Tita Lulu (Lourdes Almeda Lopez Sarabia) has been part of my life since the years when her eldest daughter Anna Leah still had a de Leon appended to her name. Like Anna, I'm a Daddy's girl so it was easy for me to relate more with her father Injun than with Tita Lulu.
Tita Lulu is a larger-than-life figure (she's taller than the average Pinay of her generation, women born in the late '20s or '30s). Injun was handsome, charismatic, an activist, an unconventional thinker but most of all, a doer. He deserves a full-length piece so I'm not bringing him into the picture yet.
Tita Lulu used to frighten me at their old house on Maranaw street, La Vista Subdivision, Quezon City, partly because she reminds me so much of my mother (formidable and intimidating). So it was Injun I became barkada with. I sometimes made small talk with Tita Lulu in their living room when she was present. Once I looked at her comfy-looking sandals and asked, "They look nice and comfortable. Where'd you buy them, Tita?"
She stretched out her legs to their full length and barked at me (she was a heavy smoker then so her delivery of lines was not only blunt but gruff): "Ten dollars in New York!"
Once, Anna left her very young daughters in their lola's care. One of them wouldn't stop wailing. What Tita Lulu did (she was a hospital administrator then) was to make the child swallow a Valium pill. That stopped the crying. But can you imagine the reaction of the parents' child? I still get a laugh when I remember that.
Well, Tita Lulu is not in the best of health these days. Before she became ill and weak and attached to an oxygen tank, she'd drive to work from her Sikatuna Village townhouse to Gota de Leche building on Lepanto Street, Sampaloc, Manila, and work a full day. She kept that charitable organization that feeds malnourished children going after her own mother, Natividad Almeda Lopez, died in the '70s.
Anna recently asked me to do her mom's portrait. I gave many excuses why I couldn't do the job, and I only relented when she accepted my terms so it could be finished fast and presented to Tita Lulu at the hospital: that the brushes, canvas and a set of basic paints be provided, that Anna's grandchild Raya Sidhi be involved in the initial sketching and that I bring in Norman Chow, my painting teacher in Baguio, to help me with the face because I really don't do honest-to-goodness faces unless it's a caricature or cartoon you're talking about. Raya and I worked feverishly at the Araos residence at the UP Diliman campus one Sunday.
Norman was quite pleased when I brought up the unfinished canvas last week during a brief Baguio visit, and he was sympathetic even if Tita Lulu remains a total stranger to him. He has been care-giver to many family members, lately his mother. He lost his wife Frances and favorite daughter Cezanne to cancer.
On Monday evening, Anna, her daughter Sinag, Sinag's daughter Raya and I went to a hospital in Quezon City to make the presentation. Tita Lulu gave a faint smile. A trace of her old self was there. She pointed at my head and asked me in that blunt fashion of hers: "Why are you wearing a hat?" I just said my head gets cold easily which is God's truth.
And that's the story of Tita Lulu's portrait which now hangs on the wall to the right of her hospital bed. Thank you, Jerry and Melen, for the space, the light and refreshments, thank you, Norman, for your infinite patience with a slow student (as far as realistic portraiture is concerned). Thank you, universe, for letting Tita Lulu continue to touch our lives.
Tita Lulu is a larger-than-life figure (she's taller than the average Pinay of her generation, women born in the late '20s or '30s). Injun was handsome, charismatic, an activist, an unconventional thinker but most of all, a doer. He deserves a full-length piece so I'm not bringing him into the picture yet.
Tita Lulu used to frighten me at their old house on Maranaw street, La Vista Subdivision, Quezon City, partly because she reminds me so much of my mother (formidable and intimidating). So it was Injun I became barkada with. I sometimes made small talk with Tita Lulu in their living room when she was present. Once I looked at her comfy-looking sandals and asked, "They look nice and comfortable. Where'd you buy them, Tita?"
She stretched out her legs to their full length and barked at me (she was a heavy smoker then so her delivery of lines was not only blunt but gruff): "Ten dollars in New York!"
Once, Anna left her very young daughters in their lola's care. One of them wouldn't stop wailing. What Tita Lulu did (she was a hospital administrator then) was to make the child swallow a Valium pill. That stopped the crying. But can you imagine the reaction of the parents' child? I still get a laugh when I remember that.
Well, Tita Lulu is not in the best of health these days. Before she became ill and weak and attached to an oxygen tank, she'd drive to work from her Sikatuna Village townhouse to Gota de Leche building on Lepanto Street, Sampaloc, Manila, and work a full day. She kept that charitable organization that feeds malnourished children going after her own mother, Natividad Almeda Lopez, died in the '70s.
Anna recently asked me to do her mom's portrait. I gave many excuses why I couldn't do the job, and I only relented when she accepted my terms so it could be finished fast and presented to Tita Lulu at the hospital: that the brushes, canvas and a set of basic paints be provided, that Anna's grandchild Raya Sidhi be involved in the initial sketching and that I bring in Norman Chow, my painting teacher in Baguio, to help me with the face because I really don't do honest-to-goodness faces unless it's a caricature or cartoon you're talking about. Raya and I worked feverishly at the Araos residence at the UP Diliman campus one Sunday.
Norman was quite pleased when I brought up the unfinished canvas last week during a brief Baguio visit, and he was sympathetic even if Tita Lulu remains a total stranger to him. He has been care-giver to many family members, lately his mother. He lost his wife Frances and favorite daughter Cezanne to cancer.
On Monday evening, Anna, her daughter Sinag, Sinag's daughter Raya and I went to a hospital in Quezon City to make the presentation. Tita Lulu gave a faint smile. A trace of her old self was there. She pointed at my head and asked me in that blunt fashion of hers: "Why are you wearing a hat?" I just said my head gets cold easily which is God's truth.
And that's the story of Tita Lulu's portrait which now hangs on the wall to the right of her hospital bed. Thank you, Jerry and Melen, for the space, the light and refreshments, thank you, Norman, for your infinite patience with a slow student (as far as realistic portraiture is concerned). Thank you, universe, for letting Tita Lulu continue to touch our lives.
No comments:
Post a Comment