Michael Fsadni - an appreciation

A plaque will today be unveiled at the front of the house where Michael Fsadni (1869-1961) lived, worked and died at L'Isle Adam Square, in Rabat. A simple ceremony will be attended by his living relatives and friends who will come to honour this humble man. The plaque, by A. Agius, was the idea of Joseph Camilleri, a grandson, assisted by his sister Helen.

Michael Fsadni, a decorator of repute, lived a life of dedication. The mainstays of his life were his family, his faith and his work. He laboured to the end of his long life and at 80-something, he was still climbing scaffolding and ladders, painting and decorating. He did most of his work in stately homes all over the island as well as abroad, in churches, both in Malta and Gozo and in the bishops' palaces. A number of notable families were his patrons.

At the age of 16, he undertook his first major work on the ceiling and walls of St Dominic's church sacristy, in Rabat. The decorations are still intact in their original state and have never been retouched.

He had been married to Helen Vassallo and was made a widower quite young. There were five children - Maria Carmela, Josephine, Angela, Peter and Gaetano. When his wife died, Maria Carmela, then only 19 years old, looked after the family. Gaetano assisted his father in his work. There was a close rapport and love between Michael and his family.

The highlight of Michael's life was the feast of St Joseph, on March 19, when you would find him in his best suit, moist-eyed with happiness, sitting at the front near the pulpit, rapt, listening to the panegyric extolling the virtues and humble life of that great saint.

Michael lived a simple life. After a meagre breakfast, he went into the small courtyard and mixed his paints, powder and linseed oil on a large marble slab, with an elongated pestle, enough for the day's needs. Then, everything ready, he set off with Gaetano, to the place of work. In the evenings he sat outside the front door with his family chatting to passers-by who stopped for an exchange of local gossip or who came seeking his advice.

His was a stable life, unhurried and fulfilling. When he was not working away from home, he spent the days in his studio, two rooms on the third floor, which were to us, his grandchildren, an Aladdin's cave, full of pictures and artifacts.

We loved being up there with him, sharing confidences. He wanted to know everything about us, our life at school, our friends, how we were progressing; while we watched fascinated as his trembling hand drew lines of paint as straight as with any ruler, or cut and blew into place strips of gold leaf, so fine they could not be handled.

Being with him, feeling welcome, gave us an abiding sense of self-worth and importance - but that was his gift: he made all who met him feel enhanced through knowing him.