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I used to dream of Germany every
time I’d see it on film. There would be a million subjects playing
in my mind on what it’s like. My desire to see it with my own eyes
was so strong that only an act of God could stop me from going
there.
Finally, in
the late seventies, the opportunity came for my German experience.
At last, I would finally visit Albrecht Durer’s shrine in
Nuremberg, breath the air he breathed, and feel the sights he
painted. He was my idol after all.
Unlike other
Masters of Painting, Durer’s house, where he lived for many years,
became his shrine and museum. Once there, I felt his presence inside
the building and I couldn’t move. A powerful sense of awe filled
my being. Perhaps it was because I couldn’t believe that being
there, and looking at his body of works, was the culmination of my
dreams. Or perhaps it was his actual spiritual presence electrifying
my senses. Who knew?
There were
drawings, fine prints and paintings all over; so many that I thought
maybe he was just like me—working from the wee hours of the
morning until the twilight, and resting only during meals. But in
spite of the similarity of our work habits, I felt like I was hardly
worthy of stretching his canvases and erasing his mistakes if there
were any. He was an excellent draftsman, so detailed and artistic
that any artist would feel inferior and frustrated in comparison. It
was a self-deflating experience that pointed out my shortcomings and
made me strive for excellence.
In Munich, as
if my surprises were not enough, I ran into Vicente Manansala who
was my mentor but whom I would rarely see in Manila. We began
exchanging views about art in one of the biggest galleries, just as
if we were contemporaries. I have always valued the National
Artist’s expertise and his influence can be seen in some of my
early works.
At these two
destinations, I did many sketches, and at night, in my hotel room, I
would eagerly fill in the details generated by my earlier and more
enthusiastic efforts.
In Dusseldorf,
I had the chance to see the Germany of Post World War II. The city
gave me an idea of good living in a very progressive commercial
center. Here, I had the chance to see the works of another favorite
artist of mine, Paul Klee, at the Westfahlen Stadt Museum.
A funny thing
happened to me at this institution, which I will never forget. You
know how we Filipinos cannot resist touching something out of
curiosity and defy that ever present “Do Not Touch” sign? Well,
yours truly was standing right in front of Klees’s “Black
Prince” when suddenly, I had the urge of touching his signature,
perhaps to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming. You can probably
figure out what happened next! The alarm started to ring and
everyone, from security guards, museum staff and other visitors, all
came running toward me as if I had committed some kind of vandalism.
I was too embarrassed to say anything and only then did I realize
how noble my chosen profession was, and how treasured the works of
the old masters were in their respective countries. I probably
looked like an idiot to them but deep within, I felt proud I was an
artist.
I don’t have
to reiterate the magnificent of the Koln Cathedral on the Rhine. I
imagine our San Sebastian Church would be just a part of its nave.
It was awesome!
Of course, I
didn’t neglect visiting Beethoven’s birthplace in Bonn and the
rest of the trip was an experience of picturesque castles,
vineyards, beer and the best Riesling Wine money could buy, until I
ended up at the banks of the beautiful Rhine River.
Like a true
Baldemor, I came home feeling like a great artist with an armful of
drawings and paintings reaching the end of my wanderlust . . . until
the next time.
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