Asian Art Museum, San Francisco
October 20, 2006- January 7, 2007

Now exhibiting at San Francisco’s Asian Art Museum, a few Lunas’, a few Zobels’, and a lot of Amorsolos’. Those of you who are familiar with Philippine painting will recognize Luna, the brother of Antonio Luna, a hero of the Philippine-American War; Amorsolo, who singlehandedly remade the image of the Philippines into a landscape of lovely brown bodies and idyllic pastoral scenes, and the little seen Zobel, a modernist, intellectual artist and scion of the wealthy and influential Zobel de Ayala family whose patronage for the Philippine fine arts is well known. With the exhibit came a panel experts who gave treatises on each painter’s life and works and their contributions to the genesis of Philippine art.

While we appreciate the sponsor’s effort to publicize the genius of Filipino artists as a major exhibit for the Asian Museum, the exhibit was underwhelming. But for those who have not seen these works in Manila, it provides an adequate introduction to the beginnings and emergence of painting as fine arts in the Philippines, albeit in a disconcertingly and disproportionate way. This is not to criticize the effort, noble and well intentioned as it is to bring examples of Filipino high culture for exhibit to foreign audiences. There were obviously logistical and cost-factors involved say in transporting Luna’s larger canvasses like the famous Spolarium now ensconced in the National Museum. Zobel’s representation was significantly small befitting the small world of afficionados and intellegentsia he circulated in and who in spite of a debilitating handicap, painted with intense originality and intellectual honesty of subjects that in no way represented the notion of cultural identity or place. Many Filipino abstract painters owe their inspiration and patronage from Zobel’s artistry and largess. Among them was Amorsolo.

Which brings into the question the intent of exhibits like this. In the panel talk, the exhibit’s curator admits that the exhibit in no way reflects the Museum’s woefully underrepresented Philippine collection. Indeed, the AM collection has been dominated by East/South Asian art pieces. The few exhibits on the Philippines I have seen before, evoked this under-representation and bespeaks of the economics of art collecting and the ideology of museum exhibitions.

Part of the problem of exhibiting the Philippines in the context of Asia (as in the Asian Museum) is the paradox of the country’s cultural and intellectual representations. Its cultural products are outwardly European and hence colonial that, even as it gained political independence first from Spain and then the United States, the iconic identities presented an ambiguity that was confusing to say the least, to foreign observers. The appropriation of Western cultural forms by 19th century painters to up until 1950’s and by default, the acceptance of its norms of excellence did little to define the Philippine identity. Luna’s work for example, especially those in the exhibition, are masterful representations of European visual culture. Luna proved to the arbitrers of European beaux arts that he was more than equal to the great European contemporaries in painting. The Spolarium (not exhibited) was awarded the gold medal in the prestigious Fine Arts Exhibition of 1884. We know about the import of the painting from Luna’s compatriots — a group of young native and mestizo students from the Philippines –collectively known as ‘Ilustrados’ (the enlightened). Steep in anti-colonial propaganda yet committed to reformist ideals, the ilustrados imagined a Philippines governed by a modernizing, liberal mother Spain. The Spolarium allegorized the treatment of the Philippines under Spain as rendered in light and dark tones depicting the gory spectacle of a Roman gladiatorial combat, yet romanticized in an impressionistic treatment of brush strokes that suggests the realism of violence but without its documentary factuality. To the illustrados it symbolized the despoiling of the Philippines under Spain. The ilustrados seized Luna’s victory and artistic acclaim to proclaim their cause as just and intellectually valid and not simply the grumblings of native angst and brute ambition as the colonizers would have the public to believe.

It is tempting to parallel Rizal’s aesthetic (in literature) with Luna in this particular episode. Luna sought to prove that the native is more than equal to Europeans in the very practice of their visual culture – in painting. Painters were a privileged elite. Luna himself enjoyed the favors of the Spanish queen, gaining important commissions. Rizal, on the the other hand, sought to dispute the colonial discourse on the inadequacies of the native who, in the eyes of the Spaniard was uneducated and unworthy of self-governance. Luna explored novel approaches to his painting that was then gaining attention in 19th century Paris. He also apparently had read Marx and dabbled in social realism as seen in his studies of commoners. On the other hand, Rizal explored the new discipline of ethnology and linguistics, and worked to disprove that race and ethnicity was not responsible for the native’s lack of progress but to the enactment of social and political practices of Spain that the stunted Philippine development. Hence, the “Indios Bravos”, the label adopted by the coterie of Rizal, Luna and other illustrados who exemplified the model native – intelligent, educated, scientific, sporting and civilized.

In the context of orientalism of the 19th century, the exoticism of the noble savage and the gendered and sexual representations of native populations of Southeast Asia that the French have become enamoured with, the indio bravo was the progressive evolution of enlightened self determination, hence worthy of respect and equal treatment. And yet when it came to self-preservation, the nativist representation became a handy judicial defense. The image of Luna as a major contributor in the imaging of the Filipino nation through his paintings looms large in the nationalist pantheon such that the details of the murder of his wife Paz Pardo de Tavera and his mother-in-law is a neglected topic in the nationalist discourse. As the history goes, Luna was acquited on grounds that his was a crime of passion (crime passionnel). This was a valid defense in 19th century France and was reinforced by the popular literature at the time. However, a little known detail, revealed by Prof. Baluyut, in her panel talk, was Luna’s “cultural defense”. At the turn of the century, the contours of modern art was emerging and its proponents Van Gogh, Henri Rousseau, Gauguin, among others, were embellishing Parisian culture with images of exotic Oceanic societies. The image of primitivism and its alleged unbridled sexuality, favored the identification of Luna as a ‘Malay’, which unwittingly was provided by the testimony of Trinidad Pardo de Tavera, Luna’s brother-in-law, a fellow illustrado and who fancied himself as an anthropologist. In his view, violence was a temporary condition brought about by native impulses. Conjoined images of passion, nativism, and sexuality eventually convinced the jury of Luna’s remorse.

Like Luna, Amorsolo’s work is an important visual corpora in the imaging of Filipino identity and nationhood. While Luna allegorized the struggle of the illustrado for equality and reform within the context of colonialism, Amorsolo’s work single-handedly by sheer volume and modern reprographic technology, re-imagined a new independent Filipino nation. His was not a mestizo nation, which privileged the fair-skinned beauty and elite culture. Amorsolo’s brown beauties represented the post- World War II Filipina of the 1950’s. His paintings also reinforced the pastoral and idyllic image of rural Philippines. Like Luna, he was a master of his art, creating an iconic style of alluring light and golden skin tones that became his trade-mark. There is no doubt about the influence of Amorsolo in the annals of modern Philippine painting. His body of work established what was to be called the “Amorsolo school” and spawned a secondary industry of imitations. His paintings were valorized to the point of commoditization. Modern color printing reproduced his canvases for calendars, postcards, all of which projected the a ubiquitous rural maiden and pastoral views. More importantly, Amorsolo pictured what constituted in the minds of many Filipinos a period of utopia – the quiet, easy, picturesque rural life. Sociologists similarly imaged Filipino society as one of underplayed conflict where social relations had built-in mechanism for adjusting and smoothing. It was a peasant, farming society that was balanced and harmonious. Indeed, Amorsolo’s paintings evoked a sense of quiet pleasure and harmony, and in some, also invoked traditional, folkloric cultural norms by using iconic symbols (e.g. the unbroken earthen jar represents virginity).

The emergence and rise of Amorsolo’s works as an important cultural representation of the newly developing nation was not as innocuous as what was conveyed in by his paintings. From the 1900’s to the 1960’s, the economic development of the Philippines was closely tied to the special trade relations with its former colonial master, the United States. The rapid urbanization of the US after WWII, required a shift in its capitalizaton of its farming industries to that of manufacturing – automobiles, electrical appliances, and various consumer goods. The maintenance of an alternate agricultural source was essential to make this shift successful. The Philippines became a willing and convenient source for agricultural products that augmented mainland US consumption. Sugar, rice, coconut became critical exports of the Philippines to the US and in very unfavorable terms. It was therefore important that this mode of production remained intact to promote US economic development. Amorsolo’s image of the Philippines suited the ideological requirements of this relationship. Renato Constantino’s, oft quoted declaration that Filipino mis-education began with the colonial practices enacted by the Americans during it forty years of rule — the valorization of rural life and the inverse attractiveness of foreign imports and consumer goods, led to a neglect of domestic industrialization and marketing of Philippine-made products. In promoting this type of mis-education, Amorsolo’s paintings became the poster child of colonial education. His rural imagery graced the pages of one the most influential textbooks in the history of Philippine education — the Camilo Osias Philippines Reader Series. To recall it’s contents, ask your grandparents. They might be able to quote a few lines or so. Ask them also how they pictured the life then. I’ll bet it will match an Amorsolo painting.