Mauro ‘Malang’ Santos, 89
SOMEONE ONCE said that the best way to get over hero-worship was to meet the hero. They never live up to your expectations. But Mauro “Malang” Santos has lived his life being an exception to the rule. This was no different.
I knew of him from the many museum and gallery visits I made as a child. The combination of an odd name and colorful and quirky figures made him an easy artist to recall for a fifth-grade art class. So when the opportunity came to meet him in person, I was excited and apprehensive at the same time.
At the press launch — held in 2000 — of 13 Painters for the 21st Century by Ana Labrador, he signed my copy and took the time to introduce me to the other legends in the room and get their autographs as well. He joked, he laughed, and he gave his serious opinion on the state of Philippine art. For a young reporter who had to hear the phrase, “My art speaks for itself!” from lesser artists, getting direct answers to my sometimes controversial questions was a refreshing change. Like everyone else in the room, I was smitten.
I never expected to see him again outside of coverage. But a few weeks later, I received a call. He wanted to get together with Ana, and fellow reporter Susan De Guzman just to catch up. No recorders, no photographers, no interviews, no articles — it was a lunch with four friends who shared stories of their lives. He was genuinely interested in ours as much as we were of his.
It became a regular lunch every three or four months. He taught me the practical side of art — what factors to consider in pricing, how to deal with galleries, how to find inspiration, how to be disciplined, how to move on from an artists’ (or writer’s) block. He also talked extensively about Philippine art — the up-andcoming, the legends he admired, the issues plaguing the community. He was not just in the loop but was truly in the thick of things.
He had opinions! Actual, logical, and personal opinions on issues. He never hid in political correctness when he felt that something was wrong. He gained many detractors but he stood up for what he believed in. He had an opinion and he defended it. It was the duty of the artist to question and spark a debate, he once told me. We need to make people uncomfortable every once in a while.
But his devotion to his art was legendary. All of us have heard him say time and time again that art is like a mistress. Pag hindi mo pinansin, iwanan ka niyan! And he painted every day — even when he didn’t feel like it.
He was a stickler for detail. Confronted by a huge mural in his studio, he refused to affix his signature and send it off to his client. It’s not finished, he said. The dog wasn’t right. The dog, a teeny-tiny element in that huge canvas looked perfect to me. But to his trained eye, it wasn’t what he envisioned it to be. The client had to wait several more months before he could get his painting.
Anywhere we went, someone would come up to him to ask for his autograph and he would indulge not just with a signature but with a drawing of his infamous women vendors. He was generous with his time and his talent alike. Everyone fortunate enough to come across him had a Malang story to tell. Whether in a boardroom, a restaurant, at McDonald’s Quezon Avenue where he would have his morning coffee, he was doodling constantly. And when he was done, he would leave it behind, oblivious to the mad dash of employees behind him scrambling to get the drawing.
He encouraged Susan and me when we decided to take our masters in museum studies. In our curatorship class, he opened our 2001 class exhibit, Denim Naming Mahal, by unzipping a pair of jeans with Randy David. And when we decided to take curatorship to the next level by starting our own company, Project Art, Inc., he gave us the greatest encouragement of all. He allowed us to curate an exhibition highlighting his roots as a cartoonist.
He was proud of his roots. Detractors have dismissed him as a mere cartoonist, failing to see how he evolved his cartoons into these amazing artworks that evoke nostalgia of a Manila that he grew up with — a Manila that we will never see again. His determined brush strokes, his color combinations, his vivid compositions altogether create masterpieces that spoke volumes of his genius.
Purely on trust, he handed us a bag of his original strips to include in the exhibit. He had no idea how many it contained or what condition they were in. But he said he knew his work would be in good hands. Susan and I painstakingly enclosed each strip in Mylar to protect it, listed each piece and returned it to him properly documented. The 2007 show, entitled The Forgotten Malang, was exhibited at the lobby of the Philamlife Auditorium and at the Crucible Art Gallery. Sari Ortiga of The Crucible also enlisted us to come up with a softbound book based on the exhibit. That exhibit, and Sir Malang, changed our lives.
He changed the lives of everyone around him. Anyone who has seen a Malang has experienced a thoughtprovoking joy that only his artwork can bring. Anyone who has met the man is changed profoundly by his generosity with his time, his intellect, his talent, and most of all, his kindness, his humanity. He is sorely missed.
Memorial services for Malang will be held at Arlington, Araneta Avenue, Quezon City, until June 13, Tuesday.