Dick it to Them

YESTERDAY evening, the art gallery Mo Space opened Stick it to the Enemy, an exhibit of stickers. The invitation asked guests to bring their own stickers. Manila's avant garde responded enthusiastically. In attendance: Jayson Oliveira, MM Yu, Poklong Anading, Lena Cobangbang, Pow Martinez, Louie Cordero, Romeo Lee, Ringo Bunoan, Pardo de Leon, and I cannot remember who else. Also there were photographers Frankie Callaghan and Paul Mondok, Green Papaya's Peewee and Donna Roldan, and of course Mo Space's David and Mawen Ong.

Mawen is herself an artist—her last show was at Greem Papaya—and it was part of the internationally acclaimed artist Manuel Ocampo's objective in bringing Fil-Am artists to the Philippines in July to show them an impossibility in the US, artist-owned galleries. In the Philippines, this includes not just Mo Space but Green Papaya and Mag:Net Katipunan. Atop the flagship of the designer furniture chain Mawen owns with David, Mo Space does not need or care to make a profit. As such, it is a bastion of the most experimental art.

At Stick it to the Enemy, the stickers ranged from the expressly vulgar to the labor-intensive and refined. There was a bunch of French kids sticking chewing gum into lacy patterns on the wall. With a wet hand, one of them grabbed me and said, "Look, I made this." Never one to discourage the making of art, I said, "Good job," despite the saliva on my arm. Someone had brought in a huge plant crawling with snails decorated with stickers. On a glass door, someone displayed a large cut-out sticker that looked like simultaneously like a cartoon and an abstract. It was a thrilling moment of communal creativity, a window of subversion that could be shared by adults and children alike.

One sticker was a picture of a vagina with lines pointing to its different parts identified under the image. Some of the artists were assigned different parts. Poklong had the pubis, Pow the clitoral hood. Misogynistic? Yes.

Pow is a great beauty. He looks like a Donatello--not the Ninja Turtle, you understand, but the Florentine sculptor of the Renaissance, the one who did the pedophillic David, the diametric opposite of Michelangelo's. Pow's stickers were all Filipino beefcake, guys in various states of undress  striking sultry attitudes. For guys like Pow, the beefcake represents the outer edge of their desire, the point of its abjection,

In their territorialization of the vagina, however, Poks, Pow and the rest of the gang were in a space Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick inventively called the homosocial.

"Tangina n'yo mga boys," said Lena as she and Donna ran down the stairs. She had passed the hat around for a booze run, and she found herself having to go do the buying herself.

Jericho

 From top: Jericho Rosales, originally uploaded by mlq3; 'Jericho' by Barnett Newman, 106 x 112 1/2", acrylic on canvas.

JERICHO is a work of Barnett Newman, one of the greatest, most influential modernists. Although his work looked like pure abstraction, titles indicated a preoccupation with myth, notably Jewish lore. Vir Heroicus Sublimis (Man, Heroic and Sublime) is a key piece in the collection of New York's Museum of Modern Art. It is a huge canvas in blazing red with the artist's trademark vertical stripes (or "zips") running down at four intervals dividing the plane into almost-but-not-quite symmetrical patterns.

Jericho is most likely to refer to the ancient city in the Jordan plains, one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements on earth. It is famous in the Christian and Jewish worlds for its walls being brought down by the trumpets and shouts of the Children of Israel under the leadership of Joshua after they emerged from 40 years in the wilderness after escaping Egypt. The story is told in the Old Testament in the Book of Joshua (1-6).

Before besieging the walled city, the Jews sent to spies who hid in the house of a prostitute ("harlot" in the King James version) named Rahab. She made them promise to spare her and her family when they took the city. The Jews killed everyone else in the city but spared her and hers and brought her to Israel.

And they utterly destroyed all that was in the city, both man and woman, young and old, and ox, and sheep, and ass, with the edge of the sword.
   But Joshua had said unto the two men that had spied out the country, Go into the harlot's house, and bring out thence the woman, and all that she hath, as ye sware unto her. (Joshua 6: 21-22)

 Newman's Jericho is "zipped" just a little off the middle, slightly to the right of the triangle's apex. It is then a little off kilter, so that it has innate instability, and at any moment might be knocked down.

Coron, Mon Amour

Tagbanua youth guards the entrance to a freshwater lake on Coron Island.

ONLY HALF A CENTURY AGO Palawan remained at the very precipice of the Philippines, the destiny of lepers and hardened criminals. It later became the barrier of containment for the miserable fleeing tyranny in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. What has kept the province on the psychical outer edge of the archipelago, however, has helped make it today the preserve of an irretrievably lost world, a Philippine Shangri-la.

National carrier Philippine Airlines now has a regular flight to Busuanga, the principal northern island of Palawan. Previously, only Seair flew there. Increased demand for quick passage to this formerly remote destination—notably from foreign travelers—has put Busuanga on the commercial flight map.

Busuanga is part of the closely scattered Calamian group of islands. So far its chief attraction to the world outside has been for divers: the 12 Japanese ships sunk by the American Navy in its waters towards the end of World War II. In their ocean-bottom graveyards, the ships are cathartic, hair-raising places to swim through. But the islands—notably Coron, the ancestral domain of the indigenous Tagbanua—have many other attractions as well—paradisiacal and dramatic, once-in-a-lifetime, Bucket List destinations.

The heart is where it hurts, everywhere

Mabanengbeng is a small, agricultural barrio in the province of La Union. On rare occasions, they hold a dapil, a celebratory juicing of the sugar cane harvest. At a dapil I was invited to, the farmers had festooned the horns of the carabao pulling the mill for the cane with flowers and ribbons. Some of the women of the village sang songs. In the attached video, note how distinct the vocal effect striven for.



The chorus the women sing begins, "Anay, anay, pusok," which means, "Aray, aray, puso ko." I can't think of any sufficient way to translate that into English. A transliteration would be, "Ouch, ouch, my heart," which simply doesn't capture the plaintive elegance of the original. I think even the Tagalog translation sounds a little funny.

Some Filipino farmers have found a new use for outmoded video and audiotape--as substitutes for scarecrows. Unfurled, they shimmer when the wind and sun hit them.

On another farm in La Union, children employed the material in an installation. Twigs and audiotape, dimensions vary.

Like an Ejaculation

From top: Clay vagina by Julie Lluch; clay monster by Bathma Kaew-Ngok; National Artist Bencab with Wig Tysmans; collectors Hetty and Paulino Que with Duemilla gallery owner Sylvana Diaz.

It was over in what seemed like a flash. Yesterday's opening of The Ring of Fire, an exhibition of contemporary works of Southeast Asian ceramic artists, commenced with the smashing of a clay palayok filled with sampaguita. Then there was a dramatic crescendo of Edru Abraham's magnificent Kontra-Gapi band or Kontemporaryong Gamelang Pilipino, which fuses traditional kulintang music with electric guitars (bass played by crush-ng-bayan Ira Cruz), modern drum and synthesizer. Then the guests thronged the exhibit, enthralled by the range and artistry of the works in clay. Then it was all over. It was frenetic and celebratory.

Now that's a show.

Guests included National Artists Bencab and Arturo Luz, with respective partners Annie Sarthou and Tessie Luz, poetess Virginia Moreno, master photographer Neal Oshima, writer and style icon Karla Delgado Yulo, photographer Wig Tysmans, Ateneo Art Gallery director Richie Lerma, Lopez Museum director Cedie Lopez Vargas, collector Paulino Que with wife Hetty, Duemilla Gallery owner Sylvana Diaz, plus all the ceramic artists who participated in the exhibit, notably Jon and Tessie Pettyjohn, Hadrian and Camille Mendoza, Julie Lluch and Pablo Capati, among the Philippines based.

The show runs up to October 4 only, so plan on going soon.

A Fine Evening in Hell

From top: Across the River Styx; Constantino 'Cos' Zicarelli

I REALLY wasn't invited to an event last night called Hell, which I thought was an art exhibit opening. (It was and it wasn't.) The night prior, at the opening of Geraldine Javier's sold-out exhibit, The Swank Style editor Jerome Gomez introduced me to artist Constantino Zicarelli. (By the way, we all know who bought the Javier worth P1.2 million. Tangina, ang laki pala ng sweldo.)Mr. Gomez told me that Mr. Zicarelli was opening his own show the following night.

At around 7pm yesterday, I was going crazy in the office. I texted Mr. Gomez if he was going to Mr. Zicarelli's opening, and, even though I am normally very punctilious about invitations, if I could go with him. Mr. Gomez replied in the affirmative. Although I had made a deliberate attempt to delay, I arrived at the event well before Mr. Gomez.

The venue turned out to be Mr. Zicarelli's own residence in Quezon City, a townhouse in a quiet neighborhood. The gate of the home was left open onto the street for the occasion. On the facade, in bold all-caps a backlit sign read: HELL, not the most neighhborly of welcomes, to be sure, although cheerily colored.

"Naku," Mr. Zicarelli greeted me. "Hindi ko alam na dadating ka. Nakakahiya!" The truth of the matter is it was I that should have been hiya for making the intrusion. Mr. Zicarelli explained that it wasn't really an opening but a marking of his birthdate a few days before, and that"HELL" was supposed to have been included in an exhibit at Mo Space but somehow failed to.

It might as well have been an opening because in attendance were many artists, collectors, writers, among them Jayson Oliveira, Poklong Anading and MM Yu, and the potter Pablo Capati.

On the front door was tacked a statement about the show by the artist's friend, Angelo Suarez:

Daddy, I have cum home

The religious who subscribe to the hegemony of heterosexuality maintain that gayness--especially upon the consummation of the "homosexual act"--can lead one to hell. Homophobics who find their way here, to Constantino Zicarelli's exhibition wherein the declaration that this is hell conceptually transforms his home into hell, should thus beware: It is likely they are standing next to a faggot.

I was so glad I came.

Mr. Zacarelli's Isabela-based Italian father, Mr. Zacarelli pere, happened to be visiting. I do not know if Mr. Zacarelli fils had the title formulated for the occasion, but I do know that he is not, as they sometimes say in the vernacular, "a gay." Mr. Zacarelli fils was once romantically paired with a beautiful artist, female. Together they made one of the most handsome couples in artlandia. That is not the evidence of course, but basta, as they say in Italian and Filipino, hindi siya bading.

Charming, solicitous, self-effacing and--above all--interesting, Mr. Zacarelli fils inhabits a Filipino heterosexual masculinity that can only be found in the world of art. The argument of course is based on the theory that there are a multiplicity of masculinities, ranged according to a hegemony.

Mr. Capati, whom I had the good fortune to fall into conversation with that evening, is another case in point. On one occasion, the potter who grew up in Japan served a tempura lunch for Mr. Gomez and me, in an orchard, on vessels he had made himself, with ground plum and Japanese pepper. Hitsura ni Martha Stewart.

I was glad I came, because apart from Mr. Gomez, what other faggot would everyone else be standing next to?

An Event to Remember

Manila’s social set attended the book launch of New York-based events designer Jerry Sibal at the Makati Shangri-La ballroom Tuesday evening. The coffee table book is titled An Event to Remember and documents Mr. Sibal’s spectacular settings for lavish parties.

Imelda Marcos and Ching Cruz both arrived in Lincoln Town cars, Madame’s was black, Mrs. Cruz’s white.

At the caida, guests were greeted by human flowers, two people sheathed in black jersey and garlanded with flowers fashioned out of quilted fabric. I don’t remember if they were men or women. The black jersey stretched to cover platforms they were standing on so they towered over everyone.

In the hall just outside the ballroom, there was a woman seated on an apple-shaped chair covered in red roses on a long white platform. She wore a white satin gown and held a red apple. Behind her, running the length of the platform, was a depiction of a city skyline. Presumably the tableau was a reference to the Big Apple, where Mr. Sibal has found success.

Just within the doors of the ballroom was a scrim veiling the rest of the venue. To one side of the scrim was a bough of orchids, at the foot of which posed a fairy, in more than one sense of the word, a transsexual with butterfly wings.

The entrance was flanked by living furniture, two drag queens plunged into the center of round tables which were fashioned into skirts of their elaborate costumes.

Among those who came were Mia Borromeo, Tats Rejante-Manahan, Conrad Onglao (characteristically casual), Mike Toledo (unusually in a barong), Conchitina Bernardo, Pitoy Moreno, Gerry Contreras, Sonia Mathay, Teyet Pascual, Crickette Tantoco, Margie Moran-Floirendo, Louie Ysmael, Gloria Diaz, Tim Yap, Rajo Laurel, Inno Sotto, Ambeth Ocampo, Maricris Zobel, Chris and Katrina Goulbourn-Feist, Tessa Prieto, Louie Locsin, and Monique Villonco.

The ballroom was lit blue for the event, and there were curtained-off squares, which would presumably be unveiled as the evening progressed, but I had to leave so I didn’t discover what was to unfold in them. But it was an event to remember, indeed.

A Dissonance

From top: '308', '425', '449' all by Frankie Callaghan. Courtesy Silverlens. Click photo to enlarge.

On the way out of the opening of Frankie Callaghan’s exquisite exhibit at Silverlens Gallery last night, I bumped into the photographer himself returning from the driveway. Having learnt from a conversation with him upstairs in the gallery that he came to the Philippines at the age of 10 when the family settled in Baguio, I asked him if he spoke Ilocano. Mr. Callaghan speaks with a mild British accent when he speaks in English; his late father was British, his mother is Filipino. Mr. Callaghan moved back to the Philippines a couple of years ago. From the way he speaks in English it’s impossible to say if he has any Tagalog. And he certainly looks very foreign. I digress. In response to my question, Mr. Callaghan leaned his face to me (he is a good foot taller) and said, “Wen,” with that super hard, guttural short e that is a characteristic of Baguio Ilocano. He sounded like a fieldworker from Asin, or a vegetable vendor on Session Road. Most disconcerting.

“It’s so hard to look at the art at an opening,” I was saying to the editor of the magazine Flow, Miguel Rosales, upstairs. I always meet Mr. Rosales at the cocktails-for-culture. “You’re trying to look at the art, but you can’t help thinking, ‘Oh my God, she’s gotten so fat,’ or ‘What a chic thing she’s got on,’ or ‘They’re together?’” The opening of an exhibit, mandatory to attend in support of the artist and the making of art in general, is, for all its attempts at being about art, a social event.

At Dwellings, however, Mr. Callaghan’s exhibit of photographs, the beauty is plain and voluptuous. The sensibility is operatic, like an aria, but without pathos, so there is something cold about it too, and unflinching.

For inquiries, contact Silverlens Gallery at 2/F YMC Bldg. II, 2320 Pasong Tamo Ext., Makati, 816-0044, 0905-2650873, or manage@silverlensphoto.com. Gallery hours are Monday to Friday 10am–7pm and Saturdays 1–6pm. www.silverlensphoto.com.

An Illumination

Above: Manuel Ocampo, Poklong Anading. Please click photo to enlarge.

Background: 'Forward to the Sweet Tranquility of the Status Quo'. Foreground: Detail of 'Agent of Good + Bad Criticism: In Need of Plumbing', 2009, mixed media, dimensions variable

Miguel Rosales (right) and hottie friend

Sandra Palomar

On reading The Philippine Spectator's entry on his show, the eminent Manuel Ocampo sent an illumination of its impetus and context. Monuments to the Institutional Critique of Myself, says its author, was inspired by squatter aesthetics. The title is ironic; it is "the unmonumental," that moves the artist, "the poetry in the use of poor materials."

He was aiming for "the color of Manila from childhood memories: sepia, charcoal, dirty white." But Mr. Ocampo's artistic reference are more worldly. "Bukowski via Broodthaers," he says.
Charles Bukowski was sometimes called "the poet laureate of skid row" for poems and short stories that dealt with poverty and his alcoholism. Of Marcel Broodthaers, I know only one work, the one made of an actual casserole, an iron one, and actual mussels stacked in it in a way that suggests they are rising from the heat. Broodthaers famously struggled in poverty as an artist for 20 years before he decided to make something "insincere".

According to Wikipedia: "He is associated with the late 20th century global spread of both installation art, as well as 'institutional critique' in which interrelationships between artworks, the artist, and the museum are a focus." Mr. Ocampo's has growingly been concerned with such a critique as reflected in the title of his exhibit. He has been caught in a paradox of attempting to break the commodification of art yet remaining legible as art or as meaning. Despite the almost squalid quality of the materials used in this show, one work is priced at P900,000, a reflection of Mr. Ocampo's stature in the international market.

And despite the apparent haphazard assembly of the installations, there is a formal coherence to the pieces. It is artful haphazardness or dissembled artfulness. And it's beautiful.

Is it art? It is definitively art. It is garbage and it's art.

The Fashion

Cecile Zamora van Straten (left, with friend Cedric; click any photo to enlarge) is the idol of Manila's fashion avant garde. Thursday, September 3, she launched a new line (the three shirts on the gentlemen in first photograph below) for the brand Bleached Catastrophe at Greenbelt 5. Her fans came. Among her guests were jeans designer Ino Caluza and Carlos Concepcion (bottom left), designers Rajo Laurel, Louis Claparols and Ivarluski Aseron, pioneering stylist Michael Salientes, publicist Carmina Sanchez, style icon Leica Carpo, newspaper columnists Ana Kalaw and Bea Ledesma.

Japanese Mormons

In Laie, Oahu, about an hour north of Honolulu is the Polynesian Cultural Center. It is a very popular tourist attraction, showcasing island "village" life and, in a nightly extravaganza the songs and dances of some of the key islands comprising Polynesia, including Hawaii, Fiji, Tonga, Samoa. Of course it's bogus, but among boguses this ain't so bad. The songs are beautiful, and they are not translated and there are no subtitles. And the dances are mesmerizing. Certainly far better than the bogus tourist luaus. O bon dieu. The most uncivilized pack of cliches. A potlatch des banalités. Ugh. Disgusting.

Visitors to the PCC also seem to be much more mixed. On the one hand it's a version of Disneyland's It's a Small World, but also not. The curious thing about the PCC is that it is run by Mormons. That came as a shock to me. And it also made me appreciate the program more because I expected some kind of teleology in which the Church of the Latter Day Saints comes to bring light to the peoples of Polynesia. Thankfully, there was none. Not a single reference to Christianity or even Westerners at all. Appreciable, because the LDS Church is famous for its unflagging missionary work, and here in the Philippines that iconic pair of white boys in short sleeves and rep ties marching some dusty provincial trail or chaotic urban street has become a familiar apparition.

The PCC was established in 1963 as a means of allowing students of the nearby Brigham Young University to support themselves through school. Young (1801-1877) was one of the pioneers of the LDS Church; he founded Salt Lake City, and helped lead the settlement of the Western United States. The students staff the PCC. They act as guides, bus tables at the grand buffet that precedes the show, man the ticket booths, and so on. Presumably, they are not among the performers, choreographers, producers.

The curious thing is that many of the students are Japanese. According to one survey, Japanese Mormons have doubled in number since 1980. What leads the Japanese to Mormonism is a bafflement. Christianity itself has been so alien. In their Samoan skirts, with their slim figures, with their refinement and politesse the Japanese men of the PCC are strikingly attractive (photo above, click to enlarge).

The show "Breath of Life" shows in dance and song the unique cultures of each Polynesian place, but also narrates the migration which led to a commonality. It remains a bafflement still how Polynesian peoples created this commonality over an area that stretches millions of miles of open sea.

Polynesians are said to have originated thousands of years ago from Southeast Asia. It takes about a dozen hours to get from Manila to Honolulu on an airplane. Polynesians navigated the almost incomprehensible vastness of the sea by aid of starlight, the migration of birds, the pattern of waves, the winds' rhythms around atolls.

The Mormons honor Brigham Young, but he is controversial to the larger world. He was a practitioner of Mormon polygamy; he had 55 wives and around the same number of children. He is also linked to a massacre in which 120 men, women and children were killed. Recently, Mormons caught the public glare when polygamous households were brought to light in the media, and allegations were made of child abuse. Some of the houses the media showed were mansions housing several wives and all their children.

Bitchy, Bitchy

'KPC," said Manuel Ocampo (in red slacks, photo left, with Gerry Tan; click any photo to enlarge) Saturday night as he was showing the backside of one of his canvases. "Keeping people clueless," he explained. There was lots of stuff behind the canvas, including a beat up can of Spam and several calling cards. It was the opening of his exhibit Monuments to the Institutional Critique of Myself at Pablo Gallery at the Fort, his most radical, cryptic and anti-art to date.

It consisted literally of junk. In one piece (detail, photo right), there were two stuffed SM bags suspended from wood rod, sheathed on one end with a sock. Gerry Tan said it was a penis. The same piece had a plastic flower arrangement with a Winnie the Pooh mounted on it. Under the vase was a case of San Miguel beer. The pieces were mounted on two metal grid panels joined by hinges, something like a gate.

The opening was attended by the creme of the art world of course, including artists Ringo Buonoan, Jayson Oliveira, Poklong Anading, Lena Cobangbang, MM Yu, Mawen Ong and Sandra Palomar, heavyweight collectors Rina Ortiz, Marcel Crespo and Norman Crisologo, gallery directors Richie Lerma and Vita Sarenas.

Although this was his most anti-art show, the artist himself was uncharacteristically dressed to the nines, in a new dove gray, slim peak lapel wool jacket and blazing red pants. Very dashing. As a point of (surely) deliberate irony, he had a pocket square in his jacket that was a paper napkin.

Like many, I am a great fan of Mr. Ocampo. He has an inexorable compulsion to turn on himself, a mad drive to break every constraint of artistic production. But I am an admirer not just of his work, I hold him in affection as a person. He has a real artist's tendresse. And yet he's also a bona fide bitch. Which is really a more succinct way of saying he has an unflinching criticality and the courage of his convictions.

Last month, he organized an open forum discussion with Berkeley-based Fil-Am artists whom he had invited to show with him at Mag:Net Katipunan. They titled the event 'The Bitching Hour: Theory-han sa Mag:Net Katipunan', a smart spin on kapihan fora of politicians and journalists and the art theory-making of academics.

However, it was an episode of méconnaissance. The Fil-Am and the Filipino artists did not understand each other. It began well enough. Mr. Ocampo noted how in the Philippines reality tends to out 'art' art. This led to issues of identity, identity politics and authenticity, which simply do not figure in the discussion here (unfortunately). (Actually, there is no discussion here.)

A Mindanao-based artist asked what were the advantages of being based in the US for an artist.
"I do not like that question!" railed balikbayan artist and long-time Paris expatriate Sandra Palomar. One Fil-Am artist took great offense, evidently hearing in the question perhaps a challenge to his authenticity or an accusation of privilege. "Maybe it is we that are at a disadvantage here," he said, voice brimming with emotion.

The author of the question was completely taken aback, but stood his ground. He said he had asked the question in earnest and was shocked by the reaction.

After a few awkward exchanges, Mr. Ocampo said, "OK, that's it. I hate talking about art," thereby declaring the forum closed. Drinking ensued.

On the occasion, a review of art shows current at the time was also released. It is a paragon of wit (i.e. bitchiness).

'Her' World

Rico Rada, 28, works in one of the cut-flower stalls in Market Market. He was born in Bukidnon, but his family later moved to Bohol.

Gaano katagal na nagtratrabaho ka dito?
For more than 4 years. More than.
Araw araw ka ba pumapasok dito?
Monday is my day off
Anong oras ka pumapasok dito?
Minsan 7, 8, 9. Iba iba. My out is 8:30 or 9; wala naman tao kadalasan. OK lang trabaho ko, hindi mahirap.
Hindi ka nagbubuhat?
Nagbubuhat pero hindi naman mahirap--at maganda
Crush mo sa mga artista?
Richard Gutierrez. Wala, unique lang siya para sa akin.
Sa mga babaeng artista, sino idolo mo?
Judy Ann Santos.
Anong ginagamit mong makeup?
Avon.
Pabango?
Afeccionado, F35
Pag hindi ka naka uniform, ano suot mo?
Menswear and Ladies wear.
Saan mo nakukuha accessories mo.
Eto (points to necklace) sa India, bigay lang, ng customer. (Points to earrings) Sa customer din.
Paano ka napunta dito sa Manila?
Searching lang, hanap ng trabaho. Galing kami sa Libuna, Bukidnon.
Malayo ba yon sa Malaybalay?
Masmalapit kami sa Cagayan de Oro. Two hours.
May mga pineapple plantations doon?
Yes. Thousands of hectares.. My father is a Del Monte employee.
Anong pangarap mo?
Wala, simple lang siguro. Simple lang
Anong gusto mo gawin pagkatapos magtinda dito
To work abroad.
Saan?
Part of America, any part.
Anong beauty ritual mo sa umaga?
Placenta soap at papaya soap, yan ang soap ko sa face.
Yung hair mo hindi mo ba sineset yun?
Hindi ko sineset. Kusang naggaganyan pag nag gel ako
Pina perm mo ba yan?
Hindi. Kusang gumagalaw lang yan. Pag gel mo automatic na gumugulo-gulo
Pangilan ka sa mga kapatid mo?
Number 5 out of 6 children.
Nagkikita ba kayo ng mga kapatid mo?
Of course naman.
Paano?
Years pass. Maybe seven years, every three years, every four years, ganyan lang ang kitaan namin.
May boyfriend ka na?
Wala. (Laughs.) Wala.

Their World

I live in Barangay Culiat which has the largest population of Muslims in Metro Manila. Two very narrow alleys along Tandang Sora lead to it. It is easy to miss the alleys because they are mere gaps in rows of stores and eateries.
Ramadan has just begun. Please pardon the stupid questions. It's been a while.
I was trying to veer the interview towards questions of personal vanity, which is the angle of the Her World world which sparked this series. But I gave up quickly. Too complex a subject. I was just happy to be talking to these two kids, both cheerful and exceedingly polite. Click on photos to enlarge.

Alsani Amir, 10; Jallilah Ibra, 12; magpinsan

Saan kayo galing?
Jallilah: Sa madrasa.
Anong ibig sabihin ng madrasa?
J: School ng mga muslim.
Araw araw kayo pumapasok doon?
J: Tuwing Sabado.
Anong ibig sabihin ng Ramadan?
Alsani: Eto ang buwan na banal para sa mga muslim.
Anong ginagawa niyo pag Ramadan?
J: Hindi kumakain at nagpapagutom.
Buong araw kayo di kumakain?
Alsani: Alas quatro ng umaga hanggang alas sais ng gabi.
Araw araw ba kayo ganito nakasuot?
A: Tuwing Sabado lang.
Among tawag ng suot niyo?
A: Kimol
J: Suot niya pag nagsasambayang siya.
Anong ibig sabihin ng sambaya?
J: Pagsisimba.
Anong tawag sa suot mo, hija?
J: Abaya.
Saan kayo nag-aaral.
A: Culiat Elementary School.
Pang hindi ganito, ano ang suot mo?
A: Siyempre pambahay.
Pagpumapasok ka?
(A bit impatiently) E di school uniform.
Hindi, (stammering) pag ordinary lang ang suot mo, pag nag ma-mall o nanood ng cine?
Polo.
Nag ma-mall ba kayo, nanood ng cine?
A: Oo.







Mosmera, 8, and Alyssa, 8, friends.

Her World

'Her World' is the title of a leading Singaporean glossy, as well as a now defunct column of Anton San Diego, editor of the Philippine Tattler. I approached this lady in Farmers' Market for an interview because she was in a less frenetic corner and because I think she's beautiful. I love her makeup and jewelry.

Emily Tejada, 46
Year 2000 po ako nag-umpisa mag-tinda dito. Ang probinsya ko, Asingan, Pangasinan. Sa Antipolo ako nakatira.
Araw-araw kayo nandito?
Oo naman, sir
So wala kayong day-off?
Wala po.
Pinakaidolo nyong artista?
Namaatay na e. (Laughs.) Si Rudy Fernandez.
Sa babae po?
Si Lorna Tolentino po.
Pag hindi kayo nagtratrabaho ano po ginagawa niyo?
Minsan, pinapasyal ko yung aking mga apo diyan sa Fairmart.
Ano pong paborito niyong pabango?
'Yung Heaven Scent ng Avon, cologne lang po.
May asawa po kayo?
Year 2000 pa po ako biyuda, sir.

Gender = Sex

In the Philippines, the line between sex and gender is not so clearly drawn. The crab bearing characteristics of both sexes (I'm not sure if it is hermaphroditic) is called bakla, which is very often conflated with 'gay' or 'homosexual'.

His World

I approached this vendor in Farmers' Market assuming he was bading ('gay'). I had hoped to title this entry 'Her' World. But he said he is not bading. I take people at their word.

PJ Pascua, 21

Wala akong day off. Araw-araw ako pumapasok dito ng 5 am. Nagsasara 7pm
Sinong pinaka-idolo mong artista?
Si Christian Bautista. Magaling siya kumanta. Sa babae si KC Concepcion. Bukod sa maganda, flawless. (Laughs.)
Wala ka bang pagkakataon mag mall o mag cine?
Meron, sa linggo lang.
E linggo ngayon.
Hindi mamaya, pag simba.
Anong paborito mong pabango?
Bench

In Laie on Oahu, I was struck by this beautiful woman. She is Samoan, but, she tells me, her late stepfather was Filipino, as are her three step siblings. Her name is Lovely.

Nationalism ruins youth

Days before Independence Day, government lackeys pasted meaningless posters of the Philippine flag on rather fine examples of public art.
Rain and sun eventually rubbed out the posters, but not entirely.
The posters mar the particularly elegant specimen at left, on a wall of a Shell on Commonwealth, a monochrome of beige and black.
'Respect' it reads on the upper left hand corner and 'Team on the Loose' on the opposite side. The main graphic reads 'OTL'. The subdued palette, severe by graffitti standards, is remarkably sophisticated.
I think the turtle at left is Manny Pacquiao. Maybe that's why the poster pasters didn't paste directly on him.
The pink graffiti below are from the rear wall of the UP campus in Diliman, the wall bordering that nebulous transition between Tandang Sora and Katipunan (who knows where the one ends and the other begins). The wall faces MWSS headquarters. They are very old pieces. I can't remember exactly when they were painted but they must be at least a dozen years old. I speculate they were painted in contempt of Bayani Fernando's ludicrous 'MMDA Art' series, which was meant to pretty up blank walls. Their sophistication leads me to think they are work of UP Fine Arts students. There was much more on the length of that wall, but the greater part of the wall has been torn down and re-built. These are the only surviving pieces.
These pink pieces seem to be based on related sense of the limits of knowing, of cognition. The hirsute worm burrowing between two holes is dramatically repulsive and also symbol of a solipsistic universe. Does the worm know? Does it see? The apes on the other hand have a very marked subjecthood. They see deeply. Do they know more than us?
I think the Gloria caricature is a much later addition. It must be pointed out how brilliant it is in its condensation of icons and the economy of its execution. In this depiction, Gloria is both Hitler and a mouse or rat. The artist also fits in the caricature seamlessly onto one of the ovoid color panels of the MMDA art piece. Whether you're for Gloria or not, you have to admit it's quite clever.

I don't understand why the latest entry is gray

Where is the cursor? Why is this underlined?

I'm wondering how this works. Still figuring it out. How do I stick in a photo?

THIS SITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION