dialogue between myself and a painting, during which I discover a lot of things which otherwise I wouldn’t be able to discover.

“These are very complex issues and I’m always trying to understand them.”

I must confess that they sound much too complex for me, so it is with some relief that the subject changes to something lighter.

Luciano casually mentions that he’s a Scorpio, “and when I say that, people’s reaction is always the same: ‘Oh what a terrible sign!’ We have a bad reputation.”

I tick off the typical traits: volatile, passionate, jealous…?

“Yes,” he nods. “But in my case, jealousy is more about an intellectual relationship. For example, if you were a Scorpio and I notice that you get along very well with another person on an intellectual basis, that would make me jealous. Not the flirting, but the sharing of the minds. That’s a territory which I cannot allow to be invaded. I suppose it’s much more common to find jealousy about a physical attraction.”

He denies, however, that artists are more difficult to live with than other people.

“I really, really don’t like to distinguish between an artist and a non-artist. There is a misconception and you are convincing me of it. I think it is the same with everyone – anyone can be so immersed in their work to the exclusion of everything else. I don’t even describe myself as an artist, I just happen to paint that’s all. I often tell people I’m a painter and they think that I paint houses... which I do as well!”

For our main course, we have both chosen spaghetti con gamberi, while Luciano chooses a great white wine – Coda di volpe, from the Southern region of Italy.

Talk turns to the interpretation of his work.

“What I hope is that what I do triggers off something which might not have been my intention at all. I would like it to spark off some kind of intrigue. Even when you say you don’t like something, it is expressing more about you than about the painting.”

So what do you think of critics?

“Well locally, it is a very sad story; it’s pathetic, because I can say there are no art critics at all. Being an art critic is a responsibility because you are delivering something to the public so that they can learn and understand, distinguishing between one situation and the other. Because this is not happening, people think that everyone is an artist and whatever is exhibited is art. On the other hand, if you had to choose and had to be selective, you wouldn’t have that many exhibitions.”

As for his upcoming exhibition, Transitions: “There have been four different stages in my work and each exhibition is a continuation, a sequence, and search for an aspect of something. Before this, metal was primary, but now I’m back to my trademark which is colour. Hopefully, I can create positive energy which we need to survive.

“You can either complain endlessly about how you wish things to be or be positive. I am always keen to notice the reaction of the viewer to my work. I am revising all the work I’ve done, that is why I’ve called it Transitions – a period in which I am reviewing all the work I’ve done. And by trying to transmit the thinking process through painting, I believe painting can help us to understand what is taking place. I am writing a book to make these ideas more tangible.”