Life can generally be cyclic with a chequered pattern of positive experiences and tragic episodes. The latter perhaps weigh more on us, exercising a lasting impact which can make or break us, especially if we do not seek help.

Detail from Not Too High, Not Too Low My Son (2022), an installation featuring a sculpture of the artist’s son.

Anamnesis is a journey of trauma and memory − an intimate walk through the artist’s past as he reveals his innermost self, through four distinct sad occurrences, four chapters which have deeply marked the artist.

Art has always reflected the people who produced it and, whether conscious or not, it has in numerous instances served as a medium to capture the pains and tragedies on both personal and collective dimensions.

Trauma as a psychiatric condition was only recognised in 1980 by the American Psychiatric Association, which described its effect as “owing to the emotions of terror and surprise caused by certain events, the mind is split or disassociated: it is unable to register the wound to the psyche because the ordinary mechanisms of awareness and cognition are destroyed”  (Ruth Leys, Trauma: A Genealogy, 2000, p.2).

Consequently, the growth of trauma studies has, over the past 70 years or so,  brought with it an increase in artistic engagements with this topic. It has in recent decades been increasingly proposed as a beneficial therapy, since it is believed that,  through art, trauma can be approached, moved or transformed, although not necessarily resolved, through the act of creative practice.

On the other hand, trauma art can safely be considered as a genre in itself, not solely associated with therapeutic benefits. By capturing the effects of trauma through their art, artists offer opportunities for empathy, compassion and healing for themselves and for the viewer.

Curated by Gavin Delahunty, Psychic Wounds ‒ On Art & Trauma, which took place at The Warehouse, in Dallas between February 6, 2020 and November 28, 2021, remains a high watermark in the subject for this exhibition brought together works of art that were made in response to traumatic events that have taken place as from the 1950s.

Through its illustrated catalogue, the exhibition sets the context and draws parallels between the art world and the emergence of ‘trauma studies’ as it draws upon artworks which respond to the repercussions of psychoanalysis, the Holocaust, global conflict, sexual violence and race and gender discrimination. It is clear that art can be a means to unlock and express memories or feelings and helps artists process trauma, anxiety and depression in their attempts to come to terms with their past. This, I feel, is key for Anamnesis.

The Way to 16.03.12 (2015), mixed media

Anamnesis is more than just Clint Calleja’s first solo exhibition. It is an intensely spiritual journey, presented in an almost sacred space. Anamnesis is very relevant to us who can empathise and find in Calleja’s work some of our own pains, since loss and trauma are universal. It means a lot also to the artist’s family and close friends, who lived with the artist some of these events and still share, in varying degrees, their effects.

It surely has a deep meaning to the artist who was bold enough to reveal himself completely with sheer honesty. Calleja looks back and seeks refuge in art. His art is not art therapy, beneficial as this can be, but rather a remarkable spiritual and creative process through which he looks faith in the eye, accepts what he has been and is still going through and puts his soul at rest. 

In his own words, this is his “intimate walk through the events that have shaped me as a person, father, teacher and artist. Anamnesis is a deep self-revelation, my coming to terms with the past to put my soul at rest. Anamnesis is my innermost self-portrait.”

Anamnesis is my innermost self-portrait

It is known that traumatic experiences are generally not admitted in a person’s consciousness until they reach a safe period. Calleja has reached this state and,  through this exhibition of paintings, sculptures and installations, he is learning to accept and move from four life-changing events which unfold chronologically from his childhood to the present.

Detail from Clint Calleja’s Faith II (2022), oil on wood and a montage of manipulated photographs. Photos: Giola Cassar

This exhibition is divided into four chapters, each having the date of the tragic occurrence as its title.  0.12.90 is the first chapter recalling a story of childhood abuse, while 16.03.12 captures the trauma and despair caused by the premature death of the artist’s mother. 18.02.18 is the third dark chapter narrating the effects following the death of the artist’s neighbour caused by a fire within his same block of apartments. The final narrative, 10.10.19, is actual and it illustrates the story of the artist’s son, who, at three years of age, was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

The materials and processes used to create these works, albeit well-studied, are simply means in this spiritual journey. The main force behind trauma art is troubled memories and Anamnesis is above all this. This is Calleja’s way of moving forward without forgetting, his intense response to life ‒ a powerful expression in which trauma and memory replace paint, wood, canvas or gesso and become the medium.

The exhibition has a number of common denominators across the four chapters. The artist relies on metaphors which are indicative of a rich and well-studied creative process. Accompanying the artist’s journey are Faith I, Faith II, Faith III and Faith IV – large rose windows which serve as a backdrop for every chapter and are used to illustrate the artist’s journey. Rose windows are normally found in Gothic churches and are usually a splendid means to narrate stories of faith, saintly lives and other spiritual values. Their shimmering light creates awe and wonder among believers.

Detail from the installation Verbum (2022)

Rose windows here are still narrating stories about faith. The images in stained-glass are replaced by manipulated images in transparencies – each window capturing memories which speak directly to the tragic events represented. From childhood memories in Faith I, to maternal recollections in Faith II and family life prior to the fire incident in Faith III.

Faces are erased and manipulated since, although these are intrinsically the artist’s own memories, they can easily be ours. These windows get darker and grimmer in every chapter, mirroring a progressive loss of faith. The last window, Faith IV in the final chapter, is devoid of colour and images are replaced by insulin needles – thousands of them – the same insulin needles used by the artist to control his son’s sugar levels. This is the intense, distressing climax of the Anamnesis journey. 

The insulin needles in Faith IV introduce another important factor, namely the use of memory objects. Along the exhibition, we come across the use of real things which have survived these tragic events. From the images in the various Faith windows, to the medical certificates, encouragement cards, prayers, flight tickets and the sweater the artist was wearing on his mother’s demise in The Way to 16.03.12; to images of the deceased neighbour Gordon Spiteri, taken from his mother’s remembrance posts on Facebook in Addolorata.

Within the same chapter is a soot-covered door from the artist’s apartment in Li kieku and also his blinds with Spiteri’s handprints under goldleaf following the fire incident. No longer relics of these sad occurrences, such objects become conveyors of intense feelings. From witnesses of the events, they have become artworks in their own right carrying powerful insights.

My Black Dog (2022), oil on board

Further to the needles in the final chapter, we also come across a device with a live monitor indicative of the artist’s son’s sugar levels. It forms part of the installation Not Too high, Not Too Low My Son which, in a way returns to childhood troubles and brings the narrative of the exhibition back to its starting point, closing a full circle. It essentially centres around the story of the artist’s son being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. But it portrays also the present, since this is very much a trauma for the family who struggle daily to keep track of their son’s sugar levels. Not too high, not too low, thus the parallels with Icarus. From childhood trauma to adult tragedy and childhood struggles again.

Yet, this final chapter looks to the future with hope. The artist’s son, represented as Icarus, is melancholically walking on a fine line, but he is also confident, armed with large wings, facing the light. I would like to see in him a young fragile hero, boldly looking towards the future, protected by family love represented by the warrior’s helmet which he wears.

Anamnesis is Calleja’s intense self-revelation as he translates his traumas into beauty without losing nothing of their terror. Yet, these feelings might very well be our own. The tragic occurrences presented by the artist incite pain, grief, fear  and anguish – states of mind that are always present but lie in wait at the edges of consciousness, brought into focus by the extraordinary events which cross our path.

The works presented in Anamnesis, therefore, give a voice to a collective experience that is difficult to articulate or understand, offering opportunities for hope, solace and connectivity.

Kenneth Cassar, the curator of Anamnesis, is a cultural heritage professional and friend to the artist. The above article reflects his opinion as part of an artistic project he was involved in on personal capacity and is not representative of any body which the author may form part of. The exhibition, hosted by Spazju Kreattiv, Valletta, is on until Sunday. Consult www.kreattivita.org page for opening hours.

Li kieku (2022), an installation featuring erased soot on the artist’s apartment door which withstood a blaze in 2018.