Creativity and the Awesome Pinoy

By: Krip Yuson 

I wake up daily to an education in art. Honest, that’s what happens from the first moment I open my eyes. While still in bed, I have a view of wall parts around me, where hang some works from artist-friends.

On the corner to my right, framing a pendent lamp are two beloved collectibles, if a rather immodest acquiescence to vanity. One’s a sketch by Rock Drilon of the room’s resident. But done outdoors — as I recall vividly, when he sat me down on a curb on Malvar Street in Malate over three decades ago, right across what used to be poet Virginia R. Moreno’s Café Orfeo where there was a dinner party going on.

Rock was then doing a series of charcoal portraits of artist and writer friends of his in our common culturati-cum-bohemian circle. He eventually exhibited those at the PhilAm Building lobby. Then gave me his portrait of me slumped on that curb, smoking a cigarette. The gift still meets with much appreciation (albeit I hope you readers don’t assume that the first thing I do upon waking is to gaze lovingly at it).

Having said that, if parenthetically, now I must blush to admit that it’s a ME corner, since the other invaluable artwork in that area is another portrait, also of a very much younger me as subject. It isn’t so much the subject that makes it important, but that the glass-encased and framed portrait was taken by the distinguished photographer Jaime Zobel de Ayala.

Hah! Between Drilon and Zobel, I can only say with unmitigated pride that my ego is well served in that corner. Or is it because both priceless pieces are rendered in black-and-white? Guess.

On the opposite corner, what I glimpse upon turning left while supine is more evidence of art and my continuing education. There arrayed are nude portraits of women, again awarded me by artist-friends — the portraits, that is, in charcoal, in pen-and-ink, in black-and white, by Gus Albor, Ramoncito de la Cruz, and Camille de la Rosa — plus an acrylic and gouache portrait in vivid color by the late terrific artist Carlos “Dennis” Filart. He passed away over a year ago, soon after I acquired this distinctive nude. That is why it now has pride of place closest to my bedside lamp, the only artwork in color.

And so it’s a gallery of pubes on one side, and an ego wall on the other. Not that I intend to someday attempt to replicate what’s called the “Museum of Me” being established by the excessively wealthy Robbie Antonio in his knockout of a Rem Koolhaas-designed modern residential palace in Forbes Park.

Now, the controversy over this over-the-top enterprise, however private, is sure to serve further education, if not awareness of the power of art, to generations of Filipinos.

Getting back to my own quotidian custom, when I stride down from my bedroom I am greeted by more works of art on the landing: by friends such as Bert Monterona who’s still based in Vancouver, Salvador “Dodong” Arellano of Los Angeles, and the literary goddess Gilda Cordero Fernando. It sure pays to have artists for buddies.

But I will desist from cataloguing all the other friends’ artworks displayed on walls in our otherwise modest home. Or I might run out of space, both ways.

Instead I must now cite my fortuitous membership in an e-group called Banggaan, since a few years ago. It’s a circle of visual artists, including photographers, mostly based abroad, with a few homegrown and/or stay-homes like photographers Ben Razon and Joe Galvez, the iconic music maker Heber Bartolome, painter and editorial cartoonist Benjo Laygo, poet Marne Kilates, and artists Ross Capili, Eric David, and Ilonggo semi-retiree Eduard Labadia.

Across seas and an ocean are our friends, such sterling exponents of Pinoy creativity, with quite a roster of champions: Ding Roces and Edd Aragon in Sydney, Claro Cortes and Dengcoy Miel in Singapore, John Altomonte in Darwin, and in the USA, Mario Mercado, Glenn Bautista, Tante Tagamolila, Jun-Jun Sta. Ana, Rodolofo Samonte, Vics Magsaysay, Mimi Nolledo, Zen Lopez, Mel Vera Cruz, among others — world-class painters, photographers, editorial cartoonists, musicians, poets, tattoo artists, conceptual artists, what-have-you.

If anything, this group alone, among so many others that encompass the Philippine art scene, shares in the bragging rights over the cornucopia of awesome creative power among Filipinos.

Again, daily is it a continuing education, like, say, seeing Rod Samonte’s latest art product: a 3-D installation or bas relief composed of found objects “carpenter”-ed onto a wooden gate he picked up somewhere in Los Angeles. He has titled it “California Suite” and posted it on FB to both the Banggaan and Art Philippines FB group walls, eliciting quick comments and praise.

And if I were to visit my Significant Other in Ayala Alabang, I am very aware that I also come close to another shrine of devotion and comfort zone: the Syjuco family’s ArtLab atelier cum gallery cum workshop venue. Here, my kumpare Cesare A.X. Syjuco and kumare Jean Marie Syjuco have established a wondrous exhibit space for their own impressive art pieces, from paintings to sculpture, installations, hyper-text arrangements, why, even a bathroom reeking of superb minimalist design and art!

Here, too, their daughters Michelline, Trix and Maxine have their own respective studios for their creative output: sculpture, jewelry, striking fashion pieces such as one-of-a-kind wood-and-metal bags, video walls, conceptual effusions.

Art education? Maxine runs her The Little Picasso weekend classes for kids from ages 2 to 16. She offers individualized programs for children’s arts and crafts, designs each module based on each child’s unique interests and skills. She doesn’t employ assistants or relies on other teachers. She teaches all of the classes herself.

Entirely admirable, for someone who is often the toast of the town for her own visual produce and books of poetry, let alone her effervescent beauty. And her little wards in art come up with engrossing takes on Picasso, Dali, Edvard Munch’s “The Kiss” and Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” (see photo with a three-year-old’s version on the wall).

All is well and bright and dazzling in Philippine art. When it comes to creativity, Pinoys enjoy awesome blessings of continuing education and inspiration.

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The post Illuminati: Creativity and the Awesome Pinoy appeared first on Illustrado Magazine - Filipino Abroad.

The Making of the Pinoy Male              

By Krip Yuson

You’ll have to understand us, forgive frailties and faults.

We were raised by all-too-caring mothers, some so nervous that we couldn’t wander off into the dirt as toddlers, let alone try to taste mud or any refuse. Any early attempt to scale a table or stairs, and they came rushing to snatch us off from peril, cradle us close to their bosoms.

It was the opposite of tough love, all that TLC or Tender Loving Care, inclusive of incalculable zeal in protecting boys who will be boys. Consequently, at some point we had to shed off the wimpiness and stand up against bullyboys in school or out on the mean streets, then try to turn macho ourselves. We joined in on the posturing as cocks-of-the-walk.

It was a fawning matriarchal society that raised us. We had to cut ourselves loose.

We had to play basketball and learn the dirty tricks. We faced up to those who dared us to fisticuffs in some secluded spot in school, or outside the gates. As we strengthened bonds of camaraderie, we got into group brawls as a way of earning badges of loyalty and courage.

We were simpletons in many ways, simply making sure that we honored a code of nobility when it came to barkada, as a micro version of the responsibility to the barangay, earlier the balanghai, that our forebears had to abide by.

Oh, we still made a show of allegiance to parental authority and guidance. But we knew when it was time to seek our spot in the sun. Much as we loved our mothers, grandmothers and aunts, and for the most part respected our fathers, grandfathers and uncles, the rest of the world attracted our interest and fascination.

The Making of the Pinoy Male              

First off, we fell for the girls, then the women. We became fathers and raised families, joined the work force of lawyers and businessmen, policemen and politicians, learned to play along in games of accommodation and, in not a few instances, corruption.

Instinctively, we accepted the demands of power, how to kowtow to men of stronger influence, and how to wield power ourselves.

Oh, some of us accepted the fate that chromosomes dictated, and went out of the closet early or late. Some became masterful gays, while others found themselves on the receiving end of homoerotic relations. While a few chose to go transgender or transvestite, many continued to suffer the early affliction of homophobia. Thankfully, there are just as many Filipino males who are models of acceptance and appreciation, more than tolerance, when it comes to LGBT rights and gender divides.

Many still think they’re God’s gifts to women, exercise narcissism and abuse, think nothing of cheating or racking up mistresses. The blowhard, the power-tripper, liar, thief, scammer and murderer walk among us; they are legion. And many are the moral cowards who will bend over in the face of misrule. But there will still be stalwart heroes among us.

The Pinoy will sail the world for family and economic advancement. And he will sing My Way in a false key, drive neighbors batty with blaring karaoke, pay fixers for expedited bureaucratic papers. But there are enough of us who will fight for our islands and our patrimony, just as generally we will raise our children with the best of intentions.

That is how we honor the mothers who comforted us, right or wrong, but ever close to their loving hearts and minds. And the good fathers, too, with all their jokes and lessons. Simple or complicated, that is how the timeline goes for the enduring, perennial Pinoy.  

…………………

KRIP YUSON

Esteemed writer Krip Yuson has earned distinctions as a literary author of over 20 books – from poetry, short stories, children’s stories, biographies, and translation. A Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature Hall-of-Famer, Krip regales us with his musings on the Filipino condition via his column, “Illuminati.”

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Sure, the first attraction is the incomparable beach, where you may romp on the powder-finest white sand in the country, wade out to the gentle surf that comes with clear, chartreuse waters in the best of seasons, or just lay back and bathe in the sun while taking it all in: You’re on fabled White Beach where paradise mongers from all over the world parade the whole day, especially when another photo-happy sunset dramatically unfolds its wondrous spectacle.

Or you can join this procession, walk from end to end, from the southern extremity lorded over by Asya Premier Resort with its rocky crags— so private since not too many beachcombers take the trouble of reaching it — all the way northwards past the broad expanse of sand fronting other top-of-the-line resorts such as Discovery, near where the outcropping grotto is an offshore feature, to the very end of White Beach that is Boracay Terraces Resort, a pioneer, and even past that to the smaller Diniwid Beach, where Nami Resort offers cliffside lodging and massage-with-a-view.

Then you would have covered the former drop-off points by banca from Caticlan in the mainland, from the southern end’s Station 3 to well past Station 1. These days, those terms seem only to refer to certain unbounded areas, since ingress to any lodging destination is done by tricycle, multi-cab or van from the main jetty port where the Caticlan ferry crossing ends. You do it by the back way, through a jumble of narrow streets and alleys. Gone is the vintage excitement of seeing White Beach draw close when you used to disembark right on the sand, backpacks or heavy luggage and all.

But then Boracay changes, faster and faster, not always for the better. It becomes a question of when the tipping point is reached. Already, an online petition has been mounted to save one particular (yet unfrequented) beach and the tropical forest that backdrops it. Friends of the Flying Foxes has been mounting a campaign for the preservation of Puka Shell Beach and the Yapak forest which has been the habitat of flying foxes, or fruit bats, that even cross over to the Aklan mainland for its seed germination habits.

Of the three species, one is endangered: the endemic Golden-Crowned Flying Fox (Aceradon jubatus). This we learned only recently, on an early summer break on the island. At Boracay Terraces Resort, now run by the family of our dear departed friend Steve Tajanlangit, drink concoctions honor the crusade for the flying foxes, with part of the proceeds supporting the advocacy led by Lara Tajanlangit Buenaventura, eldest daughter.

We had also come in time for the inaguration of Steve’s Cliff, an extension of the resort’s 7,107 Islands resto-bar. The area, a series of well-shaded niches and terrace ensconced among cliff rocks, used to be Steve’s favorite work and lounge area. That day, several chefs from Boracay’s top restos paid tribute by coming up with an array of cocktail appetizers. Most memorable was the bacon-wrapped prawns by Sonny de Ocampo, Pinoy, Aussie-schooled in the kitchen, and now the master chef behind Wahine and a few other island eateries.

A new discovery over that weekend was Los Indios Bravos, namesake of the celebrated café in Malate of the late 1960s, frequented by bohemian artists, writers, and the culturati. Just a bit out of the way, towards Bulabog Beach where 7 Stones Boracay Suites is located, the gastropub has attracted a good clientele in only four months since it opened. We happened to meet with one of the partners behind it, Tantan Rosal, who had initially been a scuba expert before he spun off into culinary enterpreneurship.

Speaking of Boracay’s culinary attractions, none has been as steadfast as Dos Mestizos, long acclaimed as arguably the island’s best resto. Run by Bora pioneer Binggoy Remedios, it has steadily gained a loyal following through word-of-mouth-and-blog recommendations since he opened it nearly a decade ago.

Binggoy’s a been-there-done-that kind of guy, ranging from Mindanao to the Visayas in his youthful years, as well as California, where he recalls having stepped in once into an unpretentious but quality eatery billed as Two Boys from Italy. That experience served as the inspiration behind Dos Mestizos, which he established with a partner who has since passed away.

Given histisoy-bisoy lineage, Binggoy is much at home with Spanish comfort food, which he proudly calls classical dishes. Saturdays are Tapas Buffet nights, with an array of exquisite offerings.

That weekend, we had a hearty selection of Liver Paté, Pasta with Bacon Mushroom and Arugula, Mejillones Frijos (mussels), Pulpo Gallega (octopus), Spicy Chorizo, Calamares Rellenos en su Tinta, Gambas con Piña, Albondigas, Almejas con Pesto (clams), Pescado Escabeche… Seafood galore, indeed, enough for gustatory satiety. Yet we still had Binggoy’s popular Paella Marinara and Paella Negra, as well as Callos and Salpicao, to fill us up further, washed down with his famous sangria.

Dos Mestizos (on Remedios Street, or where the police station stands, by Station 2) has been such a success story that Binggoy has been asked to open another Spanish resto, this time at Fairways & Bluewater. Named Rojo, the venue is for formal dining, with red tablecloths establishing the theme. Here he has more liberty to experiment with Spanish fare. Much as he is averse to serving “fusion” dishes, the offerings are different from those at Dos Mestizos, from the Ensaladas, Sopas y Potajes, Curados y Quesos, to dishes “From the Grill”: Black Angus Beef Tenderloin or Beef Ribeye, Herbed Grilled Chicken Breast, and Grilled Seafood Platter. Also in the menu are his regular Tapas and Paella Valenciana, then the following special entreés: Duck Leg Confit, Beef Ragu, Braised Lamb, Fillet of Salmon, and Langostinos Alli Olio.

So when in Boracay, make sure to join Binggoy Remedios’ increasingly expanding clientele. It certainly makes an island visit even more memorable.

Oh, and there’s another new feature we learned about last March. Off Caticlan in the town of Malay is Barangay Nabaoy, which hosts the Motag Living Museum — an enchanting immersion into farm life, from romping with carabaos in muddy rice fields to engaging with children in rural play and women weaving baskets and toys.

Set up by Barangay Captain Nenette Aguirre Graf, with British lady Louise serving as an articulate guide, the tour can take two to three fascinating hours. It has become popular with city folk and foreigners visting Kalibo and Boracay.

A stone’s throw is Finca Verde, a wellness spa that’s also in a farm setting, with a pristine stream runing right through it. This is where Binggoy Remedios and his wife Nina and daughter Chabeli have made a home, only half an hour’s commute to Boracay. Here the food they serve come mostly from their own herb garden.

For now the four available native huts are reserved for friends. But they’ll soon open it to other guests, for yet another experience to savor, when in Boracay.

The post Another Experience to Savor, When in Boracay appeared first on Illustrado Magazine - Filipino Abroad.

By Krip Yuson

When I learned that this magazine’s theme for the February issue would be fixation, I immediately joked my S.O. that I’d be writing about her — appropriately enough, on and for the love month.

She fired back by SMS that I probably didn’t mean her, as that would then be obsession. Hmmm. Got me there.

I just had to check out my laptop dictionary to ascertain the distinction. Here “fixation” is defined as “an obsessive interest in or feeling about someone or something.” Examples of usage provided are: “his fixation on the details of other people’s erotic lives | our fixation with diet and fitness.”

On the other hand, “obsession” is “the state of being obsessed with someone or something,” as in “she cared for him with a devotion bordering on obsession.” Or “an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person’s mind,” to wit, “he was in the grip of an obsession he was powerless to resist.”

As a verb, “obsess” (usually “be obsessed”) is to “preoccupy or fill the mind of (someone) continually, intrusively, and to a troubling extent.” An example: “her husband, who is obsessing about the wrong she has done him.”

Clearly, a fixation then seems to be an obsession however mild or milder, while the latter is of a more grievous sort, to partake of which suggests being beholden to a dark or darker side. “To a troubling extent,” the definition qualifies.

To be fixated is to be unduly interested in or fascinated with someone or something. To be obsessed seems to imply crossing a line in terms of this degree of fixation, a perilous one beyond which is unhealthy territory.

We get fixated on schedules, or certain lifestyle habits. Apart from the song’s “Route 66,” we get our fixes elsewhere, as in nicotine, coffee, or sugar fix. Oops, did I say not crossing that defining line is to stay healthy? Let’s make that perilous on both counts. But it’s still being obsessed that needs to be fixed.

Or does it? At 16 when I started playing around with poetry, an early verse I wrote had the line: “Love is not love if it’s not obsession.”

Ha ha. How presumido, as my grandma might have said. Still, little did I know, at that sweet age, that I would, in fact, precociously presage that future state when romantic devotion goes beyond fixation and lands one in the grip of confusing exhilaration.

Okay, so may I now go ahead with one bolder step and depart from ambiguity, own up as to whether I have indeed, at some time, been gripped that way, or was even just fixated on a romantic interest?

Own up I will. My S.O. and I are both mature single parents, with kids that still stay with us, respectively (in my case, even a granddaughter). Our relationship is ruled for the most part by two ribbons of highway, C-5 and SLEX, or a total of 23 kilometers of road that separate our residences from Valle Verde in Pasig to Alabang Village in Muntinlupa.

The mutual attraction and caring have gone on for over four years, albeit there have been many sorry patches of contention, largely owing to my mercurial temper and, despite or because of my age, a severe want of patience. My beef has generally been her lack of time for me, given her devotion to her kids (in college and high school) and the nature of her work as a free-lancing food stylist, who can be on call any time.

This has resulted in broken concert dates, island jaunts, important socials (important for me) when I’ve had to suddenly go solo. I try to understand, but my frequent loneliness leads to other issues. We’ve been on and off, on again, ever on a roller-coaster ride from euphoria to sadness and back.

We’ve traveled considerably together, among our islands, to many foreign cities, collecting a myriad of terrific memories. But we’ve quarreled in Tehran, and she’s walked out on me amid the ruins of Persepolis and at a hotel in Kuta, Bali.

In brief, we’ve been like cats and dogs, until we can’t stand the separation and start purring anew rather than snarling at one another. Maybe it doesn’t help that we’re both Pisceans, with midnight alone separating our birthdays in this love month.

Recently, medical episodes on my part have whispered intimations of mortality, and convinced me just as much that she truly cares for this old and yet ageing geezer. She does, as manifested with clarity and strength when I landed in the hospital and all throughout my recuperation at home.

I have since tried to persuade her to let all bygones be bygones, and for us to establish an even keel with permanence. It seems we’re both coming around to this wonderful idea.

Now here is where we split ways — on this page, that is. I can only speak for myself when I say I need her for a daily fix, although I’m aware and can understand that we can’t yet live together. Similarly, I can only speak for myself when I declare that I may be obsessed, all right, with that eventual possibility.

For now, it’s already a formidable challenge just getting over Valentine’s Day (with the likelihood that we might not have an evening date because her oldest boy still has no girlfriend to go out with), the start of the Chinese Lunar Year (would she be free from family and work for us to enjoy the pyrotechnic displays off Mall of Asia?), and a planned weekend on a resort island on the eve of our natal days (here’s hoping no work call comes for her).

Yes, that serial hopefulness already poses quite a challenge. And we’ve only just begun this month of fixation and obsession.

The post Month of Fixation and Obsession: Getting that fix(ed)! appeared first on Illustrado Magazine - Filipino Abroad.