Sugar coating

I am sitting in front of two very serious artists. No, I don't mean they are glum, or that they have no funny bones. I mean they are really, really good, and they actually have careers. As artists.

We are in sugarlandia, Bacolod City, at the open air patio that straddles Orange Gallery and Chicken House. The proprietors of the gallery cohabit this space with the purveyors of chicken, using it as a common place to hang out and smoke. The two serious artists are digging into their grilled chicken (and pork) with gusto. Their muses are right beside them, likewise daintily nibbling their food. 

Meanwhile, I have been introduced as a writer, and a friend has unwittingly set me up as someone who has flown to this city for the specific purpose of interviewing these artists. I realize this as soon as we shake hands, and as we sit down, I am asked: "So, what did you want to ask us?"

I freeze. I realize the dilemma I am in, and wrack my brain, thinking about questions to ask, stuff that an equally serious writer should be asking. Having nothing prepared, I ask the first question that pops into my head. "So. What do you think the future of Bacolod art holds?"

I am fortunate that Charlie Co and Dennis Ascalon, acknowledged leaders of the pack in the Bacolod art scene, are in the middle of chewing, and don't have to react to the banality of the question. I cringe inside, and I think, 'this is why I will never impress Anderson Cooper and inherit the Vanderbilt fortune.' 

It is 9:00 pm, and even this late, there are young students setting up their exhibit on the third floor of the gallery. The gallery is allowed to flourish rent- and restriction-free - hence the late hours. Artists are given almost complete license to splash the walls of the building with scads of paint, and strew the surrounding pavement with eerie robotic sculptures. 

The existence of this space alone is enough impetus for creativity. Students can come and see their mentors' works, and perhaps, be influenced to go this way or that. Charlie Co acknowledges this. A certain points, he says budding artists get influenced by the successful ones, and he sees this as necessary for their personal growth.They get inspired by what they're exposed to, and even if they sometimes copy styles or trademark looks, that's just part of the cycle. In any case, Charlie says, they all influence each other anyway. Even he gets influenced by the newer breed.

At some point in the evening, I hit upon a question that's been bothering me for ages. Why is it that Bacolod contemporary artists have so much angst? Why are their paintings so grim and dreary? It's all dark, powerful paintings of hovels and emaciated men, of laborers with their backs broken by the rich sugar barons, and suffering Jesus Christs and blood dripping all over the frames. Charlie laughs and says, that same question was popped to him during the Art Manila fair just a couple of weeks ago.

He doesn't tell me what his original answer was, but to me, he says that for local artists, this is their reality. They are surrounded by poverty, oppression, the lack of opportunities. And they reflect that reality in their paintings or their works.

As I am channeling Maricel Soriano (ayoko ng putik!), that answer doesn't lead me gracefully to other questions. I try a couple more questions, like who are the artists to watch out for and what are they doing next, but as I have no pen and no paper, everything gets filed away somewhere in the part of my brain that's still semi-conscious after dinner.

My ideas dry up. I start hemming and hawing. I hit upon the perfect escape plan. I brandish the camera I had brought to take pictures of angst-free spots like The Ruins (never mind the mansion was razed during the Japanese occupation) and the Hofilena ancestral home. I ask the artists to pose beside their works, and I take a couple of shots. Success. Graceful exit accomplished.

Now to write a piece on the future of Bacolod art.