Lakwatsa with Gilda

It was the day after Peculiar People's Day which is celebrated on Jan. 10, according to illustrator-cartoonist Sandra Boynton. I couldn't think of a better way to spend the residual of that day than with friend and mentor Gilda Cordero Fernando, the woman writer who defies categorization because she's in a class of her own.

I knew that at this stage in her long life, she loved stepping out even if her legs were unwilling to bring her out of her house. Her will is too strong to acknowledge the weaknesses the flesh is heir to.

So we met in the dark of her boudoir where she was all dressed and made up while seated on her wheelchair. "Halika na," she said as I caught my breath upon arriving. She allowed me to inhale exhale for a few minutes as I told her about a harrowing time spent in the hospital for a thorough breast examination and shared the findings of my doctor regarding my arthritic knees.

"Di bale na," she waved her hand. "Maganda ka pa rin, Babeth!"

Three rings on the bell to summon Michelle, the tall, willowy caregiver who was to push Gilda's wheelchair and keep her steady while she boarded her car or stepped out of it when we reached Via Mare on Timog Ave, Quezon City, a few kilometers from her house.

Gilda Cordero Fernando with her preferred drink of distinction and a plateful of Oysters Rockefeller three-fourths of which she ravished

There she immediately zeroed in on what she wanted for appetizers. She pointed her forefinger and tapped it on the menu picture of Oysters Rockefeller. When the waitress said the order would take 20 minutes to prepare since the oysters still had to be baked, Gilda shook her head vigorously but said she'd wait.

Her order arrived at the same time as mine (arroz a la cubana). She said her household kitchen made a better version of it. I said I missed her cook Veni's cooking, but according to Michelle, her employer would rather eat out seven days a week. This meant dressing her up every day, applying makeup on her smooth face (to which she credits Pond's), putting on her accessories (she wore one of her many pairs of hoop earrings that afternoon) and her sneakers that matched her outfit. Is it any wonder that she has always been the Best-Dressed Writer in my book?

I asked her what she did the day before. She nudged Michelle who, along with the other caregiver Aiko, have become her memory bank. Michelle said Gilda went to visit her old friend, Inquirer founding publisher Eugenia D. Apostol, in the latter's house in Dasmarinas Village, Makati.

Prior appointment had been made so Tita Eggie looked forward to the visit, but when Gilda arrived, the former said, "Matalik kong kaibigan si Gilda. Hindi ikaw 'yon." To which Gilda replied, "Babatukan kita na dyan."

Tita Eggie repeated her remark, denying Gilda's presence before her. Again Gilda said, "Babatukan kita na talaga!"

After lunch, the car made a U-turn to drop me off Popular Bookstore where I bought a copy of Elmer A. Ordonez's Father's Doppelganger. Back in the car, Gilda took a cursory look at the book, then handed it back to me.

I asked her if she still enjoyed reading. She nodded, but said she couldn't remember anything anymore after she finished reading something, whether it's a newspaper or a book. She circled her hands round the sides of her head. "Magulo na," she said, seemingly aware of the ravages of time inside of her.

I asked what her friend and neurologist Joven Cuanang said about her condition. She smiled broadly, declaring, "Mahal na mahal niya ako!"

Gilda with the blogger, Xoce Luna Dalena and his grandma

Three generations almost but only two are blood relations (Xoce and Lola Julie)

She wasn't ready to go home. I said I wanted to visit Julie Lluch whose blood pressure had been elevated for the past two days and thus couldn't visit Gilda as originally planned. So off we went to Julie's house, but Gilda, being the generous soul that she is, remembered that we needed to stop over a place where we could buy pasalubong for the ailing sculptor.

We drove down Maginhawa Street until I spotted Friulli Trattoria where Michelle and I got off to order Margarita pizza and mozzarella sticks for takeout.

At Julie's who should be first to say hello to us but her grandson Xoce Luna Dalena and Aba Lluch Dalena who was on her way out on an errand? Aba stopped in her tracks to pull out her cell phone to take a photo ("proof of life," as Nash Tysmans would call it) of her Tita Gilda and herself.

We didn't go inside the house as there were steps that the older woman didn't want to negotiate so we spent the hour at the car port, with the electric fan turned to full blast. GCF continued to cuddle and admire chubby Xoce, son of Julie's daughter Kiri Dalena.

(NOTE: I can't believe I've gone this far and that particular afternoon isn't over yet. Trust Gilda to make the day long and memorable.)

When she rolled her head again, Julie and I took it as cue that she wanted to go to another place. Michelle recommended an ukay-ukay emporium (for that was what it was) on Aurora Blvd. near the corner of Anonas Road.

We bid Julie goodbye. The writer and the sculptor exchanged "I love you's" and tight hugs.

I don't have a picture documentation of Gilda among the racks of ukay-ukay where she almost lost one of her earrings which got caught in a blouse. She found one to her liking--a black top with tiny floral accents. I found a white eyelet dress perfect for lowland summer for P150 and a pair of khaki pants for the same price, all in tiptop condition.

Gilda shouted from her seat her observation of the people who patronized the place, "Very democratic!" And I did notice that all the customers who finished paying up at the counter left the Janco Fashion Trading with a big smile.

I went home also with a smile in my heart for I had spent a full afternoon that stretched to evening with a literary and style icon whom we are lucky to have very much around us still.

Julie's time

"Night Spa with Lorca"

Sculptor Julie Lluch's text inviting me to her solo show "In the Fullness of Time" came with a reproach-cum-veiled threat, "I will make tampo if you don't come." The Tagalog word tampo cannot find an equivalent word in English, short of saying it cannot be translated. "Sulk" doesn't come even close, but I got the message.

I cut short my semestral break in Baguio with husband Rolly's blessings and took the Monday morning bus, non-stop, to Quezon City, taxied home to Pasig, showered and changed into fresh clothes, found a cab and hightailed it to Finale Art File at La Fuerza compound on Pasong Tamo, Makati.

I arrived an hour before opening time. A scaffold was still up as the spotlights were being adjusted. The Tall Gallery, still devoid of guests, left me lots of quiet time to go around and look at Julie's works closely, caress the cold-cast marble, the new medium she is working with.

What can I say? You have until Dec. 3 to catch the exhibition. Come alone, come with a group. Can't help but agree with Alma C. Miclat who, in her Inquirer interview with Julie, quoted her as saying, "“Yes, I do look for God in the art gallery.”

I looked and I found Him, too.

Read more: http://lifestyle.inquirer.net/242464/julie-lluchs-sensual-art-blossoms-in-the-fullness-of-time/#ixzz4Pqxw2dk5
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"Kairos 3" with Julie's daughter Aba as model

"Cats"

From the "Georgia Series" Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Paella Negra and Gilda

It was the perfect and most complete meal I had in many a Holy Week since I was this tall. This Paella Negra in a well-worn paellera was served at a merienda get-together hosted by Ka Universe, Gilda Cordero Fernando, for her friends from different persuasions: psychologist Carmen Enrile, playwright Rody Vera, development worker Juju Tan and wife, the architect Ning Encarnacion Tan, sculptor Julie Lluch and yours truly. Gilda once said if there's any skill or any thing she's good at, it's playing host and getting the right mix of people in a room. So after we dug into the paella, arugula salad with figs and flowers, fish and halo-halo and finished our meal, the conversation ranged wide and deep, with pit stops for bits of gossip. Thank you, Gilda, for remaining in our lives and still choosing to be of this world.

Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Breathing and blogging again

From a blog I often visit comes this reminder:

"A blog is like a fog of breath on a mirror: yesterday’s brilliant utterance cannot make up for today’s sudden silence. If you want to stay alive, you have to keep breathing, and if you want to keep blogging, you have to keep writing. There is no resting on your laurels in this business: as a blogger, you’re only as good as your last post just as a body is only as alive as its most recent breath." Those are the words of Lorianne DiSabato.

Her entry for Jan. 11 this year marks her 12th anniversary in blogging. The figure "12" was enough to shake me awake from my temporary stupor. Yes, I did take a quick, three-day break from blogging so I could simplify and breathe. "Simplify and Breathe" is another blog by Rhissa Garcellano that I follow, primarily because I have an incurable sweet tooth and so has she.

With my breathing space I had time to review the photos that I haven't shared here. I found some from last year's Kasibulan anniversary art exhibit at the Ateneo Library of Women's Writings (ALIWW). Kasibulan is the acronym for the women's art collective called in full Kababaihan Sa Sining at Bagong Sibol Na Kamalayan. I count feminist artists I look up to like my former teacher in modern art Brenda Fajardo and Imelda Cajipe Endaya as among the founding members.

This exercise makes me feel like a teabag getting infused and coming alive in the warm water of women's art.

Ces Nuñez's soft marionettes that depict a Panay Bukidnon epic

"Jose Garcia Villa," terracotta sculpture by Julie Lluch

Sandra B. Torrijos' "Third Eye," acrylic on wood

"Green Orchid" by Anna Fer, watercolor on paper

Brenda V. Fajardo's acrylic work "Karapatang Pantado ng Kababaihan"

"Babae," oil on paper by Imelda Cajipe Endaya

"More Beautiful Now with Gold," oil on canvas by Yasmin Almonte

"The Living, Growing Circle of Women" by Lia Torralba, acrylic on canvas

"Kasibulan" by Brenda Fajardo, ink on paper Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Not a wallflower at a party

Or so I think. I just couldn't forgive myself if I missed a milestone like F. Sionil Jose's 90th birthday party. Occasions like that are about the only time I see, press palms with or buss my writing mentors, idols and confreres. A friend said that in her excitement, she hyperventilated that night and forgot to have her picture taken with friends she hadn't seen in a long time.

While I was recuperating in Baguio from an ailment I would rather not discuss at length and my husband was forced to stay home and stay still because of a knee fracture, we went on a reading marathon of Manong Frankie's short stories and novels. It reached a point where we'd try to discuss what we had read and ended up mixing the characters and plots. Rolly counted how many times Frankie used the word "sybarite" in a novel. That sounds like my husband all right. You can keep the editor at home but not the editor from NOT working.

Thank you to the people who pressed the button of my camera so I can have a few mementos of the evening of Dec. 3 at the Cultural Center's main lobby.

Alfredo Roces, who I've been reading since high school, the birthday boy and fictionist Rony Diaz

It was Manong Frankie who told my class of high school kids: "You must not forgive a writer his sins just because he's a good writer." He's shown with a reader who's glad to have a few seconds with him before he was deluged with more well-wishers.

With Tessie Jose, who continues to make Frankie's life of letters possible, and sculptor Julie Lluch. Manang Tessie has kept her figure. This was the same outfit she wore when Frankie turned 80.

The heavyweights' table, only because two other National Artists for Literature are sharing space: Bienvenido Lumbera and Cirilo Bautista. The writers' wives are by their side, too: Shayne Lumbera and Rose Bautista.

Ka Satur Ocampo and Ka Universe Gilda Cordero Fernando

Three muses of literature Susan Lara, Marj Evasco and Gilda

Two publishing greats: Eugenia "Eggie" Apostol and Gilda yet again

Celeste Legaspi sings "Gaano Kita Kamahal" for the birthday celebrator (he with the black beret)

Blurry though it may seem this precious photo of laughing writing couple Roger and Fe Mangahas is full of meaning to me: love conquers all, especially dictatorships, aging and personal tragedies.

The untouched birthday cake that features likenesses of the covers of Frankie's novels. The cake people flocked to was the one baked by Estrel's, specializing in caramel cakes. It was given by the University of Santo Tomas's The Varsitarian which Frankie edited in his youth.

The 'Norte' experience

Detail from Julie Lluch's "Picasso y Yo," sculpture in the collection of Gilda Cordero Fernando.

I’m pretty sure—is there a word like “un-pretty?—that you’ve also had those high-pressure days when you feel like that subject molded and sculpted by Julie Lluch. Yup, it’s her self-portrait of a once mad or maddened hausfrau, stressed out, put upon, on the verge of a breakdown or biting off someone’s ear.

I’ve always identified with the work. I still see myself in it. Each time I am summoned by she who writer Pablo A. Tariman calls a living goddess of literature, I take a few minutes to admire the work all over again.

On Sept. 15, Gilda, who cringes when she’s called a goddesss, Julie, Anna Leah Sarabia and I went on a short (in terms of distance covered) field trip to Trinoma, an Ayala Mall in Quezon City, to watch a long (four hours and some) film: Norte, Hangganan ng Kasaysayan by Lav Diaz.

I came out of the cinema in dire need of a strong, stiff drink. Harsh truth in the hands of a master like Diaz, guided by a script he worked on with Rody Vera, does that to me. It shakes me to the core of my being. Hours after the experience (for it was that, a total experience, not a show that you could distance yourself from), Julie and I still felt all shook up. I tried to find the precise word to describe what we were reeling from.

Norte has no music score so all the more viewers like me feel the immediacy of what the characters are going through, the ambient sounds of real lives being lived. We hear the the squeals of a pig (already a foreshadowing of what is to come), rain falling, scissors snipping, wind whooshing on fields of green, the sea water breaking on the shore, cars zipping fast on the northern freeway, crackle of fire, a baby's heartbreaking cry after being the sole survivor of a bus crash and more.

Yes, the film's length seems to reflect its Dostoyevsky-inspired (the novelist who wrote those thick tomes we had to study in English 4 or 5) theme of a crime that goes unpunished, where the one who's punished severely is innocent Joaquin (played by Archie Alemania) and by extension, his family.

But the one who suffers and descends into his bestial form is the intellectual Fabian (Sid Lucero), the once decent guy, a brilliant law school dropout who turns into a beast descending into a private hell of his making. The film doesn’t sell the idea of redemption (perhaps, it’s the innocent man who is redeemed because he remains good and helpful in the prison of his days).

Winner: 2013 Nuremberg International Human Rights Film Award, International Cinephile Society Awards, among a long list of prizes won

But that's the thing with a Lav Diaz film--it has layers and layers of meaning. It deprives those who are seeking entertainment (it was free movie day for seniors living in Quezon City) some kind of satisfactory closure. No wonder some senior citizens in the audience vehemently and vocally objected to how the story ended with no justice in sight, no restitution, no remorse.

I can imagine the antagonist Fabian living to a ripe old age, combing graying hair in a town up north, managing to live with his un-appeased conscience. That is, until I remind myself that in his bestiality, he is actually godless and conscienceless.

"But then that's life!" Gilda exclaimed earlier.

Up to this hour, I am still asking myself many questions about Philippine society and revolution, the validity of bearing arms, what is social justice, that sense of hopelessness and what's the use of another electoral exercise?

Okay, that's it. I'm rising to have my dinner that I am suddenly grateful for. Oh, let there be a sliver of redeeming grace in this sorrow-filled country!

Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Nota Bene: By popular demand, Norte Hangganan Ng Kasaysayan is extended until Sept. 23 at Trinoma (12:10 pm daily) and Glorietta 4 (12:30 pm daily).

Music on a Monday

Oliver Salonga in concert last night at the Ayala Museum lobby. He began with something very modern or 20th century (it had atonal and dissonant qualities), Samuel Barber's Piano Sonata in E-flat Minor, Op. 26, then moved without a break to Rachmaninoff's Etude Tableaux, Op. 33 and ended with the more traditional sounds of Franz Liszt's Reminiscences de Norma du Bellini. The Scarlatti sonata that he played as an encore really gripped my heart. It's the sort of music I like to cry along with, but it was a happy night so no tears, except for the thunderstorm that raged outside. Photo by Anna Leah Sarabia

From boy to big man of the piano, we've watched him grow to even teach us how the Rachmaninoff etudes "are not like Chopin etudes that target a specific technique for each etude. The etudes teach you to apply different techniques based on what's written with emphasis on the actual application rather than a mastery of a certain technical device." Photo by Anna Leah Sarabia

Oli triumphant. His friends from his Makiling years still like to call him "Berong," short for Keroberong or a Filipinized version of "Care Bear" because of his chubbiness. He's a graduate of the Philippine High School for the Arts in Laguna. He's winding up his Ph.D. studies in piano performance at the University of Southern California under Norman Krieger. Photo by Anna Leah Sarabia

At almost any recital in any venue, an appreciative audience that includes neurosurgeon and art patron Joven Cuanang and sculptor Julie Lluch likes to have a moment with the musical artist to hold his hand or hug him. As an aside, Julie is teaching herself to play the piano after she had her upright at home tuned up. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

"Music speaks what cannot be expressed, soothes the mind and gives it rest, heals the heart and makes it whole, flows from heaven to the soul." - Unknown

"...(M)usicians are willing to give their entire lives to a moment - to that melody, that lyric, that chord, or that interpretation that will stir the audience's soul. Musicians are beings who have tasted life's nectar in that crystal moment when they poured out their creative spirit and touched another's heart. In that instant, they were as close to magic, God, and perfection as anyone could ever be. And in their own hearts, they know that to dedicate oneself to that moment is worth a thousand lifetimes."-David Ackert, Los Angeles Times

The unknown author of that quote and Mr. Ackert I must thank profusely and publicly for giving me a good shove so I can recall in a semi-tranquil mood the times the musical "guns of August" fired and caused a pleasurable trembling in my soul. I've used an Ackert quote in a past blog about pianist Cecile Licad, but I keep coming back to it.

There's almost a "near-suicidal" quality to a true musician's playing. It's in the way they give their all to an elusive moment that will quickly become a memory for the listener unless everything, every nuance of a note or a gesture, is caught in an audio-video recording. Otherwise, there is nothing more exciting, more electrifying than being present in a live performance. Especially if it is someone like Oliver who I first watched at his farewell recital at the then PCIBank's Francisco Santiago Hall in Makati before he first left for his undergrad music studies in the States.

I've seen him at a tertulia at Odette Alcantara's Heritage House in Blue Ridge, Quezon City, where he attempted to do the folk ditty "Pamulinawen" as his encore piece. After repeated mistakes, he apologized and instead played a longer and more difficult Chopin piece. This has led to my impression that Oliver doesn't take the easier path. Gusto niya talagang pahirapan ang kanyang sarili.

And it's good for him. We, the audience, also benefit. I've also watched him play at the Baguio Country Club ballroom, at the former Kiss the Cook Gourmet at UP Village to kick off the Pablo Tariman-initiated Intimate Concert Series, at Abelardo Hall last year and then last night at a museum. Oliver is a life force, indeed, like the backdrop of paintings by Jana Benitez. Unsolicited advice from a concerned tita: Lose some of the weight. It may keep your stamina up.

The pictures tell of my latest experience of him better.

Thanks for putting this recital together, Ray Sison of ROS Music Center, Pablo Tariman of Music News and the Ayala Museum for opening up the lobby space on a Monday and a holiday (yesterday was the advanced celebration of National Heroes Day). Don't ever be discouraged by slight weather disturbances or the challenge of producing and marketing a recital.

When I think of contemporary heroes, politicians never cross my consciousness or my radar. It's always the authentic artists and tireless cultural workers who do. They are the ones who take the greater risks and make a nation truly proud and great. And people like me, a mere music fan, are grateful. Once again, Oliver, bravo!

Ravioli night at Italianni's

An early supper (we gathered at a quarter before 5 p.m.) at Italianni's on Tomas Morato Ave., Quezon City, gave four women a chance to listen to one another while nibbling from a platter of greens, another filled with deceivingly small ravioli baked with cheese, sidings of potato wedges with truffle-infused dip.

There was pizza with wild mushrooms, but as the most senior in the group said about that tiny appetizer that could pack a wallop, one piece of ravioli, no matter how slowly, mindfully you chew it to let the cheese's richness fill your mouth, once that thing lands in your tummy--oh dear, it does feel like a heavy stone. There wasn't space for a slice of pizza, not even for toppings of fresh leaves that I thought would be my atonement for the carbo binge.

Forgive us for this rare indulgence for we knew not what we did. We should be busy with what we've committed ourselves to doing in our respective areas for the rest of the year. By chance we also discovered that we've individually promised ourselves in the new year to cut down on the socializing or discourage others' encroachments on our private time, but this Thursday we exempted ourselves from futile promises like those. For one reason: it has become increasingly rare for these four women plus one chap who dropped in after three hours to pick up his partner to be on one floor area together.

The seated woman in a bright crochet top over a blouse paired with pink pants and a gray furry bag (she claims it's cat's hair!) is always the most stylish. Arrayed around Gilda Cordero Fernando we look like a new grunge band (from left): a ravioli monster, filmmakers Keith Sicat and wife Sari Dalena and sculptor Julie Lluch. We all look pleased to be pals with she who radiates hopefully contagious "youthening" light.

The pure and valiant of heart in Imelda Cajipe Endaya | Vera Files

The pure and valiant of heart in Imelda Cajipe Endaya | Vera Files

Thursday was meant for Yayoi Kusama

The text was tempting (pardon the alliteration): "Want to gallery hop with Julie and me on Thursday 9 a.m.?" Of course I wanna, came my swift reply. 

It turned out Thursday may not be that good a day to do a visita iglesia of some galleries. Cinemas change the movies they screen on Wednesdays. Apparently, galleries put up new shows on a Thursday, a detail I and fellow hoppers now keep in mind after dropping by yesterday at the Finale and Nova Galleries at La Fuerza compound on Pasong Tamo, Makati, only to find that a show of new Arturo Luz works was still being installed while a newly mounted photo exhibit wasn't prepared for visitors yet (carpenter's tools were strewn on the floor).

"It's a bad day," came the bleak pronouncement from a disappointed voice at the back of the car.

"Don't say that! It isn't over yet," the optimist piped up.

In a DVD movie I recently saw, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, there is a quotation always being invoked by a character when things aren't turning out well: "In India, we have a saying--everything will be all right in the end. So if it is not all right, it is not yet the end."

In the car of gallery hoppers, someone lobbied for the Yayoi Kusama show at Ayala Museum. Winner! And we came out nearly declaring, "We love Kusama." Gilda loved the Japanese woman's walang pakialam way of expressing herself in any medium. How does that translate in this context--a fearless attitude to art? 

Kusama seems to have done what she wants to do. Along the way she has made high art (watercolors or acylics on canvas, prints with glitters, a mixed media installation, mirror boxes) more accessible to people. Her designs aren't only on paper or on canvas. They're on Louis Vuitton bags, valises and scarves, they're on stickers, ballpoint pens, kikay or cosmetic kits, underwear (bras and panties), foot stools, pillows, t-shirts, coats, bookmarks, too. 

Her colors and designs are forever young and pop like the ones Gilda Cordero Fernando wore on her shirt (and pants and walking cane) or Ning Encarnacion Tan wore on her feet (glossy blue-green Doc Martens with matching Marks & Spencer bag, all purchased 50 percent off) or Julie Lluch wore on her sleeves. Or the yellow football coach's eyeglass necklace that I like to wear as a necessary accessory (thank you, Nella Sarabia).

Cameras weren't allowed inside the museum so I just have these few shots of us outdoors looking satisfied after the visual feast. Even the artist's name is worshiped by leaping waters from a fountain.

The water is wild over Kusama!

Unfortunately, this shot doesn't reveal the look of our shoes. Gilda had on lace-up shoes in a nice shade of yellow ochre with multi-color soles. I was in my comfy silver and black Hush Puppies. Julie was in a pair of two and a half inch-high wedge heels. Note Ning's collar--she tells non-paying clients that once she's fully paid, she can afford to have the other half of the collar made.

Ning (left) earlier noted that at the museum lobby, where a flock of Assumption kids was on a field trip, she noticed the girls looking agog at our footwear. She could tell from their looks that they were thinking, "How dare they!"

Thank you, Gilda, for being in charge of the transportation committee. As for the ones tasked in drawing up the itinerary, we'll do a better job next time. It's not every Thursday that a Kusama will be around to save the day.

Hanged in the mind's eyes, Jolico continues to breathe in my summer

I've been running through rains
and the wind that follows after
for one certain face
and an unforgotten laughter.

I've been following trains
and staring after ships
for a certain pair of eyes
and a certain pair of lips.

Yes, I've looked everywhere
you can go without wings
and I found a great variety
of interesting things.

But it never was you.
It never was any way you.

-- from the song "It Never Was You" by Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill

A.Z. Jolicco Cuadra

While other bloggers are reminiscing about their escapades and other similar trips to sand and surf that defined their summer of 2013, I count without regret my losses, two friends who left for the next dimension, one on the last day of April, the other in early June. It’s my way of saying goodbye to them after their liberation from prolonged illness and suffering.
 
Both times I couldn't yet leave my seclusion to condole with their families, but the cell phone and the email have a way of remedying that, although they can never replace the immediate warmth of human presence.
 
Allow me to remember one of the two with deep fondness and respect.
 
Jolico, who later assumed the name A.Z. Jolicco Cuadra,had been called many things beyond hisbeing a poet, artist and critic. "Enfant terrible of Philippine art" and "Byron of Philippine literature" were among those titles attached to him for he worshiped
no sacred cows in the visual arts world.
 
When he made a rare public appearance at a fundraising concert organized by Pablo Tariman andChurch Cafe for him in 2011, sculptor Julie Lluch remarked how his good looks hadn't faded despite the Parkinson's that was slowly devouring him.

If anything, the slight tremors, the voice that was barely above a whisper, the papery texture of his skin that I felt as I kissed his cheek only made him vulnerable and more lovable, at least to me. My heart opened up, and I wished that I could be a millionairess and miracle worker to do more for him.
 
The empathy swelled when his long-time companion, the poet Auggusta de Almeidda (Chikki to us), revealed to the SRO audience that evening that Jolico had always been shy throughout his life and he needed a boost from the bottle to face and interact with people. (Earlier, his former boozing pals, the writers Erwin Castillo and Recah Trinidad,
brought some liquor in a Mountain Dew bottle, and, like mischievous boys, made Jolico smell the "vapors".)
 
At one point, he was persuaded to come up to the mic to speak. I couldn’t catch the scanty words he uttered, but very clear were these: "Without Christ I am nothing!"
 
I often wonder how Chikki is doing these days in her own solitude. We have exchanged text messages now and then since 2011. She'd tell of how she missed the days when she and Jolico could just saunter off anytime they wanted  when he was still hale. I had heard of stories, early on in their relationship, when he'd literally sweep Chikki off her feet and carry her.
 
I could hear my own heart breaking again in a hundred ways when, in April, she sought help by way of prayers or petitions so she could accept "whatever eventualities there would be. I love him so much I don't want him to suffer further just to make him remain by my side."
 
Now, no more fear, no more trembling, no more apprehension. I'll keep the memory of Jolico alive, he and "his life-swaying years."

Congratulations, Martin Masadao!

Martin Masadao is the scriptwriter-director of this made-in-Baguio film, Anac ti Pating, which won for him, his cast and crew the Best Film Trophy at the Sineng Pambansa that culminated in last night's awards in Davao City. Sineng Pambansa is a showcase of the best of regional film-making.

I don't have the details, except for Martin's joyful SMS. His lead child actor in the movie, Raynon Deuel Laida, won the award for Best Actor. I received this bit of happy news at a late supper with two other young film-makers, Sari Dalena and Keith Sicat, and their young children, and sculptor Julie Lluch after the opening of Roberto Chabet's latest show, "Towards one thousand and one isthmuses", at the mo_space gallery at Serendra, Bonifacio Global City in Taguig. And this Quezon City-based family shared my joy even if Martin is still unknown to them.

I couldn't concentrate on the food on my plate because I just had to let friend Jingjing Romero of Stratos Inc. hear about this. Through Jingjing's help, she was able to get Seair to sponsor Laida's and his guardian's air tickets to and from Davao City to be part of the film fest there. That boy's plane ride, probably his first,  to Davao was truly meant to be. At the end of that journey,when he returns to Baguio, he will  have done himself, his family, school, the entire city of Baguio proud, most especially its community of artists and writers. They say angels are around us. I know one with a euphonious name: Jingjing.

Congratulations, Martin, your victory is well-deserved after an uphill battle. And thank you, Jingjing, for your untiring support for the Baguio Writers Group (Luchie Maranan, its president, is also in the cast) and this crop of young film-makers putting substance and decency in a sordid industry.

Watch for announcements in the papers or in the incredibly fast social media for screening dates, time and venue of Anac ti Pating.

Beauty out of a deadly storm's debris

Julie Lluch with driftwood that looks like arms grasping stones

In a strange way, the logs and trees that came tumbling down when Typhoon Sendong let loose three months' worth of rainfall in one night on Iligan City were victims of neglect like the flood's human victims. Sculptor Julie Lluch, who was born and raised in the city, dislikes it when the term "killer logs" is used.


After the retrieval of bodies and relief work, usable logs were stockpiled and commandeered by the city government, the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) and the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) for the building of new houses. These were cut for lumber and distributed.

Fuentes sees the figures of three women coiled around each other in this piece.

Unheeding of superstitious beliefs that the storm's flotsam was haunted by voices of the flood victims, a curious Lluch and her sister Almita L. Cruz saw potential for art.  In February this year, they made countless trips to and from Barangay Saray where logs and debris were beached along a five-kilometer coastline. They saw many beautifully shaped driftwood. Cruz recalled, "A lot of it was grotesque, but there was beauty in it. Nobody touched them, except to use as firewood. People marked them for firewood on first
come, first served basis."


Barangay Captain Robert Fuentes described the calamity period: "The logs were so many that they looked like they had formed an island." Some stood 47 feet tall with a width that couldn't be embraced by four adults. He discouraged barrio folks from making charcoal out of the debris for selling to lechon makers and showed them what could be done with the tree's roots as an alternative livelihood from the traditional fishing and broom-making.


His carpentry hobby enabled him to show them how buyers from Manila and Cebu were willing to shell out P35,000 from a sala set made of driftwood. It was an exercise in turning a setback into something positive.

Almita Lluch Cruz seated on a bench she had done work on.

Almost balletic grace

He met the Lluch sisters who were thinking of working along the same lines. The three are part of the show "Debri(s)efing Art: An Exhibit of Found Natural Sculpture" at Lluch's residence at the Lluch Park Garden in Palao, Iligan City. The show ran until Oct. 6. Visitors enthused that the works deserve wider viewing. There were talks of bringing them to Cagayan de Oro City and if a sponsor can be found, to Manila.


Cruz recalled her initial hesitance in getting involved, "I was too busy with rehabilitation, the distribution of food, receiving guests and donors in behalf of my son (Mayor Lawrence Cruz) and taking care of my family. Then I saw these fantastic shapes on the shore." In the past, she had gone into plant rentals and the occasional landscape jobs for friends to finance her hobby of collecting plants and making dish gardens. The exhibit was her first time to work with driftwood. She saw it as a way of "sharing with the people what we had seen and preserve it. We didn't count the costs. This made us see that we can't move things without people."


Saving pieces of wood required digging them up and pulling them from the sand. Cruz said a piece jutting out was "like the tip of the iceberg." When they dug deeper, they found something bigger that took from 10 to 12 persons to carry. These were hauled to Lluch's open-air garden pavilion by dump truck or by motorized pedicab depending on the size.


Cruz said of the editing process, "I'd look at a piece, follow some principles of bonsai where nothing jars the eyes." Most of the time the sisters agreed on what to make out of something which explains why the works are unsigned or untitled. Collaboration was the key.


The Lluch sisters, Fuentes and a team of six workers worked with small chain saws, rooters, grinders with different teeth, small sickles, plain saws, sand paper for a good six months. The pieces received a final coating of Tuff Coat to enable them to withstand the elements when exposed outdoors.

Rich texture

The types of wood Lluch only heard from her father and grandfather when they talked about their timber concession business in the old days became visible and palpable to her: apitong, balayong, dao, lauan, tugas.

Forms freed from debris and arranged in the Lluch family's garden

She said whoever looks at the work sees what he/she wants to see: orchids, sailboats. Fuentes said a particular driftwood seemed like a whale from a distance when he saw it floating in the sea with children riding on it. He pulled it in and turned it into a bench.

Cruz pointed out parts of a driftwood where she saw "violent bruises" from the uprooting and tumbles it went through.

The three all felt elated at what could come out of debris that might have ended up as ashes.--Text and photos by Elizabeth Lolarga

First published by Vera Files/Yahoo Philippines, Oct. 3, 2012.