It was jarring to enter the individual space for Ronald Caringal’s recent exhibit, to find all but nine images that look like comic book illustrations. All in black and white, these are close-ups of faces, familiar but not exactly someone you’d know. They are all speaking, some more adamant, more frustrated, more incensed than others. Other faces have lips pursed, eyes looking out to the spectator, spoken for by the words emblazoned within the canvas.
The story unfolds. (more…)
it was the start of the year and after this boycott of Manila Contemporary i welcomed the chance to go back. but of course i did just in time for another non-exhibit, i.e., it’s that time of year when the works from the stockroom / backroom, the ones waiting to be sold, are hung on gallery walls. at least this time it was clear. and this time there were works worth talking about. well one work that i can’t pass up. (more…)
What might not have occurred to anyone who saw the call for submissions for the project “Nothing to Declare” was how big it could be. And when I say big, I mean huge; I mean in terms of the kind of space it would require, in terms of the kind of curatorial agency it would be premised on.
Across the two museums and one gallery that carried the exhibit, the one that’s still running is at Yuchengco Museum—a good thing too, if we are to consider the kind of context it necessarily has there: in the company of the Botong Franciscos and the Juan Lunas, given too the ceiling to floor installation of falling paper rocks “Suspended Garden” by Tony Gonzales and Tes Pasola, that the museum has kept from an exhibit in 2010. (more…)
White is what greets you when you enter the gallery that’s been transformed into a playground by Manolo Sicat’s Matayataya. The first reaction is one of joy: the kind that play allows, no matter how old we get, especially because it is reminiscent of the kids that we were when the streets were safe to play in. But it sinks in soon enough: play here is everything and violent, because the streets have changed, because the streets are now testament to what has become the sad state of an impoverished nation.
To say that this exhibit is just about the violence of poverty wouldn’t do Sicat’s work justice. In fact it isn’t so much poverty as it is inequality, it isn’t so much inequality as it is injustice, it isn’t so much what’s unjust as it is how all these tie together into sadness and helplessness when children – and all that they represent – are objects and subjects.
The cold cast marble sculptures of Matayataya are precisely such: children at play are its necessary subjects, made into mere objects by the contexts within which they live.
Because objects tie us to home, the things we carry are about the self we want to keep. Where there is no packing lightly when objects come to represent who we are, where we’ve been, where we hope to go. Where the usefulness of objects becomes secondary to the task of keeping, if not holding tight, lest self and memory and meaning are lost in the act of leaving.
But notions of migration – not just movement – are carried by the balikbayan box itself as symbol, the box from which these objects sprout. It’s in that way that these objects, while representative of what keeps people tied to spaces and selves left behind, is also about how many lives are rendered ephemeral and transient, in constant flux, in an ongoing process of coming and going.
In that sense, these objects’ meanings cannot but change, rendering stability untrue, putting a spotlight on the ideas that surround migration as a gift to nation. Because these objects are about home. This one from which we come, this one that has made a business out of letting its people go, sacrificing families and children’s upbringing, putting into question truths of completeness and normalcy.