The art we (get to) keep
Unlike our friend BenCab, who maintains a museum and still has some forested hills within his extensive property in Baguio, or Dr. Joven Cuanang, who enjoys similar stewardship of so much space for evolving art to be hung on walls and adorn gardens, most of us, who may have been a little fortunate in building up personal art collections—albeit not on the same scale—may soon have to resolve concerns over continued possession.
Since I downsized into a townhome a few years ago, much of my modest assembly of art, mostly from artist friends, had to be stored in a bedroom that serves as a bodega. Only a small percentage of well over a hundred beloved artworks fills up the available wall space in the sala, corridors, and my bedroom.
My kids will inherit this problem with space. I’ve started to document the collection as individual photographs with accompanying text identifying each piece, and speculating at their possible worth. Recent communication with old-time friend Cid Reyes, himself an artist and indisputably the most knowledgeable expert on Philippine art, had him promising to help me advise my kids on probable future transfer of stewardship.
While I still had to complete my documentation, my interest shifted to my own personal evaluation of the pricelessness of many of these pieces. I had to start with the legacy from friends who have passed on.
Several Santi Bose pieces include a pen-and-ink and watercolor rendition of our favorite mountain cabin in Bangaan off Sagada, other early works, prints, and my favorite, a pointillist pen-and-ink circa late 1970s.
Early in the 1980s, while reporting to the same office as poet Cirilo Bautista, who would become a National Artist for Literature, I observed him patiently finishing an abstraction with colored pens, and wound up being gifted with it. A lifetime buddy, Salvador “Dodong” Arellano, hailed as one of the world’s top gamefowl and equine artists when he moved to LA, bequeathed exquisite personalized watercolor nudes that incorporate imagined scenes from my first novel. Also invaluable is a rare nude in oil by Jaime de Guzman, from the turn of the millennium.
Sydney-based op-ed cartoonist Edd Aragon was generous with his prodigious art in various genres, including a 2010 mixed-media tribute to President Noynoy Aquino and an uncommon oil painting of Jose Rizal that became the cover art for the coffee-table anthology Rizal + launched at the Yuchengco Museum in 2018. I value both immeasurably, along with a nude in pastel plus painted nudes on ceramic tiles.
The goddess Gilda Cordero-Fernando had me keep several of her charming figurative watercolors, which remain in a prized folder except for one that I had framed. From another amiga, Davao-based poet-painter Tita Lacambra Ayala (TALA), came a 1981 pastel. An unsigned mixed media poster by Nonoy Marcelo, circa 1996, I continue to treasure, the same with a bas relief of a fish carved from wood by dear buddy Carlos “Caloy” Abrera.
Among my earliest collectibles are vintage photographs of Sagada legend Eduardo Masferre, a couple of which are framed. There are Mother & Child terracotta sculptures and a bas relief from fellow Bedan Dr. Ton Raymundo, and a framed photograph from his “Reptilian Self-Portrait” series by Gerry Cornejo. Dear friend Tikoy Aguiluz is represented by a black-and-white sketch from his “Rara Avis” solo exhibit of 2019. I actually purchased a print from Neil Doloricon in 2020, a year before he passed away. And what do you know, while in the process of documentation, I was reminded that I should be a proud owner of a 2005 nude sketch by Al Perez.
And these are just the works of artist-friends who are no longer with us. I can’t name everyone else who’s represented in my collection, but can start with the dearest of friends, such as lifetime sister Agnes Arellano, whose large bas relief on the three stages of womanhood is irreplaceable. There are Jon Altomonte’s imposing oil painting on canvas and a nude sketch; Cesare A.X. Syjuco’s multi-media lightboxes and Maxine Syjuco’s numerous oils and pastels, all so ethereal and scintillating; DengCoy Miel’s 2015 “Kafka in the Tropics” oil on canvas, which inspired me to author a poetry collection with the same title, and had it as the cover art; Cristina Taniguchi’s oil painting and terracotta bust; an early Igan D’Bayan painting, circa late 2000s; and several wonderful paintings of flora circa 2005 by Camille dela Rosa, who recently returned to the genre.
A curious collectible is a sketch by South Korean poet and perennial Nobel candidate Ko Un, done in Manila in 2002 when he was here for the Asia-Pacific poetry festival. I also prize Julie Lluch’s bust of Nick Joaquin, given in 2017. And a dedicated tapestry by Bert Monterona, whom I met briefly in Vancouver in 2003. He saw fit to feature scenes from my fiction in this masterwork.
In 2008 I acquired three pieces from a young Batanes artist who had won national awards, Xavier Abelador, in his early 20s at the time. Two of these acrylic-on-canvas pieces are separate but can compose a tantalizing diptych.
A Nunelucio Alvarado oil, a Gus Albor nude sketch, several Danny Dalena lithographs, a large oil painting by Margot Marfori of Davao, a terracotta bust by Danni Sollesta of Dumaguete, a Beng Dalisay watercolor, an Erlinda Panlilio oil, a 2015 triptych by San Francisco-based Mel Vera Cruz, abstract art by Cid Reyes himself, oil on canvas by Rishab Tibon, a Gromyko Semper watercolor and painted ostrich egg, old prints by chef/restaurateur Gene Gonzalez, a painted bag by premier poet Merlie Alunan, a Rock Drilon sketch of me from the late 1970s, a pastel portrait by novelist Lakambini Sitoy, a 1980s posed photograph taken by Jaime Zobel, and similar early photos of me by Wig Tysmans (in Baguio), Nap Jamir (in Sagada), and Lita Puyat (at Penguin Gallery Bar in the early 1980s) doesn’t quite round off the rest of my prideful art collection.
More are in store for documentation. The question is, how much of the art we have do we get to keep? For now, I end the roster with an oil-on-wood board done in 2020 by a godson, Lucas Lacuesta, when he was nine years old. I’m sure it’ll turn priceless through the years.
