Exhibitions

Everyone loves a circus - but will the circus love you back?

To some, a circus may trigger memories of the wondrous joys of childhood. It’s the excitement of a fair arriving in town, candy striped tents being set up, and barkers crowing all sorts of delights. The popcorn and candy give off all sorts of heavenly smells, and there are tons of prizes waiting to be won, just over at the next booth.

That certainly seems to be the approach by carnie-kid Jesse Camacho, with his hero “Jack” all adorned in clown make-up (“Why Do I Have To”) or imprisoned in impossible chains, à la Houdini (“Comfort”). On the other hand, the elfin Gemart Ortega serves up delightful confections of kids smothered and dripping in ice cream flavors, just like those most pleasant dreams of that corner ice cream parlor dishing out perpetual sundaes and sorbets.

To others, a circus may refer to something more sinister. Wunderkid Aldrin Tamidles, aka Alburoto, makes snide references to the crocodiles in the government. In “Clone”, his jester puts on another costume - that of rapacious gator - on top of his clown suit. “Crocodile Tears” serves up the head of the reptile on a dish, dagger in hand. (And crocodiles seem to be a favorite, as Jesse Camacho’s avatar scoops out fish from the jaws of a croc in his “For Fame”.)

As it is very pointedly remarked upon by the dead serious Kiko Moran in his almost-fluorescent works, with bold crimson, orange and lemon-yellow colors jumping off his canvasses, the Philippine government is failing in all of its challenges, whether it be that of mainland China (“Carou-Xi”), the pandemic (“Imyunito”), mental health (“Mindfulness”) or hunger (Adolf Eater) - a real circus in itself.

Meanwhile, Bryan Antonio, aka Humbly in his past incarnation, offers a peek from an almost-alien perspective, with his diffuse, wide-eyed critters (“Happy Inside” and “Light in the Darkness”) giving goosebumps to the onlooker. What is it with those otherworldly eyes that gaze at us and make us think that we are the strange ones? Are we, instead, the carnival curiosities?

Gemart Ortega dishes out ‘Melba’, an adorable kid wallowing in sticky ice cream pigtails and Jesse Camacho sculpts an impish apple picker named JackLeQuin (after harlequin, get it?). Kiko Moran, on the other hand, and true to the times, dreams up his ‘Imyunito,’ a just-vaxxed hero with both a hypodermic needle as well as a speech bubble attached. Bryan Antonio gives us, in “Happy Adventure”, one of his famous bootleg toys - a clown, of course!

All of these phantasmagorical yet oh-so-real tests of our sanity would make the most normal of us run to the madhouse. Or better yet, its nearest functioning equivalent, the circus. At least, there, the house of horrors harbors quite ordinary denizens. Or does it?

What a delightful circus to get lost in. So take those clunky shoes off, sit back, and enjoy this roller coaster of a ride.

Grief is a tide. It comes crashing in waves, all-consuming. And then it ebbs. Slowly, it withdraws.

Grief, however, is a process. It transforms. It may be present, now and today. And then one day, it isn’t.

Ryan Uy has been intimate with grief for more than a year. His father was diagnosed with cancer, and right before the lockdown in March of 2020, his father succumbed. The following months were not easy.

His initial reflex was to fill canvasses with paper cranes. Origami sculptures of peace and healing, painted over and over, the repetition providing solace. The palette chosen for his cranes was flowery hues: blushes of pink, soft yellows and calming blues.

Central to these symbols of hope were solitary figures, boys without faces, hair whipped by the wind. Representing orphans, the boys were left faceless to allow for representation among gazers-by, permitting transference as a way to likewise offer solace.

The pandemic raged, and as vaccines were belatedly procured, it subsided. Gradually, restrictions were eased, businesses opened, and tourists came back to sand and beaches. Ryan’s cranes dwindled, and dreamers began surfacing.

Dreams of normality, if ever that word can still mean anything. Perhaps, dreams of careers and condo living. The corporate ladder. Digital natives and the gig-economy.

It is the break of dawn. The light of day, when we wake up from our dreams, and throw the blankets aside. The moment of reckoning, as we wrestle with truth, and walk into the morrow.

The crane is a compass. Introspection gives meaning and direction. To the morning, we smile.

Exhibitions

Making Waves

Phantasmagoria

Paint The Town Red

Space-O-Rama

The Brut Collective: First Stop Cebu

Hide & Seek

Subtle Alchemy

Street Beat

Labtik Sang Langit

Bleum

Call For Abstracts

XOXO,

Harmony in Heritage

Honest Immediacy

Let The Pieces Fall Where They May

Above and beyond us

Chasing Colors

Ballad of the Watcher

No Strings On Me

Cross Currents

Familiar Echoes

Devotion

CHROMATICized

Strange Beasts 2: Elemental

FOCUS

Qube at the VIsayas Art Fair 2023

Heritage in DistINKtion

Xandrine

The World In Love With Itself

Qube at MoCAF

Metamorphi

Historical Distortion

Baybayon

Metamorphosing

MUGNA DIX

LIMBS

LIL RASCALS

ITUM NA IDÔ

Independence Reimagined

FIGURE OUT: Temporal and Conceptual Configurations in Non-Pictorial Space

Mother and Child

Koantum Balud

Bejeweled

Salta

Landscapes of Diaspora

ART FAIR PHILIPPINES 2023 feat. Words Unspoken

Under The Same Southern Sky

Beyond Borders In Parallel Time

Avalanche

I Am

"and floaters"

Qube x Visayas Art Fair 2022

Liwat Liwat (Repeat)

Mythologies

Dwight Lu

Rites/Rituals

Joyful Textures

Underdeveloped & Overexposed

Dangerous Beauty

New Chapter

Perception

Veneered Desires

Pucker & Bloat

Party Peepz

Vessels of Time

Pearls

No Straight Lines

MoCAF 2022 (Modern and Contemporary Art Festival)

Un Mundo En Color (A World of Color)

A Remembrance of Rain

Into The Blue

Punan Ang Patlang

Baggage Revolution

Angina

Karatula - Children of the rainbow

Time Transfixed

Metanoia

Midnight Society

Carnival Quintet