|
| |
| The Painting Exhibit of Mr. Joey Velasco |
“For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”
--Hebrews 4:12 (New King James Version)
For the first time in my life, I have felt artworks talk to me. I felt hands dig into my heart, taking it out painfully, bleeding and crying, and snatching it to the other world of vibrant colors silenced and dominated by the darkness of shadows. For the first time, I felt my soul run lost in a world of reality, a reality I have known yet ignored throughout the whole time. The realism of painting, the realism of the Filipino poverty, the realism…the reality…
Er, sorry about that. I lost myself there. But I can’t really describe exactly what transpired to me, the moment my eyes took a look at the paintings of that godly Filipino artist, Joey Velasco. You know, I have some books about painters, about da Vinci, Van Gogh, some Impressionists and the important but sadly forgotten de la Rosa. I’ve scanned their paintings and well they’re all…impressive. Wonderful. Beautifully executed. But did their art ever rise from the page and slap my face like silly? Nope, never, nada. It was only the 22 paintings, along with the reflections posted next to them, that shook my spirit violently, almost making me cry from the fear, the joy, the pain, the hope...
It all happened this passed Monday. My eyes were bored and were just scanning the printed ads on the glass panes when I saw the very plain announcement about Mr. Joey’s exhibit on the 8th floor. Filipino paintings? A.’riiight…ay salamat naman sa Diyos! Filipino painting up close and personal. Something that would make me forget those silly and somehow (sorry about this, guys but…) really useless crap in anime and other boring phantasms that surrounded me. I wanted a break…
By the way, I actually heard of Mr. Joey a year ago, especially on his famous painting, Hapag ng Pag-asa. It was featured in a magazine of Ateneo de Naga. And well, it didn’t really touch me. Either because I was not that interested, I was too busy that time or the painting was a photograph so…the energy didn’t come to me. I just nodded and was somehow fascinated at the depiction of 12 poor Filipino kids having a meal with Jesus. But that was it; that was all.
Reaching the 8th floor I planned for a simple 30 minute check around the place and to come back some time later for 2:30 was my next class and I had arrived at the place 2 o’ clock. A photographer was there with his black classic camera hanging from his neck. He welcomed me to the exhibit with a warm smile. As I entered the doorway, I could feel a sense of holiness come around, something like that of Moses and the Burning Bush. Should I take off my shoes?
Of course, I did tell you that a few moments after I laid my eyes on these paintings did I feel a push, the Holy Spirit banging on the door of my heart. So I won’t burn around the bush about that anymore (was that a joke or pun? Haha…two bushes…). The first and one of my favorite works was the “No Greater Love”. It depicted, in a squatters area, Jesus with his head bent down, crucified on an improvised cross of wooden posts with still-posted ads promoting tuberos and other services. There was a plate number “INRI” above him. Two kids were there: one boy, at the left, raising a mug tied to a stick probably to help wet the lips of the thirsty Lord, and a girl, at the right, raising her sampaguitas at him while she holds a baby, probably her sister. They couldn’t get too close for there was that yellow police line surrounding the cross. The sky was very dark. Looking at it, I gazed at nobility and the love these children had for the Lord, trying their efforts to go near him. Or perhaps in order to present their labor to him. Well the reflection was talking about the latter interpretation. Anyway, what struck me was that it seemed only these children cared about the suffering Lover for there was no one else who was there.
|
| ||
| “No Greater Love” (poster) |
It was so cold and lonely…I felt ashamed…and I looked at myself. All my life I had smiled and entertained pleasures (many vain, some meaningless, many vile) and here is Jesus, dying for everyone, dying for our disgusting deeds, having not the bit of joy throughout his painful passion. And though these poor suffered and too were not able to embrace the joys I could experience, they were somehow so fortunate to have Jesus with them, accompanying them in their pain. I wondered if God ever came with me too…
I continued going around moving, clockwise around the room. Paintings of Jesus’ lifeless body supported by children with eyes large looking at the viewer, the bloody Jesus sitting on the cross with a boy offering him a drink, Jesus praying on a pile of tires in a squatters’ area (much like a Gethsemane scene), Jesus’ holding a beam of wood and a child turning the wheels of work (a revolting reality of child labor) and then…
|
| |||
| “Hilumin Mo” (poster) |
…“Hilumin Mo.” My eyes stopped and again, I felt myself transported to the painting. But this time, it was something more radical, more soul-piercing. It depicted a dark prison cell with a young man, his hands clasping those dreaded prison bars in his desperation or hopelessness for escape. I could see a green tattoo (probably of a snake) around his chest and arms. Yet his eyes had slight relief for next to him was Jesus, also inside the cell, clasping the bar with one hand. His other hand was on the man’s back. The Christ was looking at this man with such love and sympathy and the teen stared back at the compassion of his Friend.
Of course, the painting was meant also for the social context, of the injustice in our system. But for a few moments, I saw something else. I saw the man was…none other than myself! I found myself behind the bars. I found myself trapped by my own darkness, my own inner demon, my own secret sins. Many times I felt abandoned in the darkness and I could hear the laughter of the devil or my dark self looking at my pathetic struggles to free myself from their grasp. And how many times have I cried begging them to release me from the slavery? Then there’s Jesus. All this time, he was in the darkness with me, stroking my back comforting me, singing to me that “Everything’s alright, yes, everything’s fine…” (courtesy of Everything’s Alright from Jesus Christ Superstar). Throughout my whole dark nightmare, the Lord had been with me every time I broke down in the darkness. This painting had somehow revealed to me the truth of my sufferings…
After letting God take me back to the exhibit, I began to walk again and reflect on each painting. The following is a list of them in the order I remember. After going to the exhibit for a dozen times, I’m quite sure they are in the right order...
Special people holding on to the dead Jesus, looking at the sky with questioning faces, wondering why this Good Man had to die; Mr. Joey’s masterpiece Hapag ng Pag-Asa (I won’t talk so much about it since everyone else is talking about it anyway); another Last Supper work but this time with old farmers; Jesus the Creator, painting the artist Joey Velasco himself; a child with a soldier’s helmet praying to a cross surrounded with plastic toy soldiers; Jesus as the healer, comforting the pain of an injured child; the suffering Jesus, tired from carrying his cross and stooping down to the ground so a child may clean his wounds; some three saints scrutinizing the Hapag ng Pag-asa (think of it as a painting in a paining); children carrying the cross, with Jesus in the background, no doubt grateful and joyful at the relief and kindness of these simple but blessed children; Jesus and the artist’s son, sitting on his lap with a fishing rod; Jesus the Great Rabbi helping a student learn his lessons; the kind Jesus compassionately embracing a mentally-deranged old woman; the universal Jesus praying with the Philippine flag on his arms (a “disturbing” nationalistic work as quoted by the artist); and Jesus’ hugging a most grateful and happy old man, who in his hand holds a crown of thorns.
|
| |||
| “Hapag ng Pag-Ibig” (poster) |
Hmmm…sigh…many of the paintings were of such a melancholic atmosphere. Kahit yung Hapag ng Pag-asa malungkutin. Sa mukha nila, wala ngang pag-asa (ironic ‘no?). That’s why I liked “Hapag ng Pag-Ibig”, which was at the left of Hapag ng Pag-asa. It depicted Jesus, grinning his pearly white teeth and looking toward the sky, grateful to His Father in heaven. The children there were all smiles having a feast of spaghetti and other foods and drinks available in any simple Pinoy party. An adorable proud cat of black and white, stood under the table. Behind them were the houses of Gawad Kalinga (you know, the wonderful program of some volunteers to help build homes for the homeless?) The sky was so blue, and the day was so bright. Festive colors mixed with the natural greens and browns of earth and wood in the work. I guess the thing I could say was…it was so happy. Insert Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Add a little hearty laughter and friend, you can sniff the joy out. “Hapag ng Pag-ibig” allowed me to take in the fresh air of optimism before diving again to the sea of darkness and melancholy.
Unfortunately, I had to go. I almost didn’t care if I were to get late. After all, IntEcom (Introduction to Economics) wasn’t fun at all. There were always reporters, saying the same thing over and over and over again (I’m not kidding). People were really snoozing; some were even cutting class just to get away from the boredom. I dragged myself from the exhibit to the entrance but before I left, I took a copy of his poem and wrote on the notebook of comments before leaving. I wanted to say to Mr. Joey that his paintings screamed to me, that my soul began running around the works, searching for hope and that I almost cried (especially with the story behind the painting of the old man and Christ. Hearing its story, about the old man finally meeting his apo and his apo so grateful to know he had a lolo, made me teary-eyed. I really had to avert my gaze from the painting and distract myself with the other paintings to keep the tears inside…). But as I said before, I can’t really say what happened to me during those eternal 30 minutes. Stay simple they say, straight-to-the-point. So I simply wrote these words: “Mr. Joey, your works are simply inspiring. My soul was touched…and it’s still shaking with tears.” I felt kind of embarrassed to write that down. A naïve child I chided to myself. Trying to be a poet huh? Well, sorry, I just don’t how else to say it. I mean my spirit was really crying that even as I sat in IntEcom and the class after that, I was so zoned out. Both because I was still thinking of what I wrote and what these paintings meant to me…
Nowadays, whenever I take a bus ride going back home, or walk along the dirty streets of Manila, or go to the tricycle stations, I always look at the poor especially at the kids, while they rummage through the garbage, trying to live. Napapaisip ako…saan na yata pupunta ang mga bata na yan? Anong nangyari sa kanilang buhay? Anong ginagawa ng mga mga magulang nila? May magulang pa ba rin sila? Anong gagawin ng mga tricycle drayber pagkatapos ng araw? May naabuso bang bata ngayon, may namamatay na ba ngayon habang ako’y komportableng nakahiga sa kama?
…I contemplate on where God was in all of these craps of life, if the stupid government is doing anything at all, if the people, my people, my youth, my friends, had thoughts on what we could do to help them…or if they were just thinking on the latest cosplay or anime or youtube…
But the question I always ask myself: well, what the f are you doing? And I just sigh and I answer nothing because I can’t do anything yet…and that I’m scared on what to do…
I didn’t know paintings were that strong. But now, I felt the painter’s tsunami brush over and wipe my ignorance, exposing me to the fallen world. Then there’s the presence of God in that tidal wave, a sword piercing every part of my body, my soul. I could feel my blood and my tears spilling around me, drowning me in the reality of life. My God…
If ever that artist comes across my post, I’d like to him to tell him this:
Mr. Joey Velasco…you’ve provided a portal for us to see the pain of life, the misery of our suffering brethren. The horrible atrocities, the evil and stench of society. But you’ve also provided us portraits of a loving, suffering, compassionate God. That no matter what happens, no matter what hell comes around, no matter how many demons are running amuck, there is Jesus. We all have Jesus…
May pag-asa pa…
|
| |||
| To be continued… |
