Old manuals of photography stressed the importance of portraying people against distinctive backdrops.
Several pre-war professional studios commissioned theatre scenographers to paint drop-scenes in front of which the sitters could be immortalised.

Pleasant backgrounds contributed to pleasant portraits.

If the photo was not taken in a studio, teachers urged photographers to place the sitters somewhere aesthetically interesting.

I have tried to identify how the Maltese megalithic temples and the catacombs fared as photo ambiences.

One telling detail distinguishes normal open-air photos from those set next to giant stones – camera artists shot people in or next to megaliths mainly not to make the person look more interesting but to provide a sense of scale, of comparison: see how large and impressive this pre-historic structure is and how small the person looks next to it.

Often the placement served this dual purpose.
Today, seeing people running all over our sacred thousands-year-old neolithic temples with not a care for conservation and the probability of damages, rightly provokes a sense of outrage.

After excavation, the temples became favourite picnic grounds
Till recently, Jack Tar felt perfectly entitled to scratch graffiti recording for posterity that he was here. After excavation, the temples became favourite picnic grounds – open air, a camera, tea and scones.
Luigi Maria Ugolini, the visionary pre-war Italian archaeologist who revolutionised everything we thought we knew about our megalithic culture, took thousands of photographs of Malta’s structures, their decorations and their furniture.
In many, he included a human element – possibly even the Maltese love of his life.
He died, barely 41 years old (a few months after I was born).

Professional photographers included themselves in their photos of the Neolithic temples.
I rather believe that Salvatore Lorenzo Cassar did that in Malta and Mikiel Farrugia in Gozo’s Ġgantija.
All images from the author’s collections
