Just yesterday, I had the happiest occasion to see Ada and Philip Mabilangan at their new apartment at Rockwell Center, with Beth Romulo there to give the very intimate drink an extra aura of warm friendship. I admitted to Ada that I tried many times to start an article about you since you left us for the "light of lights" to no avail since your relationship with me meant so many strata of art, friendship and psychological factors. I had scrapped many good intentions that ended with a resounding negative in the wastebasket – where I should have followed them.
I was chatting with your dear daughter, and she gave me the extra push I needed for she held some important factors for my panicky writing, for my mental block to be set aside, plunge headfirst into this multi-level game of chess with myself, my memories, my emotions. So, here I am at last able to chat with you.
You were such a fine observer of human values and foibles that you guessed me, dissected me. You saw through me in my noisy, seemingly extroverted persona a way to mask my painful shyness. As a philosopher, you had the right tone and kindness to tell me clearly what was shaking within me. Let me give myself the semblance of culture by quoting dear Shakespeare:
"For there was never yet philosopher
That would endure the toothache patiently."
I must have been quite a toothache. But you used such tact that what you said was the beginning of my gratitude for you. You told me that my bravado was in some ways used to compensate for my lack of self-confidence, my bashfulness, particularly in the art circles of my idols like you. I tried all kinds of looks, as every teenager has to endure them. I did not win the war, but just some little battles with my inadequacies. As Goethe said: "We learn only from those we love."
So love you I did and will always remember you with the warmest affection for you kept prodding in the right direction and made me rise up on my feet, even if there were some garrulous encounters among the two factions opposed in the fabric of the AAP, with their dogmas and restrictive denomination and narrow language barriers.
Unwittingly, I had gone over the Iron Wall in my sliding back into my "black period" that was far more dissident within the conservative realm, than say Edades on the modern side, for my expressionism was very much evident. I was approached by one of the highest priests of this movement when I got the first AAP Prize for "Sorcerer." He clearly identified the "modern" in me, away from the admirable niceties of Amorsolo’s ante-bellum glorious suns and impeccable rivers. (May I remind my patient readers that I learned how to swim in the Pasig River? Totoo po ’yan!) I might have joined him on the modern side of the street had he not approached me bearing the "gift of dissidence" in such a humiliating manner for an idealistic teenager like me, saying: "If you join us, I shall publicize and promote you!" It was a shock to discover that there was that kind of manipulation and planned strategies for one’s career creating bogus communities, playing games of power and privilege. Although he might have had a high concept with his plan, I thought he presented me poor "execution."
Again, the AAP brought me a further boost by awarding me in the same year another first prize for my "Incubus." This time, the expressionism in me was most clearly stated while remaining on the conservative side of the tracks… amazingly! The conservatives were the ones who voted for me, showing how open-minded they were. I imagine easily how much your levelheaded influence had a beneficent effect on them.
In one stroke, you opened the door by which my family allowed me to navigate the unsure, doubtful, even painful existence… but also letting me carry out the life of one’s dreams, come what may. No luxury for me has had the value of my freedom to create, think, and act. In exchange, I learned in my long stints of loneliness, lack of means and closed doors in nations so far away from succor in any sudden emergency. Adding to the pain was that I spoke neither Italian nor French.
I could have made it infinitely easier for myself if I went to America. I was even being offered a scholarship by Mr. Nutley, an exchange professor from the United States, but I preferred to get the basic sources of art and culture in Europe and not the reflection of them as a second-hand expression.
I learned the hard way. There were no free lunches out there. Only hard work gives you the baggage to fully tackle luck when and if it comes your way. So, all the more, thank you for taking take the responsibility of saying to my mother I was worthy of trust in my capacities.
Coming from you, it was a major blow, even more since I was working very hard at the Ecole National Superieure des Beaux-Arts in painting, printmaking and fresco murals, and evening classes in French. After we went to the Louvre where you saw me navigate with assurance the masterpieces displayed in the biggest museum of the world, you added the words that made my day… and following years: "Now I know that you are really serious about your studies." Learning how hard I was working, you added your kind remark: "Good, but don’t forget to live, too!"
Salamat, Purita! Mahal na mahal kita!