Archive for August, 2011

Warsh Warsh

Warsh Warsh

At first, I thought editing James Soriano’s infamous Manila Bulletin column should be enough. Yet after reading a lot of opinions about the issue, I think that there’s more to it than just a case of bad writing.

It’s a case of bad perspective.

Ludwig Wittgenstein writes that the limits of our language are the limits of our world.  Let’s take that a step further: the social reality that is language, and the use of it, uncovers other social – and personal – realities.  In a somewhat condescending tone (which may be attributed to the column being just a first draft), James refers to Tagalog as the “language of the streets:” one attributed to the tindera, the manong drayber, the katulong, the people who make a sheltered and privileged life possible.

This isn’t a rant about the national language, though.

On that note, James reveals the pink elephant in the room: the tindera, manong drayber, and katulong are people perfectly capable of learning English, given the right opportunities and means.  Yet these are people who didn’t have the privilege of a private school education.  They didn’t have mothers who bought flash cards to teach them the English alphabet.  They didn’t have the English-dubbed cartoons for entertainment on a Sunday afternoon.  They didn’t have private tutors to teach them the basics of the language.  It’s often the case that they learned the basics from decrepit, overcrowded classrooms, punctuated with the lack of books, threadbare uniforms, and the many breakfasts they skipped to get schooling.  Underscored by teachers and educational instititutions that lack motivation or resources.

Is English the language of privilege?  When we lend a perspective beyond pride in one’s own cultural artefacts, to learn and use English is a privilege in a condition marked by social inequalities, economic inequities, and human injustice.  Yes, it is a language of privilege, and of the privileged.  It is a means to get other privileges, like a career where “excellent communication skills” (read: English) are a key to success.  People privileged enough to get an education that emphasizes English get the privilege of learning English, which in turn leads to a privileged life.

The same is true with so many other things; like robotics, elementary Latin, religion, advanced mathematics.  We cannot divorce the way we are educated – formally or informally – from our economic standing and our social capabilities.  Rather than become a key to success, education – especially public education – becomes a way to reaffirm the status quo.  Education may be the way out from poverty and deprivation, but if the education system is itself poor and deprived, then it does nothing to foster the thirst for knowledge, much less how adept one is with another language.

The rich boy has all the opportunities to become richer because of the advanced computer classes in his school and the English-only policy in its corridors.  The poor boy has all the chances to stay poor because he can’t afford to pay for the rich boy’s tuition, instead learning English from underpaid schoolteachers, or learning its halting forms in the streets if he’s not in school.  Through no fault of his own, may I add: the lack of investment in basic education on the public, national level makes it so.

It is that lack of investment that reflects itself in so many aspects of society: employment, politics, the banalities of everyday existence.  It is not an issue of what the national language is, but how language is used in the nation.

Which brings me to a very important point: education, the Great Equalizer of all opportunities for people to succeed, is not immune from the distinctions and realities of social and economic class.  In fact, education can even be a weapon or a tool to keep things the way they are, instead of improving the lot of people in the world.  In his self-deprecating (?) way, James Soriano pinned it right then and there: the fact that he is not the son of a tindera or a manong drayber or a katulong – and enjoys the services of those beneath him in the social system – establishes the fact that he, indeed, speaks the language of the privileged, the wealthy, and the learned by virtue of privilege and wealth.  Privilege, wealth, and learning in their most material, perceptible forms: money, resources, social capital, and yes, warsh-warsh English.

Which makes him representative of the sentiments of that top tier of society that uses language – among other things – to reinforce the status quo, to affirm oppression, to doom the poor to a state of poverty simply because of the way they talk.

It’s not syntax, semantics, or structure that lends value to a system of language.  Rather, it is the way this language is used in society.  Many of the stupidest, most idiotic ideas find a perfect means of expression in the English language.  If anything it is the use of language as a weapon for oppression that James Soriano hints at.  And in the process, reveals his presence on that side of the equation.  The side that Other-s the tindera, the manong drayber, and the katulong to that condition because of the way they talk.

There is an expression in Filipino: mata-pobre.  Connect the dots.

August 31, 2011 3 comments Read More
For Mom Edith

For Mom Edith

It’s been over two years since that lesson on the porch of Edith Tiempo.  There were 15 of us, fortunate enough to be in that little world, about to be taught a quick yet meaningful lesson in writing by the Grand Dame of Filipino Poetry herself.

I still remember the lesson from Mom Edith: form must grow together with content.  Meaning arises naturally from the subject of the piece, but it should also reverberate.  “How do you write a better poem?  You should read and revise, but do not revise to the point of destroying your work altogether” she said.  “Like a bell… the sound still reverberates.  And a good poem is no different from the sound of a good bell.”

The bells toll in grief for Mom Edith’s passing, but they ring true in her legacy. Not only for the body of work she left behind, but in the minds and hearts of the writers she taught over the years. We were all her children.

Our batch – one made memorable by the cases of beer drank at Hayahay and the infamous story of ten people getting stranded in Siquijor Island for literally missing the boat – was “fortunate enough to learn at the feet of Mom Edith.”  That surely may be construed as something high and mighty, but there was no other place where I personally learned more about the art of writing than in the National Writers’ Workshop.

Or, more properly, Mom Edith’s workshop: the one she worked hard for and sustained, the one that she made renowned and respected, and the hundreds of fellows that have considered her the matriarch of a group of writers that includes some of the country’s greatest and most respected poets, essayists, and fictionists.

It was fun to see it: the way she treated Jimmy Abad as still her student, the way Ernesto Yee referred to her affectionately as “Mama,” or the way even Susan Lara and Chari Lucero listened intently; even if for the entire duration of the workshop, we looked upon them as teachers and mentors.  If anything, it was a sign of how pervasive Mom Edith’s legacy is.

I wouldn’t say that I know her work by heart – which is a shame, really – but if anything, her greatest gift to the craft and the work was what she taught.  If not for the workshop she and her husband started, the ways of our words would not grow.  She laid standards, lit beacons, and in my case, rang a bell that somehow stood for me as the standard and beacon of what good writing should be.

We live in a world where art is only recognized upon death, or when they’re controversial enough to be part of the headlines.  In her passing I think the most timely and fitting way to pay tribute to Mom Edith is to share her work:

WHAT DISTANCE GIVES

When you reach for me in that obscure
World where like ashes of the air
Your eyes and hands and voice batter
With a stark and ghostly urgency
The transparent doors of my closed lids,
I struggle to confine the precarious grace,
The force, the impulse of this fantasy;
Yes, I grieve. But in its sure
Wise way it is this grief that bids
The ghost to go.
This is the reality we stand to lose:
That the push of muscle strength
Is also the dear enfolding brute embrace
Of reason shocking all our length,
The loss is gain for the will to choose
The distance-given right to know.

When we left her residence at Montemar that afternoon, I left her two tokens of my appreciation: weaved tapestry, and a couple of wooden figurines of highland warriors.  I’m willing to bet that they’re set aside somewhere in her curios and tokens collected over the years.  I’m sure that I’m just one among the hundreds she has called her “children” by way of the art and craft of writing, yet I’m equally as sure that the most fitting way to say thanks to the Old Lady of Montemar is to keep writing.  To know that form and content grows together, that meaning comes forth naturally but making that meaning reverberate is the task of writing itself.

There are those out there who can probably write better eulogies or more fitting tributes, but I think it’s best to leave mine here as a belated gesture of thanks.  Among the many teachers I have had who taught and encouraged me to write, it is the confidence, trust, and magnanimity of Edith Tiempo and her workshop that made me see more meaning into what I do.  Perhaps, one day, I can pay it forward.

Tonight, her sons and daughters grieve for her loss.  Tomorrow, and for days on end, we shall celebrate the work she has made possible.  Rest in peace, Mom Edith… and thank you.

August 21, 2011 0 comments Read More
The Social Media Desiderata

The Social Media Desiderata

I wish to go placidly amidst the noise and haste and stuff like that, but I just can’t.

I wake up in the morning and check notifications on my phone.  My work involves making sense of all that noise in the virtual world, and often contributing to it.  I Tweet during meals, I Plurk in the toilet.  I blog while drinking.  Happiness is in being trending, in being an influencer, in being followed.

I’m at peace only when I’m retweeted or when my posts are being liked and shared on Facebook.

Okay, I’ll stop there.

Filipino homes share some common elements in the way of interior decor and design.  Like those tacky-looking “Weapons of Moroland” plaques.  Or reliefs of The Last Supper on hardwood panels, hanging by the dining room.  There’s the giant wooden spoon in the kitchen: having a giant wooden fork nearby is a sign of a bit of wealth going on for the family.

There are the cloth calendars bearing each family member’s name stamped in red: the cloth usually dyed black and finished in faux velvet, printed with some image of a tigress and her cubs drinking from a clear stream in the middle of the jungle.  There’s the roll-up bamboo mat of “Footprints in the Sand,” with brush-strokes that make the English verses look Oriental.

And then there’s the faded poster of the “Desiderata,” either tacked to the door of an aparador, or next to the picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.  Because it’s supposed to inspire.  Because it’s supposed to be a blueprint to happiness.  Because sometimes you need to be reminded that the way you’re living life just borders on navel-gazing, self-flagellating self-mortification.

And since we’re the leading “social media nation” in the world, here’s my take on the poem:

Go placidly amid the tweets and Facebook posts
and remember what peace there may be in not updating it all the time.

As much as possible without surrender,
be on good terms with the people you’re following.
Speak your truth in just 140 characters;
and retweet others,
even the dull and the bot-like;
they too have their story.
Avoid spammers and aggressive commenters,
they are vexations to loading times.

If you compare your Klout with others,
you may become vain or bitter;
for always, there will be a point in time that you’ll be an influencer yourself.

Enjoy your social networks as well as your posts.
Keep interested in your own outposts, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing digital landscape.
Exercise caution in the things you click;
for the world is full of bad memes.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for quality posts;
and everywhere there’s something new to see.

Be yourself in comment threads.
Especially, do not feign intelligence.
Neither be cynical about the opinions of others;
for in the face of all stupidity and disillusionment
it is as perennial as “x is the new y” stuff from Mashable.

Take kindly the counsel of your peers,
gracefully addressing the questions of youth.
Nurture thickness of skin to shield you in sudden flame wars.
But do not distress yourself with feeding trolls.
Many fears are born of unnecessary Tweeting.

Beyond being popular or trending,
be gentle with your online self.
You are but a person with a computer,
no less than kids with computers and superstars with computers;
you have – and you don’t – have a right to be here.
And whether or not links are labeled “NSFW” for you,
no doubt, in this universe, you only get what you put in.

Therefore be at peace with the Internet,
whatever you conceive it to be,
and whatever you use it for,
in the noisy confusion of updates, there is life outside of it.

With all its spam, noise, and broken promises,
it is still a pretty damn good way to waste time.
Be cheerful.
Disconnect every once in a while.

August 21, 2011 1 comment Read More
Malnourished Art

Malnourished Art

At the wake of Mideo Cruz’s controversial “Poleteismo” are conversations about censorship, engagement, and even the connections of the work to something like the Reproductive Health bill.  Yet this piece raises a very valid argument:

Then I realized that this whole controversy is not an issue of whether Cruz’s artworks are offensive or not, this is an issue of how most Filipinos look at art. The country doesn’t lack artists who impart challenging and progressive ideas, the country lacks a refined appreciation for art.

- CJ de Silva, Think Before You Get Offended

Her point is very important, in my view.  Think about it: our museums are in the cities, out of the way of those in the provinces, and charge fees that are beyond the reach of the poor.  Art is not given enough priority in Philippine public education, and in sectarian schools religion takes precedence over art and music.  Art is a minor subject among minor subjects.  The museum trip is treated as a way to leave school premises to get kids to look at woodcarvings and canvasses more than a practical application of what was learned and taught in the classroom.

Here, those who enter museums, collect art, and appreciate various pieces are those who can afford it, and/or those who are educated in it.  The costs go beyond entrance fees and currency like transport costs and what to have for lunch.  These include opportunity costs, social costs, long-term investments in education that translate into trips to the museum or the gallery.  We cannot eat art.  Art is something luxurious, an indulgence of the rich and the educated.

The Church, on the other hand, is free to enter, free to join, and close to the poor.  People settle around the Church, because it is an important part of their lives.  To go to Church is to feed the soul, to get a step closer to the Kingdom of Heaven, to create the moral foundations of life.  Art is not an out-there interpretation of some part of life or some philosophical school, but integral to worship and praise.  People would understand the teachings – and the demands – of the Church more than those in museums and galleries, for the simple fact that the Church is closer to them.  And when the Church says that a crucifix with a phallus is sacrilege, they would believe in the same.  Somehow that meaning resonates with them better than what was meant by the artist.

(Side note: we have entire institutions engaged in the business of censorship for decades now and here we are crying foul over a piece of artwork, but that’s another story.)

The fact that things like artistic merit should, in Dean Andy Bautista’s words, “be left to the sound and wise sophistications of our literati, culturati, and artistes” is to forsake our common stakes in promoting – much less creating – art.  Most arguments against Mideo Cruz’s work, in fact, aren’t literary, cultural, and artistic as they should be.  We lack a refined appreciation for art, but we have a very refined relationship with religion.  Many of the negative reactions to the work of Mideo Cruz weren’t born out of artistic viewpoints, but institutional ones born out of the canons of fundamentalist readings of Catholicism.

At the end of the day the circles by which Cruz’s work are praised or chastised are not those that the rest of the people walk in.  Things like food, wages, and shelter are still not yet addressed, or met enough for them to be concerned with the pursuit of art.  The best, most critical appreciation, creation, and evaluation of art is done by those who are nourished.  Not only physically, but intellectually and creatively.  The reaction to “Poleteismo” should be that point where we should re-evaluate, re-position, and reinforce the position of art in society.

It all starts with providing more time and resources to art in the educational system.  There must be a way to configure the current curriculum to accommodate more art education and art studies, at the very least at the secondary level.  And all of this cannot be divorced from the state and the other sectors of society to meet the essential ends of human survival: food, shelter, clothing, and education, so as to bring people closer to realizing artistic and creative potentials.  With that nourished body and mind, the conversations about art become artistic.  There must be ways of bringing art closer to the people.  Like indigenous art, conceptual art, traditional art, even street graffiti.  There are ways to bring out art outside our galleries and into daily human experience.

Mao Zedong writes that there is a need for the unity between the political criterion and the artistic criterion.  True, but as long as our society has a chronic problem meeting basic needs, we cannot be prepared enough to meet peripheral needs.  As long as we have a problem meeting the ends that are political, we will have very serious problems meeting the ends that are artistic.  The state of art cannot be divorced from the state of society.  If our people are hungry, our art is hungry.  If our people are sick, our art is sick.  If our people are not educated, our art is not educated.  To solve the problems of art, we need to solve the problems of society first, and perhaps use art as a way to liberate and emancipate the people.  The way Mideo Cruz’s piece was chastised and censored is proof that we need more nourishing.

Beyond the notion of the starving artist, malnourished art comes from a malnourished society.  We cannot feed the painting, but indeed we can feed the painter.  More than that, we can feed those who see the painting, and have a common stake in it.

August 13, 2011 1 comment Read More
Shock/Art

Shock/Art


The assemblage of a crucifix, rosaries, and other religious items – punctuated by the presence of a movable, erect, wooden penis – caused a storm of discussions a few days ago at the Cultural Center of the Philippines.

It’s a good thing that art is taking center stage this time.  At a time where heated and polarizing opinions (and Tweets and Facebook pages) would revolve around a guy who drives his car into a flooded street and makes it to national TV, the discussion around Mideo Cruz’s Poleteismo is refreshing.

Merde d’Artista by Piero Manzoni (pictured above) is a collection of 90 cans autographed by the artist himself.  The cans contain (purportedly) Manzoni’s own feces, sealed and sold to art patrons.  If I were to do the same thing, I would have simply been dismissed as a loon, or those cans would have been thrown back at me.  Which is quite true for other situations of “shock art.”  I couldn’t soak a crucifix in a container full of urine, photograph it, and call it art.  I would probably be derided by everyone in the country if I made a collage of what I purport to be the Virgin Mary using pornographic images and elephant feces.  I could not get away with an installation made with a bed, used condoms, and panties stained with menstrual blood.

(Photograph: “My Bed,” by Tracey Emin)

In many ways, art is institutional.  It is guild-like; that’s why we have “artists’ circles” and “writers’ circles.”  In the wake of Caparas’ National Artist award, we cannot deny that part of the protests of Caparas’ works come from some preconceived notion of what art is, what should be artistic, and what body of work qualifies for the “National Artist” distinction.  Beyond beauty, aesthetics, and theory, part of what makes art “up there” are the notions and the conventional wisdom of those within these groups, inside looking out.

While I would have a notion of what makes a good painting or song or sculpture or poem, being an “outsider” would somehow make my thoughts but hushed whispers from the back of the room, compared to an established artist’s lectures from the lectern.  This is not to cry “circle-jerk” or “artistic incest” or whatever; but like the realities it represents, there are hierarchies and stratifications in art and its interpretation.

Yet the same institutional character is true for religion.  The vitriol and anger over Cruz’s piece by laity and priests and members of the clergy does not – in all likelihood – represent the views of the so-called “Catholic majority.”  In all certainty, there must be at least one devout Catholic who would praise Cruz’s sculpture as a gripping commentary on idolatry in the modern age, just as Sister Wendy Beckett did in behalf of Andres Serrano’s Piss Christ.  If the problem with the art world stands in how closed it can be to the presence of an artist, the problem with the fundamentalist religious universe is how close-minded it can be.  Like bigoted comments on how this would have happened when the religious iconography was Muslim, for example.

In other countries, the case against “bad art,” “offensive art,” or “not art” has been met with strains of unrest which we’re now quite familiar with.  Chris Ofili’s The Holy Virgin Mary, for example, was the subject of a high-profile threat from former New York City Rudy Giuliani in 1999.

That’s where we are: more than a battle of something “out there,” it’s a battle of tangible things like Churches and artists.  Even if we remove the piece from exhibition right now there is a tension between art and religion as much as there is cooperation within it.  The faithful of the Catholic Church have made beautiful pieces of art in the name of the Lord.  The art form, to Catholics, is a form of intercession.  Yet to an artist, the form may just be a component or template to create new art.  In this tension, conflicts will arise.  It is more than just taste, or taste classifying the classifier.  It is a conflict of institutions which we are not completely departed from.  We are part of art, as we are part of a faith, or a movement about or against it.

Yet in the context of our modern world, where discussions and debate and sobriety and magnanimity are expectations from everyone, disagreeable acts like vandalism and intimidation in discussion are unnecessary.  There are ways to disagree with the depiction in Poleteismo without being disagreeable or unnecessarily political and fundamentalist.

I think that aside from the un-Christian insults from the Catholic fundamentalists and the snobbery from artist circles, the controversy surrounding Mideo Cruz’s work is good for the arts, as far as the general public is concerned.  Because of it, and the coverage from all forms of media, the people get to form opinions about things that they are part of, but somehow distanced from, like art and religion.  A sober, diplomatic view beyond vandalism and online vitriol is a better way to look at Mideo Cruz’s piece.

Now whether the forum by the CCP was about art or politics is another story altogether.  At the very least, it was a venue to talk about art.  Which is still a good thing.

So where do I stand with Poleteismo?  The trope and theme of the profaned, grotesque-ed body of Jesus has been around for a very long time.  It has been portrayed by everything from sculpture to painting to pornography and high art.  Many of our reactions now may just be knee-jerk opinions based on something that we don’t see all too often in this country (what with museums and exhibits being quite prohibitively expensive for the populace in terms of economic and social cost, but that’s another story).  I think it’s best to see if the piece would stand the test of time and memory, to see if the shock goes beyond being skin-deep.

August 8, 2011 0 comments Read More