Nothing Really Matters as a title for an exhibition elicits different reactions, amid different contexts and perspectives. Debbie Caruana Dingli discusses with Joseph Agius the underlying concept, motherhood and how it evolved into a cohesive collection of paintings, imbued with a strong social comment.

When No One Listens

I guess you’ve been asked this question a hundred times. Is the legacy of the Car­uana Dingli surname sometimes too much of a burden to carry? Have the ghosts of your grandfather, Robert Caruana Dingli, and his brother Edward, been exorcised a long time ago?

I would not describe the Caruana Dingli legacy as a burden at all. As a girl, I was fascinated by the paintings and etchings hanging in the family home. Sadly, ghosts they were, as Robert and Edward had died long before I was born, so I never had a chance to get to know them in person. My father was just 14 when his father, Robert, died. My uncle George was also an artist but lived in Canada, so there was a long gap locally before another Caruana Dingli came on the scene. This generated some interest and curiosity when I held my first solo back in 1985.

What I feel really filtered down was the choice of colours. All three of us share a simi­lar palette. I actually find it quite uncanny as this was not studied but came most naturally. The love of portraiture from Edward and the humour from Robert may also have worked their way down. Along the lines, people have stopped making comparisons. I guess I have been around that long now!

Motherhood is the central theme of this exhibition. What was the triggering factor that directed you towards such a choice?

The theme of this exhibition hit me because, as I read about a sobbing mother in a courtroom, I must have connected with her and felt her despair. I realised that I had never thought as far as the ‘mother of a criminal’, yet they are very much there. Every criminal has a mother. We sometimes read about the wives and children. Never the mothers. As a mother I can ima­gine how very soul-destroying her predicament would be. It is probably unfair that I left the father out of the equation. I have not got round to him yet...

Debbie Caruana Dingli, self-portrait with Turbo, watercolour for a collector’s edition of The School Playground (Kite Group, 2021), 16/63.

Ernest Hemingway once claimed that “When writing a novel, a writer should create living people; people not characters. A character is a caricature.” Do you depict characters representing stereotypes rather than your impression of an actual living person? Being a mother, do you envisage yourself as a stereotype and a caricature sometimes?

I very much tried to bring out the many various ways a mother might react in this situation. Also, keeping in mind the totally different circumstances that led to a child becoming a criminal in the first place. The Waiting Room is just that. A line of mothers sitting in a row, waiting to visit their sons or daughters. I tried to show the vast differences through posture, demeanour, expression and the intriguing mystery of confidence, or lack of confidence.

I automatically (I cannot help it) people-watch and have done so all my life. A bus is a fascinating place. I love watching a person’s reaction when someone sits next to them... to that degree! Even with young sons at a sandy bay, I would watch the people around fascinatedly. So, I suppose, I do not value stereotypes. This is why I love reading William Somerset Maugham’s novels. His characters are never stereotypes. There is always a lovely and surprising twist to his characters.

Am I a stereotype? I am looking out, not within. Although the within has probably worked its way through most of these works. I have not stopped to analyse myself. This may actually be a self-analysis without my knowing it.

Mea Culpa

Does a caricature embody the spirit of the person portrayed by focusing on the grotesque, thereby revealing and much more effectively bringing forth into the limelight what lies concealed within?

Yes. This is probably why I doodle in cartoons. In a realist painting, I would very much depend on the expression in the eyes and a certain body language.

With cartoons, I can stretch them out, fatten them up, let them fly through the air, ride a dragon through the night and in the morning go to the grocer without their clothes on.

Every criminal has a mother. We sometimes read about the wives and children. Never the mothers

Honoré Daumier satirised French society and the political world. Roland Topor embarked on a more universal satire of the human condition, one that transcends geographical barriers and national scenarios. Giancarlo Vitali was autobiographical as he found inspiration closer to home, essentially from the people of Bellano, on Lake Como, the hamlet where he was born, lived and died. Do you empathise with any of the three above-mentioned artists? Can you mention other artists who you consider as artistic soulmates?

Out of the three artists that you mention, I feel most comfortable with Giancarlo Vitali’s work. He depicts characters he knows, intimately it seems, and there is an endearment for his subjects. Humour, too, but never in a cruel way. While in Roland Topor’s deep works, I find no humour. They strike me as depicting a form of lonely insanity. Honoré Daumier is a caricaturist in a class of his own.

I consider Andrew Diacono to be an artistic soulmate. We both depict ourselves in our work in a most unflattering way and our output consists of human foibles. We have very much walked through our artistic journeys together, having joint exhibitions three times along the way. I always look forward to the next! I have the greatest respect for his talent and insight.

The Waiting Room

Nothing Really Matters – the title of the exhibition, hints at a giving up of sorts, a nihilistic surrender to a state of affairs compounded by a slide in morals, aesthetics and judgement in all aspects of life in this country. It sounds like a death knell, a resigned path towards depressive apathy. Is there no hope in turning the tide towards a state where some things really matter? Does motherhood really matter?

The imagined reactions of these mothers are where my fears would take me. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have never been in this situation. How would I react? One never knows until reality hits you in the face. Then you deal with the situation step by step. There are a thousand ways that a thousand mothers would react.

Of course, motherhood matters. It is the most unquestionable and instinctive bond in human nature. So, a separation like this, where the child is taken and locked away, is unnatural and heart-breaking.

Nothing Really Matters.

Two decades have elapsed since your last solo exhibition, titled Games People Play, at the same venue of St James Cavalier,  as exhibition curator Giulia Privitelli remarked in her essay for the exhibition catalogue. Humour, lightness and fun are suggested by the title of that previous exhibition. Nothing Really Matters indicates a nihilistic descent into mirthless and despairing existentialism. Privitelli insightfully declares that “we seem to have been played into a stalemate”. Have we all gradually become impotent pawns in the game of life, compounded by these stagnant pandemic times?

Actually, Games People Play was not a lot happier than this collection of paintings. The only difference is that they were watercolours and easier on the eye. They still depicted the way people treat each other. Some of them were quite depressing. People seemed to react to the ones which depicted a similarity to what they were going through themselves. The title, to me, suggests that no one knows what goes on behind closed doors or in people’s minds. Here I just concentrated on a very specific ‘victim of life’.

You told me that these paintings are “ċuċati ta’ moħħi” (loosely translated as ‘my brain’s whimsies’), maybe suggesting structureless meandering thoughts. Privitelli starts the exhibition catalogue’s essay with your disclaimer: “This is not a documentary. Neither is it an art exhibition. It is an insight into how an artist’s mind works. In this case, mine.” Do you regard Nothing Really Matters as a therapeutic exorcism, a soul-searching, a necessary catharsis that unburdens and liberates you from some sort of psychological baggage?

I would consider my whole artistic output as a self-portrait. When I paint, I am expressing the thoughts in my head and laying them out on a canvas. The same goes for other artists. It is just something we have to do. So yes, this may well be a soul-searching catharsis.

And then... it is time to move on!

Nothing Really Matters, hosted by Spazju Kreattiv, Valletta, and curated by Giulia Privitelli, has been postponed to a future date due to the current COVID restrictions.

The Stoning