CLAUDE TAYAG

I’m pretty sure many of you already have a portrait or two of yourselves in your homes — perhaps a painting or photograph by someone close to you or even a professional artist. I have one black and white photograph taken by Patrick in 1990. But every time I look at it, I don’t see just myself; I see the man behind the camera who took it, as well as the story of why and how he took it. I first met Patrick during his exhibition of photographs at the Luz Gallery sometime in 1988. I was struck speechless by the square images of a female figure in different poses. They were almost abstract in composition and cropping, with their stark black and white silhouettes of the female form. I hardly slept a wink that night, intrigued by how those stark images can affect one’s sensibilities. Six of them hang on our wall in our bedroom even today.

Sometime after that exhibition, Patrick invited me to a dinner in his San Lorenzo house. Mutual friends like Wigs Tysmans and Marivic Rufino were also there. Eva served us a wonderful dinner, in spite of what she called an “inadequate” kitchen. Knowing that I designed and made furniture, Patrick requested me to “organize” their kitchen and asked for a ballpark estimate. “Whatever it is,” I was quick to reply, “just make me a portrait in exchange.” And that’s how our friendship was sealed.

Even years later, every time I’d bump into him in some gallery opening or art event, he’d always recall fondly that “X-Deal.” It was for him a sort of milestone, a moment of “firsts” in which he finally belonged to a brotherhood of artists. There was mutual recognition and respect, wherein sheer talent and time shared with one another was an affirmation of our existence as artists. With hindsight, I guess we artists all have our own subculture of networking through barters and exchanges.

His portrait of me is actually his portrait — as an artist and as a gentleman, at least through my eyes. Bon voyage, dear Patrick!