Strolling in Valletta I came across a group of construction workers that were heartily arguing. A house by the harbour was scheduled to be demolished that same morning and they couldn’t agree on what to do with some abandoned furniture. The person who lived there had died a few months earlier and most of his stuff was still in place, as the heirs couldn’t care less.
I asked if I could have a look and indded rubbish it was, but still there lingered a sense of place: undeniably someone had spent his existence there.
I entered a negotiation and for petty cash it was agreed that they would initiate the demolition by tearing down the street facade, preserving the front room, as far as the building structure would allow it.
The result revealed details I hadn’t expected, such as the liquor bottles still in the cupboard.
Such an intimist view would be incompatible with Gordon Matta-Clark’s work, but I can’t deny he came to my mind, while the “controlled” demolition was underway.