The kind of old woman I want to be

Two loveable fatties who double as candlesticks found in Gilda's boudoir, a gift from her daughter-in-law Lanelle Abueva Fernando

In a matter of six months, I shall be turning sixty and zero, the age that'll entitle me to wave a senior citizen card at the pharmacist, bus conductor, waiter, supermarket checkout counter girl and best of all, at museum admission counters.

More than those privileges, I am more concerned with the kind of "hip crone" I want to be. I count myself lucky because I have living models who, as one of them puts it lightly, "love art and walkers."

I've shared meals with them, helped them out of cars, pushed their walkers that, when turned around, convert to seats when they tire. Gilda calls hers a kariton. Sylvia knows the long technical term (sorry, I can't recall, evidence that my memory is becoming unreliable).

Gilda and Sylvia viewing "Mexico: Fantastic Identity, 20th Century Masterpieces, FEMSA Collection"

What I've grown to like is being invited to their gallery hops. One took us to that heavily guarded rare exhibition of Mexican art (Rivera, Orozco, Tamayo, Kahlo) at the Ayala Museum. Picture-taking was strictly prohibited, but I managed to sneak a shot of the women on their walkers intently looking at and discussing an artwork.

We made a special trip to Crucible Gallery a few hours before Manuel Ocampo's solo show opened, mainly out of curiosity over what million-peso paintings look like and why collectors are falling over one another to acquire them. Gilda turned to Sylvia to say, straight-faced, "O, Ibyang, eto gusto ko. Bili mo para sakin."

Serious about their art appreciation. Or maybe their thought bubbles read, "But I can paint better!"

Art, humor, walker, but with my heft, my mobile seat may look something like this. And I'll need a retired but still well-buffed male dance instructor to push me around.

So I say to Father Time as I move towards my bonus years, "Bring it on!"

Armchairs with rollers at Gilda's living room Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Standing on the broad shoulders of his father

An unseen but very much felt presence at last night's vernissage of Julian Araos "Usbong" was his late father Jerry. It was as though the older man was giving him a boost. Even the thunderstorm and traffic that prevented other guests from coming to The Crucible Gallery at SM Megamall couldn't dampen the expectation that here is a sculptor to watch very, very closely.

Julian's Inay, Dr. Melen Araos, remembers her youngest child as "full of energy, so adventurous and candid, so much like his father. In spite of being the youngest who was rather overly protected by me, he was street smart. Unlike the other siblings though, he was more playful, not so serious with school. He likes to tinker around more than sit down to read a book. After a stormy newborn period, he coped very well with no special treatment. It is a wonder how he has grown."

Although he likes to say "I'm just beginning to sprout," Julian has already burned a path to put him ahead of any competitor. He has had past solo shows of nature photography and functional sculptures (computer chair and table, upuan bisaya, easels) and the advantage of being under the tutelage of Jerry to prepare him for a newly born fascination with figurative sculpture. It won't be long before the stooped figures that reflect a mood of grieving will raise themselves proudly in forthcoming shows. 

Meanwhile, congratulations, Julian. 

Sculptor Julian Araos

Julian addresses family and friends.

"Mag-ama"

Another view of "Mag-ama"

"Bisig"  Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Julian Araos explores new sculptural horizon | Vera Files

Julian Araos explores new sculptural horizon | Vera Files

Happy birthday even in the hereafter

Jerry Araos (right) watches baritone Alex Dacanay rehearse "If I Were a Rich Man" before the opening of the joint Araos-Ral Arrogante exhibition at Crucible Gallery last year. Jerry would've been 69 today. If he were around, the air would be rife with his ribald jokes about that numeral. Photos by Babeth Lolarga  

And he shall have music wherever he goes. Here a violinist serenades the visitors to the exhibition opening with Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" at Jerry's request. Like Rachmaninoff, he must've died knowing that one lifetime is not enough for good music.    

Womanly, naturally

Two artists have been uppermost in my consciousness while working on this painting: Anita Magsaysay-Ho and Jerry Araos. 

The first I admire for the subjects that filled her canvases and watercolor paper for much of her career--women doing farm chores, selling chickens, getting together with friends for a relieving round of giggling, etc. Hard-core social realist painters may fault her for idealizing the back-breaking work that these women did, but she gave her kabaro a dignity they deserved.

Jerry I continue to admire for, among many qualities as a sculptor and gardener, his choice of women as subject of his wood torsos (only in his last show while still alive at the Crucible Gallery did he do a bakla series) and the way he planned his garden in Antipolo. There may have been a schematic drawing of his plans for the garden, but sometimes Jerry would just let himself be moved by his dreams and feelings--he just let things flow naturally until before he or the others knew it, he had envisioned and carried out a Bob Fosse pathway, a mandala with a seat of power, etc. 

So here's to both of you, Ma'am Anita and Jerry, a small tribute from a smaller painter who has kept you both in her mind's eye.

Thank you also to Norman Chow, the most patient art teacher and friend I know, for sorting out my sometimes incoherent thoughts when I get ready to paint. He said he gets me quickly precisely because he is a teacher. Love you, Teach!

For me the lotus is more than a flower. It is also symbolic of how a fragrant beauty like it can blossom out of stench and mud.

Adding the human figure, a bent woman, in the background

Putting the background of a restful blue

Adding the skin tones

Drying the acrylic on canvas work alongside the day's laundry (thanks, Kimi and Ate Mack)

A Singular Experience

2.

There will be no wake

for Jerry Araos,

self-made sculptor

& landscape artist.

Flowers are forbidden

lest his funeral be

mistaken for some artificial

garden.

Cremation will be quick,

& ceremony brief.

He will not allow the living

to speechify on his absence.

Such is the solitary warrior

in him

who must have imagined

a long, long time ago

the kind of his passing

when

revolution was a true word

& betrayal

was never a big deal…

--Edel Garcellano in "The Warrior and Other Poems," http://theworksofedelgarcellano.wordpress.com/tag/artist-jerry-araos

5. Acceptance

Reaching this stage of mourning is a gift not afforded to everyone. Death may be sudden and unexpected or we may never see beyond our anger or denial. It is not necessarily a mark of bravery to resist the inevitable and to deny ourselves the opportunity to make our peace. This phase is marked by withdrawal and calm. This is not a period of happiness and must be distinguished from depression… The dignity and grace shown by our dying loved ones may well be their last gift to us.

Coping with loss is ultimately a deeply personal and singular experience — nobody can help you go through it more easily or understand all the emotions that you’re going through. But others can be there for you and help comfort you through this process. The best thing you can do is to allow yourself to feel the grief as it comes over you. Resisting it only will prolong the natural process of healing. --Julie Axelrod, "The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief", http://psychcentral.com/lib/2006/the-5-stages-of-loss-and-grief/

how would i know, edel,

that the parting

between friends

& kin of spirit

would happen post-breakfast?

 

he took off for another round

of doctor's consultations

a dialysis session

with his wife following

carrying a full picnic basket

since jerry always wanted

to feed the nursing staff

that took care of him

& to tell them how he loved them

 

that morning i toddled off, too,

to pick up a new pair

of eyeglasses to see

the world through

proper lenses, the old pair

having caused

a lot of blurred

real images

 

how was i to know it would

be our last encounter

on that second week

of december

before i tumbled

half-heartedly into

the season's oft-times

mindless celebrating?

 

i left the books on

legacy writing,

on writing down the bones,

on leaving a trace

by a corner table

in his house

confident we would

resume conversing

after the holidays

 

yes, edel, he had begun

dictating, at random, 

all the hurts & garbage 

that had weakened 

a strong, generous heart,

hurts left by mortals

unworthy of him

 

the doctor in the house

said we must continue

these exercises because

they would help him

achieve a catharsis

& perhaps perhaps

complete the healing

as he forgives trespassers

& also forgives himself

 

he had told his wife & me

his dream the night before,

how rock edralin was

summoning him

to join him,

crying out,

here's a better place!

 

he looked a bit shaken

before he could sip his first

half cup of coffee that morn

 

i shushed him,

trying to appear

the expert reader of dreams

who had read & engaged with

jung & freud now & then

 

jerry, it was not rock herself

who was calling you,

that was an aspect

of you,

rock is you,

the rock in your dream

was a stand-in

so the question is,

what did rock mean to you?

what did

she represent

in this life to you?

 

he looked away as was his wont

when we were diving into

deeper water,

then  asked

for the platter of fruits 

to be passed

 

the conversation moved

to another subject

as conversations are wont to do

when one reaches that place,

oh, how he'd hate this pun,

between a rock & a hard place

 

but i had heard him

speak of rock

in another time

in those long ago years

before cancer feasted on her

 

he said

if he faced the enemy

in an attack

where his soldiers

were outnumbered,

he would still be

there leading

with his guns blazing

 

even if his soldiers

had been decimated,

he would keep on firing

at the enemy because

he knew rock

was beside him

standing tall & fierce

blasting away

not flinching at

nor dodging

bullets

 

before long

time quickly ran out

he took his bath

dressed in his branded

shirt & slacks & mocs

& waved me off

with his gruff

"bye babeth!

i love you!'

 

the conversation

has never really stopped

 

--Babeth Lolarga

Dec. 30, 2012

6:22 a.m.

Photo of Jerry Araos at Crucible Gallery taken by Babeth in November 2012