The Subtle Propagandist
BORLONGAN IN TOWN
I first encountered Elmer Borlongan a few
years ago when Dr. Fremont Base, who was off in Manila studying
how to transform himself from a great surgeon to a superb plastic surgeon, sent me a picture via his mobile phone. His cryptic text,
sent together with the photo, went something
like this: “your type”.
I thought the attachment would be a picture of a hot body guaranteed to make me drool, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a depiction of a pair of street kids, one a cigarette vendor clinging to a bus, and the other, a sampaguita vendeusse, her back almost hunched and the white flowers she was selling held aloft, obscuring one of her eyes. These kids looked directly at the viewer, a bit unsettling, almost alien.
The image was powerful, for sure, but I wasn’t sure I would necessarily characterize it as “my type”. I love pop art, fun, colorful pieces that tug the corners of the mouth upward. Not social realism, that grim, often depressing realm populated by “serious” artists that, as important as their messages are, don’t exactly uplift the soul and lighten the mood.
Nonetheless, this piece was striking. It caught the eye, evoked emption, and made one think. Certainly, it was unforgettable.
Fast forward to 2014. I walk into the Ayala Museum, where a retrospective of the works of Elmer Borlongan from 1992 to 2012 is being featured, and lo and behold. The very same street kids are there, gazing at me, their asymmetrical eyes boldly assessing the onlookers, measuring the crowd. The piece is entitled “Batang EDSA,” and this second encounter was propitious, for it is here that I finally conclude that yes, this man’s art is, indeed, “my type”.
For here, in this exhibit mounted by the Ayala Foundation, were more of the alien inhabitants of Borlongan’s world, their bodies elongated, their limbs fluid, their eyes still unsettling. These carefully curated pieces culled from Borlongan’s body of work, were cut - or more accurately, brush-stroked, from the same unforgettable mold that characterize this talented artist’s ouevre.
Yes, these are “serious” works. As a young artist growing under the shadow of martial law, with dissent stifled by President Ferdinand Marcos, Borlongan assisted Manny Garibay in a mural for slain activist Lean Alejandro. The social realist bent is apparent. Yet, they are not necessarily depressing. Some are amusing, a tongue in cheek stab at Filipinisms, the everyday scenes we take for granted but define our very core as Filipinos.
As Borlongan says, “I am not directly propagandistic. I am searching for a new iconography. I am also looking for a certain poetry in my images.”
Which may explain why it is hard to explain “Gabay” (Guide), a 1994 piece from the Paulino and Hetty Que collection, depicting a freaked out driver, his eyes rolling at the decapitated Jesus Christ bust he just happens to be chauffeuring around. We can only guess at the fear seeming to emanate from the guide, when he already has one of the best protections from evil running gunshot. Ironically, the car they are in carries one of those ubiquitous crucifixes we see in our vehicles, wrapped around the rear view mirror, double protection for the unfortunate guide.
So what is the message here? A humorous reminder that Filipinos commit themselves to the protection of The Lord, but are subconsciously afraid of him? Since Borlongan does not seek to directly propagandize, it is difficult to flesh out his real meaning.
There is also “Pasahero” (Passenger) where a woman in black, again armed with a crucifix, seems intent on prayer while staring out the bus or subway train she is in. Outside, an eerie gaggle of males awaits. What are they? Zombies ready to pounce on the passenger, which is why she is praying so hard?
A personal favorite is “No Parking”, a red car juxtaposed against a ‘no parking’ symbol. But that is not the focus of this piece. Instead, it is the man in deep, exhausted slumber, his torso wrapped round this very sign prohibiting parking. I take it to mean that it is the man that is not supposed to be parked, his very presence a slap against what is right and what is normal.
Quite unique, in turn, is “Global Pintados”, where a tattooed couple models their inked art works. The female figure sports a Statue of Liberty and a catfish, while the male figure has a clipper as well as a winged heart. There are only two splotches of color, the red headphones of the male figure, and the heart splayed against his chest. Anyone want to take a stab at the iconography here? I can hardly venture a guess.
In his speech of thanks, given at the launch of his exhibit, Borlongan paid a touching tribute to his very first art teacher, Fernando Seno, who happened to be in the audience that night. Yet despite his apparent humility, it was this artist who was the toast of the art world that night, with numerous important personages present to celebrate his triumph. There was Dr. Joven Cuanang, whose Pinto Museum houses many Borlongan pieces, the voracious collector Paulino Que, and gallerist Gigo Alampay.
Paying homage to Borlongan with his mere presence was National Artist BenCab, together with faithful ally Annie Sarthou. Likewise, talented wife Plet Bolipata and the rest of the artistic clan were on hand to applaud Emong.
Of course, there was I, and after much stalking, I finally managed to snag a selfie with the man of the hour. If I had also been able to snag a Borlongan of the canvas and oil variety, it would have been spectacular. Perhaps, that is yet to come. After all, he is my type.
“In City and Country,” Elmer Borlongan’s fantastic exhibit, runs until April 6, 2014 at the Ayala Museum, Ground Floor.