12.24.09 kulturnatib

Real Santa

Rarely does an opportunity arise to be a real Santa. As we get older, the more we realize that Santa is nothing more than figment of the great consumerist imagination. Yet, along with comes the realization that now, more than when we were younger, is the time to realize Santa. To make him or her real.

In our culture and in other cultures as well who practice this, godfathers and godmothers are the real Santas. Beyond the consumerist trappings of perfunctory gift-giving, godmothers and fathers have the opportunity, the moral responsibility even, to share. Not just things but experiences, advice, a fully engaged and non-judgemental ear and, most especially, time.

Recently, I received a letter from a friend in behalf of a son who is one of two children I have accepted the responsibility of being a godfather to. I will not mention either of their names, the father's and the son's, for I have not secured their permission to do so as this goes to press.

The letter talks about the once-in-a-lifetime and possibly a lifetime defining opportunity for the son. He has been shortlisted to be part of the Philippine Team to compete in the Gothia Cup – the soccer (I prefer football) world cup for youth in Gothenburg, Sweden, which, according to the letter, will be played right around the time for the greatest show on earth – the 2010 FIFA World Cup in South Africa next year.

Football has always been my game even if I didn't have much ambition with it despite playing on a high school varsity team and later on a U.S. college varsity team that saw us playing for a summer in England.

This lack is most remarkable in the fact that I have no memories of any of the games we played – except that we played uniformly badly, at least by European standards, scoring the barest minimum goal in all the games, which the British call nil, which somehow sounds more professional than zero.

The best I remember of that trip is dropping in on a performance of Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' with the Royal Shakespeare Theatre at Stratford-upon-Avon, visiting the Tate Gallery that featured a retrospective by Salvador Dali and buying an old copy of art criticism by that venerable British art critic, John Ruskin from an antique book shop.

I'm sure my friend's son will have a different experience should his trip push through. For one, he is younger. He appears to have a more competitive drive. And he will be in a truly international competition where the Philippines, in its dismal history of international sports participation, has had a stellar showing.

The letter was actually asking for advice on whether his trip should push through. I think there is no question of 'should.' The question more is 'could'. This is a question for Santa, an opportunity, as I said earlier, for a real Santa. With enough real Santas its a short trip from should to could to will.

I have started to talk to friends here about which team they are rooting for in the coming world cup. I have said I don't know yet. Now I do. While it won't be the same cup, it doesn't matter.

Or, it actually matters more. I will have a godson, by God and golly, vying for the cup, which once more, even if from a distance, won't just be another spectator sport. Waaaaaave.

12.10.09 kulturnatib

Elephants and painting

Our daughter, just past infant, goes to a French speaking day care center. We have decided that it will be her mother tongue. She is learning it fast, as children do any language amongst the company of their peers and in the custody of the home. And she picks up songs rather keenly.

The other week, out of the blue, she started saying something that had us scratching our heads. We couldn't figure what it was except that it was probably something she picked up from the day care center. We figured, further, that it must be a fragment of a song.

We were right on both counts. I was intrigued by what the song turned out to be when we finally unraveled it. Even with my stagnating command of French I easily recognized – after we teased it out -- the phrase that, loosely translated, said, “To paint in oil is very difficult, much better (less difficult) to paint with water (watercolor).”

The first half of this song is actually also French 101. It is about an elephant with a trunk, an enormous trunk. How both parts of the song connect or relate is anybody's guess.

But it was the second part that intrigued me. How did this piece of artistic mythology or misconception really find its way into a children's song, which could be a testament to the French's affinity or proclivity for painting, if nothing else?

Yet, children's songs being the copyright resistant pieces of cultural treasures that they are whose pedigree or patrimony are a tangled ball of thread, there is probably no profit in inquiring into the hows or even whodunits of this song.

Still, better to educate our daughter, as soon as she is big enough, that this song and others of this genre are not all that factual. Or, to say that these songs have nothing, if little, to do with facts. It is even entirely possible that, especially with this song, facts are beside the point and fancy all of the point.

But, yes, as I have learned in my attempt at a degree in Fine Arts major in Painting, it is the other way around. Watercolor is the more difficult medium than oil. That is if you consider a good watercolor painting to be one that keeps to the essential translucent and delicate quality of the medium.

To achieve this one must, above all, be a master of the controlled accident. This is especially true with a technique that is called -- rather suggestively of something more prurient than painting – the wet on wet technique.

Wet can be just an area or the entire paper brushed on with water followed by a coat of wet color that can be applied with a paint brush, flicked on with a toothbrush or any other implement capable of delivering a layer of color.

The difficulty or the art, as practitioners no doubt would like to call it, is knowing how relatively wet or dry each should be. This takes precision, patience and practice. Because there is no fixity with water, one has to have liters of patience, and because even patience will run out, one must be willing to practice endlessly.

Or, in my case, one has to start practicing again. It is one thing to discuss all these with our daughter, it is entirely another thing to show her.

12.03.09 kulturnatib

Crocodile

Last week, while following the recent Maguindanao massacre over the internet, one picture that accompanied a Yahoo news story with the tagline, “Philippine massacre suspect calls charges 'baseless',” caught my attention.

This was a Reuters photograph of two NBI agents escorting alleged mastermind and massacre leader Andal Ampatuan Jr., upon his arrival at the Villamor air base after his surrender, according to him, his family and supporters or arrest, according to the government.

This is a standard 'firing-squad' photo where the main personages in a news story are neatly arranged or close cropped in a single line with the most important of them closest to, if not in the very middle.

This is the least interesting of photos in the grab bag of photojournalism save for its most utilitarian aspect which is to put a human face or human faces on an event that as far as this event goes can only be generously called truly inhuman.

As far as the face presented in the photo, it is a nondescript one. A young, even childish face, plump as only an overweight government official can be with an added burden of being a leader – though perhaps of a junior rank -- of a non-government organization of armed personnel in a territory where guns are a dialect unto themselves.

Yet, it is not the face that captures my attention, rich as it may be as a subject for physiognomical study. What does is what the face is wearing on its head.

It is a head gear. A head band, with a design that can easily be called 'ethnic' in the geometric style and with colors that this label sticks to almost reflexively.

Immediately upon noticing this, questions jockeyed with each other in my head. Here, some of them in no particular order: Is the headgear design typical of his 'tribal' affiliation? Is this even a typical headgear of this 'tribe' or of the region? Does this headgear denote something? Authority? Rank? A particular connotation when dealing with non-tribal personages or non-ceremonial events? Etc.

I needed a closer look. Or, even a look at other pictures – a related gallery that now typically accompanies internet news stories -- that might shed a clarificatory light on this particular picture and these questions.

I did both with the first act providing a detail that pulled the rug from under my earlier questions, though not as completely as to make them irrelevant, and made the second a mere perfunctory, even simply voyeuristic act.

In the middle of the headgear (or the way it was worn put this right smack in the middle of the forehead) was something that immediately jumped out. Or, maybe that should be, snapped out. Not only because it was of a highly contrasting color (mostly white against overwhelmingly red), design (organic against geometric) and context (global against tribal).

It was a crocodile. The proprietary trademark for the global clothing giant Lacoste and, for a while, IZOD as well. I could not repress a smile, which just as well could have been a smirk.

While Lacoste's crocodile for all its pedigree and ubiquity has nothing to do with the political symbolism of the crocodile especially as applied to Philippine politics, Ampatuan's is nothing else but that very symbol. And worse. But, how appropriate.