He wore a T-shirt from the Feast of the Black Nazarene, which he hadn’t partaken in in five years, having not missed a single one before he immigrated to San Francisco, where he now lives with his wife and 5-year-old daughter. The religious tradition has now changed, he says, “’Di ka na makalapit sa poon.” Historically, millions of devotees risk their lives for a chance to lay their hands on the Black Nazarene, even if that meant contorting themselves and gasping for air at every move. He was content just to see the wave of limbs flow along as if moved by something divine.
Manila’s grit elicits either empathy or apathy in a person. Geloy knows the latter is illusory. Stuck in Legarda traffic, the photographer laments that rich people think they’ve escaped the city’s realities—like traffic—by virtue of money. They haven’t. We’re all stuck here. For better or worse. Reality forces you into a diluted form of empathy.
Why this question? “Nagsimula kasi ‘yan marami din akong naiisip na gustong sabihin. Kung may ganon ako, may ganon din ‘yong ibang tao. Parang ganon.”
This was when he was newly transplanted to the US. In the Philippines, Geloy worked as a photographer commissioned by local publications. Meanwhile in San Francisco, because of delays in the immigration process, it took him three years to get a work permit, and when he finally did, the pandemic happened. This left him questioning whether he should still pursue photography.
“Sabi ko sa asawa ko, ‘Ibebenta ko na lang [ang mga camera ko] para ma-stretch natin ‘yong budget ng ilang buwan pa siguro habang naghahanap ako ng work,’” he recalls. But before he did that, he convinced himself that he would do one last project. And from there, the creative crowdsourcing initiative that now receives upwards of 1,000 responses a week from anonymous senders all over the world was born.
“Things You Wanted to Say But Never Did” has over 80,000 messages tallied in a spreadsheet as of writing, and Geloy more or less knows what his letter senders want to say. Themes include mental health, childhood trauma, sexual abuse, issues with parents, grief, pain, and regret—seemingly taboo topics on social media platforms where influencers and brands thrive on, and thus continue to, peddle positive messaging for optimal engagement.
This is the great paradox of not just Instagram, where Geloy posts the Jim Goldberg-inspired photographs, but any social networking site: The algorithm prioritizes feel-good (sometimes bordering toxic positivity, mistaken for authenticity) content that ultimately makes a majority of its users feel anything but good—in most cases, insecure, lonely, and depressed. Facebook’s (since rebranded as Meta, which also owns Instagram) own 2021 report on the effects of its products, specifically Instagram, details its harmful effects, particularly on teenage girls.
He wore a T-shirt from the Feast of the Black Nazarene, which he hadn’t partaken in in five years, having not missed a single one before he immigrated to San Francisco, where he now lives with his wife and 5-year-old daughter. The religious tradition has now changed, he says, “’Di ka na makalapit sa poon.” Historically, millions of devotees risk their lives for a chance to lay their hands on the Black Nazarene, even if that meant contorting themselves and gasping for air at every move. He was content just to see the wave of limbs flow along as if moved by something divine.
Manila’s grit elicits either empathy or apathy in a person. Geloy knows the latter is illusory. The photographer laments that rich people think they’ve escaped the city’s realities like traffic by virtue of money. They haven’t. We’re all stuck here. For better or worse. Reality forces you into a diluted form of empathy.
Why this question? “Nagsimula kasi ‘yan marami din akong naiisip na gustong sabihin. Kung may ganon ako, may ganon din ‘yong ibang tao. Parang ganon.”
“Sabi ko sa asawa ko, ‘Ibebenta ko na lang [ang mga camera ko] para ma-stretch natin ‘yong budget ng ilang buwan pa siguro habang naghahanap ako ng work,’” he recalls. But before he did that, he convinced himself that he would do one last project. And from there, the creative crowdsourcing initiative that now receives upwards of 1,000 responses a week from anonymous senders all over the world was born.
This is the great paradox of not just Instagram, where Geloy posts the Jim Goldberg-inspired photographs, but any social networking site: The algorithm prioritizes feel-good (sometimes bordering toxic positivity, mistaken for authenticity) content that ultimately makes a majority of its users feel anything but good—in most cases, insecure, lonely, and depressed. Facebook’s (since rebranded as Meta, which also owns Instagram) own 2021 report on the effects of its products, specifically Instagram, details its harmful effects, particularly on teenage girls.
He is his own content moderator. Though only ten photos get posted a week partly because of Instagram’s photo carousel limit, he reads everything. Geloy picks which ones make it to the roster out of the thousands he receives within the same period. Though it is less about filtering through words and more about lending an ear to these anonymous messages.
“Karamihan feeling ko gusto lang nilang may makinig. Kaya lagi kong sinasabi, ‘yon ‘yong pinakarule ko d’on sa project: babasahin ko talaga kada isa para lang alam nila na may nagbasa nung sinulat nila,” he says. (Most people are just looking for someone to listen. That’s why I make sure to read through each of the submissions so they know someone’s on the other side.)
They met during their internship at the now-defunct documentary television show “Storyline” and have since become confidants in life and in art. “Naalala ko ‘yong first day naming nagkita. Nag-taxi kami sabay pauwi kasi taga-Pandacan sya, ako taga-Malate. Tapos from Quezon City to Manila sobrang dami naming napag-usapan. Na-feel ko na parang nag-connect kami agad.”
They were eventually hired as regular videographers/photographers a year later. Cruz’s circle of photographer friends, which included Jake Versoza and Veejay Villafranca, adopted Geloy as a part of their group, tagging him along during each other’s assignments. These are formative years that fortified the values that formed the foundation of his craft today. Among these: Beyond their work, their character should hold up to the purported goodness their photos hold.
Tough acting as he looks, Geloy is attuned to his emotions. Cruz recalls a profound joy that once took over them during a residency in Zambales. They were in tears thinking about how lucky they were to be able to work the way they do. “It’s more of ‘yong experience din talaga. ‘Yong halaga na may hawak kaming camera at nakakapasok kami sa buhay ng ibang tao.”
Early in his career as a freelance photographer in the US, he wrestled with a related conundrum on ownership not just of the output but its narrative. A friend once asked him, “Bakit mo kinukunan ‘yan, bakit mo kinukuwento ‘yan, e hindi naman ikaw ‘yan?” referring to Geloy’s photographs of Pride festivities in Los Angeles. Instead of letting this comment get to him, he thought of how he can tell his own story.
This series was later called “Sanctuario: Ang Pakikipagsapalaran ni Isagani sa Bansang America.” It was then exhibited at the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) in March 2022, part of its belated Thirteen Artists Awards (TAA) 2021 showcase, whose roster of visual and multi-disciplinary artist awardees included Geloy.
“Aside from being in agreement on the excellence of Geloy as a photographer, more than half of the jury was interested in how he expanded on and investigated, and in a way critiqued traditional notions of photography by incorporating community involvement, interaction, and appropriation in his works,” Rica Estrada of the CCP Visual Arts and Museum Division, who was part of the TAA selection committee, said in an email.
Geloy is one of only a dozen recipients of the award and grant in all of its 18 iterations who dabbles exclusively in photography or has photo/lens-based artworks. (Ray Albano + (1970), Johnny Manahan (1972), Nap Jamir II (1974), Boldy Tapales (1974), Litz Nievera Benipayo (1976), Tommy Hafalla (1992), Willy Magtibay (1992), Kiri Dalena (2012), Wawi Navarroza (2012), Shireen Seno (2018), Czar Kristoff (2021)) TAA considers nominations for artists engaging with contemporary visual art forms (including, but not limited to, painting, sculpture, new media, installation, performance art, photography, printmaking, and digital imaging). Its past awardees include BenCab, Lao Lianben, Imelda Cajipe Endaya, Elmer Borlongan, Eric Zamuco, Martha Atienza, and Nikki Luna.
Speaking candidly after our shoot in Avenida, Geloy illustrates, “Sa LA nga, every day may dumadating don na 100 na magaling na photographers mula sa bansa nila. Lahat ‘yan determinado.” But often, because of the competitive nature and precarity of the creative industry, some eventually lose faith. Amid that rat race though, he admits, the beauty is in knowing that you have a chance. “May tsansa kang makasali. May tsansa ring hindi. Pero okay lang, at least, napu-push mo lagi [ang sarili mo]. Ako ‘yon lang din tina-try ko, ‘Hanggang saan ba puwede?’”
“Hindi ko siya naiisip na ‘yong gagawin kong susunod dapat mas malupet o mas malaki. Actually, ‘yong makagawa ka nga nun malaking bagay na siya e, ‘di ba? Ako ha, galing lang naman ako ng Pandacan, e. ‘Yon ‘yong lagi kong iniisip.”
(I don’t pressure myself into thinking my next project should be bigger. That I was able to do the project alone is already a big thing. If anything comes out of it, then that’s okay, too. Because where I come from, you are never expected to leave. You grow old to be the best tattoo artist in town (his childhood dream) or a newspaper vendor. Just to venture out is already a big achievement.) ●
Creative direction by Nimu Muallam
Art direction by Levenspeil Sangalang
Video by Samantha Ong
Produced by Christian San Jose
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