Monthly Archives: April 2016

The 2016 London Biennale Manila Pollination

Logo_2016LBMP

 

I have been busy for the last couple of months working on this project with my fellow visual artist, Josephine Turalba. The 2016LBMP is an artist-initiated event comprised of a series of exhibitions, performances, symposiums, and workshop that will take place in several locations in Manila, Philippines on 14-18 September 2016 and participated by approximately 80 Filipino and 20 international artists.

The 2016LBMP is an extension of the 2016 London Biennale. It was founded in 1998 by world renowned Filipino artist David Medalla, who is currently short-listed for the Hepworth Prize for Contemporary British Sculpture 2016, and Adam Nankervis, inter-nation coordinator of the biennale. Since then, it has seeded artist-initiated hubs worldwide. There will be various exhibitions and live events in different venues in Rome throughout the month of May 2016, as well as in London, England in June, and other pollinations in places, such as Las Vegas and Paris.

LB David Medalla

 

The 2016LBMP is also a satellite space for interactions with other cultures and plays host to a video exchange program with the Transart Triennale in Berlin this August 2016.

The 2016 London Biennale MANILA Pollination kicks off in Escolta. It will be hosted by 98B COLLABoratory (98B) in cooperation with its immediate community in Escolta. Day 2 will be at the Metropolitan Theater, Padre Burgos Avenue corner Arroceros Street, Manila. An exhibition of installations will be curated by Tin-Aw Gallery.  The last day will be at the Tanghalang Francisco Balagtas (Folk Arts Theatre), CCP Complex, with activities hosted by the Philippine Association of Printmakers (PAP).

Please check out our Facebook page and Instagram account for updates.

Tagged , , , , ,

On losing my voice

From September 2006. Almost didn’t recognize myself.

—–

Child of Saturn

Something clicked into place inside me. I awoke with a start, jumped out of bed as the sun rose, and started cleaning my room. I threw open all the windows, scrubbed the floorboards, dusted my bookshelves, and changed the sheets. I rearranged the furniture with Herculean determination; I would have torn down walls and transplanted my room to a sunnier spot had I not realized that I was only renting a room and did not own the place. General cleaning was in order.

This could be the effect of the Full Moon or it could be that I just got tired of being tired. I spent the whole day yesterday in bed, nursing a colossal hangover. I didn’t really drink that much; with two bottles of beer and a sip of cheap red wine, I willed myself into drunkenness. I was desperate for a reprieve from that barren child who had been spending endless hours splayed on the floor, defeated, reeking with suffocating saturnine malaise and dripping with melancholy.

I was only able to slip away from her tight grip for a couple of hours. When I opened my eyes she was roosting on my chest, scratching the lint on my shirt with muddied claws, staring at the black moth that somehow got into my room. I wonder if she would let it escape. Too exhausted to move, I allowed myself to be swallowed by darkness. An hour later and I was up. She had moved to a corner, her scraggly head resting on a pile of dirty clothes. The moth was gone.

I rummaged through the fridge for nourishment. I opened a bag of fresh greens. My body was screaming for meat, but I couldn’t be bothered to cook. I finished half a gallon of water hoping that would flush down the toxins and cobwebs from my system. There was still no running water (it was the third day; the manager of the building said it would be back by tomorrow) and the electricity was low. I could turn on the fan but not the lights, the telly but not the computer. Frustrated, I return to my room. Mélancolie, as I now start calling her, coaxed me to return to bed. With nothing to do, I gave in. Sleep took over instantly.

It was dark outside when I woke up. The lights were still not working; I turn on the TV. Not even the Sports News could rouse an emotion from me. Spain lost to Northern Ireland? I turn my head the other way and face the wretched creature that has been siphoning my energy. I study her face with indifference—her slithery hair shining in half light, weathered skin that was both greasy and parched, pudgy and taut, her eyes drowning in darkened sockets. She was not malevolent in any way, I realized. She was just devoid of everything; a useless lump of mass occupying space for no reason at all.

I began talking to her, asking her questions. She remained in her wraith-like state, more interested in flicking specks of dirt from her nails than speaking to me. I poked, I prodded. WHY ARE YOU HERE?!? Her apathy enraged me. I started pulling her at her yellow-stained sleeves. I pushed her off the bed. I grabbed her neck and threw her against the night table. WHY? WHY? WHY? Not a screech, a whimper, a moan. WILL YOU EVER LET ME GO? My head started to throb. I wanted to kill.

I stepped back and started to weep. The scream that was thrashing inside my lungs for days was no longer silent. Primordial anger, hate, sorrow, pride, guilt, and wrath pulsated within my shell, erupting from my chest, tearing down the stone cold moor around my heart. I am sorry. I was wrong.

I sat in front of her; I am shivering. She doesn’t ask for comfort or care; I offer her none. I reached for the nearest trinket on the table, a half-eaten chocolate bar, and left it beside her. I bid her goodnight.

Something clicked into place within me this morning. She is gone. Saturn’s child will be back someday. In the meantime I am alone again. I am free to open the windows and air out my soul.

Tagged , , , ,