How do you move in a world of fog
That’s always changing things? — Tom Waits, I Don’t Want To Grow Up
If one were to build a Borgesian library, that would be hipper than a narcotic high. Start with art books. Taschens, bound in black and reasonably priced, about everyone who matters: Basquiat, Bacon and Balthus. All that graffiti (Jean-Michel), fleshy distortions (Francis) and morose Lolitas (Count Balthasar) — their greatest hits. There are also those 25th-anniversary Taschen tomes, with topics that are worth the visual toke: Atlas of Human Anatomy and Surgery, Aesthetic Surgery, Araki, etc. Then there are books for cineastes. Stanley Kubrick who stored his secrets in boxes. Everything you’d wanted to ask about Buñuel and Brando, as well as erotic cinema, horror cinema, and the Japanese auteur. And for serious, serious collectors, The Godfather Family Album. Books by other publishing houses are as stunning, startling by degrees. Last Gasp. Morpheus. Thames & Hudson. Prestel. Penguin. The brain salivates.
For contemporary art, there are German-published books that are worth the euros. There is an Other Criteria book about Damien Hirst: I Want to Spend the Rest of My Life Everywhere, With Everyone, One to One, Always, Forever, Now filled with immortal quotes from the controversial (con?) artist, pop-ups and gatefolds, transparencies of pickled shark and sheep, a magnifying glass, the works.
For kids, there are cute and informative books about the masters such as Picasso, Dali, Van Gogh, and Frida Kahlo, among others. From coloring books to storybooks about the lives of the masters, the list is endless.
But when it comes to our own corner of the world, there is much to be desired in terms of visual arts. Sure, there are great hardbound coffee-table books (about Malang, Kiukok, BenCab), as well as paperbound ones that are exhaustive and finely printed (about Manansala, Amorsolo, Botong), and that local publishing houses are fighting the good fight. Soldiering ever on. But don’t you wish there was a series of books about Manuel Ocampo (his revaluations and “swastikations”), a history of Salingpusa, the controversies in Philippine art from the Sixties to the Noughties, something slim and beautifully printed black dossiers about contemporary artists (Ronald Ventura, Geraldine Javier, Louie Cordero, Rom Villaseran, etc.) — things that matter? We’d definitely forego instant noodle lunches just to save up for them.
And not the detritus that juts from the shelves of bookstores: art and culture books that are shallowly written and are dust-jacketed with back-cover pictures of the publisher posing sultrily like in the poster of Strangers in Paradise starring Tom Babauta and Snooky Serna (what in hell’s bells was she thinking?); or, worse, the series of books featuring lackluster lists of visual artists who only got included because they were willing to cough up a painting or two. Poor exploited artists. Ponzi would be mildly scandalized.
What about kids and teens? Don’t they need to experience art (read and learn about it) at an early age so as to save them from the dread of being artless adults? (And most of those artistically-challenged grownups have already filed their certificates of candidacy — the horror, the horror!)
This is the philosophy behind the “Growing Up with Philippine Art” book series, a joint project of The Crucible Workshop and Kuwentista ng mga Tsikiting (KUTING). The thrust of the series is to present stories about children’s encounters with three renowned Filipino artists (Arturo Luz, Anita Magsaysay-Ho and Joe Mendoza) coupled with illustrations that “translate the often intimidating world of fine art into accessible (and often funny) adventures seen through the eyes of children.”
Acccording to Crucible Workshop’s Sari Ortiga, they hope to introduce children to Filipino artists and to encourage them to experience homegrown art firsthand. He explains, “The Crucible has always been looking for media that will promote the masters of Philippine art — from coffee-table books to short documentaries to children’s books. And it is important for children to learn about art history and the masters, so that they can find their own artistic directions in the future.”
In Tito Arturo Makes Robot Monsters written and illustrated by Yasmin Ortiga, a child goes with the sculptor to this red barn of a workshop and imagines Luz’s metal abstracts as giant robots rampaging across Metro Manila like mechanical Godzillas.
“Won’t people be scared of your robot monsters?” the child asks.
He answers, “Well, not everyone thinks my sculptures are robot monsters. I made them so different people can see different things.” Monsters, paper clips, or slides — they could be anything.
Epiphany no. 1: Imagination is not just a monopoly of the artist; the viewers are invited to draw their own interpretations — to see, to imagine, and to feel alive. Art could be a living, breathing thing.
Yasmin explains, “It is important that kids don’t grow up thinking that art is something that they have to ‘get.’ I guess that’s why this book series is really about ‘encounters’ with art — not just ‘biographies’ of the artist’s works and achievements. We can encounter an artwork and choose to hate it, but we should never think that it is something beyond our understanding. When that happens, art is no longer a possible source of inspiration. I think that is a really sad thing to lose as a kid.”
In Looking Out for Heroes written by Glenda Oris and illustrated by Andrea Pua, a kid inadvertently left alone in Makati uses Joe Mendoza’s public sculptures (of Gen. Del Pilar, Sultan Kudarat and Gabriela Silang) to find his way toward his mom’s office.
“How did you remember how to get here? You don’t even know the names of the streets,” says the worried mom.
With the help of the sculptures, answers the kid. “I was very scared but they guided me. Daddy was right — they are heroes! They didn’t let me lose my way.”
The story works in a metaphorical level as well. Epiphany no. 2: Art has way of illuminating a path through the fog. The statues of heroes can help a lost child find his or her way; and at the same time, the legacy of those heroes —their courage, selflessness, and love of country — can help guide a nation that has lost its own moorings. (“Strong Republic” my foot! A nation is lost when its president decides to run for a lower office because power has corrupted her human soul — and most of us are too busy malling and attending chi-chi parties to even care.)
Public art, obviously, is art for the public (meaning you and me). We see them and we take them for granted — but not the kid in Glenda Oris’ story. The author says art has a function of its own.
“Art challenges the child’s mind to come up with stories or simple identification of things, it stretches their imagination,” explains Oris, who used to work in a building along Gil Puyat Avenue, and was familiar with the route the kid in the story takes.
Andrea Pua says she plotted out the kid’s path and drove around Makati. “I asked my brother to take photos and (we) actually walked (in the area) to get a better perspective. I wanted the feel of crossing the street, and what the kid must’ve felt.”
Laughter on the Wall is written by Germaine Yia and illustrated by Katerina Angara.
For this project, Katerina Angara says she imagined what the writer was thinking when she created the story. She drew character studies. And then after that “each character sort of takes on a life of its own.”
She explains, “My parents collect a lot of Philippine furniture, so I referenced those. It was like drawing from life and such. I based the character of Lola Purita on my own grandmother, Lola Rose, who passed away a few years ago. She’s very dear to me. That’s how I imagined the story turns out — of spending time in Lola Rose’s house.”
The Magsaysay-Ho painting, according to Angara, has this “wonderful enigmatic quality that stirs curiosity in children and grownups alike — and curiosity has the power to let their imagination take flight.”
In Laughter on the Wall, one of the most important characteristics of art is highlighted: its mysteriousness.
A kid is drawn to a particular piece in her Lola Purita’s collection, a painting of laughing ladies by Anita Magsaysay-Ho. She asks her grandma what they are laughing about. The girl in the painting next to them who forgot to put on her clothes? Mimi the poodle? Or did the clown statue across the hall tell them a joke? Or are they laughing at her?
Lola Purita answers: “I also do not know why they are laughing, but I enjoy not knowing. Isn’t it fun to just keep on guessing?”
Rightly so. Neil Gaiman’s Cain says, “It is the mystery that endures, not the explanation.” What makes the Mona Lisa looks so tickled pink with delight? What is Munch’s screamer screaming about? What does Scarlet Johansson whisper to Bill Murray toward the end of Lost in Translation? What is the reason given by the man propped down on the sidewalk who has abandoned all hope in the Radiohead’s Just video?
The great thing is that we will never know. That is epiphany no. 3, and that is what’s wetly alluring about art. The mystery, the ineffability has been there all the time. Sometimes, the most interesting thing about a painting is happening outside the frame or somewhere lodged between the lines.
Art books with kids in mind? Hmm. Didn’t Picasso once remark that artists are merely children who refuse to grow up? Maybe the trick is to grow up with art, or to never grow up at all.
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The original illustrations by Katerina Angara, Yasmin Ortiga and Andrea Pua from the “Growing Up with Philippine Art” book series is on view until Dec. 15 at The Crucible, fourth floor, SM Megamall A, Mandaluyong City. Tito Arturo Makes Robot Monsters, Laughter on the Wall, and Looking Out for Heroes are available at leading bookstores nationwide.
For information, call 635-6061.