They're playing cards but its not a game
Lucilo “Jojo” Sagayno, turns 37 soon. Contrary to tradition, he is jumping the gun on us and is presenting us with his birthday gift. It is a gift that Sagayno is competent and all too willing to share.
This gift is a modest exhibit, “Ang Baraha sa Kinabuhi” (The Cards of Life) now on going at the Gamayng Gallery, Turtle's Nest Book Cafe.
The modesty of the exhibit is one only of scale or dimension because the growing maturity of Sagano's works betray a grasp after concerns beyond the merely personal towards a wider and more encompassing social art-view.
To be sure, as one enters the gallery, the work that greets the gaze is not modest at all. It is the title piece for the exhibit and one that is the original seed for the entire exhibit both in its technical elements and its conceptual framework.
This work, entitled,”Ang Baraha sa Kinabuhi,” is a stand-out. It is big, 6ft by 6ft. It was Sagayno's entry in the 1999 Phillip Morris Asean Art Awards art competition, a competition he has consistently participated in for the last 6 occasions and has made it into the semi-finals twice.
This work bears the hallmarks of Sagayno's art, which is composed of found objects, many of them detritus of everyday life. It is for this reason that the earliest descriptive applied to his art was “junk art,” to which he has counterposed his own descriptive,”recycled art.” He is also quick to add that the emphasis in his term is on the fact that he makes use of objects that has seen other uses and not the pejorative meaning of the term 'recycled' that, among artists, is commonly understood as repetitive.
Here the playing card makes its debut among the growing collection of Sagayno's recyclables that promises to be one with a wealth of its metaphorical possibilities. Yet, in this work, the cards, while providing the connotative superstructure of the work, is really relegated to the status of decorative accoutrement as the more dominant elements of the palo-palo or the washing stick, and even the bottle caps in the center, take up the entire visual and conceptual field.
Six years later, the playing cards return. But this time around, they participate more in producing the over-all intent and impact of the works, without, at the same time, denying its decorative underpinnings.
Of these, there are 14 in the exhibit. They measure either 53 x 26 cms and 44 x 29 cms in size providing the modest quality of the exhibit.
But the modesty stops there. More than half of the works are given to social commentary on the alarming levels of migration of professionals not only abroad, but even to professions that are considered lower in the scale of professional aptitude, from doctors to nurses, the most alarming example, which is resorted to to facilitate migration abroad.
Still, the commentaries are delivered in the usual tongue-in-cheek style Sagayno is known for. Yet this time this delivery is facilitated by another of Sagayno's strengths: experimentation.
The works here have a very print-graphic effect to them owing to Sagayno's development of a pigment using a mixture of commercial latex paint or commonly known as acrylic tinting color and a binder. This combination produces a paint with a gelatinous consistency.
This then is drawn onto a porous surface using another self-developed tool that relies on the syringe as the main applicator.
The result is embossed paint applied with the precision of a technical pen.
This then interacts with the ready-made images on, this time, playing cards of both the traditional four-suite deck and the more recent collecting cards from popular tv shows, pinoy big brother, etc. This interaction results in a most interesting collusion and collision of meanings that far from being confusing, clarifies Sagayno's road to maturity as he approaches mid-age.
The exhibit runs until January 23, 2006.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
12.08.05 kulturnatib
At a loss at our laws
There was a computer print-out note tacked on the bulletin board at the office. It said : Franciscan nuns will come to CDN to carol in the afternoon of Tues Dec. 6 2005. Donations are welcome. Sheila is in Italy.
This note immediately caught my attention as soon as I saw it because soon before this note was tacked on the board, there was a news item in our pages that said City Councilor Jack Jackosalem was instructing the police to strictly implement the recently enacted city ordinance that regulated the singing of carols for the purpose of soliciting funds.
Such regulation as mentioned in the news item included; December 16 as the official beginning of the time when caroling is allowed; such caroling is legal only if the carolers have an official permit from the City Hall at the cost of P50; such caroling will be allowed only within a specified time within the day.
I have no idea how many people are or were like me who groaned upon reading this news. Oh, no, not another unimplementable law! Oh, no, not another hairbrained solution to really a non-problem for most though maybe an irritant for the few – carolers being noisy thus disturbing the peace of a household or a neighborhood was mentioned as one the reasons for this law.
But, hey, carolers are always noisy. Thats the whole point of caroling. Christmas is noisy despite “Silent Night” being the top favorite Christmas song of all time.
And then, oh, no, not another occasion for our police authorities to be overextended trying to implement such laws, which then becomes another occasion for our police to implement it the way they are used to: haphazard, depending on how they interpret the law at any given time, with patent favoritism, lastly, and most disturbingly, with an eye for more opportunities to extort money or favors or both.
Lastly, oh, no, not another burden to an already suffering citizenry weighed down not only by their daily struggles but also from trying to continue living lawfully in the midst of patently stupid laws that only succeed in making otherwise good citizens thoroughly cynical of the law if not openly contemptuous of it.
These would be among such laws that Henry David Thoreau said was the obligation of lawful citizens to violate until they are repealed. Along this line, he concludes that the only rightful place for a lawful citizen in the midst of such laws is in jail.
The Franciscan nuns would be a welcome presence in whatever jail they should have been thrown in in violation of the law. They would surely light up that dark and dank corner some of our official government residences, bringing cheer and encouragement if not a salving balm to some poor tortured soul.
Too bad, Sheila, one of our erstwhile colleagues before she joined the Franciscan nuns, won't be able to share in this unique ministry that for sure was not contemplated by the bright city councilor who thought to bother himself with coming up with his law.
There was a computer print-out note tacked on the bulletin board at the office. It said : Franciscan nuns will come to CDN to carol in the afternoon of Tues Dec. 6 2005. Donations are welcome. Sheila is in Italy.
This note immediately caught my attention as soon as I saw it because soon before this note was tacked on the board, there was a news item in our pages that said City Councilor Jack Jackosalem was instructing the police to strictly implement the recently enacted city ordinance that regulated the singing of carols for the purpose of soliciting funds.
Such regulation as mentioned in the news item included; December 16 as the official beginning of the time when caroling is allowed; such caroling is legal only if the carolers have an official permit from the City Hall at the cost of P50; such caroling will be allowed only within a specified time within the day.
I have no idea how many people are or were like me who groaned upon reading this news. Oh, no, not another unimplementable law! Oh, no, not another hairbrained solution to really a non-problem for most though maybe an irritant for the few – carolers being noisy thus disturbing the peace of a household or a neighborhood was mentioned as one the reasons for this law.
But, hey, carolers are always noisy. Thats the whole point of caroling. Christmas is noisy despite “Silent Night” being the top favorite Christmas song of all time.
And then, oh, no, not another occasion for our police authorities to be overextended trying to implement such laws, which then becomes another occasion for our police to implement it the way they are used to: haphazard, depending on how they interpret the law at any given time, with patent favoritism, lastly, and most disturbingly, with an eye for more opportunities to extort money or favors or both.
Lastly, oh, no, not another burden to an already suffering citizenry weighed down not only by their daily struggles but also from trying to continue living lawfully in the midst of patently stupid laws that only succeed in making otherwise good citizens thoroughly cynical of the law if not openly contemptuous of it.
These would be among such laws that Henry David Thoreau said was the obligation of lawful citizens to violate until they are repealed. Along this line, he concludes that the only rightful place for a lawful citizen in the midst of such laws is in jail.
The Franciscan nuns would be a welcome presence in whatever jail they should have been thrown in in violation of the law. They would surely light up that dark and dank corner some of our official government residences, bringing cheer and encouragement if not a salving balm to some poor tortured soul.
Too bad, Sheila, one of our erstwhile colleagues before she joined the Franciscan nuns, won't be able to share in this unique ministry that for sure was not contemplated by the bright city councilor who thought to bother himself with coming up with his law.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
12.1.05 kulturnatib
On the way to a performance
It was almost 10.00 in the morning. This was my self-imposed deadline for having everything ready, excluding myself, for which, another thirty minutes would suffice for bathing and other personal hygiene routines. Going by this schedule, I should be at the designated meeting place with much time to spare with everything in hand.
But, as often the case, 10 am came and went and I was still not finished. Though there were just the small loose ends that needed tying up, and literally so.
The things that I had wanted ready, but could not, were things that we used for our perfornace piece during the human rights dialogue on the death penalty and restorative justice sponsored by the Philippine Commission on Human Rights and the European Union at the Waterfront Hotel Lahug yesterday.
These were same-size silhoutte shooting target sheets that were made from broad sheet newspaper and mounted on chipboards. There were five of them. The target elements that were identified with red circle targets for the head, face and chest, were painted on as well as some lines that would, in a real target sheet, identify areas to which corresponding value points are assigned.
To stiffen the board that wasn't the thickest available -- which would make made the targets inordinately heavy -- bamboo slat cross braces were employed that extended way below the bottom edge of the target enough for holding up the target comfortably with both hands.
This was what I was securing with carbage bag ties as the deadline passed. Knowing that this was the last chore to complete the targets, I was able to hold panic at bay. Not for long though.
At half past ten I was cursing my luck at missing an empty taxi. I was a minute too late at a spot on the main road where the taxi driver would have seen me. This was after walking as fast as possible for three quarters of a kilometer, with 5 unwieldy home made shooting targets, a grocery bag with tshirts and a shoulder bag with the minirecorder with a pre-recorded audio tape that one of our performance pieces would proceed around.
At a quarter past 11, we were on our way to the Waterfrom Hotel. In the vehicle, we were running through what we needed to do for the performance, agreeing on our cues and sequences and checking if we had everything. We did. Except for one thing. I had not recorded the explosion of a firecracker that was supposed to mimic a gun explosion, which was the crucial signal for the target boards to be dropped, ending the performance.
I had the firecrackers but nothing to light them with. So we stopped at a sidewalk eatery to buy matches. Since we thought Waterfront Hotel might not take too kindly our exploding firecrackers in their premises we decided to detonate the firecrackers right there on the sidewalk. This we did to the curious stares of the guard of this establishment we had stopped in front of. He didn't really know what we were doing except that somehow it had soemthing to do with exploding a firecracker which was enough for him to give us a thumbs up and a smile.
But it was actually a thumbs down. I must have positioned the recorder too close to the firecracker that when it exploded the concussive force popped up the record button. This is the only explanation I could think of when reviewing the tape and I could not find any sound of an explosion on. Back to square one.
At the Waterfront I sought the assistance of security. I knew that an explosion, even that of a mere firecracker, would have serious consequences amid the tightened security brought on by the SEAGames. Luckily, I ran into a security personnel senior enough to grant me permission to do what I needed to do. He even asked a junior security officer to accompany me and make sure that it was only a firecracker that I would explode.
I had trouble lighting the firecracker. It was too windy. The only corner that offered some protection from the wind was occupied by a pair of boots. I asked the parking lot guard if that was his shoes and if I could light the firecracker next to it. He said it should be ok, after all it is only a firecracker. A small one at that.
I didn't take chances with the recorder though. I positioned it a few feet away. I light the firecracker, it exploded, I got it on tape, and it uppended the guard's boots. He was not too happy about that. That firecracker is a mean bastard, he said. Yes, I said, thinking, but not as mean as those who shoot media persons, about which our performance, "Dead Air" was, which is another performance in the series called "Silence Kills" which is about the general state of summary executions in our city and in our country.
It was almost 10.00 in the morning. This was my self-imposed deadline for having everything ready, excluding myself, for which, another thirty minutes would suffice for bathing and other personal hygiene routines. Going by this schedule, I should be at the designated meeting place with much time to spare with everything in hand.
But, as often the case, 10 am came and went and I was still not finished. Though there were just the small loose ends that needed tying up, and literally so.
The things that I had wanted ready, but could not, were things that we used for our perfornace piece during the human rights dialogue on the death penalty and restorative justice sponsored by the Philippine Commission on Human Rights and the European Union at the Waterfront Hotel Lahug yesterday.
These were same-size silhoutte shooting target sheets that were made from broad sheet newspaper and mounted on chipboards. There were five of them. The target elements that were identified with red circle targets for the head, face and chest, were painted on as well as some lines that would, in a real target sheet, identify areas to which corresponding value points are assigned.
To stiffen the board that wasn't the thickest available -- which would make made the targets inordinately heavy -- bamboo slat cross braces were employed that extended way below the bottom edge of the target enough for holding up the target comfortably with both hands.
This was what I was securing with carbage bag ties as the deadline passed. Knowing that this was the last chore to complete the targets, I was able to hold panic at bay. Not for long though.
At half past ten I was cursing my luck at missing an empty taxi. I was a minute too late at a spot on the main road where the taxi driver would have seen me. This was after walking as fast as possible for three quarters of a kilometer, with 5 unwieldy home made shooting targets, a grocery bag with tshirts and a shoulder bag with the minirecorder with a pre-recorded audio tape that one of our performance pieces would proceed around.
At a quarter past 11, we were on our way to the Waterfrom Hotel. In the vehicle, we were running through what we needed to do for the performance, agreeing on our cues and sequences and checking if we had everything. We did. Except for one thing. I had not recorded the explosion of a firecracker that was supposed to mimic a gun explosion, which was the crucial signal for the target boards to be dropped, ending the performance.
I had the firecrackers but nothing to light them with. So we stopped at a sidewalk eatery to buy matches. Since we thought Waterfront Hotel might not take too kindly our exploding firecrackers in their premises we decided to detonate the firecrackers right there on the sidewalk. This we did to the curious stares of the guard of this establishment we had stopped in front of. He didn't really know what we were doing except that somehow it had soemthing to do with exploding a firecracker which was enough for him to give us a thumbs up and a smile.
But it was actually a thumbs down. I must have positioned the recorder too close to the firecracker that when it exploded the concussive force popped up the record button. This is the only explanation I could think of when reviewing the tape and I could not find any sound of an explosion on. Back to square one.
At the Waterfront I sought the assistance of security. I knew that an explosion, even that of a mere firecracker, would have serious consequences amid the tightened security brought on by the SEAGames. Luckily, I ran into a security personnel senior enough to grant me permission to do what I needed to do. He even asked a junior security officer to accompany me and make sure that it was only a firecracker that I would explode.
I had trouble lighting the firecracker. It was too windy. The only corner that offered some protection from the wind was occupied by a pair of boots. I asked the parking lot guard if that was his shoes and if I could light the firecracker next to it. He said it should be ok, after all it is only a firecracker. A small one at that.
I didn't take chances with the recorder though. I positioned it a few feet away. I light the firecracker, it exploded, I got it on tape, and it uppended the guard's boots. He was not too happy about that. That firecracker is a mean bastard, he said. Yes, I said, thinking, but not as mean as those who shoot media persons, about which our performance, "Dead Air" was, which is another performance in the series called "Silence Kills" which is about the general state of summary executions in our city and in our country.
10.29.05 lus ball
Merry Christmas mystery
Anto is my neighbor. Recently, he moved even closer to the northeast window of my apartment. He is your usual noisy neighbor, getting even noisier as he approaches full size; growling, barking, pacing or sometimes thrashing about in his newly built cage.
Yes, Anto is an animal. He is the most recent addition to the alien nationals that live in our compound that include an Australian, an American and a Japanese. Anto, of course, has no nationality, though he has a breed. He is a pure-breed German. A German shepherd, that is.
Several days ago, early in the morning, as the sun was climbing out of the clouds that have come to blanket most of our days of late, I was awoken by Anto’s noises. He was barking,
not in the aggressive manner, but in a frustrated manner of someone going after something within reach but couldn’t be reached. I lay in bed listening to him, trying to figure out what must be causing his agitation so early in the day.
Since I couldn’t go back to sleep with his racket, I decided to take a look and maybe talk to him to be more considerate of his neighbors and pipe down. Before that I decided that I would also pay the toilet a visit.
So, from the toilet, I groggily walked towards the window from which I would be able to see Anto and talk to him from there. But a few steps before getting to that window, there was a sudden loud explosion, that sounded to me like the discharge of a gun. Instinctively, I ducked behind a post that is positioned near that window that also dissects my living room space into an odd configuration.
Then I smelled the acrid aroma of gunpowder wafting through the window and I also saw that tell tale wisp of white smoke. Oh my God, I thought, Anto has been gunned down.
A few seconds passed and I crept closer to the window. Anto was quiet but otherwise he was still up and about and he didn’t appear to be bleeding. There was nobody in sight.
At that moment I thought, how I envy the police, our local police; How easy for them to pick out theories about crimes from thin air and how confident they can face the media about those theories that, more often than not, involve the usual suspects and the usual stories.
I went back to bed with the flurry of theories about that explosion. The most likely candidate was that somebody threw a firecracker. This could easily be ascertained by trying to find the paper remains of that cracker that would be scattered about in a neat circular pattern, which for a single explosion would stand out. But I didn’t want to do that right away, I was, after all still sleepy, and if that explosion (whatever it was) was intended to quiet Anto, it worked. Anto had become quiet as a mouse, though still fretting about.
I went back to sleep thinking, Merry Christmas, that was the first cracker explosion I’ve heard for this season, even if, at that point, it was still a mystery if, indeed, it was that at all. And then, just as I surrendered to the darkness of sleep, I corrected myself.
That was not, by any means, the first explosion of the season. The first one, one of many that have already happened and will continue to happen, not only quieted down dogs but actually killed people, children. More tragically, though, they have killed our ability to make the connection between our continued need to celebrate Christmas with explosives that are manufactured under conditions that make death certain and injury, unavoidable and the fact that certainly and unavoidability are non-negotiable.
But they can be stopped, when, to begin with, the buying stops.
Anto is my neighbor. Recently, he moved even closer to the northeast window of my apartment. He is your usual noisy neighbor, getting even noisier as he approaches full size; growling, barking, pacing or sometimes thrashing about in his newly built cage.
Yes, Anto is an animal. He is the most recent addition to the alien nationals that live in our compound that include an Australian, an American and a Japanese. Anto, of course, has no nationality, though he has a breed. He is a pure-breed German. A German shepherd, that is.
Several days ago, early in the morning, as the sun was climbing out of the clouds that have come to blanket most of our days of late, I was awoken by Anto’s noises. He was barking,
not in the aggressive manner, but in a frustrated manner of someone going after something within reach but couldn’t be reached. I lay in bed listening to him, trying to figure out what must be causing his agitation so early in the day.
Since I couldn’t go back to sleep with his racket, I decided to take a look and maybe talk to him to be more considerate of his neighbors and pipe down. Before that I decided that I would also pay the toilet a visit.
So, from the toilet, I groggily walked towards the window from which I would be able to see Anto and talk to him from there. But a few steps before getting to that window, there was a sudden loud explosion, that sounded to me like the discharge of a gun. Instinctively, I ducked behind a post that is positioned near that window that also dissects my living room space into an odd configuration.
Then I smelled the acrid aroma of gunpowder wafting through the window and I also saw that tell tale wisp of white smoke. Oh my God, I thought, Anto has been gunned down.
A few seconds passed and I crept closer to the window. Anto was quiet but otherwise he was still up and about and he didn’t appear to be bleeding. There was nobody in sight.
At that moment I thought, how I envy the police, our local police; How easy for them to pick out theories about crimes from thin air and how confident they can face the media about those theories that, more often than not, involve the usual suspects and the usual stories.
I went back to bed with the flurry of theories about that explosion. The most likely candidate was that somebody threw a firecracker. This could easily be ascertained by trying to find the paper remains of that cracker that would be scattered about in a neat circular pattern, which for a single explosion would stand out. But I didn’t want to do that right away, I was, after all still sleepy, and if that explosion (whatever it was) was intended to quiet Anto, it worked. Anto had become quiet as a mouse, though still fretting about.
I went back to sleep thinking, Merry Christmas, that was the first cracker explosion I’ve heard for this season, even if, at that point, it was still a mystery if, indeed, it was that at all. And then, just as I surrendered to the darkness of sleep, I corrected myself.
That was not, by any means, the first explosion of the season. The first one, one of many that have already happened and will continue to happen, not only quieted down dogs but actually killed people, children. More tragically, though, they have killed our ability to make the connection between our continued need to celebrate Christmas with explosives that are manufactured under conditions that make death certain and injury, unavoidable and the fact that certainly and unavoidability are non-negotiable.
But they can be stopped, when, to begin with, the buying stops.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
firstpost
this blog will contain my lusball and kulturnatib columns that come out weekly, thurs and sat respectively, in the cebu daily news a local compact (not broadsheet, not tabloid, but compact) that is a sister paper of the philippine daily inquirer that has also become (or was it just a test copy that i saw?) a compact following its youngers sister's lead. depending on the responses from those i will invite to view this blog and even those who will just happen by it (honestly, i still have to find out how this invitation only or open to the public stuff works here), other stuff will be posted here as well.
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