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By Rome Jorge, Lifestyle Editor
To seek what is purely Filipino to the exclusion
of all that is foreign and modern is futile. A melting pot situated
in the heart of Asia composed of more than 7000 islands, our nation
is intrinsically multicultural. We are one of the few peoples that
look favorably upon interracial relationships, hence such local
archetypes of beauty as mestiza and morena. Being Filipino has got
nothing to do with race, religion or even residency. We are a
migrant culture founded by seafarers. Filipino culture, by nature,
is inclusive. To a fault, we bear no grudges against our many
invaders and oppressors. Instead we accept every foreign influence
and subvert it into something uniquely Filipino—from American war
jeeps turned into folkloric jeepneys to Santo Niños and Nazarenes
worshiped fanatically as mestizo bulols. With Filipinos, mutant is
normal.
Pure Hybrids, Normal Aberrations explores our
mutant culture. The exhibit showcases works by Jonathan Olazo, Jucar
Raquepo, Ronn dela Cruz, Kiri Dalena, Raul Rodriguez, Pete Jimenez,
Jose Guillermo Naval, Alvin Villaruel and Jonathan Roson at the
Whitebox Studio, Cubao Expo until July 16.
The most arresting and provocative of the works
are those of Dalena. She ponders on fame and shame, ubiquity and
anonymity. Her mediums are none other than folk penitence—a hybrid
of Inquisition-era Spanish Catholicism and indigenous Malay
shamanism—and Jose Rizal—a product of both foreign education and
nationalist aspiration.
Central to her installation is a life-size
terracotta sculpture of a naked female penitent. Its face is cloaked
in a white hood yet its generous folds of flesh are so unabashedly
exposed.
Dalena explains, “There are no female
flagellants. It really is a male practice. Flagellation is about
shame. What is interesting is that, aside from making their faces
anonymous, they would wear a semblance of women’s clothes whenever
they flagellate themselves. The leaves [tied around the waist] are
supposed to convey a skirt. It’s part of their shame. It’s
public humiliation.” She adds, “Being a women itself [can be
degrading]. It’s doubly shameful that she’s covering her
identity.”
Dalena’s installation includes a row of three
identical headless busts of National Hero Jose Rizal painted in
generic government issue brown. She notes, “They are actually
unfinished. They are not decapitated. But that’s the impression
they leave.” She explains that they were resin reproductions are
by an organization of descendants of national heroes that gives them
to far-flung towns that cannot afford a shrine to the most famous
Filipino.
The figures—despite having no faces—are
still instantly recognizable as Rizal with their iconic period coat
lapels. For most Filipinos, the National Hero naturally comes to
mind when thinking about ubiquitous monuments. But for those
unfamiliar with their own culture, these headless busts are but
anonymous discards. She explains, “It’s about a sense of loss, a
sense of erasure.”
She credits fellow artists and curators Olazo
and Raquepo for juxtaposing her sculpture with a video installation
of an actual penitent flagellating himself. “That was really the
curatorial decision of Jonathan [Olazo]. When we were
conceptualizing our works, we weren’t really aware what the
details were about the show.”
For his part Raquepo presents a canvas crammed
with Filipino kitsch: MMDA art, a giant wooden spoon and fork, an
oversized rosary, reproductions of Leonardo Da Vinci’s “the Last
Supper,” a poster of dogs playing billiards and stars and stripes.
He explains, “The exhibit is centered around
the idea of aberrations—which means a deviation, a mistake, a
detour, a transformation from the original. It’s become freaky,
mutant, hybridized—which is what Pinoy culture is. This is neither
negative nor positive. It’s just the way we are and how our
culture is. And that’s the way Filipino artists are as well. We
love taking things and transforming it into their own intentions.”
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