A Sure Win at the Met
March 10, 2002 | 12:00am
"There’s a particular piece there that for me is really heart-breakingly beautiful," says Metropolitan Museum of Manila Director Victorino "Ino" Manalo.
He is referring to the fresco secco of San Cristobal de Paete inside the Paete Church in Laguna, hidden for so long behind a more traditional painting of St. Christopher with the Child Jesus. Uncovered in the process of the church’s restoration, this older St. Christopher is less fair-skinned than its European version. His arms are sinewy and his pose more informal–in Manalo’s eye, more Filipino. The poignant gaze exchanged by the great saint and his young Lord stirred Manalo’s very soul.
"You could almost hear St. Christopher ask, ‘Little boy, why are you so heavy?’" says Manalo. "And you could almost hear the child respond, ‘Do you not know that I carry the weight of the sins of the world?’ It’s as if, in this country that has lost so much because of war and disasters–most of all the disaster of neglect–for a few moments you were given a reprieve from history."
For Manalo, it is moments like this–when one’s view soars past the beauty of an artwork to penetrate a profundity of humanity–that we steal a look through what historian William Henry Scott calls "the crack in the parchment curtain". Says the Met’s Director, "This painting is a crack in the parchment curtain that separates us from the vitality of our history and traditions. You could almost feel once again the breeze wafting down from the centuries and almost hear the voices of our ancestors speaking."
The son of Julliard School of Music graduate, violin soloist, Manila Symphony Orchestra concertmaster and Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra founder and conductor Basilio Manalo, Ino inhaled the rarefied air of high culture as a young boy. His mother, too–Cecilia Mapa of Bacolod– instilled in him an intense appreciation of the arts. "My mother always believed in bringing us to art museums, surrounding us with books on art, and encouraging us to paint when we were kids," he says.
Manalo’s impassioned adoption of art from a Filipino perspective took root while he was a Humanities student at the University of the Philippines in the early 1980s. "We have a tendency to see our art forms through foreign eyes," he says. "It is critical to bring back a more Filipino perspective. Also, one of the negations that must be corrected is the notion that arts and culture are separate from economic development. Until we make that connection, it will be difficult to make our development sustainable."
In 1982, Manalo was brought to the Laguna de Bay area by one of his UP professors, Santiago Albano Pilar, after being primed for the trip by the ideas of another teacher, Felipe de Leon Jr. It was the start of an enduring love affair–the locale has become a sort of sanctuary for Manalo, infusing him with optimism toward the art scene’s state of affairs.
"That whole Laguna de Bay area is so rich with art in the churches, houses and in the daily activities of the people. When I witnessed the art in the churches and in the towns–along with the crafts–it really blew my mind. Clearly, you can see I don’t accept the traditional distinctions between different types of artistic expressions–painting versus basket making, for example. Both have messages. Both express ideas. So much is being lost but (Laguna de Bay) still offers insight into the variety and the ability to move that our art communities really have. I hope to convey that here (at the Metropolitan Museum)," he says.
The history of the lake area surrounding Cainta, according to Manalo, yields another example of Scott’s crack in the parchment curtain. Manalo bemoans the common notion that the capitulation of the Filipinos to the Spanish forces was devoid of any great angst. Filipinos understand, he says, that there were numerous skirmishes but fail to vividly picture "the tortures, the killings, how families might have been broken up, and the little betrayals." An incident during the Battle of Cainta in the16th century provides a glimpse into the bewilderment felt by Filipinos during those tragic times.
"Today it is this dusty and ugly place but several hundred men and women died defending Cainta. The night before the battle, one Filipino climbed up a palm tree–according to the reports of one of the missionaries–and shouted at the Spaniards under the cover of darkness something to this effect: ‘Spaniards, what is it that we or our ancestors have done to you that you should come and pillage us?’
"It was a really remarkable statement. If you unpack that statement, you will see that the Filipinos were confused with the terms of this invasion. They saw things as reciprocity: We never raided you; why are you raiding us? Most beautifully of all, you can see we didn’t separate ourselves from this long line all the way to our ancestors."
Manalo himself is no stranger to sieges. A NAMFREL volunteer during the 1986 snap elections, the future Youth Coordinator for the electoral watchdog’s National Council was assigned to oversee the casting of ballots at the Guadalupe Nuevo precinct. An ailing Makati Mayor Nemesio Yabut had lost control of his thugs and the combustible atmosphere needed only the smallest of sparks to explode into violence. Sure enough, some goons audaciously dragged fellow volunteer Bing Guingona along the concrete street outside the public school voting station, intent on loading him into a car and driving him to a fate common during the Marcos years. Manalo clung to his friend with all his might, not realizing that a gun was pointed to his head. A superior’s voice commanded the gunman to point his weapon upward–he fired into the air instead. Amid the bedlam of shrieking nuns and pleading civilians, Guingona bit a healthy chunk of flesh from his captor, allowing the two volunteers to scamper to safety.
In 1989, Manalo was appointed Museum Director of the CCP where he curated such unconventional exhibits as Kenkoy: Komiks at Lipunan. He was also assistant corporate secretary of the Metrobank Foundation for seven years, managing national programs for the bank’s philanthropic arm, including the College Scholarship Program he conceptualized himself. Currently, Manalo is president of The Tahanan Shop, a houseware store showcasing craft products, and Alamat, an arts management company.
A three-time Palanca Awards for Literature winner, Manalo is editor-in-chief of Araw Magazine, the National Commission for Culture and the Arts’ (ncca) quarterly cultural magazine. Manalo co-wrote (together with Tony Alcasid) for Araw a thoughtful piece that explains to the younger generations how a block of streets in Quezon City came to be named after a group of Boy Scouts (in 1963, 24 Boy Scouts aboard a United Arab plane on their way to a Jamboree in Greece lost their lives when their plane crashed, stunning the nation). "Whenever we would pass by the Scout area, our parents would explain about the boy scouts’ crash," he says. "Little by little, you start to make connections. Like Eric de Guia–Kidlat Tahimik–is the brother of one of the scouts. For that matter, I am told that Lady Valerie, the female impersonator, is the sibling of Scout Torillo, I think. What a gripping story it was when you go through the material."
In October of last year, Manalo assumed the post of Director of the Metropolitan Museum. From all indications, it will be an unorthodox tenure with projects as idiosyncratic as the dishes he is renowned for cooking up–manok na inadobo sa mangga and pancit with smoked tangigue and dried mangoes, to name a couple. "I was told recently that there was an exhibit on motorcycles at the Getty Museum in Bilbao–this is something that is hip and cool. Museums today must compete. They must be cool. Otherwise, how can they bring in people? (Being cool) is probably something I’ll have to learn!" he laughs.
Unlike most museums, he says, the Met has as yet no permanent display. "Much of our shows come from outside–we change our exhibits very often. It’s going to be my task to put up a permanent exhibit so there will be one section of the museum that doesn’t change too often," says Manalo.
It is easy to imagine curators as cultural despots, inflicting on the public their private sense of the avant-garde; sometimes the exaggerated irreverence of exhibits alienates. "I have personal favorites but I don’t think that should be an issue in what you curate," he says, "especially because once you’ve been exposed to the range of artists, it broadens your perspective. You begin to understand that these are all creative expressions. You may not like the philosophies, perspectives or approaches of some artists but, necessarily, you understand they have a place in Philippine art history or the contemporary scene. You recognize that what they’re trying to express is valid and therefore must be seen by the public. It’s not just your personal opinion."
To make the museum relevant to an apathetic public, Manalo is determined to implement the Met’s populist Art for All program. "It’s always been my view that art can contribute very important insights into the general form of economic development. On the other hand, there is another aspect that is often misunderstood–the arts provide you insights into culture. There are all kinds of failures that eventually boil down to a failure to understand culture. In a country like the Philippines with a colonial history, the cultural contradictions are very intense. I always point out that our elite rule our country without even being able to speak the languages of its people–speak it well and beautifully.
"In Thailand and Java, for example, the better educated you are, the better you are at the languages of your people, the more refined your Thai and your Javanese. Tayo, the more educated you become, the less you are able to speak Filipino with all its nuances and the literary devices that all languages have. Bringing all that to bear in the museum’s program, we will try to contribute to the issues that confront its audiences."
He envisions putting into operation three streams. The first is urban art–public art, the role of art in city planning, architecture and design. The second is community art featuring a range of art forms from small towns. "For example, there’s art found in Quiapo–everything from anting-anting to paper flowers. You have all these other towns throughout the country like Tugaya in Lanao–these are brass-making towns. They make gongs which are used for music so music must also be taught. These are resources, sources of creativity, of inspiration that affirm notions of achievement and discipline. These are sources of values for our people! I’m willing to bet that many of our ruling elite are unfamiliar with such richness in their towns," says Manalo.
The third stream will allow art to become the entry point for the discussion of national issues. "Next year, for example, the sub-theme is Water is the Stream of Life. We hope to have exhibits on the rice terraces. Or maybe something on Bali. There, the distribution centers of the irrigation system are actually the temples. That by itself already shows the spiritual connection to water. Precisely, the water must pass through the temples as a node because it sanctifies and revitalizes the water before it goes out into the fields."
Not long ago, the Met hosted a visit by around 80 urban poor youth from the Quezon City Performing Arts Development Foundation. "We had a theater workshop with them," says Manalo. "They transformed a selection of the World Press photos into a skit. It made them much more involved with the exhibit!"
It was just the type of inspired activity you would expect from the young, lateral-thinking Manalo, who is single-mindedly attempting to metamorphose not just the works on display at the Met, but also our attitudes on what constitutes art itself.
He is referring to the fresco secco of San Cristobal de Paete inside the Paete Church in Laguna, hidden for so long behind a more traditional painting of St. Christopher with the Child Jesus. Uncovered in the process of the church’s restoration, this older St. Christopher is less fair-skinned than its European version. His arms are sinewy and his pose more informal–in Manalo’s eye, more Filipino. The poignant gaze exchanged by the great saint and his young Lord stirred Manalo’s very soul.
"You could almost hear St. Christopher ask, ‘Little boy, why are you so heavy?’" says Manalo. "And you could almost hear the child respond, ‘Do you not know that I carry the weight of the sins of the world?’ It’s as if, in this country that has lost so much because of war and disasters–most of all the disaster of neglect–for a few moments you were given a reprieve from history."
For Manalo, it is moments like this–when one’s view soars past the beauty of an artwork to penetrate a profundity of humanity–that we steal a look through what historian William Henry Scott calls "the crack in the parchment curtain". Says the Met’s Director, "This painting is a crack in the parchment curtain that separates us from the vitality of our history and traditions. You could almost feel once again the breeze wafting down from the centuries and almost hear the voices of our ancestors speaking."
The son of Julliard School of Music graduate, violin soloist, Manila Symphony Orchestra concertmaster and Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra founder and conductor Basilio Manalo, Ino inhaled the rarefied air of high culture as a young boy. His mother, too–Cecilia Mapa of Bacolod– instilled in him an intense appreciation of the arts. "My mother always believed in bringing us to art museums, surrounding us with books on art, and encouraging us to paint when we were kids," he says.
Manalo’s impassioned adoption of art from a Filipino perspective took root while he was a Humanities student at the University of the Philippines in the early 1980s. "We have a tendency to see our art forms through foreign eyes," he says. "It is critical to bring back a more Filipino perspective. Also, one of the negations that must be corrected is the notion that arts and culture are separate from economic development. Until we make that connection, it will be difficult to make our development sustainable."
In 1982, Manalo was brought to the Laguna de Bay area by one of his UP professors, Santiago Albano Pilar, after being primed for the trip by the ideas of another teacher, Felipe de Leon Jr. It was the start of an enduring love affair–the locale has become a sort of sanctuary for Manalo, infusing him with optimism toward the art scene’s state of affairs.
"That whole Laguna de Bay area is so rich with art in the churches, houses and in the daily activities of the people. When I witnessed the art in the churches and in the towns–along with the crafts–it really blew my mind. Clearly, you can see I don’t accept the traditional distinctions between different types of artistic expressions–painting versus basket making, for example. Both have messages. Both express ideas. So much is being lost but (Laguna de Bay) still offers insight into the variety and the ability to move that our art communities really have. I hope to convey that here (at the Metropolitan Museum)," he says.
The history of the lake area surrounding Cainta, according to Manalo, yields another example of Scott’s crack in the parchment curtain. Manalo bemoans the common notion that the capitulation of the Filipinos to the Spanish forces was devoid of any great angst. Filipinos understand, he says, that there were numerous skirmishes but fail to vividly picture "the tortures, the killings, how families might have been broken up, and the little betrayals." An incident during the Battle of Cainta in the16th century provides a glimpse into the bewilderment felt by Filipinos during those tragic times.
"Today it is this dusty and ugly place but several hundred men and women died defending Cainta. The night before the battle, one Filipino climbed up a palm tree–according to the reports of one of the missionaries–and shouted at the Spaniards under the cover of darkness something to this effect: ‘Spaniards, what is it that we or our ancestors have done to you that you should come and pillage us?’
"It was a really remarkable statement. If you unpack that statement, you will see that the Filipinos were confused with the terms of this invasion. They saw things as reciprocity: We never raided you; why are you raiding us? Most beautifully of all, you can see we didn’t separate ourselves from this long line all the way to our ancestors."
Manalo himself is no stranger to sieges. A NAMFREL volunteer during the 1986 snap elections, the future Youth Coordinator for the electoral watchdog’s National Council was assigned to oversee the casting of ballots at the Guadalupe Nuevo precinct. An ailing Makati Mayor Nemesio Yabut had lost control of his thugs and the combustible atmosphere needed only the smallest of sparks to explode into violence. Sure enough, some goons audaciously dragged fellow volunteer Bing Guingona along the concrete street outside the public school voting station, intent on loading him into a car and driving him to a fate common during the Marcos years. Manalo clung to his friend with all his might, not realizing that a gun was pointed to his head. A superior’s voice commanded the gunman to point his weapon upward–he fired into the air instead. Amid the bedlam of shrieking nuns and pleading civilians, Guingona bit a healthy chunk of flesh from his captor, allowing the two volunteers to scamper to safety.
In 1989, Manalo was appointed Museum Director of the CCP where he curated such unconventional exhibits as Kenkoy: Komiks at Lipunan. He was also assistant corporate secretary of the Metrobank Foundation for seven years, managing national programs for the bank’s philanthropic arm, including the College Scholarship Program he conceptualized himself. Currently, Manalo is president of The Tahanan Shop, a houseware store showcasing craft products, and Alamat, an arts management company.
A three-time Palanca Awards for Literature winner, Manalo is editor-in-chief of Araw Magazine, the National Commission for Culture and the Arts’ (ncca) quarterly cultural magazine. Manalo co-wrote (together with Tony Alcasid) for Araw a thoughtful piece that explains to the younger generations how a block of streets in Quezon City came to be named after a group of Boy Scouts (in 1963, 24 Boy Scouts aboard a United Arab plane on their way to a Jamboree in Greece lost their lives when their plane crashed, stunning the nation). "Whenever we would pass by the Scout area, our parents would explain about the boy scouts’ crash," he says. "Little by little, you start to make connections. Like Eric de Guia–Kidlat Tahimik–is the brother of one of the scouts. For that matter, I am told that Lady Valerie, the female impersonator, is the sibling of Scout Torillo, I think. What a gripping story it was when you go through the material."
In October of last year, Manalo assumed the post of Director of the Metropolitan Museum. From all indications, it will be an unorthodox tenure with projects as idiosyncratic as the dishes he is renowned for cooking up–manok na inadobo sa mangga and pancit with smoked tangigue and dried mangoes, to name a couple. "I was told recently that there was an exhibit on motorcycles at the Getty Museum in Bilbao–this is something that is hip and cool. Museums today must compete. They must be cool. Otherwise, how can they bring in people? (Being cool) is probably something I’ll have to learn!" he laughs.
Unlike most museums, he says, the Met has as yet no permanent display. "Much of our shows come from outside–we change our exhibits very often. It’s going to be my task to put up a permanent exhibit so there will be one section of the museum that doesn’t change too often," says Manalo.
It is easy to imagine curators as cultural despots, inflicting on the public their private sense of the avant-garde; sometimes the exaggerated irreverence of exhibits alienates. "I have personal favorites but I don’t think that should be an issue in what you curate," he says, "especially because once you’ve been exposed to the range of artists, it broadens your perspective. You begin to understand that these are all creative expressions. You may not like the philosophies, perspectives or approaches of some artists but, necessarily, you understand they have a place in Philippine art history or the contemporary scene. You recognize that what they’re trying to express is valid and therefore must be seen by the public. It’s not just your personal opinion."
To make the museum relevant to an apathetic public, Manalo is determined to implement the Met’s populist Art for All program. "It’s always been my view that art can contribute very important insights into the general form of economic development. On the other hand, there is another aspect that is often misunderstood–the arts provide you insights into culture. There are all kinds of failures that eventually boil down to a failure to understand culture. In a country like the Philippines with a colonial history, the cultural contradictions are very intense. I always point out that our elite rule our country without even being able to speak the languages of its people–speak it well and beautifully.
"In Thailand and Java, for example, the better educated you are, the better you are at the languages of your people, the more refined your Thai and your Javanese. Tayo, the more educated you become, the less you are able to speak Filipino with all its nuances and the literary devices that all languages have. Bringing all that to bear in the museum’s program, we will try to contribute to the issues that confront its audiences."
He envisions putting into operation three streams. The first is urban art–public art, the role of art in city planning, architecture and design. The second is community art featuring a range of art forms from small towns. "For example, there’s art found in Quiapo–everything from anting-anting to paper flowers. You have all these other towns throughout the country like Tugaya in Lanao–these are brass-making towns. They make gongs which are used for music so music must also be taught. These are resources, sources of creativity, of inspiration that affirm notions of achievement and discipline. These are sources of values for our people! I’m willing to bet that many of our ruling elite are unfamiliar with such richness in their towns," says Manalo.
The third stream will allow art to become the entry point for the discussion of national issues. "Next year, for example, the sub-theme is Water is the Stream of Life. We hope to have exhibits on the rice terraces. Or maybe something on Bali. There, the distribution centers of the irrigation system are actually the temples. That by itself already shows the spiritual connection to water. Precisely, the water must pass through the temples as a node because it sanctifies and revitalizes the water before it goes out into the fields."
Not long ago, the Met hosted a visit by around 80 urban poor youth from the Quezon City Performing Arts Development Foundation. "We had a theater workshop with them," says Manalo. "They transformed a selection of the World Press photos into a skit. It made them much more involved with the exhibit!"
It was just the type of inspired activity you would expect from the young, lateral-thinking Manalo, who is single-mindedly attempting to metamorphose not just the works on display at the Met, but also our attitudes on what constitutes art itself.
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