Abad drew the show’s title from a passage in Brazilian educator and philosopher Paulo Freire’s “Pedagogy of the Oppressed,” now considered a foundational text in the social sciences, especially by social workers and community organizers in postcolonial contexts.
Abad drew the show’s title from a passage in Brazilian educator and philosopher Paulo Freire’s “Pedagogy of the Oppressed,” now considered a foundational text in the social sciences, especially by social workers and community organizers in postcolonial contexts.
The nostalgia and promises of the post-martial law years influenced Filipinos to enable the presidency of Noynoy Aquino, the son of Ninoy Aquino, dictator Ferdinand Marcos’s most prominent opponent.
Meanwhile, in the United States, Barack Obama’s second term was also beginning, and it was seen as an era of cosmopolitanism and progressivism as the nation continued to be led by its first African-American president.
And around the world, the promise of social media democratizing information and connecting people saw an era of tech enthusiasm.
By then, Abad’s art career was already taking off, having graduated from the Glasgow School of Art just a few years back and just having finished his Masters in Fine Arts at the Royal Academy Schools in London.
Already tackling Philippine history in his work, Abad began working on “Fear of Freedom,” embarking on what would turn out to be a 10-year endeavor: a re-imagining of objects and motifs from the two-decades-long martial law era, from the conjugal dictatorship’s vision of themselves as the mythical Malakas at Maganda to their Old Master art and jewelry collection. He juxtaposed these with the martyrs of the resistance, the social costs of the couple’s caprices, and the missed opportunities to uplift Filipino lives.
The nostalgia and promises of the post-martial law years influenced Filipinos to enable the presidency of Noynoy Aquino, the son of Ninoy Aquino, dictator Ferdinand Marcos’s most prominent opponent.
Meanwhile, in the United States, Barack Obama’s second term was also beginning, and it was seen as an era of cosmopolitanism and progressivism as the nation continued to be led by its first African-American president.
And around the world, the promise of social media democratizing information and connecting people saw an era of tech enthusiasm.
By then, Abad’s art career was already taking off, having graduated from the Glasgow School of Art just a few years back and just having finished his Masters in Fine Arts at the Royal Academy Schools in London.
Already tackling Philippine history in his work, Abad began working on “Fear of Freedom,” embarking on what would turn out to be a 10-year endeavor: a re-imagining of objects and motifs from the two-decades-long martial law era, from the conjugal dictatorship’s vision of themselves as the mythical Malakas at Maganda to their Old Master art and jewelry collection. He juxtaposed these with the martyrs of the resistance, the social costs of the couple’s caprices, and the missed opportunities to uplift Filipino lives.
Back then, people around the artist told Abad to perhaps work on other subjects and themes, as the assumption was that the Marcoses had largely—and rightfully—faded into irrelevance and obscurity.
Who knew that in ten years, “the tables would be flipped,” as the artist puts it?
Despite growing up with activist-turned-public servant parents and illuminated by the glow of a well-known Filipina artist, his aunt the late Pacita Abad, Abad almost considered dropping the arts.
Vivid memories of childhood involve attending the show openings of his aunt, punctuated by intense dinner table discussions helmed by parents Florencio and Henedina, who later served in post-EDSA administrations.
The quieter moments still revolved around art, as the young Pio attended his next-door neighbor’s painting workshops while joining larger weekend art classes around Quezon City.
The road forked as he entered college in the year 2000. Initially considering a career in advertising through a business course, the gentle nudging and lived example of Pacita convinced him to move to the UK to finish an art course there, having shifted to a fine arts course at the University of the Philippines (UP) Diliman from said management course in the Ateneo de Manila University.
In the final room, in what is arranged like a memorial wall, stand abstract paintings based on propaganda textbooks distributed during martial law. The setup is deliberate, as the paintings are from a growing collection of tributes to martial law resistance movement martyrs. More will be produced soon.
The last two paintings on display, simply titled “For Dina I” and “For Dina II,” are a tribute to Abad’s mother who passed away in 2017.
It’s these threads that have since informed Abad’s body of work, continuing through his latest exhibit. Side-by-side with the Ateneo Art Gallery, at Silverlens Gallery in Makati, Abad along with artist Stephanie Syjuco are holding another show also tackling the legacy of the dictatorship and the power of protest.
Despite the heavy subject matter of his work, laughter and banter come easily to the artist.
A self-confessed archive geek, Abad always enjoyed the rigor of the creative research process. He recalls being granted access to the archives of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum near Los Angeles. There, he discovered gifts that Ferdinand and Imelda gave Ronald and Nancy in 1982.
Abad begins to light up: “I find myself in these strange backrooms where history really comes alive. You are within striking distance of the DNA of people who you can argue have either shaped or destroyed culture. Or a bit of both. That’s what drives my work.”
In fact, Abad recalls that his first exposure to museums was through the Presidential Museum at Malacañang Palace, finding himself amongst objects which the Marcoses tried to hide during their regime.
The 24-piece collection was first exhibited at the 2019 Honolulu Biennale. The collection is also accessible here, as a “digital restitution project.”
The 24-piece collection was first exhibited at the 2019 Honolulu Biennale. The collection is also accessible here, as a “digital restitution project.”
“I don’t have an answer and I don’t trust people with all the answers,” Abad hazards, while still facing the concern.
He believes this is where beauty comes in, expounding: “It’s how you transform these ‘remnants of fact’ into something people enjoy looking at and eventually, into something to learn from. But seduction always has to come first.”
Admittedly, the objects are beautiful. Instead of the barbed-wire and bloodstained image of other works tackling martial law, we see well-lit reproductions of jewelry, postcards on pristine pedestals, and intricately drawn furniture and abstract paintings softly lit against a black background.
Abad mentions the climate in Glasgow during his student days. He recalls the intensive support for cultural work, which he strongly believes should be emulated in the Philippines: “As you support young people trying to expand cultural discourse, you end up with a more educated, more critical, more engaged society.”
“I see myself as one artist in a larger ecosystem of culture, trying to find ways to seduce people into looking at historical documents,” Abad says. A drop in an ocean Abad and other cultural workers may be, but a drop of clean water is an ocean away from a drop of poison. ●
Cover photography by JP Talapian
Creative direction by Nimu Muallam
Art direction by Levenspeil Sangalang
Produced by Christian San Jose
