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I WAS
not in a very good mood before venturing to the
Metropolitan Museum to view the Artista, Dibuhista,
Manililikha: Paghubog at Pahiwatig design exhibit of
the University of the Philippines College of Fine Arts (UPCFA).
I just had an argument with our self-styled residence
association president over garbage, and my mind at that
point was exactly in that state: garbage! Good thing
the museum’s May Lyn Cruz received me in more than high
spirits, making me forget, for the moment, the early
morning brouhaha. Taking the lead to a side entrance,
Ms. Cruz ushered me into the exhibit hall. The first
image I saw rendered me flabbergasted. (And, mind you,
that is a rather difficult thing to achieve). At the
center of the hall was a giant-size replica of a Ginebra
San Miguel’s Marca Demonio bottle designed by no less
than National Artist Fernando C. Amorsolo. “Ghwack!!!”
I didn’t know that the national gin label was designed
by a national artist. Well, the exhibit truly made me
realize how little I knew about the history of
Philippine arts and design.
Amorsolo’s design is not limited to bottles. The
Philippine “master of light” made advertisement for Ford
(the car), Ivory (the soap) and Bear Brand (the milk).
He designed stamps for the Philippine Postal Authority
and did magazine covers for the Renacimiento Filipino.
He also found time to do editorial cartoons, sometimes
using the pseudonym “Makahiya,” I suppose, for
politically sensitive themes. With that, we can say with
much confidence that we sorely miss Amorsolo’s candor
with labels in this day and age of walang hiya.
Toward
the left side of the hall, a most amusing magazine cover
for a 1928 issue of Graphic designed by Irineo Miranda
hangs on the wall. Miranda could have given American
artist Norman Rockwell a run for his money in his
ability to evoke place, to draw humor and to underscore
an editorial point in the limited space of a
two-dimensional plane. In this piece, anahaw (fan palm)
leaves enliven the upper background while the silhouette
of what seems to be a market place, most miniature in
scale, is drawn in the lower background. This silhouette
is connected to the three main figures of the design by
a road, scribbled to perspective. Two generations and
two nationalities meet in the confines of this
rectangular space. In the foreground, a Filipina wearing
a manton de Manila carries a basket full of produce
(mangoes, carrots, pechay, and a live chicken hanging
upside down to boot!) walks hurriedly, seemingly
unimpressed by what appears to be a pesky suitor in the
form of an American dandy in an americana suit, hat and
all. Behind the two characters looms the figure of an
old man donning a native sombrero, camisa chino and
checkered pants. He holds a cane in his right hand and
wears a scowl on his face. In this graphic design (pun
intended), it seems that America’s presence in the
Philippines, although self-styled as benevolent, was not
at all universally welcomed.
More
than the art of design, this exhibit celebrates the
artist’s contribution to the making of national memory.
In more ways than others, we create our memory as a
people in a grand set of images that are collectively
shared across generations. We “remember” the past, not
mainly through texts or dates in figures, but through
images. We do not remember phrases when we speak of
Lapu-Lapu. We form images of Lapu-Lapu and his men
humbling Magellan in the coasts of Mactan on our minds.
When we think of Rizal’s martyrdom, we do not only
remember a stanza or two of his masterpiece, Mi Ultimo
Adios. In our collective minds, we form images of his
dramatic death, the twisting, turning and falling of his
limping body just before it hits the ground, signaling
the beginning of the end of Spain in the Philippines. We
could hardly think of Bonifacio without the raised bolo
or without the bolo at all. Such is the power of images
and such is the power of artists.
National
memory constitutes processes of creating a nation in the
collective mind of a people. History is merely a part of
this grand process, and history is not the past, but the
making of a past. The historical production of a nation
therefore entails a selection (an inclusion and
exclusion subprocess) and arrangement of past events, by
themselves akin to acts of artistic license. Notice how
our textbooks write about Bonifacio’s heroism but hardly
mention the circumstances of his death.
Apart
from actual events, memory-making entails the selection
and arrangement of ideas, norms and values that can be
called the ideological production of nation. This
process simply underscores the fact that we also inherit
ideas from the past. This production is very apparent in
Amorsolo’s “Makahiya” self-appellation (the virtue of
being self-deprecatory), Amadeo Manalad’s depiction of
Gabriela Silang (the idea strength in femininity?) and
Larry Alcala’s Slice of Life depiction of a Filipino
Christmas Reunion in LA (the idea of the resilience and
vivacity of Filipino culture across time and space).
Lastly,
the cultural production of a nation entails the
selection and arrangement of cultural artifacts,
tangible or intangible, that push forward the reality of
the nation as imagined by the artists themselves. And,
thus, Jess Abrera’s cartoon portrayal of Erap and GMA in
his strip Alipin acquires a life of its own and becomes
part of our collective memory. In the same vein, Pitoy
Moreno’s designs become grafted to our idea of modern or
contemporary expressions in the genre of the Filipino
dress. (The exhibit gives your jeepney or taxi budget
its fair worth if you are curious enough to see pictures
of petite GMA in an equally petite bridal gown, Imelda
in a classic, pink terno standing next to Queen Sofia of
Spain, Dame Margot Fonteyn in a kimona, and H.M. Queen
Sirikit of Thailand in a baro over a Maranao malong).
Needless
to say, this exhibit also pays tribute to the present as
it guides our attention toward a future replete with
potential. Prof. Rafael Asuncion’s design for the UPCFA
logo, titled Alab ng Sining (Artistic Fervor)
says it all. Four flames burn resplendently,
representing the four disciplines taught in the college:
Visual Communication, Painting, Sculpture, and Art
History. Its shape reminds me of the “lotus in fire”
motif in Buddhist art...a coincidence, perhaps, but
still most appropriate in reminding us of the importance
of enlightenment and the indispensability of
memory-making.
I
congratulate the UPCFA, the curators of the exhibit and
the staff of the Metropolitan Museum.
***The exhibit runs until May 31. For information, call
(632) 523-7855 or 536-1566. |
