The exhibition brief starts: "A shift of environment elicits a certain degree of adaptation, just so to a point that one never loses the remembrance of an origin, a point of departure, a sense of home, like migratory birds flying back when the weather has been more livable for them, thence flying off once again to seek new refuge from the changing seasons. Impermanence marks their survival in a world in constant motion."
Hi Yason, Manny here! It’s good to hear from you. It’s very inspiring to learn that the art scene in Manila is so vibrant and full of energy. I just found out that some of our friends had just opened a new space in Cubao. It is also good to know that you are back in Manila with your energy, helping mobilize things. I am hoping I could visit the Philippines with my wife next year. She, too, is very excited to check the energetic art community in Manila.
Life in NYC is composed of day to day struggles, and delights. So many things to do, so little time, so they say. There is truth in that. However, it’s always a delight to realize how one manages to accomplish things given the small amount of time, or should I say the amount of tasks one subjects himself to do. And it’s always a great effort to be in that constant pursuit of making things happen.
Why subject oneself to the struggle? Because there is a need to. The need to share prompts us to willingly accept the struggle.
I work as a caregiver to a person who is incapacitated after suffering from multiple strokes and a lingering Alzheimer’s Disease. It is hard work, but rewarding. The money I earn from this job allows me to do things like the ability to function as an artist.
Personally, I think being an artist in New York is not about the glamour, or the reputation of having many shows, or the aim to be visible in the art world. Being an artist in NYC is a privilege; a chance to share my personal insights and experiences as a way of returning the favor to a city so generous to me.
New York is a tough city and it takes a lot of skill and strategy to even squeeze in art-making in such a constantly busy schedule. It’s such a multi-layered city and the artists who inhabit it vary that it’s hard to label one such scene as the New York scene – unless its meant to label it for geographical purposes. And that is just the beauty of it, to be surrounded in an environment in a state of flux is inspiring, but disorienting at the same time. So many things are happening it’s hard to catch up; it’s overwhelming. You go to one museum for a day you get a headache in the end. You visit the fine arts college open studios and you just want to throw up afterwards. It’s art binging. But then again, as a consumer, I guess it’s a choice really. You can always choose to lock yourself up and make art (especially in winter, which sucks so bad), and check out the "scene" which is a just a stone’s throw away.
I try to absorb as much as I can in the city. In fact, it’s too much. Bits of inspiration can be found almost everywhere – it’s almost natural, you’re just like breathing it in. I actually believe it might be impossible to not even try to create something here as an act of inspiration for the city. New York, as brutal a city it may be, is very giving and generous at times. It’s the most expensive city in the world but there are a lot of free things around if you know where to find them. Searching around in the city is part of the fun: so many corners, so many alleys, underground, above ground; it almost feels like being a kid again.
My artistic concerns? Time and money, the usual.
I’m having difficulty really comparing the scenes between NY and the Philippines, and I honestly think I have no authority at all to speak for the Manila art scene, let alone the NY scene. They do have their strange similarities, and oftentimes I experience déjà vu here in NY. I guess the only thing I can say is that Manila openings are a friggin’ fiesta! I would skip dinner and head out for the art openings. Openings here in NY have wine and cheese. Eck. Also, I think the Manila art scene is still relatively young, very young. It’s still growing. Its going through a lot of stages. If it were a teenager, then let it drink and smoke all it wants! The NY art scene is just something else – I can’t really put it into words.
At Biak na Bato in Bulacan, my friends and I bathed in a stony brook, mindless of the various dubious-looking (and smelling) paraphernalia floating our way. Everything seemed to be part of the big march – the rocks, weeds, bamboo trees, gin bottles. Joining yet another long procession on the rice fields of Pulo at 3 a.m. on a Good Friday with the severest of stomach cramps, I wished yet again that I could phase through land and float in air (in retrospect, it was Good Friday then and that’s one day we shouldn’t get anything we want. Fair enough now but not at that time). This cruel trek with my friend Trek should entitle me to the most precious toilet seat in heaven, beside Judas and a fleet of Alka-Seltzers. Passing gas during a pilgrimage is not a joke; it’s more agonizing than flagellation, believe me. But it has humor, too, and therein lies the existential-via-physiological joke. Flatulence, like atoms dispersing at the barest contact with matter or laughter, is both protest and relief from the traffic of solids. It’s just another way of phasing through this whole mess.