Answer: Because the subject is about making money and they are all artists. He he!!! (Sorry, just a joke.)
Ten hours every day for two weeks, I was in the company of 31 artists from different fields who closed their eyes at the sight of numbers. The objective was to learn how to manage our arts and ourselves as artists.
I am not an artist and am not even artistic. I am tone deaf and uncoordinated. I cannot draw and worse I cannot emote in front of an audience because I am extremely shy. But our favorite friend, Reimon Gutierrez, who has taken the course insisted that I take it too.
"It will help you and Claude focus," he said.
"But how will I survive two weeks with artists a.k.a. ego trippers? I might stick out like a sorry sore thumb being a left-brainer?" I said.
"Oh, you’ll be fine," he said. "I think you will even shine," he added, obviously encouraging me to the hilt just to take the course.
For survival, I came up with a strategy plan. So as not to be noticed, I sat in the last row and decided to listen hard, absorb much and talk less during the discussions. Then I always came to class dressed like an artist (albeit trying hard) to blend.
On our first day, the most common question after giving one’s name was "What do you do?" Proudly, said: I am an actress, I am a writer and a poet, I am a painter, I am a percussionist, I am a singer, I am a scriptwriter, I am a drummer and so on. And me, what will I say? I am a chameleon? To my surprise, someone asked me if I do manage my Claude.
Can a wife manage her husband? (If there is a wife who can claim she does, I will put my last centavo to publish her book.) I think that’s impossible. Although I am sure he meant managing Claude as an artist and not as a husband. But if the husband happens to be an artist, that’s doubly impossible. For how can you manage someone who always thinks he is doing fine? (Sorry, darl.) Okay, I do all the tasks he abhors or simply does not want to do. After all, it’s true that behind every successful man is an exhausted wife.
On our second day, I brought my products, Claude’s Talangka, Pesto, Balo Balo and XXXO to share with all. It was also my way of saying defensively, "Look, I am no artist, I run a small business and bear with me if at times I shoot from the left hip." It’s a good thing they liked my sauces. Artists need to eat too, you know.
On the third day, Dinah told me the moment she saw me on the first day, she said to herself, " Ito artist na artist ang dating." Honestly, I do not know if that is a compliment or what. But I silently congratulated myself. "It’s working."
On the second week, I started to loosen up. I felt very comfortable in the environment and actively participated in group and class discussions. Sarap to be finally talking – unlike my first week, when I kept most of my thoughts to myself. Expressing to them was so natural and infectious. At the same time, they were so open to and not at all bothered by others’ opinions. Instead of debates, we had sharing and respect for individualism. This is one beauty of artists. (Unfortunately, not the same can be said about lawyers.)
Generous Zeny expressed the beauty of sharing. Lito captured our joyous moments through his photographs. Ramon took us to the realities of filmmaking. Dindi showed her individualism by her unpredictable fashion sense of high boots and fur while French-speaking Martin awed the men with his leather coat like a true Frenchman. Kaz romanced us with her poetry. Motherly Jane rationalized every discussion. Sonny shared an inside story, the public must not know. Mamay made us sing and dance each time our energy level was low. Principled Dinah shared why she refused to do work for a particular politician. Wacky Jun had a convincing theory on gay and effeminate male. Father Macmac (yes, we had a priest in class) never imposed Catholic issues but respected the group’s freethinking during the discussions. Diva Grace expressed her greetings through ethnic music. And Juilliard educated actress Ana came out a true leader.
You know articulate Ollie? She was always challenging the class and the teachers with her wit while cool guy percussionist Kish regarded the subject, VMOKRAPI, as nothing more than a headache-causing virus. Carlo the Great Gatsby impressed me with his one-liners and drawn-up conclusions. New York-based Toots, Florence-trained Pia and Eric’s inspired CDs beautified our walls and awed us (such talents) with their paintings while bold and daring Sarah expressed her inner self through a very powerful dance. Very dashing Joel who ate most of my candies and talangka shared how he puts artistic solutions to not so challenging works. Together with level-headed Karen, resurrected Marie, overly quiet and proper Philip, natural actress Gem, young and curious Kara, low-key but assertive Katz, somehow confused and found Jen, unsuspecting Mavic and ever determined Tanya made our two weeks a riot and fun. I guess you must be asking what I contributed? There must have been something, I hope (other than making our lunches better with my sauces).
During the two weeks, we applied both heart and mind to studying. We felt (heart) what it was like to be an aging ballerina, a noble Rama, a circus casting director, a liberated Indonesian fashion designer, a charismatic theater artistic director, an American lady for street children, a new owner of a legendary piano maker and a live show director, with the guidance of bright and elegant Prof. Cecile. While from Prof. Titus (who came to class in cowboy shoes and so handsome in his Thai-inspired cape), we learned (mind) how to look at those characters’ roles from a distance to come up with some objective observations. Issues on sustainability, compromising, prostitution, conviction (panindigan) and comfort ability were raised, debated and finally settled.
After the course, I was on a high. I wanted my artist friends and my non-artist son to take the course too. But my temperature was high too. I had to stay in bed for two days to recuperate. Those two weeks of role-playing were stressful without my realizing. It is no wonder the arts is expensive. Now I understand why my husband who wears many hats as a sculptor, painter, furniture maker, a writer, chef and of late landscape designer cannot balance a simple checkbook. There is simply no more energy left for mundane things.
I also understand better now why my husband would not take some job or why he would not sell some works. Why he cleans the ref while I clean the car, why he does the marketing while I do the banking, why he cooks our meals while I read the manuals to connect the DVD and TV so we could enjoy a movie together after dinner. Basta hindi lang niya type. Tapos! While I am the chameleon.
Artists are happy people. Artists make life beautiful. Money is not their wealth but life itself. Recently, we were fortunate to be able to buy a beautiful Bencab painting. The day it was framed, it found its place on our wall by the hallway. That night, my husband put a table with starched white mantle in front of the painting. He opened the excellent bottle of red wine I had been reserving for a special occasion and prepared slices of jabugo and manchego. (I was silently computing how much the painting cost.) Together we sipped and dined while admiring the painting. We didn’t have to be in Europe to have such a view. He simply created the view right in our living room.
Another time, he came home and excitedly dragged me outside to appreciate the full moon. "See how beautiful the moon is when you are happy?" he said. Now, what woman would not melt like cream cheese at such gesture?
Artists make our world go round. Can you imagine life without music, dance, paintings, theater, books and so on? So what if they cannot balance their checkbooks? So what if they come on a first date in shorts and slippers? So what if at times they are moody? So what if they refuse to sell to you? So what if Van Gogh ended his life with one ear? So what if Beethoven had a notorious temper? Ibigay na natin sa kanila ‘yon? What they have given us and are continually giving us is too great to even look at their petty imperfections.
Hail to the artists!