‘A Place That Fades’ invites viewers to reimagine our relationship with disappearing spaces through an intimate exhibition

By Giola Cassar

In a country as small as Malta, where land is limited and built - up areas continue to expand, space has become a growing luxury. This project began while spending time in a childhood garden, a place once filled with play, gatherings, and moments of quiet refuge. Rich in memory and sensory experience, the garden stood in stark contrast to the rapid urban development unfolding around it. Nearby gardens were being demolished and replaced by apartment blocks; a pattern now repeated across the island. What struck me was not just the disappearance of greenery, but the erasure of spaces that had shaped both personal and collective identity. The garden became a lens through which to reflect on broader shifts impacting humans and non-humans alike.  

You’ve used acetone transfers, found objects, and installation alongside photography. How did you arrive at this multi-layered process?

The process evolved through sustained research and material exploration. It began with photographing dried leaves collected during site visits. I intentionally avoided cutting or disturbing living plants, working only with what had already fallen, treating each leaf as a marker of time, memory, and presence. Acetone transfer was selected for its fragility and unpredictability, mirroring the instability of the spaces I was documenting.

Introducing the tent structure allowed for a more spatial and immersive approach. It carried associations of shelter, play, and personal memory, echoing the experience of growing up with gardens as sites of intimacy and imagination. The tent also referenced non-human loss: with the disappearance of gardens comes the loss of essential habitats for birds, insects, and other species. The use of fabric and layered acetone transfers reinforced themes of transience, erasure, and quiet resistance. This multi-layered approach became vital in addressing the depth of loss, not just environmental, but emotional and relational across species and time.

How has working on this project changed your own relationship to space, memory, or care?

The project deepened my understanding of space as something both material and emotional, something that carries memory, belonging, and care. It taught me to pay closer attention to what often goes unnoticed: a nest in a tree that may soon be gone, a neighbour quietly tending a garden, the fragile resilience of everyday ecologies. What began as an act of lament became a practice of observation and bearing witness. It reshaped my sense of care as something communal rather than private, grounded in shared experiences and environments. Working through layers of grief, research, and conversation.

What do you hope viewers take away from A Place That Fades?

I hope the exhibition encourages viewers to reflect on how disappearing spaces, especially those tied to memory, nature, and daily life, shape our sense of self and community. This work is not nostalgic but attentive; it asks us to consider what is at stake when such spaces vanish, and how we might learn to see their value before they are gone. For younger viewers, it may invite awareness of what was lost before it was known. For others, it may affirm a quiet sense of grief. Ultimately, the project calls for a more careful way of relating to place, one that holds memory, biodiversity, and cohabitation as vital, not optional.

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