In Botong's country

It’s as if the master never left the atelier.

A cracking canvas is here, ghosted by a sketch of a man and a woman (the mayor of Manila many, many years ago and his wife). There are rows of hats and canes, dangling down are fisherman’s baskets. Masks. Swords. Medals. Shoes. Photographs. Japanese war helmets. Some sketches. Yellowing old Life and Newsweek magazines. On top of a stack of mags is a jaw of a wild boar. A palette board is caked with oil paint. The paint has dried up long ago, but the lushness is still there. A bit of its tropical brilliance has remained. No wonder since we are in the old studio of Carlos “Botong” V. Francisco, the late National Artist who sought to define the Filipino identity in bold, tropical colors on murals that brought out everything that is historic and almost mythic in our race. Masterpieces such as “Filipino Struggles through History” at the Manila City Hall, the “Pageant of Commerce” at the Lopez Museum, “Blood Compact” at the Yuchengco Museum, his “Bayanihan” and “Fiesta” series, the dramatic Crucifixion and “Stations of the Cross” paintings, to name a few, are breathtaking in their breadth and in the fluidity of strokes. Images are clustered together but they never look cluttered; it is the way the master planned each composition.

Murals after all — as considered by painters from the Mexican Diego Rivera to our very own Botong Francisco — are of the people, by the people, and for the people. “Murals,” it has been said, “are more public than paintings.”    

We recently visited Botong’s house on Doña Aurora St. in Angono, Rizal. You can tell this was once Botong’s residence by the bas-relief on the neighbors’ gates — one celebrating a bountiful harvest, another showing revolutionaries celebrating victory. 

Botong’s grandson, Carlos “Totong” Francisco II, talks about the ongoing restorations. Flood, termites, and time have done much damage. “’Yung brown na stripe sa ilalim ng adobe, ganun kataas (ang baha) dito,” explains Totong.

The good news is that the flood didn’t damage any of Botong’s paintings, just some magazines the old man collected. The bad news is that there are no more paintings in his old house, just a few sketches. It would be ironic if it weren’t so tragic: Botong’s artworks command millions of pesos nowadays (collectors make a killing from the sale and resale of old Botongs), but his family is having a hard time keeping funds coming to sustain the restoration of the master’s house and studio, to keep his legacy from being eroded by the flood of forgetfulness.    

“Simpleng tao ang lolo ko pero napakalaki ng nagawa niya (para sa bayan),” Totong says.

Carlos “Botong” Francisco will be forever remembered by most as the mighty maker of murals celebrating the fiery heroic spirit of Filipinos, our bent for brotherhood and bayanihan, but for most inhabitants of Angono, Botong was a kindly old neighbor.

Totong recalls how his grandfather loved going on outdoor adventures, going nature-tripping with friends (bringing along an ubiquitous guitar to the open road). One time the elder Francisco went on a trip with some of his friends in the community, riding a rickety Batmobile-style car. Soon enough, the women began wondering where their husbands were. Like a scene from the movies.

Speaking of cinema, did you know that Botong worked as a production designer for an LVN movie titled Genghis Khan? Did you know that he enjoyed playing basketball?

One such book edited by Patrick Flores aims to illuminate more things about the late National Artist. The Vibal Foundation Inc. (VFI) will launch The Life and Art of Carlos V. Francisco on Aug. 19 at the National Museum (alongside another VFI Art Series title, Francisco V. Coching, which chronicles the life of the popular comics illustrator, also edited by Flores, and accompanied by a full-color republication of Coching’s masterpiece El Indio).

“Our aim is to produce art books that are affordable to the people,” says Vibal Foundation marketing and events officer Karen Lucero. “Same quality of reproduction on paper, but at half the price, kung ano ’yung maa-afford ng masa — to enlighten them, and broaden their horizons (with regard to) art.” 

Botong’s former assistant Salvador Juban goes wistful every time he reminisces about the master.We journalists are in Juban’s house in Angono. The walls of a room are stacked with Botong-style murals: one shows a surveyor in the middle of some indigenous figures, another details a religious pageant. The influence of the master is palpable.

“Schoolmate ko ’yung anak ni Botong,” he says. The young Juban would watch the master working on his murals and cut out articles about Botong in the newspaper. “Minsan pinasok ko siya habang nagpe-paint siya. Kinausap ko sya, pinakita ko ’yung clippings. He was impressed. ‘O sige,’ sabi niya, ‘punta ka rito lagi.’ Binibigyan niya ako ng sobrang pintura. He (also) gave me lessons on drawing and painting still life.” 

Juban talks about how moody Botong was when it came to painting. The old master never touched a painting if the feeling wasn’t right. Everything had to be right. “Pag humipo na siya, mahirap awatin. Hanggang gabi (nagtra-trabaho).” And every stroke matters, Juban adds.

Botong did a yeoman’s work for the people of Angono: he designed procession floats and graduation backdrops. He also did stage designs for town programs. To think that Carlos “Botong” Francisco belongs to the pantheon of great artists such as Fernando Amorsolo and Juan Luna.

A simple man, he was forever in corduroy pants, white shirt, and sandals. Juban recalls, “Sabi niya sa akin nagugulat siya sa mga sinusulat ng mga writers about him. Ang lalalalim daw. Eh sa kanya, ordinaryo lang daw ’yun. Hindi niya hiniwalay ang sarili niya sa (karaniwang) tao.”

Botong was interviewed by a Free Press reporter only to find out afterwards that he had holes in his pants. A mentally unstable woman visited the artist, wanting him to paint an image of the Mother Mary on her handkerchief, offering him payment of two pesos. Botong did not turn her away.

On a trip to Taal for a sketching session, Botong, Juban, and other men from Angono decided to spend the night under the trees outside of a house. The villagers were paranoid about it; they even called a cop. And while sleeping, lights were repeatedly flashed on Botong and his companions; the men in the village made sure none of them did anything shady. In the morning, one of the artist’s companions told the cook who Botong was: “Si Botong Francisco po siya, at may ginagawa pa siyang painting para sa First Lady.” Their fortunes were reversed. The apologetic owner of the house ended up preparing breakfast for them.

One time Alejandro Roces organized an event to pay tribute to the artist, so Botong flies in to town wearing his usual getup.

“Nung naglalakad si Botong, nakita niya na may nagse-set up ng stage para sa event kinagabihan. Mayroong teacher nakita siya at sinabi, ‘Mama, Mama’ — at inutusan siyang magbuhat ng silya. Nagbuhat naman si Botong (laughs). Nung gabi nakita nung teacher kung sino special guest doon sa event (laughs).”   

Botong was a man of the people, the salt of the earth. But this self-effacing artist has astounded us with his mythic, magnificent murals marked by lofty ideas that put the Filipinos on a pedestal, making our story as a nation something that smacks of the cosmic and the transcendent, not just the historic; something rife with meaning, not just facts. The humble man from Angono did all that. One teacher from Angono remarked, “Botong walked with kings but never lost the common touch.”

That reminds me. A poet once said you must first be grounded before you can soar.