A hook, a loop, a knot: When crochet becomes art

It is with admiration tinged with a good measure of envy that I view Aze Ong’s art. Admiration because of the intricacy and fine detailing of her pieces, and I must add awe at the size and scale of some of her works, one a towering 20 feet tall, another 80 feet long. Her imposing pieces – as well as smaller ones grouped together – tamed the cavernous space of the Foro de Intramuros, where her works were on exhibit during the Asian Cultural Council Philippines’ 25th anniversary event early this month.

And envy, not because I ever aspire or claim to any artistic inclination, but because her medium is something I had actually practised in my younger days, when eyesight was sharper and fingers more nimble. I’m talking about crocheting, generally regarded as a domestic craft, done by ladies on lazy afternoons, perhaps over an exchange of neighborhood gossip (they were then known as chismosas, before the concept of Marites came into vogue).

I wanted a hobby where I could work with my hands, so I took up crocheting (knitting seemed too complicated, and not too many people hereabouts were knitting), but alas, all I managed were doilies and coasters. I wanted to crochet myself a blouse, but that didn’t get very far; the neckline and sleeves stumped me as I couldn’t figure out the instructions in the pattern book.

My manang is very good at this, the crochet hook moving as if on its own. She has patterns and designs memorized, and she is crocheting a runner for my buffet table (100 inches long and 12 inches wide). She has crocheted for our dog Filemon Jr. and his best friend Noey collars in red, blue and yellow.

Aze’s crochet works are in a class of their own, in a different stratosphere, actually. Breaking away from identifiable shapes like mere circles and squares, her pieces are amorphous, like living, moving, throbbing objects. This is perhaps due to how she approaches crocheting: there are no patterns to follow, no sketches or designs to guide or limit her.

A year of volunteer missionary work in Kibangay, Bukidnon altered her outlook on life and the world around her. Living with the Talaandig people, experiencing their culture and traditions, their music and dance, witnessing their rituals, she says that “although I did not understand most of their rituals (that we were allowed to witness), I felt it, I understood it, I savored those moments.” She came back from that experience realizing “that I was not, not normal” and “fully accepting my creative process.”

“In very ‘Western’ thinking,” she explains, “spontaneity and intuition may be difficult to accept. But the commune with nature and its rhythm and flow is the beat of life, it is freedom. Sunflowers bloom, the sun rises and starts the day, rain falls, mountain views were perfect and every sunset ends the day. There was very little need for material things. And all you have is time.”

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She learned to crochet in sixth grade but did not think of it as creating art until about 15 years ago, when she was going to exhibit her crochet bags at a vegetarian restaurant and a friend told her what she was doing was art. From there, there was no stopping her.

A 2016 grant from the Asian Cultural Council brought her to New York, where she completed an artist residency at Topaz Arts and Bliss on Bliss Arts Projects in Queens. When she wanted to hang her pieces on the trees around Queens and was told that she had to get government permits to do so, Aze hung her piece on an IV stand and walked around the neighborhood. That indomitable spirit comes from a place deep within her, where her works “create a life of its own, and I just follow.”

Without patterns or sketches, one has to wonder where the forms and colors of her pieces take shape. Aze explains, “There are times, I dream about the form. Threads and yarns are just on the floor and I choose depending on how I feel – through the years I realized that opposite emotions almost have the same color. When I am angry, it is red, but when I am happy, it is also red...

“Sometimes the materials I have dictate the colors too. When a color is not available, I use another color. Or when it is the end of the yarn, that is the time I change colors. Since the material is flexible, it may be installed in different ways; however, if it is a particular show, time and space measurements help with what will be created.”

Aze has exhibited in numerous solo and group shows in the Philippines, as well as in the US (her works are included in the “Threads” exhibit at the Ukranian Institute of Modern Art in Chicago), Singapore, Abu Dhabi, Saudi Arabia, Canada, Italy, South Korea and Kenya (as part of the “Fabric of Being” exhibit at the ICPD25 Summit in Nairobi).

“Through the years, I realized that having no expectations makes things lighter and more enjoyable,” she says. “There is little to no frustrations. I do not expect my works to be beautiful nor did I make that a goal. It’s when I feel my heart, mind and body is aligned with my soul – that relieves me from fear and expectations.”

And when is a work “finished?” Not surprisingly, the work dictates that: “There are pieces that are finished because it feels finished.” On the other hand, “when the work says it is not finished, it will make me kulit.” Then again, “the work may say it is finished at a certain time, and then may ask for more work after three or more years.”

And there is one piece, entitled “Liwanag ng Karanasan,” that “will only be finished when my physical body leaves this earth.”

So which comes first – the art or the artist? In Aze’s case, “I follow where my work will take me.”