Yet after leaving the show, I felt something was amiss. Somehow it lacked a better understanding of how in the Philippines, many people seek ways to get cured or achieve a level of well-being. For many of us, it is typical to hear about gravely ill relatives or friends seeking all forms of treatments including more traditional forms of healing, as well as Western or modern medicine. In between those two, a range of therapeutic solutions is also sought. As it is presented in the exhibition – and partly what frustrates me – is the creation of oppositions between what Filipinos generally practice together. Creating distinctions between the two misses the point of what Critical Remedies could have been all about.
Upon entering the gallery, I found the disparity of the artists’ artworks sharp. On the right is Garcia’s installation of an outdated operating bed, slightly inclined to serve as a screen. Projected onto this is a video loop of a scene showing rubber gloved hands unfolding freshly ironed sheets, preparing a bed for surgery. These hygienic sheets are methodically laid flat and fitted onto the sides. Hanging on the wall next to the operating bed are realistic paintings of individually wrapped objects that could be medical instruments used in the procedure. These are framed on square canvases and painted in gradated shades of cream. With these, Garcia continues with subjects she has delved in the past, using hospital themes and medical references. Her installation’s simplicity and design is so elegant, it approximates how most of us imagine a clinical space.
Roldan, on the other hand, created an assemblage of ritual objects much like what he has previously done. Instead of setting them on a frame, this time he arranges them on an ordinary table, which he wrapped with brightly-patterned plastic sheet. This is typical of what is seen in many working class Filipino homes. Materials he placed there – such as vials of coconut oil with herbs, dried seahorses, palm leaves, native hand-rolled cigarettes, and bottles of gin – are symbols of offerings to spirits. Many Filipinos still believe that spirits abound and that those saints contributed by their Roman Catholic beliefs are part of the pantheon of unseen forces hovering above them.
Roldan’s installation returns to his concept of faith on the periphery and the healing system that depends on it. These are symbolized with the seven, bare wooden statues with oil and herb vials implanted on their chests. Setting them each on a pedestal around the table, Roldan installed red, flickering electric bulbs that are common in many households with personal altars. In a sense, he is conveying that much of the healing entails a form of transaction or negotiation with the spirits. The consecration of food and other offerings become potent once the faithful believe that the spirits have accepted their sacrifice.
In the exhibit, I was hoping Garcia and Roldan could have produced art that bridged those two forms of healing systems. Instead they only made slight modifications of what they have been doing on their own. Moreover there was not much in the show of creating tensions between the two health belief systems – between peripheral and mainstream healing. This has already been prescribed by the very method the artists chose to present their artworks. Instead they were isolated not just by the arrangement but by an overly big and dramatic title board that split them into two different exhibitions. There is none by way of a play on dualism as Filipinos practice in their everyday lives.
Garcia and Roldan are two of the more active artists in the Philippine contemporary art scene. They have stood out as a result of their distinctive art surrounding belief systems and medicine. Having only completed an arts degree two years ago from the University of the Philippines, Garcia has steadily gained recognition for her cutting-edge artworks using new media. She is particularly renown for having won last year’s grand prize at the ASEAN Art Awards. For that prize-winning work, Garcia put next to each other a work using an assembled x-ray image and a painted wrapped object. The older Roldan, on the other hand, reached the stage of his artistic career through a more circuitous route. He was a member of the Black Artists’ of Asia that was based in Negros Island and has held numerous solo exhibitions in Manila. Known for his wall-mounted assemblages using materials from his island, Roldan counts among his collectors the Fukuoka Art Museum in Japan.
Despite my criticism of Critical Remedies, I think it was a good idea to put Garcia and Roldan in an exhibition together. Both artists have become known for very similar works that they conceptualized for the exhibition. Joselina Cruz organized it for the Lopez Museum and should be congratulated for making the show possible. Also known as Yeyey, she is one of the very few curators who actually goes around the galleries, attends opening of exhibits and plans art shows with artists, such as this one. In a sense, this is perhaps why the idea behind Critical Remedies is fresh.
Cruz keeps her pulse in the art scene, particularly in the events held by artists at Surrounded by Water and Big Sky Mind. This tendency to be concerned with trendiness could have caused her not to see in a more holistic fashion the themes, which Garcia and Roldan already lay bare. Both artists were already displaying their sardonic wit through their choices of works. It is a pity that in the exhibition Cruz missed their point and played up instead the romantic notions about disparities in health belief systems found in this country. While Garcia focused more on the rituals of medical procedures, Roldan decided to freeze a phase of possibly a complex rite. Garcia also displayed more cynicism in mainstream medicine in contrast to Roldan’s trust in traditional healing systems. Taking inspiration from these artists’ works and prescriptions for critical remedies, there might yet be hope for incurable romantics and begin seeing artists’ point.