12.27.07 kulturnatib

Comme d'habitude

Huh? Exactly my reaction when I heard this bit of French, comme d'habitude. This translates in English to, 'as usual.' So?

Not much really. But, for those among us who have to say something (almost always) about the Philippines or Filipinos, this bit of French or the history associated with it is useful information, if only to have handy in the trivia pocket.

This piece of trivia relates directly to this distinction – self-awarded, not surprisingly – of being a people who will, at the drop of a hat or, even, for no reason at all, break into song.

We are, in short, singers and, for Cebuanos, guitar players. Music thus, for those who equate national identity with something innate, is in our blood. As it happens, murder or homicide, as well.

'As usual' doesn't ring a bell except as a common enough English expression. But, the translation from the French that rings a huge bell for us is this: My Way.

Aha! Now we're talking.

So, talk gets around to this at the dining table with Canadian friends; 'My Way,' and how the Philippines has earned the distinction – this time confirmed in what is developing into a world authority on almost all matters, the Wikipedia – as being the country where “. . . it has been reported to cause numerous incidents of violence and homicides among drunkards in bars . . . .”

Along with this entry is a link to news of the latest reported killing in the city of San Mateo dated June of this year by an irate security guard who couldn't stand the off-key singing of 'My Way,' and the way the singer wouldn't listen to him who wanted it his way, for the singer to stop singing.

I also related having been at a party sometime two or three years ago in Makati where I met a group of film students from Denmark who were in the country to do a documentary of those who had fallen to the murderous charms or compulsions of this song and that at that time they had just been back from Samar tracking down the family of one victim who was willing to be interviewed on camera.

'My Way' is related to the earlier mentioned French phrase as a matter of parentage. At least as for the French song's melody whose publishing rights were bought, altered, restructured and given English lyrics.

The person to do this is singer Paul Anka who, as happens, is a Canadian from Ottawa and has a street named after him there and who, it seems, is among those Canadians who make it big outside Canada – the Philippines comes immediately to mind, think Celine Dion, Michael Buble, and others – before Canadians would hear of them.

Paul Anka then gives the rewritten song to Frank Sinatra who, as Paul Anka relates, was at that time, wanting to quit show business. Sinatra records it in 1969 on an album with the same title and, as they say, the rest is history.

One bit of history – obscure as it may be for many – that is worth mentioning here is the short film produced by Produksiyon Trantomina of Bacolod City. This film is patterned after the classical videoke music video where the song lyrics appear below the screen with a 'bouncing ball' that moves through the lyrics as they are to be sung as an aid to the singer or singers.

The content of the video is that of an embalmer going about his business as a baker would with his. Filmed in black and white, it contrasts the frankly grisly action with the embalmer's practiced and professional nonchalance that, with the lyrics and the bouncing ball that takes on a positively airy disposition, makes one clutch the stomach from the hilarity of it and, at the same time, to keep the stomach's contents from gushing out.

Still, My Way, is a somewhat appropriate Philippine anthem, which also translates to 'Only In The Philippines.'

As we shuffle towards the exit door of 2007 and stumble into 2008 we might give this some thought. And, just possibly, alternately laugh and cry.

12.13.07 kulturnatib

Goodbye, book card

Ever since I learned about and started using libraries -- excluding the very modest single cabinet library at our ancestral home -- I always associated libraries with library book cards.

This was the necessary currency that made library transactions possible, except when one just read or researched books or magazines in the library premises, in which case the other currency would be some kind of identification card that allowed access into the library, its materials and facilities.

But with the internet libraries have changed as has most everything else in most places where the internet is becoming central for most of life's transactions.

This, for the most part, has just been something I've read somewhere. In Cebu, as with most of the Philippines, the internet is still gaining ground, the use of which is mostly still confined to personal transactions, personal communications and the like.

I do not know whether local school libraries have now adopted internet technologies for archiving, tracking or accessing books or other materials or if they have remained as they have ever since the library card, the index card, and the identification card were developed as the tripod that supported the entire library's functioning.

I doubt it. I doubt even more that public libraries – where? -- have been brought up to speed. I bet they would still be up on the speed they have always moved at: immobile.

As an aside, I'm reminded of this quaint little immobile library I stumbled into one afternoon (a Sunday, I guess) in Bantayan town. It must have had some sign announcing itself or I wouldn't have recognized it because, aside from that, it was just like any ordinary house in the town center. And then, this I'm sure of, it was closed.

But I got somebody to open it. I was ushered into a jumble of half empty, dust encrusted shelves where books lay every which way. Then I found one book soon after I started looking around. It was as if I had stumbled onto a treasure trove. In some way it was.

I found a surprise; a book, the only novel by the American poet E.E. Cummings. “The Enormous Room,” is a book about Cummings experience in a French prison, suspected as a spy while serving with an ambulance crew there during the First World War.

This novel isn't as known as his poetry, in fact, not many literate people would know about this book. But, it struck me as, well, a novelty.

I asked the person who accompanied me if I could borrow it. Sure, he said, you can have it. There.

One of the things I immediately took care of soon after arriving here in Gatineau, across Ottawa, Canada, was to secure access to the city library or the bibliotheque municipale at the maison du citoyen, literally, house of the citizens or city hall.

I was asked for a few documents establishing my identity, was asked to sit in front of an web camera and voila -- as they would say here -- I had my library access card.

In a few days, I was already borrowing a book. This was when I learned that here traditional book cards were now a thing of the past.

In its place are bar codes on the books, bar code scanners and a printer that printed out a sheet containing information about the book, borrowing conditions and the date the book is due to be returned and the phone number of the library that one can call should one decide to extend or renew the lease on the book.

Or, one doesn't have to bother calling. Through the internet, one can do the same thing and, this way, one is also informed whether a book is available or whether lease on it can be renewed or any other information one might need about the library and its materials.

This library is the main one in the city and there are, at least, eight more smaller facilities scattered throughout what were once five cities now amalgamated into a single entity. The conditions for use would be the same as would be its accessibility.

This is one goodbye that, for me, will only be sweet and no sorrow.

12.06.07 kulturnatib

for those who are not in cebu or who might not have heard or read the news lately this column is a tribute for adolph 'doc' espina who, last weekend, went with 5 others, to a cave in gaas with the intention to map it and determine whether indeed it was the deepest cave, probably in the world, as they thought it was. they did not succeed. they instead met with a tragedy. doc plummeted some 56 meters to his death. this is a tribute to a dear friend, a passionate outdoors person and environmentalist.


Doc

There is something about the shock of bad news that is hugely different from that of good news. With bad news one is left holding on to nothing much but heavy emotions and feelings of listlessness and of irreplaceable loss, especially when one is thousands of kilometers away in a landscape that is cold, stark, relentless and yes, for all that, somehow beautiful.

Last night (Nov. 30, local time), I received the news on my email. Notwithstanding that there is a 13 hour difference between here and there, the impact was still immediate. As if to prepare one for the inevitable, which there isn't really any preparation for, the letter simply said: “. . . bad news.” And proceeded with the bad news.

I was stunned, saddened. But hopeful. I replied, I hope by this time everyone has been rescued and are well. But this was not to be the case.

On the evening before my early morning departure two weeks ago, I came in and out of a meeting of a group of mountaineers and cavers at the JumpOff Point office. I understood that the this was a preparatory meeting for the Gaas cave exploration and mapping trip.

In attendance were more than the six persons who finally went on that fateful trip and who were indeed, as far as i know, the most experienced, caving-wise, of that group.

Doc was there. Doc was almost always there, at the JumpOff office. He would either be behind the computer, or at some preparatory work with equipment – charging batteries for the headlamps, getting ropes in order, jerryrigging something into some useful climbing equipment (this and ropes were his acknowledged specialty) or simply, as with most outdoors persons, enjoying a drink or two, during or after meetings, both formal and informal.

When Jumpoff opened beside Turtle's Nest Book Cafe almost two years ago, they were a very welcome addition to the community of artists, activists, students and sundry persons of the liberal-left persuasion who gravitated towards that watering hole.

Here was a group who were passionate about the outdoors, were highly professional and, more than that, also knew how to have a good time, which meant, much of the time, something that had to do with the outdoors; mountaineering, kayaking and others.

Their passion for the outdoors easily translated into their concern for the environment. At mid-year, this year, the Greenpeace Cebu Local Group was established with the Jumpoff personnel making up most the core group. They readily volunteered their office to be the ad hoc office of the Greenpeace CLG.

Doc was in this group, ever helpful.

Personally, Doc was a great help. As I wrote in one of my previous columns, he contributed the pivotal element to the last performance art piece I participated in. This element, the use of ropes, rope equipment and a caving harness, was prepared by Doc with the assistance of Dondon Dimpas.

Doc was the reassuring figure who helped me overcome the natural fear of heights and falling. He kept reminding me, “Don't be afraid. Trust the rope, trust the rope!”

I did and, again as I wrote in that column, did some aerobatics that surprised both Doc and Dondon and, actually, myself as well.

At the end of the piece when the performance artists and the musicians took to the floor to take a bow, I insisted that Doc and Dondon join us. They did and I believe they shared in our success.

Here, from this far, I can only rely on news reports. Equipment failure was mentioned as the possible cause for Doc's fatal plummet. This could very well be. Even if Doc, ever the professional, was fastidious about equipment and safety, there is always that margin, no matter how small, for something untoward to happen.

I feel the loss of Doc. I share the grief of his colleagues, friends and family. Doc is no longer with us but he will always be with us.

11.29.07 kulturnatib

Artist talk

When the Lunâ Art Collective was still active and not quite as occupied as we are now with different concerns -- though still largely connected with art and design -- one of the things we tried to cultivate was the artist talk.

This we tried to do as a matter of course and habit with exhibits that we organized and participated in at our exhibit space. Usually, this was set a week or a few days after the opening of the exhibit.

We believed that the days of “the works speaks for itself” is long gone if it that ever was the case at all. We believed that the artists now have an equally important responsibility of explaining or expounding on their works in order that the audience or their public are able to have a better understanding of the same.

It is not necessary that the artists are able to hold forth on art history, theory or aesthetics though it doesn't normally hurt either if they are able to. Only, we believed that the artists should be able to expound on their art or art piece as if explaining to five year olds though not necessarily with the limited vocabulary of children that age nor with the mistaken idea that five year olds, like their typical audience, are not 'bright' enough.

Convinced that there is much to learn from discussion with the artists, I take whatever opportunity I can to attend such sessions myself.

My most recent attendance in an artists talk was last week at the Ottawa Art Gallery that featured the Iraqi born, Canadian educated artist, Farouk Kaspaules in an exhibited entitled, “Be/Longing.”

The talk was divided into two settings. The first was at the exhibit rooms in the presence of the art works that was referred to by the artist one by one and tied together through the process of the work, the techniques which were mostly mix-media on paper, and most important, through the common subject.

After an hour of that walking and standing tour this was followed by another hour of a slide showing and more discussion of earlier works at a conference room – sitting this time -- that also established the artists long engagement with his homeland, particularly with the present difficulties there and especially with the prospects of disintegration that he says the artists have an important role in seeing that it is prevented from happening.

The discussions were enlightening with Kaspaules returning many times to his insistence that as an artist all that he really asks for from his audience is to give time to his works, and not to rush through the works with predetermined or half-considered judgments, whether to agree or not, about it.

He also maintained that if his art is able to encourage or spark further interest in the audience by their picking up a book about Iraq, for example, then he would consider his art a success and his being an artist worth his time.

These, he said, were two things -- giving time and picking up a book -- that most people no longer afford and consider an extravagant luxury, which, he further said that if they only afforded to do then they would probably have less time for more damaging activities like waging war.

Since, I suspected, many of those in the audience were academics or cultural workers many of the questions were sharply political as well as broadly cultural that often encompassed the works or practice of Iraqi artists living outside Iraq compared with those living inside Iraq.

The answers to most of these questions reflect on many common issues experienced by other artists of other nationalities who find themselves either out of their homelands or are within their homelands who, exposed to different influences from everywhere, will have to, sooner or later, deal with issues of identity.

Here is where the artist has another important role; that of the public intellectual. More and more artists now recognize that to be serious about their art is to consider and address the public nature of art, to realize that not only it is beyond private communication – even if the language can be intensely personal -- but also that art does have something to say about what's happening outside the canvas.

This is the path for artists in Cebu to develop if art in Cebu is to go beyond just being pretty distractions.

11.22.07 kulturnatib

The thrill of aerial acrobatics

In May this year, I did volunteer work. I volunteered with Jumpoff Point, an outdoor activities and outfitter company. These guys are good friends and they, indeed, are good company. The work, wasn't work as such, but really was more like play. It was loads of fun.

The group was facilitating a multi-discipline, multi-stage outdoor event for another company; A fitness gym celebrating their anniversary. As a volunteer I was assigned to be the belayer in the rapelling section. I wrote about the experience in a subsequent column and concluded that everybody should, at least once in their life, experience rapelling.

This was a very good exercise in fear management and being able to trust and let go and embrace the joy of falling and being suspended in space, briefly, if one gets it right and for an agonizingly long time -- even if it really is just a few minutes at most --, if something goes awry, which it did for many participants.

In the column I admitted not having done before what I was being asked to do: to belay. But I had seen it done many times before that I was fairly confident that I could handle it. What I didn't admit in that column was that I had not rapelled ever before either.

The opportunity to do just that came months later. Last October 31, the performance art group XO? Did a performance event at Tapas Lounge, entitled 'Urum,' which was inspired by that famous print of the Spanish artist Goya entitled 'The Sleep Of Reason Engenders Monsters.'

This was one performance that could be said to really be a group effort. In the other performances, we would normally have individual works within the context of a shared theme. This time around, we worked together with theme that was suggested by Raymund Fernandez, XO? mentor and main mover.

As we discussed it, we came up with suggestions on how our individual performances would fit within a single narrative even while possible providing its own sub-narratives. From the way the suggestions flowed very easily and how everyone was contributing ideas to everyone other's idea or sub-production we knew we had or were going to make an important step forward in the development of XO?.

My sub-performance was going to be to hang from the ceiling of Tapas Lounge and swing around – at this point I only had a vague idea as to how this was going to be done – kissing plastic toy bats that was going to be tied with Chinese garters (long rubber bands) that were to be released from a bag by the previous performer who would, at the same time, act as the pivotal element of the entire performance.

So. I asked Doc Espina who works with Jumpoff to help me pull off this act. He is the ropes specialist in the group. As one of the more enthusiastic supporters of XO? he was more than willing to lend a hand.

On the day of the performance we went to the Tapas Lounge which, in the daytime is a beauty salon, to check on ceiling supports and to figure out the rope rigging plan in general and, in particular, how I would pull off my act.

We discussed what I wanted to do and how this could be done based on the physical possibilities with the architectural structure at Tapas. We agreed on a rigging plan. I practiced with a similar set-up, learning to work with a piece of equipment normally used in caving or in rescuing which I was unfamiliar with, at least in its operating detail.

An hour later we were back at Tapas to set up the ropes and for me to try it out. This was when I realized that this was really easier said or written about than done. I could hear echoes of Ariel, who was the' rapelling team leader during that summer event I volunteered with, saying, “Don't be afraid. Trust the rope, trust the rope!” Only this time around it was Doc doing the encouraging.

Performance time rolled around. Soon I was climbing down from the railings of the second floor. Before I knew it I was hanging from the rope. I was doing acrobatics. I was upside down. I was reaching for the bats. Paper bats not plastic. I was theatrically kissing them.

Both Doc and Dondon, another Jumpoff mainstay, were surprised. I said nothing about doing acrobatics. Doc, so much so that he forgot our exit routine. I was frantically signaling him that he had to check my descent as I saw that the rope was too slack.

I let go. I hit the floor with more impact that I had anticipated. But, I was safe.

The performance went off well. A teacher guest said so as she asked whether she could invite us to their school. Why not, I said, looking the rope rigging on the ceiling, and thinking, can I do ropes there?

11.08.07 kulturnatib

Technology

Two friends recently moved into our world of modern technology, particularly computer and computer driven technology. One, after many years of ignoring and, the other, actively avoiding it.

One of them is my mother. She is not as averse to technology as she is avowed in her belief of being too old to learn how to work technology and, in turn, how technology works.

Some years back I gave her a cellphone for her birthday. This was before the cellphone became a camera-cum-radio-cum-digital recorder-cum-organizer-cum-internet surfer-cum-almost everything else.

She was happy enough to receive it. But, she was just as happy to return it a week later. “I just don't think I can learn how to work this,” she said. “And, the keys are awfully small. These are only good for a baby's tiny digits.”

“Oh, well,” was the only thing I could say.

The other week I was on the phone with her asking if I could store some of my stuff at her house. Which stuff, she asked. This and that, I said. What about your computer, she asked next. What about it? Maybe you can just leave it with me, she said, straightforward.

Hmmm, I thought. Ok, I said. I wondered, why the turn around? Computers are practically like cellphones for her, even if its keys are slightly bigger than a cellphone's. “I still continue to write workbooks,” Mom said by way of explaining. “I have a co-teacher who will help me learn how to use the computer.”

Great, I said. But, the computer is presently with the computer doctor. There is something wrong with the power supply. I might need to buy a replacement. I will bring it over as soon as it is fixed.

After I copy my files into an external hard drive, clean up that computer's hard drives – it has more than one --, optimize the system, delete or uninstall vector graphics software that you won't need. But I kept this to myself. This would be information overload for my Mom.

The other friend is Ludo. He always jokes about being the other half of that famous multi-billion though now severed business duo, Ludo&Luym.

The other claim he makes is that he is only a simple farmer. That, he is. One with an extraordinary green thumb. Yet, the only farming he does much of now is planting the seeds of language, another language in students seeking to learn those.

This he does well, too. So much, that he is in demand by people who are going abroad seeking better paying jobs and jobs from abroad seeking cheaper workers here. In both cases, learning another language is essential.

A common complaint of the former group is that Ludo is inaccessible. The only way to get to talk to him is to go to him. He doesn't have a cellphone. He holds cellphones in disdain. “If it's important enough then one should take pains to say it in person,” he maintains. “Cellphones only make conversation too cheap to the point of having no value anymore.”

He doesn't put too much stock on computers, either. I have my own desktop, he says with a mischievous grin. It's a small white board he uses for his classes. It's always on top of my desk, he explains, deadpan.

But, now he is working with a real computer. He has students from as far away as France. They have to conduct their classes through computers. He is resigned to it. He is even genuinely amazed that such classes can be conducted through video-conferencing.

I'm thinking of these two as I read this book, “In The Absence of the Sacred : The Failure of Technology and the Survival of the Indian Nations.”

The author, Gerry Mander (yup, that's his name) says that the present computer driven technology will, most seriously, eventually lead to -- even as it is now -- concentrating power in a few corporations, increase the loss and invasion of privacy, drive consumption to unsustainable levels and seriously threaten our biosphere with us in it.

He says we have much to learn from the indians, indigenous people – many in our own country -- who, even now, battle against threats against their way of life, their land, their belief that everything is connected, that you cannot desecrate land by poisoning it, by disemboweling it without threatening the intricate web of life.

This is not an easy read. Mostly because it is difficult for us to imagine, let alone live, an alternate life without ringtones, sick jokes, easy access pornography, super violent games but also wikipedia, ebay, www.greenpeace.com. Etc.

11.15.07 kulturnatib

Nikel

This story from a colleague with this paper.

Late one night, as she was coming down from the newspaper's building, she saw another colleague outside chatting with the guard.

She also saw that there was a small boy, a street child, who was hiding behind one of those dead and mocking ASEAN street lamps. She thought that the boy was somehow playing with the colleague. Throwing pebbles at him then, perhaps, hiding to confuse the colleague, she theorized.

So, she called this colleague's attention to the fact of the boy who was behind them. The guard also looks towards the direction of the street lamp, a few of which decorate the sidewalk outside the office, something of a continuing dare to the press to expose the utter vapidity of this non-project.

The guard somehow had a different theory as to why the boy was there. He called the boy's attention and approached the boy.

The guard's theory turned out to be the more accurate one. As with most theories that mostly non-theorist guards have, his theory one was born of experience.

The boy instead of playing, was busy working, though disguising it as play. He was busy pulling out the electrical wiring in the lamp. In between pulls, he would prance around. An ingenious way to pull the wool over the eyes of otherwise observant journalists and other passersby.

Such is the education of the streets and the producing of street smart, if criminally inclined, kids.

So, the guard confiscates the already considerable roll of wire the boy had already managed to pull out. He then proceeds with his own brand of values formation for the boy. This constitutes of appealing to the boy's sense of class identification.

The guard says they are not so different, the only difference is that he has a job to help keep poverty at bay. So, the boy, and others like him who abound in that part of town and all over town in fact, should not threaten his job that because of what they are doing makes it look like he isn't doing it. He will turn the roll of wire over to the police. That is within the purview of his job. Guess what the police will do with it?

The boy responds by saying, but sir, that is only nikel. It is worthless.

That is no typographical error. Nikel is different from nickel. Nikel is the short of nikelado, which is chrome-electroplated metal, and which is close to worthless compared to copper that the guard said these boys could easily make P200 from from whatever they could pull out from those lamps as they sell these to junk shops.

The boy was merely and ingeniously making his own feint in claiming copper to be mere nikel. I bet my college educated nephews would not be able to make such a feint should they be caught in the same bind.

In any case, as Raymund Fernandez has been writing about the Golden Shopping Bag Awards that he says should otherwise now be the Doggie Bag Awards, ordinary citizens like this boy are already submitting their entries, not in the way that the awards stipulate. But, in the way that allows them to win instant prizes, even if, every time they do so, they run the risk of running afoul of the law, or conscientious, if forgiving and sympathetic, security guards.

And this, apparently as the security guard further theorized, is happening in a widespread way across the city or cities of Cebu, Mandaue and Lapu-lapu. He says that most of these lamps would no longer function. Not because they were never really meant to function. How will these cities fund their operation when such operation is not part of their budgets?

Besides, why will the mayors care if they function at all? They did for a while, right? It was meant to make us look good before the ASEAN delegates and it did, right? At least, until the stink of corruption in the cities of Mandaue and Lapu-lapu exposed the terrible irony of these 'beautification lamps.' But, by then the delegates were already gone. And they couldn't really care less, anyway.

So between the 'beauty' of a corrupt project, with the responsible mayors still laughing all the way to the bank, their chances of prosecution getting dimmer by the day and the 'beauty' of necessity that boys all over the city resort to in order to eke out a living, a dim proposition to begin with, is the middle-class 'beauty' of the Golden Shopping Bag or now Doggie Bag awards.

Who wants to bet whose 'beauty' will prevail?

10.30.07 art review

Artpostles

In religion, humility is among the most desired of virtues. In art, it is audacity. Audacity is not the same as pride though it is often mistaken for such, making it appear like the antithesis of humility.

In "Art Diocese : Why Art Thou?," a show on-going at the SM Art Center, SM City Cebu, and up until November 6, audacity is as palpable as their subject is as deeply entrenched culturally if not spiritually amongst us.

There is humility, too, it should be said immediately, though this is more deferential as can be expected of confessed faithful members of the flock ("the exhibit is not intended to make a pun to the authority of the archdiocese"), yet cannot be any more than that as expected from artists whose gospel, contained in the exhibit statement (from where the above quote is also taken), proclaims at " . . . revisioning to a point where the artists investigated its old traditions to come up with conceptual forms attuned to post-modern times."
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The Tuslob-Buwa Ltd. (though it should more properly be UnLtd.) Artists Group, composed of Evan Bejec, Dennis 'Sio' Montera, Ritchie Quijano and Lucilo 'Jojo' Sagayno have put together a show that, in all humility, they call a 'major' show, their last for this year, but for all its audacity should be seen as the best show for this year. Even in many years so far. And not only for their group, but for art in general in the city.

For one, more than in their previous two outings this year, this show exhibits an almost seamless cohesiveness that is nothing short of miraculous for a group of different or individual artistic temperaments, stylistic leanings and technical or conceptual proficiency.

This can be attributed largely to the fact that many of the pieces are collaborative works, which could really be the strength of groups though it could just as well be the cause of schism, as with many unfortunate cases. Here, thankfully, it is most of the former and, evidently, none of the latter.

On this score, "Santisima Nombre de Jesus," a large scale wall installation made of rattan skin and abaca rope that dominates the wall opposite the entrance, is an immediate case in point.

Together with the the life-size reinforcing steel bar, wood and assorted images crucifix of Ritchie Quijano ("Crucifixion de Kabilya") that stands very imposingly in the middle of the wall and divides the wall installation into a very dynamic symmetry, this sculptures-cum-installation recall the triumphal entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday that ends many days later in Golgotha.

These are by no means the cute and handy palm fronds peddled outside churches on Palm Sunday. They are huge bunches of clearly organic material whose chaos is barely restrained by a wound abaca rope giving it a quality that strongly strikes one as sinisterly chaotic grace.

Going back to Quijano's crucifix, this work is the pivot of the entire exhibit both spatially and thematically. Quijano's choice of material feeds very well into the conflicts or weights of the broken Christ; strength and weakness, grace and rigidness, salvation and despair, mortality and immortality and, for the church herself; orthodoxy and heterodoxy. This, then, also contributes to its very striking visual impact.

Towards the right wall (or towards the left from the entrance) are the installations of Jojo Sagayno that, I confess, I find most interesting. These works stamp the group with a seriousness of purpose beyond the traffic of the buying and selling of art -- which, I should also immediately confess, I do not find inherently objectionable -- even if, or ironically since it was Jojo himself who made an impassioned plea to the audience during the exhibit opening, that they should "buy an artwork before you die."
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These works also confirm Sagayno's place as one of Cebu's most thought provoking if self-deprecating conceptual/installation artist.

Playing on the 'cross and sword'' dynamic of the Spanish conquest, Sagayno starts from the most literal imagery of nothing more than a cross and a sword. But its simplicity ends here though the fact that it continues be a disarmingly simple pieces is its poetic coup de grace.

For both pieces, the shapes are formed by sticks. For the cross, they are longer sticks: broomsticks. For the sword, they are shorter sticks: toothpick like. For both, the sticks are held in place by mounting gum, or, perhaps, playdoh.

They look fragile. They are fragile. But, collectively they are big. The cross must be around four meters by three. The sword about 3 meters in length from the end of the handle to the tip of the blade.

The cross-sticks is laid on the ground. The sword-sticks is on the wall overlooking (overseeing?) the cross. A subtle but very ingenious way to present the power relations between two institutions that underpinned the realpolitik of conquest.

Also, another thing. the cross is a positive image, though more a thick outline than a filled up object, while the sword is a negative one with the sticks radiating away from the edges that make up the figure.

But, here is the kicker: the sticks are tethered very tentatively on their mounting gum anchors. Already at the exhibit opening some of the sword-sticks have started to fall and some of the cross-sticks had started to topple down.

No power is permanent. Even, God forbid, that of the cross. Nor of the sword that propped it up.

But then, and here is an even bigger kicker; doesn't this run neatly into the there/not there paradox? Doesn't absence often become a greater presence? Ask someone in love who has lost a love.

I discussed this with Sagayno and he smiled. That's how it's supposed to be, he says. Nice.

Then there is another Sagayno, "Auction No. 1 to No.20 On the face of it, it looks out of place. But upon closer inspection the wickedly inventive art of Sagayno shines through.

With this work, Sagayno turns some tables. He shifts the spotlight. It is now on art or the art practice at the rarefied air of international art auctions (Christie's, Sotheby's) which, if art were a religion, these would be akin to the celebration of mass in a cathedral, or at the Sistine Chapel even. This is definitely Papal level, no disrespect to the Pope.

Pronouncements here are Ex Cathedra. And, what would those pronouncements be? They would be pronouncements of the auction gavel closing a sale. Contained within the reproductions of auctioned art works are their selling or closing prices.

The prices range from US$66,000 to US$ 3.99 M. Why an artwork in black with the text Mar. 31, 1975 in white sold for US$316,000 is simply a mystery as deep as the mystery of the trinity. Again, no disrespect to the triune God.

Then, there more notable collaborative pieces found on the left hand side of the space (or right side from the entrance). "Council of Trent," a collaborative work repositions that conclave, between 1545-1563, signaling the beginning of the Counter-Reformation is on a chess board, with personalities who might not have any actual correspondence in actual history, as the pieces.

Next to the chess table is the work, "Peticiones de Kwitis." This is the usual candle rack near churches where the faithful light candles or the candle vendor does the chore for them. Lighting candles assist the ascent of prayers to Heaven.

But, here, instead of candles, the rack is filled up with fireworks rockets, complete with their bamboo stick stabilizers.

On the visual level, they look like a petal-less, flame-less bouquet. On the content level, it is a tongue-in-cheek suggestion at how those prayers might be better assisted with rockets such as these that zoom to the heavens and explode with a noise that will surely wake up the sleepiest of saints, or otherwise, scare the most cantankerous of devils.

Then there are the smaller pieces, too numerous to enumerate here. They are the ones that Sagayno's earlier appeal would make sense with, for those of us who have less than deep pockets.

Still, this show is not about deep pockets, notwithstanding Sagayno's appeal. This exhibit is about the deep repository of poetics even folksy hermeneutics that will surely resonate with the faithful, the not so faithful and even the faithless.

In this way, even with some minor distracting pieces, the exhibit can be said to be faithfully Catholic.

10.30.07 kulturnatib

An open letter to Rep. Eduardo Gullas

Thank you for regularly sending me materials intended for members of the press, though I have not particularly solicited them.

Your last missive, I received recently, is entitled, 'Pardoning Erap Right Thing To Do, Says Gullas.”

After this title, the first sentence goes: Constitutionally perfect and politically correct.

I couldn't help thinking upon reading this that, yes, the creation of the City of Talisay was also constitutionally perfect and politically correct, including the insertion, in the implementing rules, of an exception on the residency rule that
normally applies to those running for an elective position.

This exemption allowed your candidacy for mayor in the said city where you would not have been eligible without that exemption and, consequently, would not be rhapsodized by your successor as being “responsible in the establishment of this gigantic structure . . . builder of other institutional structures of our beloved city,” etc. etc. etc.

This is rather typical of the politics of the rich and powerful of this country where legality is assiduously sought after even if to get there involves not-so-subtle maneuvers and all too obvious self-serving and cynical manipulation of the law.

But, this is directly not about that. There is nothing much to be done about the gigantic and other institutional structures that the Talisaynons are unfortunate, ignorant or unvigilant to have been ushered into cityhood with.

When you say that “We applaud the President's judgment. The grant of pardon was definitely the right thing to do,” who is it along with you that constitutes your we?

You then proceed to educate us on how constitutional, legal and correct the decision of GMA is. All that is Philippine Constitution 101. But, for all your learned elucidation, it somehow misses the point.

At least from the point of view of the most of us whose millions in tax money Erap has been convicted of having stolen, of having brazenly turned the Office of the President into the den of thieves, rackeeters, corruptors and of betraying the mandate of the majority who voted for him.

And what do we get in exchange for the pardon? Erap's shuffling into the limelight once again declaring in all confidence that of all the mistakes (!) he has committed corruption is not among them! Not a hint of remorse, instead, a defiance born of a gamblers insatiable greed and reckless faith that the loser is one who fails to risk a bet.

Except that he has bet with taxpayers money, and not at all your small-time bet at that. These were huge bets, the biggest and most damaging of which was the institutional respect for Presidency and the consequently the moral integrity of government.

Erap is, of course, not a unique figure in our history. But, he is unique in that, despite all odds and the various machinations of those in and out of government, the people of the Philippines together with a determined group of government and private prosecutors have won a landmark victory.

It is this victory that all crooks in government, and they are legion, should rightly be afraid of. For once, a clear precedent has been set. The powerful, after all, can and will be made to face the judgment of law. They will be found wanting, as the case may be, and will be meted punishment accordingly.

For too long, the rich and powerful have gotten away with all sorts crimes, not the least of which is plunder. For too long the powerless have had had to dance to the tunes of the rich and powerful, helpless and hopeless, lamenting, “What can we do?”

And, now, this pardon. Truly, what can we do?

At the ending, you say, "Whether or not he was punished enough for the offenses for which he was convicted is arguable. But what is important is that he was punished -- deprived of liberty for years. And this is what crime and punishment is all about.”

First off, there is a specific punishment for his crime. Clearly this hasn't been complied with. There is, or should be no argument here. What is important is that he was punished? How? In his own mansion? With all the amenities that by all rights every prisoner undergoing 'punishment' should also be entitled to?

Clearly, if this is justice, then there is one for Erap and the powerful and another for the ordinary Juan de la Cruz who populate our squalid, sub-human penitentiaries – notwithstanding fleeting starhood on U-Tube -- subjected to every imaginable indignity that by all rights should be considered cruel and inhuman punishment.

At least, you have openly declared your support and loyalty for GMA, while others, pussyfoot despite the largess they collect for the same support and loyalty.

As for me, I shall wear the black armband.

10.25.07 kulturnatib

638 ways

Over the weekend, I stopped by one of the newest places in town where knock-offs abound. It is conveniently located between where I had come from and where I was eventually going to end up at and it is right along the road I was taking.

I had bought some music DVDs there before and I thought to check if the stall I bought those from would have new offerings. I wasn't looking for anything particularly new though, in fact, my taste in music definitely leans towards the old or the classics, to use a term that cannot be accused of ageism.

I'm not sure if the stall had disappeared or just the stack of DVDs -- I remember that stack but not the name of the stall -- but those DVD's were nowhere to be found.

Still, since it was located at the corner of this place where most of the computer stuff were to be found, I thought, I might as well have a look if the other stalls had anything interesting.

True enough, one stall had a gem of a find. The way it was displayed made sure that the image on the packaging was seen first.

As a visual and graphic artist images have a special pull for me. And, then this wasn't just any image but one done in the style of one of my favorite artists, Andy Warhol.

So the pull was irresistible, though, at first, I had a case of mistaken identity. It must be because the the single most popular image of this person whom I mistook for is also done in this similar style.

Yet, it was the title, that had me reaching for my wallet when I finally spied it: 638 Ways To Kill Castro. So, it was Castro and not Che, as I had mistakenly thought at first. Of course, the iconic cigar should have been the dead giveaway.

And, of course, too, I had known that there had been numerous plots to assassinate Castro. But numerous doesn't really say much. 638 does, which is, to say the least, astounding.

Both because it's really just too many attempts to beg skepticism and because none of them succeeded. This, especially since all those attempts were known and the majority of them were initiated, planned and funded by the worlds biggest military power that is just a spit away from Havana.

While this documentary presents the two sides of this 'murder' story, it is, as expected, from the side of those thwarting the assassination attempts that this particular number comes from, in the person of Fabian Escalante, now retired head of Cuban intelligence.

By his count, this is how the different US Presidents weigh in in terms of plots during their watch: Eisenhower – 38, Kennedy – 42, Johnson – 72, Nixon – 184, Carter – 64, Raegan – 197, Bush, Sr. - 16 and Clinton – 21.

The plots range from the simply bizarre to the spectacularly bumbling. Of the latter, none was more publicly humiliating than the Bay of Pigs fiasco where a supposed invasion of Cuban exiles was made short shrift by the Cuban self-defense militias and the US consequently taking all duplicitous routes to escape responsibility.

While this documentary is particularly enlightening as regards this very peculiar if utterly irrational, not to say anything about completely illegal and criminal way with which the US is dealing with Cuba, it should lead one with the slightest interest in Cuba, and not just Castro, to a bigger picture.

In the run up towards what could still be catastrophic consequences of global warming and the climate crisis and the very possible oil shortage as well, many – including Americans – are now looking at the experience of Cuba in what has been called transition, post-oil politics and economics.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union Cuba has had to deal with the loss of its main trading partner and source of oil. Cuba's dependence on the Soviet Union was almost complete and they had had to completely work around this loss which led to novel ways at managing their society from production to distribution to transportation, etc., including the recognition and encouragement of small entrepreneurial initiatives.

With the recent illness of Castro, it might just as be that no assassination will succeed better than the one hatched by the Grim Reaper himself. No matter one's view of Castro, there is much to learn from Cuba's on-going experiment that has kept them despite its admitted problems, from experiencing massive hunger, widening inequality, deepening oppression, social dislocation and explosion.

Despite its being in the middle of hurricane belt the shocking images of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, that also passed through Cuba, did not from Cuba. Instead, what came from Cuba were offers to send doctors, nurses, medical and emergency response personnel.

10.18.07 kulturnatib

Re: Cycling

I was going to write about something else when I received mail from our publisher and Chief Editor, Eileen Mangubat. She wrote, 'here is something you might be interested in.'

That something was a news item from the Associated Press with the head: 'Cycling gains ground in NYC amid harried commuters, belching cabs.'

Of course, I was interested. I downloaded the attached item and read it.

While reading, my thoughts would wander every now and them to the bunch of 'items' that fellow columnist and colleague in the arts, Radel Paredes, sent me almost a month ago, which he also wrote about in one or two of his columns.

These items were mostly writings by Radel's brother who is based in Surigao City and who is a cycling activist as far as I can gather from his pieces.

Like most activist for whom an organized response to a problem or an issue is a first necessary step, he has called for bicylists to organize in order that, first, their rights as commuters were recognized and respected – they don't get run off the road -- and that, second, commuting by bicycle becomes a legitimate mass option with the same infrastructure support, financial and economic incentives that other more polluting and more resource hungry forms of transport enjoy from local, regional and national governments.

The news item is something that I'm sure Radel's brother, Judel, would salivate over, as I did. But, more than I, he will not stop at simply salivating. He will organize, while I just join fun rides and other actions that other bicycle activists here – a rare breed, so far – will organize. And, of course, write about them, as well.

The news item was mostly about the award or recognition New York City received from the League of American Bicyclists which was an endorsement of the efforts of incumbent Mayor Michael Bloomberg, a Republican turned Independent, who, most unRepublican like, is promoting cycling for a cleaner environment and a healthier populace.

The item reports that New York city is, 'installing 400 to 500 bike (parking) racks a year and plans to have more than 400 miles (644 kilometers) of bike lanes and paths by 2009. There will then be 1 mile (1.6 kilometers) of bike lane for every 10 miles (1.6 kilometers) of road; the ratio is now 1 to 15. In San Francisco, it is 1 to 7.'

According to city transport commissioner, Janette Sadik-Khan, the report said, “The way we think about transportation and how we use our limited street space is changing.”

For us, that is a gross understatement. Changing? How about Revolutionized?!

Well, I'll make that, for us and for here. Consider: there are 130,000 bicyclists on the road in New York City’s daily. Because New York is the largest U.S. city at 8 million, that is more total cyclists than any other U.S. city can claim. But according to Census figures, just 0.5 percent of New Yorkers ride bikes to work. That compares to 2 percent in Seattle and San Francisco and a whopping 34 percent in Copenhagen.

We don't have such figures here. Bicycles are ignored as a means of transportation and does not figure at all in any of the transportation plans of the city. Maybe because bicycles do not need overpasses and all those other muscular and ugly – but must be extremely lucrative – infrastructure projects favored by our present city officials.

Yet, the fact is that many factory, itinerant and service workers do bike to work and back, enduring the daily hazard of inconsiderate to abusive drivers, pot holes and uneven road surface, no parking facilities and a largely invisible road existence.

And that their effort and contribution – though maybe unwitting – to reducing pollution and traffic congestion lacks any kind of recognition, support and encouragement from both government and business.

Plus there is really a sizable cycling population here, who, for the most part, still view and practice cycling as mere recreation and not – or not yet -- as a feasible and workable alternative to the dominant ideology of the motor vehicle as kings of the road and there is no other road but this road.

It is difficult to see from the here and now, how this cannot be and will not always be the case. But then that is what activists are for. They are supposed to nudge all the rest of us in the direction where real alternatives are available and the better alternative prevails.

In the case of New York City, there is the unlikely though not unheard of activist. A government who has a vision sees its vision through. A cleaner environment and a healthier populace is a good vision. And Mayor Bloomberg is showing us the way from the saddle seat of a bicycle.

10.11.07 kulturnatib

Cyberactivism

A long time ago, the Philippine Long Distance Telephone Company (PLDT) had this really creative slogan: Let your fingers do the walking. No, let me correct myself. This wasn't PLDT's slogan but that of the Yellow Pages (GTE Directories Corporation) or what became, in 1989, the Directories Philippines Corporation. In fact, the logo for this company that works with PLDT to produce PLDT's phone directory is that of fingers walking over an open page.

What it meant or promoted was that with the telephone one no longer had to walk over to some business to conduct business. One could simply let one's fingers do the walking. First, finding the number on the phone book, second dialing the number, then, voila, business can be conducted.

With today's touch tone phones, fingers do even less walking than with the rotary dialing phones of that time when that slogan came out.

Since the infrastructure of the telephone is the same one used for the internet (telephony) was only a matter of time that fingers could do more just walking.

Now fingers are becoming full-fledged activists on a scale and with an impact that the activists of a generation ago could only dream or theorize about.

Recently, I have become an active participant in petition signing campaigns of Avaaz.org. Avaaz is the word for 'voice' or 'song' in several languages including Hindi, Urdu, Farsi, Turkish, Nepalese and others.

Avaaz.org was developed and established by a group of social entrepeneurs, identified formally with Res Publica, a global civic advocacy groupo, and MoveOn.org., who have worked at the intersection of global justice issues and new online organizing techniques.

As the introduction on their site says, '. . . Avaaz is a community of global citizens who take action on the major issues facing the world today. Our aim is to ensure that the views and values of the world’s people -- and not just political elites and unaccountable corporations -- shape global decisions. Avaaz.org members are taking action for a more just and peaceful world and a vision of globalization with a human face.'

'In our inter-connected world, the actions of political leaders and corporations are having a profound impact on all of us. To match the power and reach of global leaders and borderless corporations, Avaaz.org members are building a powerful movement of citizens without borders. As citizens without borders, we might not have the resources of governments, corporations or the media, but working together we can bring together millions of people around the world and make global public opinion really count on major global issues like poverty, climate change, human rights and global security'.

'Using the latest technology, Avaaz.org empowers ordinary people from every corner of the globe to directly contact key global decision-makers, corporations and the media. By signing up to receive updates from Avaaz.org, members receive emails and text messages alerting them to new campaigns and opportunities to act online and offline, and to make a real difference on pressing global issues.'

The most recent and still continuing campaign of Avaaz.org is petitioning to support the democracy movement in Myanmar (Burma) and to remind China, the staunchest supporter of the military dictatorship in there, that it is China's responsibility to urge the Myanmar government not to resort to repression and violence like they did with the massacre in 1998.

As with the other campaigns (on global warming/climate change, Darfur, Palestine and others) the target is to gather a million signatures and to present these signatures, or, actually, signatories, to those concerned or those who can bring about positive change or action. In this case, the UN ambassador of China.

In an example of how with intenet technologies one is able to view how a particular petition signing camping is progressing, there is, on the campaign page, a kind of signature-o-meter.

When I opened this page and added my name into the petitioners list the number of petitioners stood at 720,835. By the time I was finished and invited a few other friends to also add their names into the petition, the count had jumped to 720,917!

I don't see it yet, but I wouldn't be surprised that they would feature another way by which those signatories can be confirmed. This is with use of cluster maps where in a global map one is able to see where these numbers are coming from. Again in real-time. Meaning you can watch the numbers grow or emerge.

But, Avaaz.org also organizes offline action. And they encourage others to do so, and to post online a documentation of such action again to be shown globally, if possible, in real time.

Here is where old-style activism and cyberactivism meet. Hopefully, today, at UP we shall have the opportunity to do both. At noon, near the gate, we will again hold a Burma (Myanmar) Solidarity Performance Art Event. Join us!

10.08.07 art exhibit review

Now serving

In historical time, a hundred years is a good enough measure of longevity. A third of that, or roughly 33 years, is or should also be a good indicator of maturity.

Next year the University of the Philippines System – starting as the American University in the Philippines in 1908 and becoming the UPS in 1972 -- will have made that measure and the Fine Arts program of UP Visayas, College Cebu will also have reached maturity.

But, while one really has to wait till next year for UP's centennial, one does not have to do any such waiting to view the UP Cebu Fine Arts program's proof of maturity.

Now, and up till October 18, at the SM Cebu Art Center, is incontrovertible proof of this program's maturation that only a certified contrarian will dispute.

'Haon : Memories From The Basement,' is an alumni exhibit of this program. Though not completely represented, as most batches are without representation, the exhibit is nonetheless representative of the development of the fine program that Dean of UP Cebu, Dr. Enrique Avila, has declared, quite visibly proud and without a hint of bias, to be the center of excellence in the arts.

While rather sparse, with just 26 works, and considering that a total of 28 batches would have graduated since its start in 1975, they are, just the same, able to span the breadth of the visual art practice in Cebu. Though with decidedly contemporary leanings, including one work ('Helian Thrope,' Eloise Daniot) that, strictly speaking, heralds the upcoming works of the industrial design majors who will yet have their first graduates in 2009, while she herself is a studio arts (painting) major.

As if to emphasize this contemporary tilt, only two works ('Ulo,' Dondon Bayawak and 'Mother and Child,' Mar Vidal) are of the realist-representational genre. And both are drawings. The former, pen and ink and the latter, pastel.

Two other works ('Inahanong Panglantaw,' Celso Pepito and 'The Church in Lazi, Siquijor,' Dennis 'Sio' Montera) straddles the ground between realism and cubism, in the former, and realism and colorfield texturism, in the latter.

Both can be seen as attempts (completely unwitting) to mitigate the obvious disparity of presence between the conservative and the contemporary genres as practiced in Cebu in this exhibit.

It is surprising then that the realist-classical representationalism -- landscape painting in particular -- is under represented in this exhibit considering that this genre continues to hold dominant sway among the general public and even among the art consuming minority and, more to the point, a genre most of the exhibiting artists would be technically proficient at.

On the other hand, towards the contemporary end of the visual art practice, digital art is well represented. It is worth mentioning that digital works are produced in this exhibit are almost exclusively by graduates of batch '96. Immediate mention should also be made of the fact that these digital artists work as graphic designers and two, Jethro Estimo ('Foreplay') and Phillip Muaña ('Naa Tanan Sa Basement'), are award winners in recent national digital works competitions.

Yet, the most popular work in the exhibit is a piece in a field of study or specialization and practice that is the natural adjunct to painting in a Fine Arts curriculum but is not yet offered at UP Cebu, which is sculpture.

'Innate,' is a paper mache, three dimensional work of Pierre 'Pikoy' Famador II. This piece, a slightly larger than full size torso that juts out of the wall and meticulously painted in the manner of tatoo art and body painting.

This work is reminiscent of the higantes which are a regular feature of the annual Sinulog festival and whose production is a competition in which Famador has distinguished himself by being a hall of fame awardee, a testimony and, ironically, a deterrence to his singlehanded domination of this component event.

Errol 'Budoy' Marabiles, better known as the front man for the popular Jr Kilat band also has an interesting wall mounted sculpture that extends his renown as an artist of challenging and controversial works.

His piece ('Your Savior') in this exhibit recalls, by affinity, his installation piece in the same venue some years back involving a live rooster whose over enthusiastic crowing earned the collective ire of the neighboring mall tenants leading to its recall.

To round off this review is the performance art pieces that opened the exhibit by Russ Ligtas ('Birth'), Raymund Fernandez ('Blowing in the Wind') and Roy Lu ('Demokrasilya'). They are associated with the performance art group XO?

Roy Lu's piece, in particular, highlighted the formal possibilities and aesthetic flexibility of performance art. As part of the performance, some elements of the piece were installed or transformed into a static sculpture.

Expectedly, among the guests during the opening were current students of the fine arts program, somewhat awed by the works of their elders, yet raring to step across the graduation line or, at least, tuck in so many school years, to earn a spot in the menu of the next serving. Hopefully, well before the next hundred years of UPS is reached.

10.04.07 kulturnatib

Legs

The definition of a chair always includes the fact that it has legs. These hold up the chair making it possible for it to support any weight often heavier than itself. Just how heavy is easily imagined by how heavy one is. Together with the weight of the chair itself, one can imagine the stress the chair is subjected to even without the additional weight of an occupant. This image is difficult to grasp until one is somehow made to feel some of that weight.

These were my ruminations some two weeks back when we did a 'guerilla' performance at UP. We did this commemorative performance on the occasion of the declaration of martial law, which, as an aside, there were more of such activities this year than any year previous that I can remember.

My performance piece titled, ' Democrasilya,' involved having a white monoblock chair taped to my left leg that was substituting for the chair's missing leg that had been broken off. I saw this disabled chair leaning forlornly at one of the classrooms where fine arts students had gathered for a workshop of performance art that I had been invited to. This was the creative spark that led to the development of the piece.

While waiting for my cue to start, I saw Kenneth Cobonpue, a leading local and internationally recognized furniture designer, waiting to witness the performance. He had just come from a class in industrial design he is teaching at UP. Looking at me with a look that asked, “and what in the world are you doing with that chair taped to your leg?”, I remarked, “I now finally know how a chair's legs feel.” “It's surprisingly heavier holding up a chair with one's leg than holding it aloft by hand, even by one hand,” I continued, as he ambled into the canteen where Raymund Fernandez, chairman of the UP Humanities Department and fellow performance art artist, was holding court.

Not only was my leg standing in for the chair's missing leg, it had to do something no chair's legs does or is ever made to do. My chair-leg had to walk, dragging the chair along. And it wasn't just to be any sloppy, haphazard, whatever walk. It was to be a brisk, stern, ramrod straight military walk. A march.

To emphasize the point further, on that foot I was a wearing full leather military combat boot. By design, such boots are not meant to be comfortable. They are meant to help drive fear into the enemy's hearts by saying, “I can suffer more than you can and I can make you suffer many, many times more!”

But, my performance piece was also saying something else. On the back rest of the chair and hanging from the backside as well was an eye chart, normally, one of the diagnostic tools used by optometrists or eye doctors to determine visual acuity or its decline through the measured decrease in sizes of letters that one is asked to read as far, smaller or bigger, as one is able.

Instead of the usual letters, that eye chart formed a sentence whose letters were arranged like that of a typical eye chart's. The sentence reads : A MAN MAY BUILD HIMSELF A THRONE OF BAYONETS BUT HE CANNOT SIT ON IT.

I am doing this performance piece again tomorrow (5 October) during the opening of the UP Centennial Fine Arts Alumni exhibit at SM City Cebu. But, beyond the performance by itself, this will develop into a sculptural piece. The chair, boots and eye chart will be installed on a platform that, together with some red resin liquid that I will pour over the boot until it makes a small bloody pool, will constitute the sculpture by the same title, 'Democrasilya.'

This is what I am attracted to with performance art; the opportunity for an artwork to transform yet into another work. Especially, with this work, it fully carries out the metaphoric and even literal dynamics of its most engaged element; Legs. Seen two ways, in both cautionary or celebratory perspectives, one question: See where they lead to?

09.27.07 kulturnatib

Biking for life

I do not know of anybody who bikes for death. Biking, like any other sport or activity that requires physical exertion always involves somebody who, in varying degrees, has to be conscious of life, of their life, of the workings of their muscles, tendons, sinews and will at that moment of engagement with that activity.

But there are those who when they bike, they do so, not only for their own lives, but for the lives of others. They are the ones for whom biking for life goes beyond its slogan-content into its life-affirming context.

I had heard from friends that last year the Cancer Warriors led by James Auste the founding-president of the foundation with the same name, were in town. I don't know what I was doing or where I was then that I failed to join the ride. This year, I vowed, I will not miss it.

This ride on bicycles is the main activity initiated by this foundation its supporters and friends in a particular locality in order to highlight their cause which is summed up in the foundation's slogan or vision: 'A world where no Filipino child will suffer a diminished quality of life because of cancer.”

For the local supporters and friends this ride could just be a cruise around the city or town which will often be no longer than a few kilometers. Certainly less than the regular kilometrage serious bikers log every time they go on a ride.

Or, it could be serious distances, like this year's edition of the Bike for Life is embarking on. This edition is, by far, the most ambitious and challenging for the foundation and this project. This year a total of 21 bikers, together with James Auste will pedal 1500 kilometers from Alabang to Davao City.

Along the way local supporters and bikers will make this number swell from the tens to the hundreds.

A bike parade is always inspiring to see. Especially at this time of global warming and the climate crisis when people are beginning to be conscious of the carbon footprint of an activity or the energy consumption of such.

But beyond that, what is specially inspiring about this year's Bike for Life rides is that together with the core group are 9 special bikers. They are otherwise quite ordinary people who, because of special circumstances, are in a very extraordinary situation. They are fathers of children with cancer who are beneficiaries of the Cancer Warriors Foundation.

Romeo Patnugot is one of them. He was a tricycle driver. He is the father of 9 year old Regine who is battling acute lymphocytic leukemia. Leukemia accounts for 50 percent of all child cancers in the Philippines. Because of the burden of single-handedly caring for Regine he has had to sell his tricycle and give up his main source of livelihood. He now does laundry for his neighbors to make ends meet.

As quoted in the handout provided by the Cancer Warriors, he says, “To see my kid rise up with a smile every morning, to imagine her laughing and playing again, to know she has a chance to be healthy again and live a full and long life – this is what motivated me to get on the bike, prepare myself for this long, exhausting ride . . . .”
He continues, “This will be an opportunity to inform everyone how difficult and demanding childhood cancer is, especially if you are a child of poor parents. People out there need to know that children can have cancer and that they can do something to help these kids face cancer . . . .”

For me that was getting up early in the morning, hopping on my bike and joining these courageous people on a ride to dramatize and further their cause. Or that should be, our cause. This, I know, is a small thing. But it's something I can do.

For more information on the Cancer Warriors please log on to www.cancer-wariors.org.

9.20.07 kulturnatib

Greenpeace Cebu

Greenpeace is one of the most visible environmental organizations internationally. They have become synonymous with direct actions, as they call it, that are designed to confront the issues as much as make it to the front pages of newspapers and the prime time news on TV.

They are known for huge banners that are unfurled over the facade of buildings, often without the building owner's permission or knowledge, and other prominent structures by their activists in harnesses and rappel ropes. Or their small, zippy zodiac boats that skim along the waves to harass - as much as this is possible, given the David and Goliath proportions of these encounters -- Japanese, Norwegian or Russian whaling ships.

In short, Greenpeace is one environmental organization that is extremely media-savvy. They have learned to harness the power of media for their cause.

It is no wonder that they were one of the main partners for the Live Earth : SOS Concert for a Climate in Crisis. This global event last July 7 (070707) was tailor made for the media with simultaneous concerts in key cities worldwide bannered by some of the global music industry's top acts and personalities.

Here, the local version of this event – one of the biggest among those that were officially accredited by the Live Earth organizing group, -- Greenpeace SEA (Southeast Asia) was also one of the main event partners.

One of the biggest enviro-cultural events to have happened in Cebu in recent memory, this event, though,clearly riding on the momentum of its global counterpart, was organized by a disparate group who did not belong to any single organization, but who realized that 'we had to do our share.'

Even while the event, that turned out to be successful by most measures, was still on-going, the question occurred to many of those in the organizing group: What should happen next?

When Greenpeace SEA (Southeast Asia) inquired about holding an exploratory meeting for organizing a Local Group, weeks after the event, the next step had apparently presented itself to some of those in the organizing group who lobbied for the inclusion of Greenpeace SEA’s Simple Lang Campaign in the event program and facilitated the invitation and participation of a Greenpeace SEA representative in the event.

That exploratory meeting became a confirmatory one. About a dozen people signed up to be the core group members of the Greenpeace Local Group Cebu, or simply Greenpeace Cebu.

“Some of us have been volunteers for some of Greenpeace’s earlier campaigns. It's about time that this gets organized more formally,” says Gelena Asis, Greenpeace Cebu Assistant Coordinator.

Tomorrow (September 21) Greenpeace Cebu will be launched at the Outpost restaurant, Veteran's Drive, Lahug, starting from 8pm onwards.

Kicking or pedaling-off this launch will be a bike-a-cade – in lieu of a motorcade – at 7pm. Spearheaded by the Bike4U Foundation, this fun ride will wind its way through the city's main streets from the IT park down to Plaza Independencia then back up to the Outpost restaurant.

An hour-long program that will include the relaunching of the Simple Lang campaign, the introduction of Greenpeace and a briefing by some city and provincial officials on their respective environmental programs and projects will be the main focus of the evening.

After this, the bands, who were also involved with the 070707 concert will take over.

The first projects of the group will be related to the Simple Lang Campaign. A recent radio appearance by Greenpeace Cebu over Mom's Radio (88.3 FM) led to an invitation to present the campaign to a community group where the radio station has continuing projects.

Along this same line, a proposal to the Kapisanan ng mga Brodkaster ng Pilipinas (KBP), the national radio-TV industry organization to involve particularly the radio stations in this educational campaign is being mulled.

09.06.07 kulturnatib

Lullabies

When I moved to my present apartment almost seven years ago, – a bachelor's pad until recently when I hung up my bachelor's togs – one of the deciding factor's was how quiet this village was.

And, my unit at the back of a big house, whose present configuration now accommodates three families or large households really, has a nice view of the city whose enjoyment often requires silence for maximum effect.

For all these years and through all the changes in the tenancy of this house, that general quietness has held. Even when, I am immediately reminded that, once, upstairs, was a neighbor who fancied himself a drummer. His practice sessions, however, were mercifully conducted at hours that I was away. But, he was also a womanizer, often bringing more than one woman into his place, and this went on, quite disturbingly, at all hours.

I survived that, as I do now when I realize how noisy this place can really get.
I realized this because recently I needed absolute silence. Or as near absolute as is possible in this decidedly non-audio studio apartment environment.

I had to record some guitar music for an upcoming performance event. This will be next week, September 12, at the Tapas Lounge, at Crossroads, in Banilad.

This music is to be passed on to Winston, a professional musician, who I have mentioned several times in this column.

We have been collaborators in a few performance art pieces. More immediately, he provides the live music or auditory element, either alone or in tandem with some canned music or sound. But, more generally, he is, himself, an element in the performance piece that adds to the the overall layers or trajectories of meaning of the piece in its entirety, enriching it.

We have already discussed the concept for this piece and what was needed was for him to have an idea of the actual music I will play on the classical guitar for his guidance in playing percussion; On a pillow.

More than just the music itself, there is a crucial sound effects track, whose timing is critical for our separate but related actions to be synchronous.

So, with a digital video camera that can also record sound, I went about making the recording.

Almost immediately my difficulties started. First, part of the music I have thought of playing – a series of short lullabies – was a variation I have developed myself from a somewhat Arabesque tune I have the tablature or musical notation for. With the notation, I have no difficulty. With the variation, I have plenty of difficulty. But, nothing that practice won't mitigate, if not entirely erase; Something I cannot say with the noise.

While true that this recording was only to be some kind of guide and not necessarily one with any high-fidelity quality, noise would be anything from mildly irritating to disturbingly distracting. Especially from my music generating end.

Distracting it was. Even the birds whose song accompany the slow rhythm of this near mountain idyll were now interferences. What sort of bird would make that call? Have I heard that before? I should really try to connect calls with configurations. Etc.

Thoughts like this, innocuous sounding as they are, tripped me.

And then: How many babies do my neighbors have? What are they doing awake at this early afternoon hour? Shouldn't they be taking their afternoon nap? Why are they conspiring to altogether shriek at the same time? Where are the yayas?

Then the dogs, the roosters, the motorcycles, the jet liners that often pass through this approach corridor over our hills seem to be flying lower than usual, even the water pump is noisier than ever. Then the cicadas jump into the concert.

Impossible.

But, I press on. I guess that's what this performance piece is saying. In the general chaos of life there is or, should be, a silent space, lullabies, to help us keep on. Though it's never as neat and easy as that.

08.23.07 kulturnatib

Where were you?

Oh no!, was my first reaction. The event streamer that I had painstakingly worked on by hand – with Pentel Pens! -- the whole day of Sunday and Monday was gone. Stolen, I thought. Just as quickly, I thought proudly; that streamer should be good enough for stealing!

But going into the lobby, I saw it hanging over the musical instruments. I heaved a sigh of relief. I should have known. I knew there was going to be instruments, but Iwas surprised at the professional set up that it was. A drum kit, keyboard, mikes, speakers, lights; the works.

At half past eight we were ready. The instruments were getting tested. The musicians were moving among the instruments. It was a kind of musical chairs. You had to admire their versatility and it appeared to be a simple matter of course. There was no need for a sound check.

The crowd started gathering in front of the lobby columns of the administration building of UP Cebu, the site of the performance art memorial, Where Were You When Ninoy Was No.1? Some because they knew about the event and others because they were just attracted by the music and the lights in what would ordinarily be just another dark part of the campus at night.

The performance art group XO? which I actively collaborate were to have another of its performance events. It was one of the first events the group has planned that was specifically social-historical in theme.

Still, in our planning meetings, we expectedly moved towards our stylistic approaches or leanings based on experience and strengths.

Russ would do something with dance, Chai something with some song she would sing, Doggie something that was quite original and, at this point, surprising, since being a newbie to performance art, she has, of yet, no body of work for comparison.

I would do a concept-performance-installation piece and Raymund would be working with music, play the saxophone and provide the musical direction for the pieces that required music and among the musicians whose participation would also be another first for the group.

Phillip and Ivan were last minute participants. Ivan wouldn't show up at all and Phillip would eventually do a performance-installation piece we were not informed about. But it found a natural fit with the rest of the pieces.

Winston Velez, who had already worked with us in a previous performance event was instrumental in bringing in the musicians. He plays with them in a regular band. He said that this was opportunity for musicians to be exposed to the visual art and even to realize the art in their music.

It turned out that one of the musicians, Oliver, who plays base guitar, has a background in theater. In fact in troupes that was quite activist at that time.

For this event, two other musicians, Nonoi on the guitar and James on keyboards, would sit with us in meetings and rehearsals and they would have their taste of such idea or concept meetings that would typically meander from one trajectory to another then would suddenly explode as some idea gets latched on and planning around that would quickly develop.

In one of these, we had a glimpse of Winston's inventiveness – a definite plus with performance art. He grabbed an empty beer plastic case and proceeded to play it like it was a regular drum.

The crowd was admittedly quite sparse. Yet they were quite appreciative contributing a sizeable amount to a Cat In The Hat hat that would go towards paying for the instruments, audio equipment and the lights.

The music had not quite died down – already, by this time, the venue had moved to Turtle's Nest Book Cafe and percussive music was playing almost endlessly as musicians and guests had some kind of instrument in hand – and talk was already about another performance event for September 21.

Again, we had to remind ourselves that publicity should be the first order of the day. So, next time you shouldn't have any reason not to be there.

16.08.07 kulturnatib

Baguio's beacons

Until lasts week, the only time I had been to Baguio City was almost a quarter of a century ago. I don't remember much of that trip except about something that kept me from having much of anything to remember.

I was bedridden most of that time. I had the most severe sinus attack. I could hardly open my eyes for the pain. The friend with whom I took this trip became my eyes, ears and even taste, for any pain, especially in the vicinity of the head, does overpower the sense organs clustered there.

Still, for all that enforced absence of memory material, I do remember something. A feeling mostly, of coldness, dampness, the smell of pines and some vertigo that all cities on hills inspire. All these, I admit, are post card feelings.

So, when a Baguio trip was proposed I looked forward to going beyond those feelings; To experience things for myself and also to validate the experiences of others, artist friends and colleagues mostly, from whom almost everything I 'know' about Baguio originate.

Traveling to Baguio, especially from as far as mid-Philippines, is a ballet. It takes meticulous planning, timing and, best, with practice. Thankfully with the help of friends and the internet, we planned well, scheduled our timing and could dispense with practice.

The weather, however, was a giant sledgehammer that could and often does pulverize the best of plans like fine china. At Mactan airport on our departure, – delayed – we were treated to the telenews of floods, landslides, avalanches, collapsing houses, fences, roads stalled with vehicles and rain, rain everywhere in Luzon.

But we pushed on, arriving in Baguio in one piece though some of our pieces were wet. Flood waters soaked through them as we, somewhat innocently, put our bags in the bus's cargo hold that, at some points, were lower than the flood water level.

Our first stop was the Tam-awan Village. But, before proceeding there we made a short detour to the house and studio of artist Ben-Hur Villanueva across Tam-awan's entrance. I had never met him nor his art before. In fact, as soon as we entered the gate and I saw the bronze sculptures, the first name that came to mind was that of the artist Solomon Saprid. But, they were Villanueva's and there he was, taking a rest from work to entertain us.

He and his wife had been to Cebu in '84, guests of the Garciases. He gave a workshop at UP though UP professor Raymund Fernandez doesn't remember when I asked him. He has taught art at Ateneo University for more than 30 years. He has traveled and exhibited widely. He sports a graying ponytail. He is a perfect host offering us cookies and soy coffee at his Disperensiya Cafe, named so because originally it was to have featured only cups and dishes that have some imperfection with them, rejects, in other words.

Lastly, and not leastly, he is the elder of Roberto Villanueva. Roberto is among the legends of Baguio. Like many legends, he appears to be bigger than life. I have never met Roberto, but my most reliable source about him is Raymund who is able to put Roberto in a more reasonable perspective that is informed by personal encounters.

After the warm meeting with the elder Villanueva, on to Tam-awan. This facility – galleries, spaces for outdoor installations, gatherings and workshops and authentic traditional Cordillera huts available for rent -- is one of Baguio's cultural gems. It was set up many years ago by a group of artists who collectively give Baguio its renown in the national art scene.

After this rain-soaked visit we retire for the day. The following day it was the turn to visit Kidlat Tahimik's domain. Born Eric de Guia of a family that is said to practically own the city, he turns his back on a career in economics, changes his name, dons a bahag and megs this world-famous film 'Perfumed Nightmare.'

The space is atop one of the family buildings in the city. As one climbs higher, – stairs, no elevators -- one feels like crawling out of a hole and onto this fabulous space with sky light roofs, a pond with carps, three mini-buildings including one that has Russian style domes, a giant cloth snake-eel-dragon hung across the ceiling space and spaces that are divided and defined by materials that seems to have grown instead of put together.

For all the seeming clutter, it is quite a meditative space. Two men were putting additional structures, the purpose for which was not immediately evident. I poked around in corners and marveled at how objects seemed to exist in this space where it didn't matter whether it was art or not.

We left soon after, but, as is the nature of Baguio, she hasn't left us. Not yet. Not ever?

08.09.07 kulturnatib

A new discovery of the old

Anton Ego, the crowish food critic and tasting terror in all off Paris, sums up the movie Ratatouille beautifully. He writes a review of the revitalized Cafe Gusteau whose main chef, it is revealed to him, is, incredibly now, a rat. In the first part of this review, that turns out to be a valedictory as well as he is fired for crowing about a rat, he says something about critics that I like.

This bears an extensive quote; “In many ways the work of the critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy the position of those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism which is fun to write and to read but the bitter truth we critics must face is that the average junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times that a critic truly risks something and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. . . .”

Watching or listening to Ego read out his review – with the inimitable voice of Sir Peter O'Toole – as he writes it reminded me that being a critic is sometimes what I do. How true what he says.

Especially that last line in the above quote.

Yet, there are risks and Risks. The latter we experienced recently.

Recently, my partner and I were in Siquijor. We had planned this trip some while ago. Only this time did we have the opportunity to put into action our plans.

Our plan was to bicycle around the island, reputed for its mystical attractions and terrors as well. As with many islands in the Visayas, this was easily accessible from Cebu.

The same accessibility goaded Jens Funk, a German with Cebuano kasing-kasing (heart), as he vehemently puts it, into the exploring the Visayas on two wheels. Not only that, he has written the first ever bicycle guide to these islands and more; Palawan, Romblon, etc.

Armed with this book, “Cycling Philippines : Visayas Edition” we boarded the slow boat to Larena. Immediately we hit upon what the book in Page 16, 'Useful Hints' says of traveling on boat with bikes. There is mention of 'Arrastre.' The explanation of what this is is somewhat confusing.

Truth is, this is extremely confusing. But it is a 'Bill of Lading' that is required in order for bikes to board the boat. But, as the book suggests, if the bike is contained in a bag, this bill does not apply. Why? Who knows?

The 'arrastre' part is the monopoly 'rights' of a port handling company who considers all cargo to be subject to a handling fee whether or not they do any handling at all. Not all ports have the sophistication or curse to have such monopoly. Cebu City port is cursed with this highway-robbing monopoly.

On the boat, we are already planning our bike routes. The book offers plenty of options, detailed ones at that. We have our tentative course for our 3-day jaunt. This, pending what the real conditions would be on arrival; weather, road conditions, physical resistance.

We arrive at night. We are glad that there are street lights, as few and far between as they are. Our own lights are either underpowered or do not focus well. We find our resort, a quarter of a kilometer from the main coastal highway that is well paved and maintained, we learn later.

Morning is blanketed with clouds. We've agreed to take the route that goes northeastward from the resort up to Maria and then cuts across to Basak at the peak then downwards to Larena. The climb to Basak is a bit strenous and persistent. But the views are well worth it. Our bikes though are showing more their age than we are. The gears complain, are recalcitrant and you feel them in your teeth.

After a forced rest in Basak due to rains that have held back till then, it was downhill all the way to Larena in slopes that told us the wisdom of the route we took. Going the other way would have surely been a killer.

The next day was the round about Siquijor. We took the southwestward or counter-clockwise route. As the book says, nothing in Siquijor is flat. Indeed. But, the inclines were manageable. All the better in looking forward to the downward freewheels on the other side. Starting off early at 8am, we completed the circuit of 73 kilometers by 5pm. Not a speed for winning any race, but it was an easy, rest punctuated ride that had us fully appreciating the sights, smells and simple but sumptuous food.

Thursday was rest day. Friday we leave. Again, in rain threatened and smothered weather. We bike to Siquijor, the capital municipality, with hours to spare before we board the fast craft that slices the sea to Dumaguete like a bucking zipper.

Back in Cebu, we write notes on the book. A fine whittle to an excellent work, really.

08.02.07 kulturnatib

my apologies for the late posting of this column. this column was actually written and sent to the editor quite early in the week. but i didnt have time after the writing and the sending off of this column and before my partner and i had to go on another trip. this time to siquijor island where we had for months now been planning to bicycle around. were back now from this trip and i made it a point to post this as soon as i could. it is possible that my column for this week will be about the siquijor trip. if so, or even if not, you should get first glance at it sooner than most, as has happened before.

I will never kayak again

I will never kayak again, in a kayak that keels this way and that, seemingly with a mind of its own and taking as much time and much more energy to keep its bow on target towards its destination.

Last weekend, a motley international crew of Filipinos, three Brits, an American, a Canadian, a Korean and a German embarked on one of the Moonlight Paddles that used to be regularly organized by JumpOff Point, and before that the Baruto Paddlers, if I got that right.

Recently though, this night paddling trek that heads for designated islets – in a hop to one or one to another and, sometimes, yet another -- that dot that passage way from Olango Island to Bohol, one of the world's most biodiverse marine stretches in the world, had not been quite that regular.

But last weekend, with the full moon approaching its most ovoid state, JumpOff Point organized this trip. It proved to be the most well participated in, so far, in this activity's uneven but always eventful history.

Based on those who attended the mid-week preparatory meeting prior to the trip, one would not think that such a group would grow from the handful there.

But, the group it was, the final composition continuing to be fluid until almost the last minute.

As we set off at a little past 10pm from the Karancho Resort, two hours after our STD or set time of departure, we were composed of 13 kayaks; 3 singles and 10 tandems or two-seaters of paddlers with varying kayaking experience. One or two had no prior experience at all and an equal number were experienced enough to be certified by the Singapore Canoe Federation.

Stay as close together as possible. Don't stray away. Keep to the blinker in front of you. Use your whistles if there is anything wrong. Eli will be the sweeper and will sweep for those who will lag behind or will stray. There is a possibility of light showers. We will regroup every so often. Count off.

And, off we were. Almost immediately, we sensed there was something not quite right with our kayak. Of course, we thought of it as there is something wrong with how we are paddling. We could not hold a straight line. The kayak went through extreme leftward, rightward swings. Not just once did we find ourselves almost going around in a circle.

Frustrating to the extreme. But the gibbous moon peeking out from black cottony clouds, at times casting its spotlight presence on the entire sky when the clouds deferred to it, the mirror flat waters and then the small islet of Sulpa, when we arrived there a little over an hour from our start, more than made up for it.

Over drinks and food – including, quite incredibly, gourmet salad and Hungarian sausages – the group enjoyed an evening of cross-cultural exchange that centered around the mock rivalry between otherwise good friends and budding business partners, a Brit and a German, with an American keeping a running score of points scored for number of jokes told, witty comments or ripostes made, etc.

The sun bore down on everybody not long after we retired chasing us out of tents, hammocks, sleeping bags and mats towards a reluctant but, mostly, full breakfast. By 10am the reloading of the kayaks commenced.

By half past the hour, we were on our way back via the mangroves of the southern tip of Olango island. We thought that our kayak, lighter now with a lesser load, would behave better now. Going over the previous evenings zig-zag we thought the cause might be the unequal loading of cargo, favoring the fore cargo hatch.

But, no, this didn't seem to be the case. Somebody, during a regroup as we reached Olango, suggested that we might consider switching places. Up to that point, I was on the steerer's seat. I thought there might be a point to that. So switch we did, but, in the process, overturning our kayak, throwing my partner overboard. Still, this gave us ample opportunity to test whether we knew how to right an overturned kayak and reenter it. We passed the test.

The kayak still couldn't hold a straight line. So bad, at one point that we found ourselves in the thick of the mangrove patch with its leaves and branches right up to my face.

It was a struggle to get back, helped none by a blazing noonday sun. But, we made it back. Extremely tired, burned despite sunblock, and euphoric. We made it.

But, I will never ride that kayak again.