These Curious Days

Writer/artist Igan D’Bayan’s fifth solo show, “Dead Beliefs & Black Vomits”, is said to be his “darkest suite of paintings” yet, and it shows. You won’t find bright colors or pleasant subject matter in the collection unless bat-headed humans crucified upside-down, a zombified Adolf Hitler being fellated by an equally-rotting incubus, and a pants-less Charles Darwin holding the desiccated husk of an alien baby are your idea of “pleasant.”

The palette he uses is mostly a wash of grays and muted browns, with occasional bursts of color. And none of his subjects appear to be in good health: skeletal figures, diaphanous bodies, or just plain decomposing ones are the norm.

The warped figures and their expressions call to mind some of Francis Bacon’s more disturbing nightmares, with the rubbery/melty faces of Egon Schiele or comics artist Ted McKeever.

Symbols abound, particularly the Crucifix and some Nazi iconography.

The swastika features in “Will To Power” and “Black Snow,” while “Boy From Brazil” has a demon/alien-headed midget — dressed in a parody of a Superman costume (commenting on Nietzsche’s ubermensch) with the SS logo emblazoned on his chest — gives the Hitler salute.

People with animal heads are crucified upside-down and right side up in several pieces, and serve as background dressing in others.

Elsewhere, an upside-down cross is formed by an assortment of spider skeletons that have miniature human skulls. The name of the piece is “The Return of the Son of Armageddon Boogie.”

Despite all this, there is humor to be found in this collection. Sometimes it shows up in titles like “White Castle Whiskey of Doom.” It’s also in the work itself. The just-mentioned piece bears a shrouded Death-looking figure in a red bra, stockings and ridiculous high-heel shoes. The dog-headed man in “Romansa Satanista Espesyal” sports bright pink briefs.

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Artist Christina Dy, or CD as she is called, has always been celebrated for her singular vision, but in recent years she’s also been known for the scale of her work. Her last couple of shows saw Dy using charcoal on huge pieces of paper, from extreme closeups of hair and textiles to expansive sea- and skyscapes inspired by her Australian residency. For her work as one of CCP’s 13 Artists she drew a 360-degree panorama of the view from the top of a skyscraper, which you had to walk in to view properly. It occupied an entire room. When she goes to South Korea this August it will be to decorate an entire wall.For her latest exhibit, Dy decided to scale back, returning to smaller sizes befitting the subject matter and the tone she is trying to set. Titled “Lover Lay Down,” the exhibit will stretch across three galleries: Blanc’s gallery in Makati, Silverlens’ 20Square, and Blanc’s compound in Mandaluyong. Soliciting single sentences from writer-friends like Zig Marasigan and King Palisoc, Dy fashioned her own visual love stories with these words as her starting points.The first part opened last Wednesday at Blanc Makati, with Marasigan’s line: “With sheets folded like oceans, the waves folded inside her” as impetus. Dy depicts the details of a tryst: rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, continuing her fascination with textures.

A blindfolded couple. Supine bodies in repose. Limbs entangled in blankets.

These smaller drawings force one to draw nearer and peer into an intimate scene. Sometimes we squint, and the ingress paper’s ridged parallel lines create an impression of static, as from an old TV broadcast. As always in Dy’s work, there’s a play of light and shade. She mentions that it’s been her most organic show to date, the pieces coming naturally, unbidden. Many of them are paired; some are triptychs.

The other two parts of the exhibit have different details, different “flavors,” based on their respective starting lines. Still, they are stolen moments, something Dy has become quite adept at. It’s easy to imagine her in the spaces she’s drawn, bearing silent witness, capturing details with her singular vision.Part 1 of Christina Dy’s “Lover Lay Down” is at Blanc Gallery Makati until June 23, Part 2 will be at Silverlens’ 20Square from June 9 to July 3 .

Part 3 will be at Blanc Compound Mandaluyong from June 12 to July 3.

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And so Rafael Nadal has reclaimed his clay throne in Roland Garros, the Grand Slam he has dominated for the past six years (with only one hiccup last year). Once again, he is the number one tennis player in the world.

All angles of his match against Robin Soderling has been examined and analyzed (my favorite post-match article comes from Tennis.com’s Pete Bodo), so I won’t go there. Instead, I will explore my affinity for Nadal as a fan and how it came to be.

At first, it’s not really clear why, in the current crop of tennis players, I prefer Rafael Nadal most. He is certainly not the most good-looking of the bunch, nor the smoothest or most articulate. His interests outside tennis are totally different from mine and my group of friends. He likes teddy bears. He likes “Coolplay” (Coldplay) and Shakira.

When I saw him in person for the first time in the 2005 Shanghai Tennis Masters Cup, he was awkward and didn’t have much to say, unlike Roger Federer and Marat Safin. He acted too much like a little boy. And after signing my ball, he threw it straight at me, playfully: “Catch!” he said, and it hit me — painfully– right in the solar plexus. The embarrassment was too much for both him and me, and we both quickly went in separate directions, pretending that nothing happened.

But all that aside, I’m undeniably a Nadal fan.

From the time I sat down to watch the whole fortnight of Roland Garros 2005, when I saw him — then just a newbie to me — run down all the almost-winners and dropshots and volleys that his opponents would throw at him; to the time he was booed and peppered with litter by the French crowd while he was handily defeating an aggressive Sebastien Grosjean; to the time he faced a resilient, seemingly unbeatable Mariano Puerta in the finals–it became undeniably clear that he was the player that I could and would really get behind.

It wasn’t because he was a winner. That first year after winning the French Open, he crashed out of the Queens tournament and Wimbledon in the early rounds. He wasn’t able to do much in the US Open, either, and, much to my chagrin, his tendinitis reared its ugly head at the Tennis Masters Cup Shanghai 2005, the first ATP tournament I ever saw live, forcing him to bow out before he even struck a ball.

It wasn’t because he exuded this strong, captivating personality on court, either, with his piratas, bandanna and muscles.

Looking back, it really was what Rafael Nadal represented that made me a fan. His success did not have the prodigy-overnight-sensation feel that characterized Roger Federer, Boris Becker and Andre Agassi’s dominance in tennis. His was a more human struggle, seen in his every movement on court, in his words during pressers, his demeanor off-court — this was a regular (in terms of tennis) lad who had worked hard, practiced, endured and survived against the hundreds of tennis hopefuls in the world.

He didn’t waltz in one day, perfect and strong, suddenly blowing everyone off the court. His progression was well-seen and well-documented. Unlike Roger Federer who came into the scene as this graceful swan that everyone instantly knew would be the one to watch for, Nadal had an awkward, rather ineffective serve which he made up for with his strong constitution. His forehands were perennially short because of his natural massive topspin. These didn’t serve him well beyond claycourts, and many dismissed him as a player who would never impress after the clay season.

But against stereotype and dismissive pundits, he worked hard and improved. He struggled as someone who has, but doesn’t want to be totally dependent on, his athletic gifts. Although there was no denying his natural athletic abilities, he was also no classic maestro or temperamental prodigy. He had to graduate from high school, under the strict supervision of his tight-knit family; he was given no star treatment by his hometown friends. He did his job day-in, day-out, working on his weak serve (by ATP Top 10 standards), his net game, his movement.

I identified with his work ethic and the fact that, unlike other players, Rafa always looked like someone who couldn’t afford to take anything for granted (in spite of the fact that he was one of the few who actually could). Although he kept on improving and winning — he won the French Open four times, Wimbledon once (defeating Roger Federer, no less), the Olympics and 18 other ATP Master tournaments — he never lost that hunger, that slight necessary fear that regular, but determined, people like me have to deal with everyday.

He knew life dealt random hands to everyone, and it would not always be good, so while he took his chances, he also made sure he fully appreciated every opportunity that came his way.

This became even more evident after his “fall from grace” last year, when, after his Australian Open victory, he was dealt bum cards. His parents got divorced (no matter what age you are, divorce is never easy), he failed to defend his French Open title, losing in the fourth round to the unlikeliest of characters (Robin Soderling), and he lost all his points from his 2008 Wimbledon victory, withdrawing from the tournament because of a persistent knee problem.

From then on, he never won a tournament until April 2010 heralded the clay court battles once again. Those past months were painful, gruelling, draining — many would have taken it as a sign and folded amid self-doubt.

Which brings me to another thing that made me a fan of Rafael Nadal: his ability to dig into reserves of self-assurance that everyday, regular people have to draw from to survive the daily grind. This ability became even more compelling because his falterings and emotional turmoil are evident, more immediate (Marat Safin doesn’t count because his tortured-ness is akin to that of the inaccessible rockstar or artiste). Definitely far from the typical stoic, invincible image of a tennis great.

These facets of Nadal’s career and circumstances bond me to him in a way that feels personal, although, of course, I don’t have the illusion that I actually will ever know him. I simply wanted to finally thresh out for myself what it is about this relentlessly rising tennis champion that truly made me a fan years ago, when he didn’t have a major to his name, when his matches were still relegated to the show courts, when his serve was weak and awkward, when his tennis shoes didn’t have special inscriptions on them.

And then, of course, I also realize that he is the only number one tennis player in the world who:

* still strings his own rackets
* carries his own bags both during practice and matches
* still keeps close to his family and childhood friends
* arrives on time for appointments
* remembers his manners on and off-court
* never breaks a racket in anger
* listens to the advice of his Uncle Toni and his team
* wears/uses his sponsors’ products without fuss (because he appreciates how lucky he is to have them support him)
* works hard to speak better English (to communicate better to more people)

…and suddenly, it makes sense. While I am awed by flashes of brilliance, gorgeous strokes and deftness on court, I also look for that very human side that I associate with solid relationships, hard work, emotional strength — things that have not been so visible on the world stage of tennis for a while. Rafael Nadal, to me, above all, is a champion of vulnerable, but beautiful humanity in tennis: at once so flawed and transcendent, fleeting, but rooted by pure love for the game.

Artist and graphic designer, Cynthia Bauzon-Arre, who happens to be a good friend of mine, had a rude awakening when a friend of hers alerted her to a company who had used her design (claiming it as their own property) in the merchandise they were selling.

this image comparison was taken from Cynthia’s blog

The company, ironically named Totally Creative Design Studio, has blatantly and rather unwisely appropriated the work of Cynthia, who is one of the most popular graphic designers in the Philippines: she designed album and book covers for many artists, including Eraserheads (notably the Fruitcake album and storybook), and was Creative Director of Wedding Essentials magazine for its first couple of years, among her many accomplishments. Her illustrations are also big favorites at the Cafe Press online store (Cynthia’s illustration and design, called “Scooter Sister,” on the merchandise in Cafe Press was the one copied by Totally Creative Design Studio).

Although Cynthia has already contacted the proprietor, Jess Marquez, it’s bewildering how thoughtless, callous and bastos (there’s just no potent enough English translation for this word) these “designers” seem to be.

The design is an exact replica; they didn’t even sweat a little bit to tweak it so it doesn’t look too much like the original, at the very least. Why did they do this at all? Did they really think people — and especially the artist of the original work — would be too stupid to notice? Did they really think they could pass it off as their own work without legal consequences?

I know this is the land of pirated CDs and DVDs and knock-offs, but there are clear copyright laws that we need to follow, not only because we’re citizens, but because we are human beings and we have a duty to do right by each other.

I hope that this company becomes more careful and watchful about the designs “created” for them by their team.