Maverhick: 2016

Retazo and broken things

THE furniture maker’s son gathers the unused timber scattered around his father’s small workshop – the discarded remains of the day’s work.

These heavy planks of kamagong stained rich auburn, bright and vivid chips of narra, and countless other slats of wood in deep earthy shades and tones, otherwise would have been left on the cutting room floor to rot or be used for kindling, are collected and kept by the furniture maker’s son to be arranged in a pile in one corner.

You see, he feels a certain kinship to retaso and broken things: these scarred pieces of wood with their grains like heart lines and veins, because he sees in them glimpses of beauty and potential most people may fail to notice.

The furniture maker’s son holds up the cut up fragments, seeing wings and roses hidden just beneath their surface, just waiting for someone passionate enough to set them free.

“I want viewers to reflect when they see my artworks and hopefully find snatches of themselves in it,” shares the 30-year-old Jeanroll Ejar of his first solo show, Retazo.

A devoted sculptor, Ejar has been immersed in the craft since he was in high school, when he had to work shifts as a furniture maker at the age of 13 to support himself through night classes.
Ejar shares he learned the skills at an early age from his father and mother who ran a struggling furniture businesses in Negros which they brought along with them when they moved to Iloilo.

He had really wanted to apply to the Iloilo National High School (INHS) School for the Arts, but his family didn’t have the means. Ejar graduated from the INHS night class in 2002, but coming up with money for college was another struggle.

“Usually kung mamangkot sila kung ano imo na-graduate kag wala ka masabat, tulukon ka lang nila babaw dalum,” relates Ejar, who had to drop out of college, lacking the finances to finish his degree. “May ara man kami i-offer, di nila dapat kami pag-ilook down, hindi nga kay wala kami sing privileges nga ila na-enjoy, amo lang kami ni, asta dira lang kami.”

And indeed Ejar has proven himself strong against adversity, coming out on top of numerous art competitions despite being deprived of the education that should have been his right.

It was in 2005 when Ejar started experimenting, not just using wood for furniture, but as a medium for art. Ejar shares that he would cobble together the scraps and retaso timber around his father’s small workshop, so he could use them for his own projects.

In fact, all of the wood used for this first solo show of his were discarded pieces and planks, repurposed and carved into intricate sculptures by the steady hand of a passionate artist.

Most striking in the exhibit are “Hit Me Love” and “Hit Me Wisdom” – anatomical carvings of a heart and a brain, recurring symbols in the show, tied down to dart boards by kalat strings, rose-tipped arrows piercing them in every direction.

Also fascinating is Ejar’s affinity to flight, “Set Free” features several figures behind locked cages and a lone winged heart that has managed to mount an escape, “Soar High You and I” with brains doubling as balloons carrying heavy hearts, and “Sow Love, Reap Love” depicting birds in the air dropping heart-shaped seed to a crimson field of roses.

But the main piece, Ejar shares, is his favourite entitled “Fix Yourself” and its zigsaw puzzle man trying to stitch himself back togethet with a red thread.

“Daw ginakay-o mo imo kaugalingon,” explains Ejar. “Tanan man kita may mga personal nga bagay nga ginaagyan, kung may mga problema ka nga hindi ka ka-move on, hindi ka dapat malugmok, hindi ka dapat mag-stay dira, dapat magbakas ka man para mag-bag-o, para madula ang burden nga imo ginadala”

Ejar shares that with his father’s advance age, the man who taught him his craft, now finds it difficult to carve.

“Gusto ko makabulig sa mga parents ko. Through sa akun art nakita ko nga masadya sila, hopefully ang gina-obra ko makabulig man sa ila”

Retazo explores the bittersweet aspects of life, delving on melancholic yet hopeful memories of love and family, playing on the dynamics of the mind and the heart.

“Dapat buhaton mo kung ano gid ang love mo,” shares Ejar, who went through so much in his life, yet remains radiant and optimistic. “Obrahon mo kung ano gid ara sa imo taguipusuon.”

Retazo, Jeanroll Ejar’s first solo show is on exhibit for the public at the Casa Real Gallery at the Iloilo Provincial Capitol. It is part of a series of shows building up to the 2016 Visayas Islands Visual Arts Exhibition and Conference (VIVA ExCon) to be hosted by Iloilo this Nov. 17 to 20.

Photos by Casa Real Gallery / Christian Evren Gimotea Lozañes

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, by Rhick Lars Vladimer Albay

Bangus Lumpia

A Beginner’s Guide to Iloilo Street Food

I’VE always brought it upon myself to ask the hard-hitting questions ¬– Where’s the best place to enjoy skewered, grilled meat? Who sells the best bibingka in the city? What should try if I’m craving for the traditional lumpia but want to be adventurous?

Mainly though, I ask myself: If I had to give my culinary hero, Anthony Bourdain, a unique tour around the city, where would I take the king “no reservations” dining? With much pondering and self-questioning, I’ve come up with this short itinerary.

Betamax and Isaw at Don Benito

It’s always bothered me a bit that no one thought it macabre to sell grilled entrails and congealed blood in front of one of the busiest hospitals in the city. It’s almost the perfect set-up for a 80s aswang movie or a 00s zombie thriller, pending a cast of hapless victims. Admittedly, the morbid thought has done very little to dissuade my appetite.

A one stop shop for those craving any form of skewered meat, this go-to spot for hungry students and hospital workers alike has taught us that there’s no experience quite like eating rice from a cellophane bag while biting grilled pieces of tocino from a stick.

My personal favorites are of course Isaw and Betamax, which for those unfamiliar with street food jargon are chicken intestines impaled on a stick and the blood drained from dead livestock cut into cubes, respectively. Have fun pretending you’re the newest addition to the Walking Dead lineup, all the while satisfying your carnivorous hunger with the reassuring thought of being just a short walk away from an operating room.

Bangus Lumpia at Molo Plaza

I admit I can often be melodramatic, but in no way am I over exaggerating when I say that trying the bangus lumpia at Molo Plaza is a life-changing experience.

Growing up preferring red bloody cuts of meat and averse to the charms of Milk fish chanos chanos, biting into this underappreciated treat makes me question where I lie on the vegetarian-pescatarian-carnivore scale. Located on street corner between Molo Supermart and the old Andoks Mandokan, this hidden gem remains unheard-of to most Ilonggos.

A new spin on the classic Filipino dish, this lovely creation takes the crispy wrapper of the lumpia we’ve grown to love and fills it with a generous helping of fresh and perfectly-season bangus. It offers melt in your mouth richness that you would not usually expect of street food and at ten pesos for three pieces, it’s a hunger-satisfying bargain.

Jo Ann’s Fishball

There’s no other street food in Iloilo City as worshipped and well-loved as Jo Ann’s fishball. Ask any respectable foodie or culinary expert in the city, they will surely be familiar with this local delicacy. Also found at Molo Plaza, but now with a satellite branch along Jalandoni Street in Jaro. Where do I apply for a franchise, right?

The many disciples of the famous Ilonggo fishbolan will fawn of its bountiful use of real fresh fish flakes, its unparalleled taste and crunchy exterior, but for me it’s main draw is its sauces tailor-made for any and all taste buds. With four dip options ranging from the traditional sweet to teary-eyed spicy, Jo Ann’s fishball has got your back… your stomach.

Mix and match all you like. I, for one, dip according to my mood. Looking for a sweet and salty ending to your fun and productive day? Opt for sauce #1, rich and flavorful. Want to recreate the Cannes-winning performance of Jaclyn Jose at the end of Ma Rosa? Brave on-fuego sauce numero quatro and let those tears fall.

Bingkahan sa Mohon

“How about dessert?” asks our hypoglycemic friend at one corner. Don’t worry, we haven’t forgotten about you, don’t call your hematologist just yet. If our three other efforts in culinary exploration have yet to fill your gut to maximum, we have a treat for you.

The bibingka – why let this beloved Filipino kakanin, synonymous with Christmas and Simbang Gabi, be relegated to just the yuletide season when you can enjoy it all year round. Undoubtedly, the best bibingka in town can be found in Mohon, in a small pop-up stall run by the same family since the early 50s.

Smooth and milky, comparing the bingka of Bingkahan sa Mohon to the half-burnt frisbees sold in-front of most churches would be sacrilege. Made from only the best ingredients, its silky texture and rich sweetness makes it a sought after dessert, beckoning customers to buy whole plates, rendering this Ilonggo delicacy hard to come-by and almost a rare find. But remain patient and vigilant and you’ll get to savor its matchless taste.

Alas, there’s many more I’d like to add to this list, the mouth-challenging turons near Amigo Mall, the original unpretentious Popoy’s batchoy at the Iloilo Central Market, not to mention the wonders of boiled eggs coated in generous helpings of batter.

What with the landscape of Iloilo City’s streets changing every day, there’s always a new food crawl just a short walk away.

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, by Rhick Lars Vladimer Albay

Aggregate Abundances

Jagged little pieces

TELL me why should I complete you when I can’t even complete myself.

They fill the room with poetry ¬– these intricate honeycombs with grained hexagon faces, tessellating and multiplying, casting delicate yet sharp-edged shadows on the walls.

“I am” reads the nameplate under one of the pieces, featuring the same complex pattern but with charred blocks jutting out from amongst the untarnished wood. “I am but still I can” has several jagged ends and pointed edges, while concrete faces fill black spaces in “One should be, but one is always enough.”

These awe-inspiring pieces are the works of the 25-year-old Antinqueño Bryan Liao, making up his first solo show entitled “Aggregate Abundances” on display at the Cinematheque Iloilo.

“The inspiration comes from the formation of a honeycomb,” shares Bryan. “Being pwede siya ma-collect geometrically, pwede siya ma-tesselate.”

“It’s about perspective. It’s about collecting, and adding up each piece, hindi siya individual, it’s about how they connect to each other in a way nga hindi siya alone. It’s about collectively looking at the bigger picture, not just focusing on yourself.”

Encouraged by his friends to delve deeper into his art and woodcraft, and urged by Ilonggo art veteran Rock Drilon to mount a solo show, Bryan took 5 months to complete his masterpieces – eight multi-faceted wooden sculptures that are nothing short of visual poetry.

“Each underwent the same process of assembly, but is more identified with each block that comprises them. Looking closely, individual pieces form and add up to create the whole of the hexagonal piece, portraying also the implications of Aggregate Abundances. [Each] unique individual who has unique attributes, unique experiences and unique flaws,” shares Bryan in his artist statement.

“I am aggregately abundant” is the most varied and arguably most “flawed” piece in the installation with blunt pieces of glass, concrete, charred wood, and opaque crystals disrupting honeycomb’s otherwise calm surface – but in Aggregate Abundances these faults are not a piece’s downfall, they’re what make it more beautiful to stand out.

“Surely, I am broken, surely I have pieces in me missing, pieces in me not enough, less than I am, but every part of me makes me a whole. It’s about accepting one’s flaws, being imperfect but owning it,” muses Bryan about “I am aggregately abundant”.

“These ‘flaws’ do not put the person at a disadvantage, but confirms and reaffirms one’s [true] self. These unique qualities, no matter how eccentric or how seemingly negative, contribute to creating the pieces which you see. They make up the whole, and while the whole is completed, the individual in return, is provided a sense of belongingness, a place in community,” he adds.

But most eye-catching is “Not because, but in the very least” rendered in sparkling gold, glowing and reflecting light off its gilded edges. “I am not because I’m entitled, not because I’m golden, not because I’m charred, but in the very least I am,” explains Bryan of the piece.

Bryan Liao

A management and marketing graduate from Central Philippine University, he sees the show and his craft as a passion project, finding free time from his day job managing a business to conceptualize and create these intricate pieces of art. Bryan is also part of the social enterprise Gugma Weaves, empowering hablon weavers from Dueñas and bolstering their livelihood, all the while contributing to the reemergence and awareness of the local textile, especially to Ilonggo youth.

In Aggregate Abundances, Bryan speaks about looking into ourselves, not to find faults and flaws, but to see how we can give back to the greater whole, to contribute to something bigger than all of us.

“Overall, Aggregate Abundances suggest that there is humble abundance despite such shortcomings, such blemish. Every individual - be it with or without blemish - contributes to the abundance of the whole. One shouldn't be discounted despite such humble benefaction. The whole shouldn't be discounted due to its faults,” the artist shares of his vision.

“It should be viewed in abundance and positivity and not what is lacking, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It’s about individuality, being yourself, casting a different shadow, at the same time creating something bigger than ourselves,” concludes Bryan.

I stepped into the exhibit thinking selfishly “tell me, why should I complete you when I can’t even complete myself?” and left genuinely questioning myself, “how can me and my flaws contribute to the greater whole?” – affected by the visual poetry of Bryan Liao.

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, by Rhick Lars Vladimer Albay

Advocacy

The Treasures of Nagpana

GROWING abundant in our country's backwoods and wilderness is a fern that wraps itself snake-like around the trunks of towering trees, gnarled roots and moss-coated boulders - the nito vine.

City folk have failed to see the worth of these sprawling vines, but, endlessly resourceful, indigenous peoples from all over the Philippines have stripped the plant of its leaves and used its strands to weave baskets and purses to sell.

The Philippines' indigenous tribes are people of the earth - relying on the rich and vibrant covers of nature for their necessities and livelihood. The aetas of Nagpana in Barotac Viejo are no different.

A group of young Ilonggos, seeing the craftsmanship and hard work of the Nagpana aetas, found potential in their handiwork and wanted to empower the weavers and artists of the tribe.

"Na-notice ko na magkadto ka sa busay galatag na sing inugbaligya (nga purses) ang mga babaye. Kis-a mahinulat sila. Galatag man sila, pero wala man gabakal," shares Kristine Buenavista one of the founders of Nagpana Ethnic Jewelry.

Buenavista, a resident of Barotac Viejo, has been a frequent visitor of the aeta community since her childhood, participating in outreach projects and actively involved in education and storytelling activities with the tribe.

"We thought why not mag-build on kami sa ila culture?" Buenavista muses. Situated on more than 900 hectares of protected forests and near the Nagpana Falls and watershed, the community is made up around 150 aeta households. The weaving of baskets and trinkets for additional livelihood has been a part of aeta culture for decades, but interest for these handmade products has diminished over the years.

Conceptualized in August last year by Buenavista and her co-founders Marrz Capanag and Carm Novilla, Nagpana Ethic Jewelry aims to support and empower designs “imagined by an aeta,” encouraging them to go beyond the usual products we see at flea markets and souvenir shops to dream and come up with jewelry that are uniquely their own.

“At first the artists were hesitant,” shares Novilla. “Hindi mo man sila mabasol, intsindihan mo man sila kay pila na ka dekada, naanad sila nga ginaluoyan lang sila, so kung may mag-outreach toh, mahatag lang kag malakat man kung hapon.”

Buenavista shares that, for a time, most of their aeta artists were doubtful of their own skills and couldn’t see the creativity in their work because they were used to just copying designs. But the three young founders of the social enterprise continuously encouraged them until they found their footing and their unique artistic voices.

“‘Ma’am hindi ko na kay wala ko ka-eskwela’, kay naangdan lang nila mga puyo-puyo. Pero gapasalamat man kami kay may mga nagdisidir, damu man ang nagganyak, kag nalipay man sila nga mangin part sila sing social enterprise namun,” expresses Buenavista.

“Later on, na-realize man nila nga ang ginaobra namun para gid sa ila,” relates Novilla. Nakita man nila ang amun consistency, gabalik-balik gid kami, gatulog man kami toh, ga-immerse gid kami sa ila community. Gusto gid namun nga makabulig nga tayuyun, hindi lang nga pa-untat untat.”

One of their first artists was Nang Melca a 42-year-old mother of 8 children, and the resident manug-nito (nito vine harvester) of the community.

“Before ga-obra na siya aritos pero wala gasapak, kay hambal nila daw hindi obra ka ati, so na discourage siya for quite some time,” shares Buenavista.

But because of Nang Melca’s perseverance, encouraging her fellow tribeswomen to join, they were able to grow their project ¬– now to 17 aeta weavers, these artists from ages 17, with Evelyn the youngest, to 98, the tireless Lola Ma-am.

“Na-realize ni Nang Melca nga biskan asta Grade 1 lang siya, may ibuga man gale iya huna-huna, kag happy gid sya nga gina-appreciate ang work niya,” narrates Buenavista. “Kay ginapakita namun ang photos nga may gasuksuk sing ila work happy gid na sila, kis-a gahilibi sila sa kalipay.”

In fact one of Nagpana Ethnic Jewelry’s earliest pieces is named “Kabakas ni Melca,” celebrating her admirable courage and handiwork.

Recently, Buenavista, Novilla and Capanag were cited by the British Council as part of their Active Citizens: Leaders for Social Impact Training program. Nagpana Ethnic Jewelry was voted by their facilitators and peers as the best social enterprise in the Visayas Leg of the program, opening up new doors for the young Ilonggo founders.

"Culture, empowerment, environment, we try to address also these concerns and aspects in one project. Hindi lang siya nga economic empowerment, we want it to be holistic,” shares Novilla.

Like the nito vine, often overlooked and disregarded, the treasures we need to value are often abundant in the nature and our culture, we just fail to see their vivid colors and luster - sometimes a piece of intricate woven jewelry, sometimes a tribe that traces their history back to our oldest ancestors.

Nagpana Ethnic Jewelry products are sold online through their official facebook page and are also available at Café Panay in the Molo Mansion, Damires Hills in Janiuay and the Dojo 8 Coworking Space along Gen. Luna Street, Iloilo City Proper.

Like Nagpana Ethnic Jewelry on Facebook to know more

about their cause and order some awesome jewelry.

Photos from the Official Nagpana Ethnic Jewelry page

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, by Rhick Lars Vladimer Albay

Calidad Humana

Hablon Strands

IT'S fascinating to think that each bolt of cloth is made up of untold minute threads. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of filaments meticulously put together, every single one adding to the awe of the whole. Horizontal and vertical spectrums meeting at right angles to form patterns. Long strands running down the length of the fabric, threads that flow like rivers.

Long strands that once passed through the fingers of a weaver, taught at a young age the dance of threads, how each one must be manipulated to be put into place. For many generations, such has been passed on from mother to daughter. An inheritance interlaced with tales and myths, some fading away after neglect, some growing with the children of the weavers.

One such story is recounted in Mandaya folklore. It speaks of how a young woman stumbled upon a beautiful fabric on the trunk of gnarled Balete tree, by a river that ran calm like soft threads; and how a benevolent and gentle spirit, the Tagamaling, owner of the cloth, welcomed the woman into her earthen home bestowing unto her visitor the knowledge of weaving, then letting the woman return to her village, to propagate the art. The spirit whose name was whispered solemnly by the weavers of old, asking for skill and giving thanks, before starting on a new bolt of cloth.

I thought it only appropriate to murmur the name to myself before starting my journey. Like the early weavers with their antique looms, I must show my respect to the giving spirit.

Indag-an is roughly 4 kilometers from Miag-ao's town proper. I boarded a tricycle at a terminal near Miag-ao Church. The Indag-an Primary Multipurpose Cooperative was a 10-minute ride away.

The welcoming thud of looms echoed through my ears as I entered the IPMC. Ample sunlight radiated on the colored threads and half-finished fabrics of the weavers. Inside the room were 10 looms crowded together in the narrow area. Strikingly about 7 other looms were outside, placed there due to lack of space.

The Indag-an Primary Multi-purpose Cooperative was put up to support the local weavers of the baranggay in 1990, and since then the cooperative has become a center for the weaving of Hablon, multi-colored fabrics made from jusi, silk, and piña fibers. LGUs of Miag-ao have shown unwavering support for project. Also, several local designers have incorporated Hablon into their pieces, renewing interest for the product. More than 20 years later, the IPMC still continues its operations in service of its weavers and members.

Among them is Aling Maryeta, who at 63 years of age, is the oldest member of the cooperative. Noticeable are her calloused fingers, worn out by her lifetime of weaving, yet surprising are their agility in handling threads. Born of an impoverished family, she had the chance to study only until Grade six. Early on she had to work to contribute to her family’s livelihood. Fostered by her aunt, she learned the art of weaving. She recalls having several looms or tiral as they are called in Hiligaynon, in their house as a child; some of them she claims have been in their family for more than a hundred years, passed from one generation to another, along with the designs and techniques of their ancestors.

She shares that through her efforts and the help of the cooperative, four of her children have taken up college degrees and are now employed teachers, with their own growing families. She admits to feeling aches and difficulties, but still strives to finish each and every bolt of cloth she starts.

I ask her how long she plans to continue her weaving. “Asta maglabog mata ko eh.”, she answers smiling. Till her eyes finally fail her. “Beautifully said”, I say to myself.

III

As I walked away from the IPMC, waiting for a tricycle to pass, the muffled sound of looms continued to fill the air. I find shade beside a tall tree with knotted roots.

Weaving, an art form once held in grandeur is now fading away; slowly dying with each weaver that leaves this world. Bitter-sweet as it is; many of Aling Maryeta’s children have chosen to venture other roads, roads they see as having more opportunities, while only one has accepted her inheritance of the valued skill. The art of weaving is slowly fading away.

I recall Aling Maryeta’s words of continuing her craft until her sight fails her. I sincerely wish that day will never come, and that she’ll have a long and happy life. I pray to the Tagamaling to watch over her as she handles the many lengths of thread that goes through her nimble fingers. May she always be given the needed skill, energy, and patience to keep the thuds and sounds of wooden frames resonating. I wish for her to age like the looms of her childhood, more than a hundred years of life but still strong enough to hold the unbound threads of a cloth yet to be finished.

The late afternoon sun casts soft shadows on the asphalt road below my feet. The trike steadily moves farther and farther away from Indag-an.

Note: This essay notched me a finalist slot for the “Breaking the Ground: A Life Well Spent” National Essay Writing Contest launched by Project Calidad Humana and supported by the Embassy of Chile and the Philippine Department of Foreign Affairs.