MAY 2 - MAY 8, 2021 12


THE WIDE READER By Ian Rosales Casocot


S


Cartographies of innermost worlds in uncertain times


Dumaguete art scene at the tail-end of April 2021: a group exhibition titled Introspection has opened at the Dakong Balay Gallery, which runs until May 22nd— and there is nothing else to feel about it except surprise, excitement, and an unexpected stirring affection by the scale and curatorial vision of the entire enterprise.


“revolutionary”—which is a bold claim to make, but I am talking at least in the mold with which we have often entertained art exhibitions in culture-jaded Dumaguete. I did not expect to be moved. But most of all, it feels “revolutionary” in the stylistic tightness weaving the collection, the likes of which I had not seen for quite so long I actually have no recollection of a precursor.


carefully: Introspection is an exhibition gathering together seventeen young and up- and-coming visual artists from all over Dumaguete, and instead of the usual hodgepodge of works we’ve come to expect from most group exhibitions [which has its own delights], the artists have come to an unexpected unity of style—abstraction— and presentation, down to the size and orientation of their canvasses—bold, big, and embracing in their 5 x 4 ft. glory. The result is an exhibit that feels very much like a break from a kind of staleness— perhaps my own sigh of relief from what has predominated Dumaguete art of late. It brings to mind the two schools of fine art that have come to define local visual arts: there’s the Foundation University group, which leans towards the representational, and there’s the Silliman University group, which tilts heavily towards the conceptual. The fact that Introspection is neither is a jolt I did not know I needed. As an introduction to the works of younger artists about to make their mark on the art world, this show is a calling card like no other. Put in the word “promising,” and that seals the deal for what feels like a debut of a mindful and energetic collective—although I’m not entirely sure if we can


What am I trying to say? Let me parse my description


THE WAY....FROM P. 7


A picture of them looks like it could have been taken before the pandemic—you won’t find a trace of any face mask, face shield, or anything used to comply with the current health protocols, physical distancing included, at any resolution. Maybe their dancing gets impaired if they observed the protocols.


dancers with their high- energy, cardio-blasting moves, sometimes with only face shields on.


Where are the enforcers? Wait, I forgot...it’s a COVID Amnesty Zone.


enough at Quezon Park, you may want to skedaddle over to Pantawan 3. There you’ll find even more people doing different things. For those just there for their daily health walk, you’d see them wearing their face masks. But you know there are a myriad of activities going on at Pantawan 3 in the afternoon. There are the aspiring volleyball players who bring their own nets to practice their game. I wonder if these young


If you don’t feel safe Then there are the Zumba


players can still be as agile if they had to comply with the face mask Ordinance. They should be glad they’re in a COVID Amnesty Zone, or they’d be arrested like those caught during curfew hours. That there are COVID Amnesty Zones is testament to the irregularity and inconsistency of the enforcement of ordinances that were formulated to help curb the spread of COVID-19. It would almost seem that the City finds it convenient and significant to enforce the law only at night, when there is really no excuse for people to be out during the very hours specified as curfew hours. Alibis are then muted when


a person gets caught during curfew because the hours are very specific. They hide behind this because it is a way to cut short people’s tendencies to reason their way out of arrests. During the day, Quezon Park, Pantawan 3, the public market, the shops along Cervantes St. and Perdices St. become COVID Amnesty Zones because although


human congestion is worse in these areas than anywhere after 10:00 p.m., and health protocols are not heeded more than anywhere else where it matters at night, people are not hauled away by the truckload. Could it be because people


The exhibit is, in a word,


omething of a bombshell has landed in


the


spark of the new—and I feel that the awe of my own personal reception of the show is equal to the reception that greeted groundbreaking survey shows: from the first impressionist exhibition in a gallery on Rue du Capucines in Paris in 1874, to the post- impressionists show in Grafton Galleries in London in 1910; from the Armory exhibit on Lexington Avenue, New York in 1913, which became the definitive survey of abstract art, to the London International Surrealist Exhibition in New Burlington Galleries in 1936; and from the New Painting of Common Objects at the Pasadena Art Museum in 1962, which gave the first survey of American pop art, to the Information exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art in New York in 1970, which was the first critical survey of American conceptual art. These shows, in retrospect, were revolutions in contemporary art because they fielded a break from the expected. In that spirit, Introspection fits the bill. And perhaps, it is also a show we need right now in Dumaguete, given the fraught times we live in—and can serve as both reflection and escape. In my childhood, I learned to escape to art in two very specific ways. One of my grade school teachers, Mr. Corsino, taught mathematics, science, dance, and art—which was a fantastic combination of disciplines, now that I think of it in retrospect—and would sometimes put a variety of


call this a movement. Abstract art has been around for more than a hundred years, and much of Introspection culls actively from that rich history, from the impressionistic to the surreal, from the cubist to the fauvist, from Dada to suprematism. But then again, I’m not sure Introspection is meant to be about breaking new ground, and I’m not sure this is a herald of what type of art we can expect from the exhibiting artists from now on. What it feels to be about is just a singular reach for a specific artistic expression shared by many—and in the words of their collective exhibit statement, “in the hopes of creating a space for experimentation, surprise, and self-reflection.” Nonetheless, it has the


squiggles on the board and challenge us to make something of them. I remember being always a quick volunteer, and off I’d go to the blackboard, chalk in hand, ready to wrestle with the chaos of lines and shapes before me, and made of them a rendering of a familiar world: a cow outside a barn, or a boy taunting a snake with a stick, or a woman who lived in a giant shoe.


of relish when I finished my drawings, a sense of triumph in the fact that I was given a puzzle and made of it a thorough representational scene others couldn’t see before. I’ve always thought of that art exercise as wringing logic out of the chaotic—a purely mental one, with the satisfaction being of the


There was always a feeling


river, or circles upon concentric circles, or boxes upon boxes with shaded corners, with absolutely no goal of creating something recognizable, except this freehand doodling to approximate a feel, a state of mind, even a tacit acknowledgment of the kinetic swirls of hand with a pen. There was always something emotionally satisfying in all of that, in the way I rendered line, shape, and repetition— which, while abstract, felt like a surefooted map into the subconscious I could only skim.


should be approached— as portal to the unsaid, as invitation to someone else’s emotional landscape, and as Rorschach test to our own internal wranglings—and never, for the most part, as


This is how abstraction Mariana Varela’s “Nocturnal Panic”.


works with easy meanings. One simply cannot just go to the artist behind the work, and ask, “What does it mean?”—although no one’s prohibited from doing that. Abstraction often works best by forcing us to rely on our own interpretative devices, to behold the work and then to interrogate closely what inner responses we have to the work. Which is why I am grateful for the embracing large canvas the artists of Introspection collectively settled for: standing in front of these large paintings, the viewer who deigns to look closer and with meaningfulness cannot help but be embraced by the work, and get lost in their sea of shapes and lines and color. Whatever psychological connection we make invariably becomes the meaning. This is the Rorschach test of the enterprise.


Jomir Tabudlong’s “Trial and Error”. cerebral sort.


Nothing could be more the opposite when, as a child, I’d sit in a quiet corner of school or home and contemplate in a vague way the forlornness I often felt. Alone, pen in hand and notebook in front of me, I’d just let myself go—making lines upon lines like the eddies of a


GOING....FROM P. 7


course so one could spot his age-group competitor from both sides of the street, whoever was ahead or behind the game. This could be the fun part of the race as it tests one’s mental and physical toughness in this cat-and-mouse game.


in these zones, during the day, have reasons to be there, violations notwithstanding? Or maybe because those in the Curfew Task Force have day jobs, and able to go out only at night? Whatever the reason, they themselves have given existence to the COVID Amnesty Zones by not uniformly and consistently enforcing the law.


at the airport would be the only scenario where I would appreciate “amnesty”. Ironically, a COVID Amnesty Zone does not give hope but despair and fear because it simply means the system is a failure that officials are stubbornly dubbing a success. This is the way it is now, and please note that the “COVID Amnesty Zone” is a name I made up to give life to this opinion.


The scenario I suggested


After some time, the steep downhill now became a grinding uphill waiting for our return. Of course, it took a little more energy to crest the last hill, knowing the bike course was almost over in just a few meters away. One more quick turn to the final stretch where volunteers were on hand, instructing us to dismount at a designated line, and making us walk (or run, if you were not hurting yet) with our bike to the transition to return the bike on the racks.


It was a mix of chaos and confusion for some to locate their respective baskets that contain their running shoes for a quick change of shoes (again, for those who opted to use a particular pair of shoe for each phase of the race), otherwise, it was easy to rack the bike, and go for the run. It was on the final 4K run


that we must endure after the grueling bike course. The second run course was quite different from first 4K run which was flat. Whoever planned the course made sure we would suffer on the last run segment. After about 100 meters of running was a steep downhill. On this portion, many opted to


walk it as the leg muscles were probably revolting, coming off from the bike. Transitioning from bike to run normally makes the leg muscles wobbly because it now had to use another set of muscle group. It normally takes a few minutes before the running muscles begin to cooperate.


Like the bike course, the run course was also undulating with rolling hills and frequent change of terrain. The hills were steeper this time, but shorter. From what I saw, many found it hard to maintain a good pace. By that time, the intense summer heat was beating on us, especially running on concrete road with little shade from the trees. Thank God, there was a water stop at the top of the hill, which also served as the turning point, with two kilometers to go for the finish line.


Even after having run various long distances in the last four decades of my life, I felt that those last two kilometers in Pamplona was, by far, the longest and the most arduous I have ever ran.


At some point I thought I


was getting nearer the finish line but...remember the steep downhill at the start of the run? Guess what: It was still part of the route, waiting for us to conquer it on our return. But I thought, hey, it’s only less than 200 meters to go and then you’re done, so just tough it up, and charge that last hill with all your strength remaining, and the pain will be


over soon. At the crest of the hill was


a surprising relief to have volunteers pouring water from a tabo on our heads to cool us down from the blazing sun. By then, the site of the finish line was unmistakable about 100 meters away, giving us the chance to use that last ounce of energy all the way to cross the finish line. A sign of relief and accomplishment were obvious in the faces of each finisher as they hobbled to greet their friends and family, and exchange war stories with their fellow athletes.


The awarding of champions


and age groupers was well presented with beautiful hardwood trophies for the Top 3 winners of each age group category, and medals for the Top 10 for each age group. Commemorative medals were also given to all finishers, together with finisher shirts and a post-race meal. Thank you, Pamplona, for


putting up a well-organized and safe race, made possible by Atty. Nikko Arnaiz Ramirez, Councilor Shari Vallega, Councilor Ericka Fabe, the Tourism office, the Negros Oriental Sports Development Program, Gov. Roel Degamo, and Pamplona Mayor Janice Vallega-Degamo.


Dario Endozo, the oldest among all participants of the race, finished 1st in his age group. He is 59 years old.


specific expressions by artists responding to the call laid out in the show’s title. In their statement, the show is very much an internal mirror to the horrors and vagaries of our uncertain realities: “The recent pandemic has given us the time to evaluate our own priorities and emotions. As artists, we


Still, the works are also


are presented with an outlet that not only helps us release emotions but also allows us to critically examine ourselves.” “These works hope to create a space for the viewers to self-reflect,” the statement continues. “To create an environment for introspection. Almost as if it’s a mirror; what they do not understand, they create meaning for. Most times, the way we perceive art has a lot to do with what we feel when we view it. We project our experiences and emotions onto the work, and eventually, it starts to look the way we want to see it.”


And what do they see? In Sarah Jean Ruales’ “Isolation,” we feel the prolonged insulation of our quarantine in the blue blurriness of the work—“blue” for mood, and “blurriness” for the days melting into each other—with the one solid constant a shape that looks like a TV set, our constant companion to our isolated days. In Jomir Tabudlong’s “Trial


and Error,” life under the new normal becomes a mishmash of things that defy connection. In Mariana Varela’s “Nocturnal Panic,” a portrait of what feels like an insomniac woman is riddled with shards of color


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