Artists and photographers Therese Debono and Joe Smith have teamed up on a photographic journey documenting the ruins of what was once one of Malta’s premiere hotels. Joseph Agius talks to JOE SMITH and THERESE DEBONO about their current exhibition Spaces in Suspension.

JA: Alain de Botton claimed: “The more advanced a society is, the greater will be its interest in ruined things, for it will see in them a redemptively sobering reminder of the fragility of its own achievements.” The Verdala Hotel ruins stand as testimony to a recent history, a post-Independence story in which there was a rush to attract tourism to our island. Does this case go against de Botton’s concept in the sense that this ruin is more of a testament to a warped, uneducated, philistine, money-comes-first society?

JS and TD: The decision to embark on this project came about because of three aspects: as artists, we had to find an outlet that could feed our creativity during the restrictive pandemic days. We both have the aesthetics of decay and abandonment at heart, and we also felt the need to somehow preserve this once iconic building before its total erasure from the landscape. So, in a way, yes, de Botton’s statement can be seen as an underlying force in our endeavour. 

Photo: Joe Smith

Dylan Trigg also states that “aesthetically, the presence of decay introduces us to a narrative that the pristine space cannot afford” (Trigg, The Uncanny Space of Decay). In this sense, our journey was also a spiritual one as we also experienced the aesthetics of absence and listened as the silence spoke to us. We both have connections with the building.

Joe is originally from Rabat and in his youth, weekend visits to the nightclub discotheque were the norm. For Therese, who hails from Żebbuġ, the imposing structure was always there on the heights right across the valley. Inevitably, nostalgia was also a factor that drove us forward in unearthing as much meaning as possible.

JA: The hotel, perched on one of the greatest skylines of our country, antagonised the postcard setting of Mdina. Since the 1960s, we have attempted to attract tourism by effectively and stupidly ruining the beauty of the island. However, ironically, one feels a sense of loss when, through your work, one experiences the dilapidated decrepit state of this building which employed a sizable amount of people and was the stage for weddings and special occasions. Do you feel that such a hotel embodies this country’s existential paradox?

JS and TD: Initially, we had planned to include three other abandoned ex-hospitality structures in this project but after initial visits, it became obvious to us that the sense of loss and nostalgia was only present in the dilapidated interiors of the Verdala.

Photo: Therese Debono

Whereas the other locations had been stripped bare, the Verdala offered artefacts that heightened the aura of a connection with the past and an uncanny lingering of human presence. Indeed, while exploring each and every floor, there seemed to be a veil of sadness permeating the walls and one couldn’t but feel a sense of pity as to why an iconic institution that once provided jobs to many and was a boost to the economy had to end like this.

From the information we managed to gather, it seems that the hotel’s demise was brought about by a chain of events that culminated in its final closure. A mixture of a decline in tourism, workers and union issues, and political situations seemed to deal the fatal blow.

Photo: Therese Debono

Yet we felt that the building was somehow still defiant in its dominating stance. Even though it looked imposing on the skyline when it was built, this hotel became an integral part of the nation’s collective memory; a symbol of employment and tourism. Fortunately, the modernist architecture style of the Grand Hotel Verdala has a good deal of heritage value when compared to more recent “contemporary” structures littering the skyline nowadays.

JA: Your body of work was executed during the COVID-19 lockdown, so you marooned yourself, disconnected with the pandemic world, and transported yourself down memory lane through the triggers offered by the artefacts, or relics, that you came across in this ‘archaeological’ exercise of rekindling of stratified memories. Do you consider this exhibition as a locking down into a sort of time capsule? Is this a meditation on mortality and the endangered world which we inhabit?

JS and TD: This project served as a means of meditation and an escape from the uncertainty that the pandemic forced on all of us. We made 10 visits in all, with every trip offering new discoveries and the opportunity to reflect on what was in front of us. Our strategy was that once we entered the building, we both went our separate ways and then met at the end to compare results.

Photo: Joe Smith

Individually, we had to listen to the building speak to us, so we needed silence and solitude to tune in to the hotel’s story as well as to try and decipher what it is that the ruins are trying to tell us.

Indeed, the pandemic brought with it a long time of self-reflection, about our past and future goals. These concerns ran parallel to our concept and there was this heightened feeling that the building was now morbidly acting as a hospice home for the artefacts as they took their final breath. The inclusion of some of these artefacts in the exhibition add to the tactile and nostalgic vein running through the project.

Our journey was also a spiritual one as we also experienced the aesthetics of absence and listened as the silence spoke to us

JA: Post-industrial, modern and contemporary ruins are deprived of a certain dignity awarded to classical and ancient ruins – the latter have found a sort of resting place while the former sort of ruins is in a state of flux, at the mercy of vandalism, graffiti, decay, governmental policy, without any effort to conserve them. Are we so averse to and ashamed of our recent architecture that there is the need to destroy it, a ‘deindustrialisation’, while paving the way for infinitely much more hideous non-redeeming architecture to replace it with?

JS and TD: True, ancient and classical ruins are somehow considered more prestigious and worthy of preservation. However, post-war architecture still has a great deal of value, especially if one had to analyse the structure’s design. The Grand Hotel Verdala is an example of modernist architecture, designed by the Italian architect “Mario Loreti of Rome, an architect of the Rationalist group particularly renowned for his pre-Second World War projects” (Caruana 2013, p 34). This fact could perhaps have been an initiative for preservation.

Photo: Therese Debono

On the other hand, one cannot really stop progress or leave the carcass of a building like a scar on the landscape.  We need to be more sensitive to the history and purpose of the original design of a building. A rush in construction might not allow for much thought and proper planning, with the risk of a break in the architectural narrative. Alas, this is not something that we can ever be able to stop, however the medium of photography is the strongest tool we have in preserving and documenting these places of heritage and presenting them to the public. One has to remember that historic value is one of our island’s selling points and a major attraction for would-be visitors.

JA: The Verdala ruins narrative is one of a recent past that was busy and eventful – many life stories happened, many hours were worked for its sake by its many employees, some of whom are still much alive and whose stories and portraits are represented in this exhibition. These employees have aged with dignity, and now recount their memories as precious artefacts themselves, candidly and portrayed in their previous work environment. Do you feel that your documentation of the Verdala ruins behave like a cemetery (‘gravestones’, departed souls and all), as a metaphysical bridge of sorts?  Do you consider Spaces in Suspension the ‘purgatory’ anticipating release of these souls that will ‘happen’ when the actual building is all torn down?

JS and TD: From the very start of the project, it was our intention to try and trace a few ex-employees and make their portraits on site. We saw that this will add the “humanity” aspect and act as a tribute to those who contributed professionally to the grand reputation that the hotel once enjoyed.

Photo: Joe Smith

It served also as a means of taking them back in time and providing an opportunity to meet and reminisce. Their pride of having once worked in this environment is still evident but as they looked around the forlorn spaces, we could see a veil of sadness as they seemed to ask, “how did it all come to this?”.

The inclusion of the human factor in all this enhances the narrative and places the sitters in a context that acts as the final epitaph for a space that once gave them dignity and economic stability. Although we do see the demolition as the final chapter that will eventually erase all memories and connections, it is our intention to continue with this project by collecting memoirs and other paraphernalia from people who somehow had a connection with, or experienced the building, thus adding an anthropological aspect to the whole concept.

Photo: Therese Debono

JA: Photographer Camilo José Vergara is famous for his portrayals of architectural decay, concentrating mostly on the documentation of the devastation of architectural exteriors. Your collaboration probes deeper, into the spirit and soul of the building itself. Your work for this exhibition transcends your two identities as two photographers with a previous baggage; ‘authorship’ is not relevant anymore. You seem to have been taken over by an ‘entity’ that has merged your artistic sensibilities into a one, apparently seamless, whole – two spiritual ‘mediums’ into one. Does this add another ‘metaphysical’ layer to the exhibition?

JS and TD: As artists, we have known each other for over 15 years. We read for our MFA together and discovered this common affinity that we have for this genre of photography. This was the first major collaboration for both of us, but everything seemed to fall into place. We are both of a very nostalgic and spiritual disposition and we immediately felt that we were on to something that could feed our creative needs and yes, transcend our identities as photographers and our previous reputations and experiences.

Photo: Joe Smith

Indeed, Vergara’s portrayal of ruins deals mainly with exteriors. In our case, as you rightly point out, the main concern was to connect with the soul of the building. On each visit, the spaces were telling us something new and we could not wait to return. We immersed ourselves into the spaces, totally oblivious of the world outside. The “entity” you speak about was hypnotic and seemed to embrace us. This feeling still lingers. As we were hanging the large engaging works before the opening, we both felt a sense of regret when we realised that we now do not have the possibility of returning to these spaces to continue with the process of discovery.

Spaces in Suspension, curated by Prof. Vince Briffa and hosted by Spazju Kreattiv, will be on until December 12. Visit the event’s Facebook page for more information. The project is supported by Arts Council Malta.