PROFILE
Relearning one’s sense of place with filmmaker Shireen Seno
The filmmaker shares her path to self-discovery through learning about the in-betweens of being Filipino
Words by DENISE ALCANTARA Photos by JOSEPH PASCUAL
Different birds are calling, some in a high pitch and some in a rounder tone. The wind is bellowing. Grass crackles at every step. And people murmur in the background. I’m peering through one of the lenses of Shireen Seno’s binoculars as she searches for different migratory birds and ducks in marshes and grasslands in and out of the Philippines. She finds birds flying in flocks or perching on branches solo. “A child dies, a child plays, a woman is born, a woman dies, a bird arrives, a bird flies off” (Arcade 4walls edition) | 2020, 18 min, color, HD | December 15, 2020 to January 14, 2021
Asia Plaza Media Wall, Asia Culture Center, Gwangju, South Korea
Seno was born and raised in Tokyo, went to university in Toronto, and spent some time in Los Angeles with her father before finding home in Manila. Her work entitled “A child dies, a child plays, a woman is born, a woman dies, a bird arrives, a bird flies off” is part of the work-in-progress feature film, “The Wild Duck,” an exploration of her father’s migration to the United States in the early 2000s. Her life journey is akin to the migratory birds she films. For most of the filmmaker’s life, she has gone searching for the meaning of home.
An international student all her school days, Seno struggled with belonging. Being neither here nor there, she started asking fundamental questions about identity, place, and purpose. On her return to the Philippines, she started finding the pieces through film, art, and community. In 2018, she was selected as one of the Cultural Center of the Philippines’ Thirteen Artists awardees, a recognition given to groundbreaking visual artists. Three years later, Seno was tasked to curate the exhibit for the same prestigious award.
This interview was edited for clarity and brevity.Seno was born and raised in Tokyo, went to university in Toronto, and spent some time in Los Angeles with her father before finding home in Manila. Her work entitled “A child dies, a child plays, a woman is born, a woman dies, a bird arrives, a bird flies off” is part of the work-in-progress feature film, “The Wild Duck,” an exploration of her father’s migration to the United States in the early 2000s. Her life journey is akin to the migratory birds she films. For most of the filmmaker’s life, she has gone searching for the meaning of home.
An international student all her school days, Seno struggled with belonging. Being neither here nor there, she started asking fundamental questions about identity, place, and purpose. On her return to the Philippines, she started finding the pieces through film, art, and community. In 2018, she was selected as one of the Cultural Center of the Philippines’ Thirteen Artists awardees, a recognition given to groundbreaking visual artists. Three years later, Seno was tasked to curate the exhibit for the same prestigious award.
This interview was edited for clarity and brevity.Seno was born and raised in Tokyo, educated in Toronto, and spent some time in Los Angeles before finding home in Manila.
When was the turning point of feeling that you needed to connect to your Filipino identity?
When I was in Toronto, I realized that I didn’t know what I was doing. Why here? Why am I trying so hard to stay here? Then, I realized that I had to go back. I had this empty feeling growing up. [There was an] abyss, [an] emptiness inside.
I was alone in Canada for a good six years. I needed to be alone. I needed to go away. I needed to realize what was missing, what I wanted to figure out.
I wanted to become an architect [so] I took up Bachelor of Arts in architectural studies. In one summer session, I took up a film class. I really loved it but I was still trying to do this architecture degree. I ended up taking these two courses that changed my outlook. I also took a class named Japanese cinemas. It was basically looking at the parallel development of cinema and capitalism in Japan.
So, you were never exposed to Japanese cinema in Japan?
Yes. It was an amazing class because it was really looking at these films and the form of the films, not just what’s it about but how it’s made. That time was my awakening to politics and how I connected to the bigger picture. Growing up, I didn’t understand all these things happening in Japan. It really awakened me to have a stance on things.
So, I took another class called architecture media and communications. It was looking at architecture but from the point of view of different kinds of media. It was looking at architecture but through things other than buildings, other than the environment. Both of these classes had this effect on me so I decided to do a double major.
Seno was born and raised in Tokyo, educated in Toronto, and spent some time in Los Angeles before finding home in Manila.
When was the turning point of feeling that you needed to connect to your Filipino identity?
When I was in Toronto, I realized that I didn’t know what I was doing. Why here? Why am I trying so hard to stay here? Then, I realized that I had to go back. I had this empty feeling growing up. [There was an] abyss, [an] emptiness inside.
I was alone in Canada for a good six years. I needed to be alone. I needed to go away. I needed to realize what was missing, what I wanted to figure out.
I wanted to become an architect [so] I took up Bachelor of Arts in architectural studies. In one summer session, I took up a film class. I really loved it but I was still trying to do this architecture degree. I ended up taking these two courses that changed my outlook. I also took a class named Japanese cinemas. It was basically looking at the parallel development of cinema and capitalism in Japan.
So, you were never exposed to Japanese cinema in Japan?
Yes. It was an amazing class because it was really looking at these films and the form of the films, not just what’s it about but how it’s made. That time was my awakening to politics and how I connected to the bigger picture. Growing up, I didn’t understand all these things happening in Japan. It really awakened me to have a stance on things.
So, I took another class called architecture media and communications. It was looking at architecture but from the point of view of different kinds of media. It was looking at architecture but through things other than buildings, other than the environment. Both of these classes had this effect on me so I decided to do a double major.
“I was hearing about this independent film scene and I felt like how I would love to go and watch these films, first of all, but also go back [to Manila] to get a sense of what it was like making films.”
When I was in film studies, I spent a lot of time in public libraries and I found one branch that had a VHS copy of Kidlat Tahimik’s “Perfumed Nightmare.” It blew my mind. Then shortly after, there were some films that were coming to the Toronto International Film Festival. There’s Lav Diaz, Raya Martin, Khavn De La Cruz, and John Torres. I was hearing about this independent film scene and I felt like how I would love to go and watch these films, first of all, but also go back [to Manila] to get a sense of what it was like making films.
I went to a Philippine Independent Filmmakers Cooperative meeting in Galleria. I made my own handwritten business card and I didn’t know anyone. I just showed up. I met Kidlat Tahimik, Raya, and John. I made friends with them. I also met Alexis Tioseco, a young film critic. He was so welcoming and such a breath of fresh air coming from Japan where there are certain ways of doing things when you meet someone. Through him, I watched a lot of experimental films. He connected me to Lav and ended up tagging along in a shoot of “Melancholia.” “To Pick A Flower,” Seno’s latest project, was a commissioned work for an exhibition in Taiwan. “It was an exhibition focusing on early photography in Taiwan but I was commissioned to do artistic research as a way to destabilize the focus on Taiwan and show how the histories of the Philippines and other Southeast Asian countries are intertwined.”
“To Pick A Flower,” Seno’s latest project, was a commissioned work for an exhibition in Taiwan. “It was an exhibition focusing on early photography in Taiwan but I was commissioned to do artistic research as a way to destabilize the focus on Taiwan and show how the histories of the Philippines and other Southeast Asian countries are intertwined.”
Would you say that you first felt that sense of community in the Philippines?
Yeah. I mean aside from growing up in a very small, tight-knit community growing up, this was different. You don’t choose to grow up in your high school; you were just put there. It’s more of something like you find your own place in the world. I felt like I found a place where I felt comfortable and excited. I belonged in a way. “[Filmmaking is] kind of like therapy to understand all these things that make you who you are.”
So, you went back to Manila and tried to learn about history and the different cultural contexts that have influenced the Filipino identity. Was this your primary reason?
I don’t like to put broad words like the “Filipino identity.” I’m more interested in the details, really. Not putting any labels on things. I guess I make films as a way to process things that I don’t understand or some experience that I’d like to understand better. It’s kind of like therapy to understand all these things that make you who you are.
Doing that feels like a very heavy or complicated process to do by yourself. Do you have a support system that helps you build these films?
I definitely have a co-conspirator in John [Torres], my husband and partner from the beginning. He was someone I looked up to. Seeing his films before I started making [them], he always encouraged me to do my own. In the beginning, I would help him (aside from Lav). He was in the middle of something when I came around but he was always pushing me. I saw his process or way of working—writing some bits and pieces, then getting more support—and then that will enable him to continue to do that, to write, to shoot more, to keep at it. Seno’s films, which center on memory, history, and image-making, have been screened both locally and abroad, from Museum of Contemporary Art and Design Manila to Toronto International Film Festival.
“We never totally figure out who we are. And if you figure that out, it’s boring.”
“We never totally figure out who we are. And if you figure that out, it’s boring.”
In a world where millions put out content, did you ever feel any pressure to create more and faster?
I’ll burn out if I keep up with the pace of these things. I go by my own pace. I’m just getting by. Both of us are independent filmmakers and artists so we live off grants. We’re quite fortunate to find a way to stay afloat in the worlds of film and also art. Being on the fringes of both has been a good thing for us.
From being an artist, how did you become a curator? Was it a natural progression for you?
It hasn’t been so linear. In the beginning, I wanted to show works. I wasn’t thinking of making my own. My original impulse was to show the works of others. I go back and forth between curating and organizing.
What is your curation process like?
I tend to stick quite open throughout the process. I like the unpredictability. Coming in without having any preconceived ideas is really challenging but is also refreshing. It’s a good kind of adrenaline that you get when trying to figure out what fits… like a puzzle. “We never totally figure out who we are. And if you figure that out, it’s boring.”
The 2021 Thirteen Artists Awards exhibition curated by Seno features 13 mid-career Filipino artists and their works. It will run until June 5 at the CCP Bulwagang Juan Luna, Pasilyo Juan Luna, and Pasilyo Guillermo Tolentino. Video courtesy of CCP Visual Arts and Museum
How was the experience like curating for last year’s CCP 13 Artists Award?
I was quite surprised because I just won from the last batch but I was very humbled to be asked. I felt kind of overwhelmed because at that time, [in June 2021], I had just given birth to our second child in April. I was still trying to recover from giving birth and just trying to get by as a parent of now two kids. So, I was like, “How was I going to do this? How am I going to put together this show during a pandemic?”
It was overwhelming but maybe it was worth it because at least I made new friends. They’re all artists that I admired and there are some artists that I was unfamiliar with that I wanted to see. I had been out of the loop since 2018 when I had my first kid. So I thought it was a way to catch up on what was going on, make new friends, and challenge myself to put on an exhibition.
I really enjoy working with space. I guess it brings together my unfulfilled ambition in architecture before.
“I’m still skimming the surface of myself, my memories, my relationships to others.”
How did you navigate the film and art industries as a woman?
I’m always uncomfortable with these kinds of questions “as a woman.” But it’s real—the struggle is real. But for me, I’ve been lucky to have the support of my partner. We always make works together. When I direct, he’s always produced my work.
You were also recently a mother. Did it also influence your art or has it influenced your art already?
I think so. It definitely influenced my sense of time. I have to be on my toes all the time. As a parent, you have to be ready for anything. It made me realize that I don’t have all the time in the world. I’ve always struggled with procrastination.
We’ve recently thought about how to balance family and to continue to make. We think the best way is to incorporate it to our work, this idea of family, to have them be part of it. It’s really the only way to keep making.
Being a parent really turned my life around. I feel like I have no time—except when they’re finally asleep—for myself. And that’s a struggle but to have that limitation is a good thing I think. To make me create things in this strange semi-asleep state you know, the wee hours of the morning. It’s that kind of twilight time. In between being awake and asleep but that’s very productive because I feel like the subliminal starts to mix with reality. A mother of two, the filmmaker and artist resides in Quezon City, where she is happy to be living adjacent to green public spaces.
Her second feature, “Nervous Translation”, a film set in the post-People Power Revolution years through the eyes of an eight-year-old, will be on show at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London this April.
Two of the themes I observed in your work are movement and space. So, quite a cheesy question, but what keeps you moving forward?
There are still so many things to work out. We’re never finished being. We never totally figure out who we are. And if you figure that out, it’s boring. We’re always in a process of becoming. We’re never fully formed. So, I think that definitely drives my practice.
I’m still skimming the surface of myself, my memories, my relationships to others. I’m feeling my way through. I think the idea of scale is something that has found its way into my work—to bounce between the details and then serve the bigger picture. My making of works is just a way to understand what we’ve been through and what I am going through.
Anything else in the works this year?
I have a residency in Berlin this year. I’ll focus on writing or trying to write the script of “The Wild Duck.” There’s never really a total script. It’s really just a guide. We’re hopefully trying to keep that tension between the staged and unstaged. To keep that sense of being alive and not having everything planned. ● Part III of III of Nolisoli.ph’s Women’s Month SpecialFor Women’s Month 2022, we interviewed three artists whose works explore the intersection and possibilities of gender and creativity: Marita Ganse on the artistic value of “women’s work;” Jessica Dorizac on juxtaposing forms, layering meaning; and Shireen Seno on mapping the self through filmmaking.
Written by Denise Alcantara
Cover photography by Joseph Pascual
Creative direction by Nimu Muallam
Art direction by Levenspeil Sangalang
PROFILE
Jessica Dorizac’s many-layered paper pieces and the patterns they won’t give away
“My experimentation with shapes and forms has become more intense and layered, reflective of the environment and probably my own mental scape,” the artist says of her geometric works that resist pattern-finding
Interview by by SEPTEMBER GRACE MAHINO Photos by JOSEPH PASCUAL
Interview by by SEPTEMBER GRACE MAHINO
Photos by JOSEPH PASCUAL
Artist Jessica Dorizac was preparing for her return to Brisbane, Australia when we caught up with her for this feature. She hasn’t been home in four years. As she packs for another country, one would hardly suspect the move is happening. For one, she has two ongoing shows: a group show at Project Space Pilipinas, a gallery in Lucban, Quezon run by artist Leslie de Chavez, and a solo show at the cafe/exhibition space in Escolta called The Den. Much like her husband and artist in-laws, Dorizac’s work explores the possibilities of material art, particularly wood in its various forms; raw wood, plywood, wood shavings, along with construction paper, cardboard, and corrugated board.
In both spaces, Dorizac’s works command attention through a cacophony of colors, shapes, and textures; collages, if you may call them, that defy the basic human instinct to seek patterns in the unfamiliar.
Assemblage is not foreign to the artist, who, prior to returning to Australia to finish her degree in fine arts, resided in Los Baños, Laguna. There at the Fruit Juice Factory, with her husband, artist Miguel Aquilizan, her artist in-laws Isabel and Alfredo Aquilizan, and eight dogs, she toyed with the possibilities of materials in art. It is, after all, a family signature, from Isabel and Alfredo’s wings of sickles to Miguel’s wood and metal sculptures, and to Dorizac’s own colorful layers of cutout paper pieces.
In this interview, we talked to the artist after she touched down in the Land Down Under, where she says she’s experiencing a kind of culture shock coming back. She jokes that her Australian accent is gone and that she’s now full Pinay. When asked about plans to return to Laguna, Dorizac says she’ll go back and forth between her two homes. In both spaces, Dorizac’s works command attention through a cacophony of colors, shapes, and textures; collages, if you may call them, that defy the basic human instinct to seek patterns in the unfamiliar.
Assemblage is not foreign to the artist, who, prior to returning to Australia to finish her degree in fine arts, resided in Los Baños, Laguna. There at the Fruit Juice Factory, with her husband, artist Miguel Aquilizan, her artist in-laws Isabel and Alfredo Aquilizan, and eight dogs, she toyed with the possibilities of materials in art. It is, after all, a family signature, from Isabel and Alfredo’s wings of sickles to Miguel’s wood and metal sculptures, and to Dorizac’s own colorful layers of cutout paper pieces.
In this interview, we talked to the artist after she touched down in the Land Down Under, where she says she’s experiencing a kind of culture shock coming back. She jokes that her Australian accent is gone and that she’s now full Pinay. When asked about plans to return to Laguna, Dorizac says she’ll go back and forth between her two homes.
This interview was edited for clarity and brevity.“My experimentation with shapes and forms has become more intense and layered, reflective of the environment and probably my own mental scape, as one turns inwards during isolated periods.”
Dorizac was born in Brisbane, Australia but hasn’t been there in four years. Her body of work is informed by historical and urban decorative patterns and ornaments, especially those found in the architecture in the Philippines.
You were born in Brisbane, Australia, and until recently were based in Los Baños, Laguna. Could you share your journey from Australia to the Philippines? When and under what circumstances did you make your move?
Born and raised in the sunshine state of Australia. Deep in suburbia, amongst the landscape of Queenslander houses and the unique flora and fauna of Australia. My parents are both migrants, my mother from the Philippines and my father from New Zealand (Aotearoa).
Love was the circumstance under which I made the move to the Philippines. I met my husband Miguel in 2015, we wed in 2016, and decided Philippines would be the place where we would begin to build our lives together, working alongside each other. With the support of Miguel’s parents, we were able to make the move in 2018 and have been there since. It’s been a wonderful but challenging journey, learning about contemporary Philippine culture and society, and deepening the relationship with my Pinoy side.
The world is now into its third year of living in a pandemic. Have you noticed a clear demarcation in your creative/artistic process between the “before” and “after” relative to the pandemic? In particular, has the pandemic affected your view of productivity as an artist?
The pandemic marked the end of an era. It gave the opportunity to focus deeply on practice without the distractions of the outside world, which is ironic considering the situation.
My work before and after the pandemic is evidently different through exploration of wood in its various forms; raw wood, plywood, wood shavings, construction paper, cardboard, corrugated board. My experimentation with shapes and forms has become more intense and layered, reflective of the environment and probably my own mental scape, as one turns inwards during isolated periods.
Dorizac was born in Brisbane, Australia but hasn’t been there in four years. Her body of work is informed by historical and urban decorative patterns and ornaments, especially those found in the architecture in the Philippines.
You were born in Brisbane, Australia, and until recently were based in Los Baños, Laguna. Could you share your journey from Australia to the Philippines? When and under what circumstances did you make your move?
Born and raised in the sunshine state of Australia. Deep in suburbia, amongst the landscape of Queenslander houses and the unique flora and fauna of Australia. My parents are both migrants, my mother from the Philippines and my father from New Zealand (Aotearoa).
Love was the circumstance under which I made the move to the Philippines. I met my husband Miguel in 2015, we wed in 2016, and decided Philippines would be the place where we would begin to build our lives together, working alongside each other. With the support of Miguel’s parents, we were able to make the move in 2018 and have been there since. It’s been a wonderful but challenging journey, learning about contemporary Philippine culture and society, and deepening the relationship with my Pinoy side.
The world is now into its third year of living in a pandemic. Have you noticed a clear demarcation in your creative/artistic process between the “before” and “after” relative to the pandemic? In particular, has the pandemic affected your view of productivity as an artist?
The pandemic marked the end of an era. It gave the opportunity to focus deeply on practice without the distractions of the outside world, which is ironic considering the situation.
My work before and after the pandemic is evidently different through exploration of wood in its various forms; raw wood, plywood, wood shavings, construction paper, cardboard, corrugated board. My experimentation with shapes and forms has become more intense and layered, reflective of the environment and probably my own mental scape, as one turns inwards during isolated periods.
“I don’t work from a singular idea; I work from a continuation in practice.”
“Decorative Disposition” is a group show at Project Space Pilipinas, a gallery in Lucban, Quezon run by artist Leslie de Chavez
Your current show at Project Space Pilipinas is part of the art initiative/platform’s celebration of Women’s Month. Could you share the idea behind “Decorative Disposition”? How long did it take for you to create all the pieces that became part of the exhibit?
The works shown in “Decorative Disposition” were made from 2018 through to 2022. They are the totality of my time spent here in the Philippines. Project Space Pilipinas does the necessary work to bring art to the people. Nestled in the small town of Lucban, PSP prides itself on bringing high-quality exhibitions, without the showbiz, to the citizens. Their program for 2022 is dedicated to female artists, cultural workers, and arts professionals. I am very grateful to have been invited to share my work with the support of PSP.
Your art is also on show at The Den. Can you describe as well the idea behind “Assorted Ornaments”?
The title “Assorted Ornaments” is a poke at artworks being purely ornamental.
I don’t work from a singular idea; I work from a continuation in practice. But the choice of words for the title is a [pondering] on artworks purely consumed as ornamental wall pieces. And I do think about that a lot, especially because of the deep relationship the art community has with the art market. “Decorative Disposition” is a group show at Project Space Pilipinas, a gallery in Lucban, Quezon run by artist Leslie de Chavez.
“Patterns and shapes are universal and it’s interesting to see their application over the documented human history, and more interesting to see them in an unexpected arrangement that makes space for new conversations.”
“Evening in Floor Plans”
Paper, wooden frame
68cm x 61cm
2022
On display at The Den in Escolta for “Assorted Ornaments” until April 12 and online at thedenmanila.com“Evening in Floor Plans” | Paper, wooden frame | 68cm x 61cm | 2022
On display at The Den in Escolta for “Assorted Ornaments” until April 12 and online at thedenmanila.comWhat attracts you to using collage and assemblage to express your ideas? Has this been a medium that you’ve always used and been interested in or have there been others that you’ve explored before? In any case, what does the use of this media draw out from you?
I gravitate to collage and assemblage because I enjoy the meditative process of it. The collecting, deconstructing, and organizing.
Your exhibit notes for “Assorted Ornaments” cite your current fascination with historical and urban decorative patterns and ornaments in architecture. Patterns are usually deceptively simplistic regardless of their level of intricacy, meaning they were designed to evoke a sense of reliability and even safety in their predictability. Speaking as someone viewing your pieces, your art, however, bucks that sense of predictability with the layered elements that disrupt the order of the previously set motifs and set off another pattern (though less immediately discernible) on their own. Is that an intentional decision on your part?
It’s both subconscious and conscious; the decisions of the layered elements that disrupt the order of one layer to begin the next. The nature of how I approach my work is quite painterly, many-layered. “I gravitate to collage and assemblage because I enjoy the meditative process of it. The collecting, deconstructing, and organizing,” the artist says.
Given the very human tendency to look for patterns, what do you enjoy (if any) about jolting the audience out of their complacency, at least in the visual sense?
Patterns and shapes are universal and it’s interesting to see their application over the documented human history, and more interesting to see them in an unexpected arrangement that makes space for new conversations.
I am drawn particularly to accidental, painterly compositions found in my immediate environment where various patterns, motifs, colors, textures, and lines are found amongst each other. There is a lot of this play found in the process of interior decoration, too.
As a woman in the arts, how does your womanhood help define or inform your art? And what challenges do you still see women artists face despite their tremendous contribution to the art world, not just in terms of creative output and ideas but also invisible/emotional labor?
I experience life through the lens of being a woman. As I’ve grown into an adult and seen, read, and listened to other women, and their herstory. I’ve realized the first step to protect, defend, and support women is to be active and aware of the many varied challenges that we women face in everyday life, politically, socially, emotionally, spiritually, and professionally. That in itself is invisible labor that we are doing and [I] hope everyone can join us in listening to these conversations.
What can we look forward to from you after your two current exhibits?
I have two upcoming exhibits, one is on April 9 for the Libris Awards: The Australian Artists’ Book Prize exhibition at Artspace Mackay here in Australia. The other will be on April 23 in the Philippines. It’s called “Pilgrimage”, a duo show with Miguel at Modeka in Makati. ● Part II of III of Nolisoli.ph’s Women’s Month SpecialFor Women’s Month 2022, we interviewed three artists whose works explore the intersection and possibilities of gender and creativity: Marita Ganse on the artistic value of “women’s work;” Jessica Dorizac on juxtaposing forms, layering meaning; and Shireen Seno on mapping the self through filmmaking.
Interview by September Grace Mahino
Cover photography by Joseph Pascual
Creative direction by Nimu Muallam
Art direction by Levenspeil Sangalang
PROFILE
Marita Ganse’s art quilts are all about memories
The model talks about the art of quilting, her time as a furrier, and finding joy in a slow process
Words by TONI POTENCIANO Photos by JOSEPH PASCUAL
In 2018, model Marita Fe Ganse asked her collaborators at Eairth, a local clothing brand, if she could use their retaso to turn into quilts.
Depending on the size of the quilt, it takes Ganse anywhere between two weeks to three months to complete a single quilt. Her largest project to date—abstract quilt 5 “Pandora’s Box”—is for her friend chef Victor Magsaysay’s home in Subic.
“I learned about the community of women that creates the quilts of Gee’s Bend and I was taken by their beautiful geometrically intricate quilts. I knew right away that I wanted to make my own quilts,” Ganse writes in an email.
She’s referring to a historically Black community that lived in an isolated hamlet along Alabama river, whose roots trace back as far as the early 19th-century cotton slave trade. Ferry services to and from the community were only restored in 2006, which meant that the small community of roughly 300 inhabitants lived in relative isolation for more than a hundred years.
But isolation is sometimes the bedfellow of creativity. The women of Gee’s Bend developed a tradition of quiltmaking which was passed down from mother to daughter. The quilts were then a departure from traditional quiltmaking. Gee’s Bend quilts were distinct, known for their “lively improvisations and geometric simplicity.” In 2003, 60 Bender quilts made from 1930 to 2000 were exhibited at the Whitney Museum. The New York Times called it some of the most “miraculous works of modern art America has ever produced.”
In a similar fashion, 36-year-old Ganse turned to quiltmaking during Manila’s strictest lockdowns. She begins with a sketch of the shapes, pinning down the colors and textures she wants to feature in her quilts. Afterwards, each of her quilts are painstakingly handsewn. Depending on the size of the quilt, it takes Ganse anywhere between two weeks to three months to complete a single quilt.
“It is a slow process that I really enjoy and don’t want to rush,” she says.
“I learned about the community of women that creates the quilts of Gee’s Bend and I was taken by their beautiful geometrically intricate quilts. I knew right away that I wanted to make my own quilts,” Ganse writes in an email.
She’s referring to a historically Black community that lived in an isolated hamlet along Alabama river, whose roots trace back as far as the early 19th-century cotton slave trade. Ferry services to and from the community were only restored in 2006, which meant that the small community of roughly 300 inhabitants lived in relative isolation for more than a hundred years.
But isolation is sometimes the bedfellow of creativity. The women of Gee’s Bend developed a tradition of quiltmaking which was passed down from mother to daughter. The quilts were then a departure from traditional quiltmaking. Gee’s Bend quilts were distinct, known for their “lively improvisations and geometric simplicity.” In 2003, 60 Bender quilts made from 1930 to 2000 were exhibited at the Whitney Museum. The New York Times called it some of the most “miraculous works of modern art America has ever produced.”
In a similar fashion, 36-year-old Ganse turned to quiltmaking during Manila’s strictest lockdowns. She begins with a sketch of the shapes, pinning down the colors and textures she wants to feature in her quilts. Afterwards, each of her quilts are painstakingly handsewn. Depending on the size of the quilt, it takes Ganse anywhere between two weeks to three months to complete a single quilt.
“It is a slow process that I really enjoy and don’t want to rush,” she tells me.
Depending on the size of the quilt, it takes Ganse anywhere between two weeks to three months to complete a single quilt. Her largest project to date—abstract quilt 5 “Pandora’s Box”—is for her friend chef Victor Magsaysay’s home in Subic.
On modeling and training to become a furrier
In 2021, Ganse exhibited four quilts at The Den Manila, each piece a play on the tension between colors and shapes. The quilts were created between August to September of that year, around the time the second enhanced community quarantine was imposed. “Each stitch is connected to a moment, a breath, a story,” she writes on Instagram.
Filipina-German Ganse has been living in Manila since 2008. She became muse and model of choice for many high fashion editorials and runways, walking for Tippi Ocampo, Jojie Lloren, and Rajo Laurel. She also frequently modeled for small, slow fashion labels like Rô, Eairth, Áraw, and Josanna. But before her life in Manila, Ganse was training to become a professional furrier.
“I studied fur design in Germany and worked with a couple of fur designers at the same time back in 2004 until 2007. I only stopped when I moved to Manila in 2008,” she recalls. “I started with small modeling jobs when I was a teenager. The fur company I worked for just asked me to model whenever there was an event or for their lookbooks and press releases.” “Before the pandemic, everything was so fast and busy that I wasn’t aware how much I enjoy doing things slowly, and how satisfying the effects of it are.”
After more than a decade of professional modeling, I ask Ganse what it was that made her stay in such a high-pressure industry. She replies that maybe she shouldn’t have. “To be honest, I should have followed my own instinct not to go into modeling for that long,” Ganse writes. Ganse listens to audiobooks while sewing, a better alternative than music, she says, “Because then I don’t end up dancing and abandoning my quilts.” Video courtesy of artist.
Ganse listens to audiobooks while sewing, a better alternative than music, she says, “Because then I don’t end up dancing and abandoning my quilts.” Video courtesy of artist.
Early in 2020, Ganse launched Kostüm V, a selection of archival and vintage clothing she describes as “clothes she sees herself wearing.” While she quietly continues to curate the selection, her vintage collection also figures in her art quilts.
“Sometimes I buy secondhand clothes just because of the quality the fabric has, or the fabric is telling me something,” Ganse says. “I like how a textile becomes soft after many years of use and how the color changes. The DNA and story a piece of used clothing can tell is so interesting.” Textiles as art
Marita’s process begins with a sketch of the shapes, pinning down the colors and textures she wants to feature in her quilts. Behind her on the kitchen wall are sketches of some her latest works.
The intersection of textile and creative disciplines became newly visible under the Berlin-born artist and designer Bauhaus master Anni Albers, whose textile tapestries were a stark contrast to the glass and steel sculptures of her modern contemporaries in the ’60s. She challenged the notion that weaving was merely women’s work, likening weaving to sculptures and architecture. In the ’70s, African-American Faith Ringgold created her famous “story quilts,” which combined oil paint and quilting techniques to tell the stories of African-American culture and to push for civil rights.
The more contemporary fiber artists have embraced the possibilities offered by the slowness and tactility of textiles in art. In an article with the NY Times, textile artist Sophia Narrett had this to say about her work: “When an object is developed by human hands for hundreds of hours, it leaves a quality in the surface that can be sensed.”
Ganse’s latest work is called “Midnight Water City,” which is part of a six-woman group exhibit at Futur:st called “Dwell on Divinities” that opened on March 23. According to Futurist co-founder Samantha Nicole, the show highlights “the otherworldliness of women, non binary, and queer artists.”
“Midnight Water City” is a mix of linen, cotton, cupro, and silk. A row of green and blue triangles run along one side of the quilt as a black moon rises on their horizon. A dark blue ripple gradually increases from one side to the other.
“[I’ve learned] that there is beauty in small imperfections. But to be honest, there is so much more I have to learn about myself.”
“[I’ve learned] that there is beauty in small imperfections. But to be honest, there is so much more I have to learn about myself.”
“[I’ve learned] that there is beauty in small imperfections. But to be honest, there is so much more I have to learn about myself.”
“I was thinking about the cold breeze at night, of sail boats moving with the wind, of a refreshing glass of water in the early hours of the morning,” Ganse tells me.
“Midnight Water City,” her latest work, is part of a six-woman group exhibit at Futur:st in Poblacion, Makati. Photos courtesy of Kiko Escora
It’s made with linen, cotton, cupro, and silk sewn together with a special Japanese thread specifically made for boro stitching called shashiko thread. Ganse favors this cotton thread for its soft yet tight twist.
“Midnight Water City,” her latest work, is part of a six-woman group exhibit at Futur:st in Poblacion, Makati.
Photos courtesy of
Kiko Escora
It’s made with linen, cotton, cupro, and silk, sewn together with a special Japanese thread called shashiko thread—which Ganse favors for its soft yet tight twist.
“Before the pandemic, everything was so fast and busy that I wasn’t aware how much I enjoy doing things slowly, and how satisfying the effects of it are. It clears my mind in a way, and helps me to find a tender way to tell stories.”
When I ask Ganse about what quilting has taught her, she tells me that it has been a lesson in enjoying the slowness, to see a quilt through without obsessing over the small details.
“[I’ve learned] that there is beauty in small imperfections. But to be honest, there is so much more I have to learn about myself,” she says. ● Part I of III of Nolisoli.ph’s Women’s Month SpecialFor Women’s Month 2022, we interviewed three artists whose works explore the intersection and possibilities of gender and creativity: Marita Ganse on the artistic value of “women’s work;” Jessica Dorizac on juxtaposing forms, layering meaning; and Shireen Seno on mapping the self through filmmaking.
FEATURED QUILT
“Half Light Of Dawn”
Linen, cotton, cupro, double gauze backing,
polyfiber wadding, sashiko thread
211cm x 211cm
2022
On display at The Drawing Room as part of group show “The hem of a long conversation” curated by Con Cabrera Written by Toni Potenciano
Cover photography by Joseph Pascual
Creative direction by Nimu Muallam
Art drection by Levenspeil Sangalang
In a recent interview, presidential candidate and son of ousted dictator Ferdinand Marcos, Jr. claimed that he is a victim of fake news.
This is despite the fact that just a month ago, academe-backed fact-checking coalition Tsek.ph released findings that it was Marcos Jr. who benefited the most from social media disinformation.
If you, too, feel like you’ve been a victim of false information, don’t worry. Hope is not lost. As much as the internet is rife with fake news, there are also a lot of reliable resources on our country’s history now being made available for free. So if scouring through history books and the library isn’t your thing, or if you need an engaging way to open the eyes of your misinformed loved ones, here’s a list of free films, documentaries, and even musicals you can use to “soft sell” the truth behind the Marcos era.
“The Kingmaker” (2019)
This controversial documentary by Lauren Greenfield gives viewers a look into the unapologetically opulent life the Marcoses lead and have built for decades. The good news is that now we can all hear the truth straight out of the Marcoses’ mouths—for free on YouTube and Vimeo.
The 2018 Cinemalaya film stars Glaiza de Castro in the titular role of Commander Liway, a Martial Law resistance leader. The film is shown from the point of view of Liway’s son, Dakip (“Kip”, the film’s director), who grows up living in a prison camp. It is both a mother-and-child story as much as it is one about struggle, resistance, and resilience against the oppressive dictatorship. The film has been lauded for its personal take on the narrative, which makes its message all the more compelling.
The film has recently been made available for full, ad-free viewing on director Kip Oebanda’s YouTube channel.
“Portraits of Mosquito Press” (2015)
Photo courtesy of Moov
This documentary by JL Burgos highlights the fight for press freedom during the Marcos regime. It has been well noted that during the dictatorship, many media outlets were shuttered, especially those that published content deemed contrary to the Marcos narrative. This documentary, which is part of Cinema Centenario’s month-long Dokyu Power program, is available for free on Moov.
“Isang Harding Papel, A Martial Law Musical” (2016)
Photo courtesy of Dokyu Power
Originally a children’s book by Augie Rivera, “Isang Harding Papel” was adapted into a musical in 2016. The story gives a glimpse into life during martial law. Also part of Cinema Centenario’s Dokyu Power lineup, “Isang Harding Papel” tells of a time “where blind obedience was discipline, and discipline meant progress. But mostly, it is a story about hope—in a country grasped by an authoritarian rule—between a mother who was detained for standing up for her beliefs and her young daughter who longs to be with her, learning and understanding the world, in the midst of distress.”
A recording of the musical is available for viewing on Moov.
On January 2, 2014, I wrote on my red Moleskine diary, “Today, I bought a red Parker pen just so I can have something nice to write with on this notebook. I really have to rethink my life choices.”
That was in college when I probably spent my weekly allowance on a pen. But you don’t understand; I’m obsessed with jotting down anything but school notes. I even made it a habit to write at least twice a week because I read somewhere that journaling is good for you. I’d go home after class trying to remember everything I did, every feeling I had, and “try” to faithfully write them down.
My red Moleskine notebook
That red Moleskine is still with me. The last entry was on August 13, 2017. It has since become my weekly pitch meeting notebook, something I pull out when I need to cosplay as an old soul who flinches at the idea of typing on a notes app or on a laptop.
Since the pandemic started, I picked it up last for a free Korean class. I had to admit, as I took the pen in my hand and tried my best to write legibly, it felt foreign even though I had filled out about a thousand contact tracing forms in the last two years. It might also be that I’m learning a new language and writing unfamiliar characters. But then again, I recently had to update my bank records because I have forgotten how to do my own signature. My physical writing muscles have atrophied.
Now, if only a doctor could write me a prescription for a pen and paper cure. Even better, I’ve let these two women convince me it’s time to go get a new notebook or two.
Jessica Dorizac
Laguna-based artist Jessica Dorizac explores the permutations of shapes, colors, textures, and materials through her art. Last year, as part of a group exhibit, she put out volumes of colorful paper cutouts bound together that, with each flip, layers of shapes and colors reveal new interesting patterns.
The books called “Passages” have since been translated to handbound notebooks with hand-cut covers that Dorizac sold through her Instagram account (P900/5.5×8.5 in). Much like her recent pieces, each configuration asks the viewer to locate a pattern, even a familiar image if ever. I, for one, got a hexagonal (yes, they come in unconventional shapes) orange and yellow notebook, thinking its cover looked like a Happy Meal box.
I started drawing on them, then stopped shortly after because they were signed and numbered.
Yodel Pe
Speaking of writing, one of my early mentors is Paolo Lorenzana, the queer homemaker behind Instagram cooking sensation Mafalda Makes (now available as a podcast too!). His insistence on keeping a physical journal for his recipes is a palliative cure against the monotony of the Notes app.
Mafalda has recently partnered with freelance graphic designer Yodel Pe, also known as Manila Paper Trail, to create limited-edition artisanal notebooks with vintage food ads as cover.
Pe uses materials sourced from Italy, England, and Japan for her manually bound journals. Photo from Mafalda Makes
Pe, herself a tech-agnostic, has taken up bookbinding as a hobby years ago, but she always has been a collector of rare paper paraphernalia. Her manually bound journals made with materials from Italy, England, and Japan are popular among local artists and fashion figures, among them the writer Jessica Zafra and artists Isabel and Alfredo Aquilizan.
You can have one customized with your choice of design and material from Pe’s extensive collection starting at P1,500.
There’s still a lot for us to learn from our history, and current events are just proof of such.
If dusting off your old textbooks isn’t appealing right now, Ateneo de Manila University’s Areté and Tanghalang Ateneo will be streaming a stage-to-screen production of a musical about “a man who, though betrayed, imprisoned, and treated as a footnote to the revolution, clung to his desire to unite the Filipinos.” (The old textbooks, you can donate to this library instead.)
“2Bayani: Isang Rock Opera Alay kay Andres Bonifacio” was first staged by Tanghalang Ateneo in 1996, making this online production its first restaging after 26 years.
The musical is directed by Ricardo G. Abad with music and lyrics by Zosimo Quibilan, Jr. and Khavn, and will star indie-folk artist Bullet Dumas as Bonifacio. (An exciting yet fitting casting choice, in this theater fan’s humble opinion, given Dumas’ raw and haunting vocals. I mean, have you heard “Usisa”?)
Joining Dumas in the cast are Tanghalang Pilipino’s Nanding Josef, as well as Alyana Cabral, Larissa Buendia, Ali Figueroa, MC Dela Cruz, Greg Abelardo De Leon, Angelo Galang, Matt Gador, Gabo Tolentino, Pat Libao, Norvin De Los Santos, Meyanne Plamenio, Jam Binay, Nashvie Magracia, Lance Soliman, Pio Bagnol, Austin Gonzales, Michael D. Fernandez, Tara Jamora Oppen, and Jamie Papa.
Staged and shot from Areté’s Hyundai Hall, the musical will be streamed from April 9 to 23 via KTX.ph.
Libraries are formative institutions, especially for students. They are learning corners, a “silent” refuge, and even a safe space within schools. But not all libraries are equally equipped with books, for one.
According to a study published by the National Library of the Philippines in 2018, one of the most common problems encountered by library-goers is the presence of obsolete materials found in public libraries. This is no coincidence given that the stream of donations usually comes from private individuals and nongovernmental organizations in the absence of dedicated book budgets.
A glimpse into school libraries may offer a different perspective given that learning institutions usually have allotted budgets for their upkeep. But just the same, public school libraries often get the shorter end of the stick.
Book donations are one way to fill libraries with new books and not to mention, a great way to pay it forward by donating books that often lie unread in our rooms. (Ahem: Escaping tsundoku: How to stop book hoarding for good.)
The Ortigas Foundation Library has over 23,000-volume special collections of Filipiniana books, archival, documents, photographs, prints, and maps.Photo courtesy of the Ortigas Foundation Library
And if you are looking for a place to drop them off, the Ortigas Foundation Library recently put out a call for book donations to be sent to their partner public school libraries. And yes, you can donate mostly any kind of book, from old textbooks to novels.
All you have to do is call them up and arrange for a drop-off. The Ortigas Foundation Library is located at 2F McKinley Bldg., Greenhills Shopping Center, San Juan City.
It’s also a convenient excuse to explore the library’s collection of over 23,000 books, serials, images, and documents relating to Philippine history if you haven’t already.
Good news as we enter Alert Level 1 today in Manila: Art Fair Philippines 2022 is happening later this month, with a mix of physical and virtual exhibitions and events. The organizers call this year’s edition a witty “IRL and URL” hybrid.
Happening from March 23 to April 1, the main physical exhibition space will now be set at the more open-air Ayala Triangle Gardens, along with gallery venues all over Metro Manila. There will be a total of 46 local galleries, 6 international galleries, and 2 NFT galleries joining the exhibition.
Art Fair also plans to gather regional art groups to join the fair. The featured groups are Ibagiw Art Fest x Gallery 2600 (Luzon), VIVA ExCon Dasun Bacolod x Orange Project (Visayas), Langgikit x Museo De Oro x Art Portal Gallery (Mindanao), and Liwag-diwa x Gallery Down South (Mindanao).
Aside from the exhibitions at the Ayala Triangle Gardens, art installations will also be presented at the Ayala Tower One fountain area. These installations cover the Art Fair’s Projects and Photo sections.
Locations of various Art Fair events throughout the Ayala Triangle Gardens. Photo courtesy of Art Fair Philippines
Beyond Ayala Triangle
A new feature of this year’s Art Fair is their Gallery Hops, which aims to encourage Art Fair goers to visit the various partner galleries all through the metro.
Beyond the exhibitions at the main space, visitors can also view other artworks at the open galleries. The schedules and locations of which will be posted on Art Fair’s website.
Back at the Ayala Triangle Gardens, Art Fair visitors can also follow an interactive augmented reality (AR) art trail, which features artwork by Leeroy New, and a story by author Eliza Victoria. The art trail is curated by Daata, and can be accessed through the Daata AR app.
Online features
On the virtual front, gallery walkthroughs will be viewable through the Art Fair website on March 23 and 24, while talks and panel discussions in partnership with the Ateneo Art Gallery, Museum Foundation of the Philippines, and the Embassy of Spain are also scheduled daily throughout the duration of the fair.
Visitors can also create an account at the Art Fair website, where they will be able to see and set schedules with galleries and the various Art Fair events.
The website’s art viewing feature has also been expanded this year, as visitors can now also select a “view on a wall” function, which shows the 2D artwork mounted on a virtual wall with its respective dimensions.
Preview of the Art Fair website
A total of 46 exhibitors are joining this year’s fair. Among these are local galleries 1335Mabini, Altro Mondo Gallery, Art Cube Gallery, Art Elaan, Art For Space, Art Underground, Art Verite Gallery, Artery Art Space, Avellana Art Gallery, Boston Art Gallery, CANVAS.PH, District Gallery, Eskinita Gallery, Galerie Roberto, Galerie Stephanie, J Studio, Kaida Contemporary, León Gallery, Luzviminda, Modeka Art, MONO8 Gallery, Paseo Art Gallery, Pinaglabanan, Qube Gallery, Salcedo Private View, Secret Fresh, Silverlens, Strange Fruit, The Crucible Gallery, Tin-Aw, Metro Gallery, White Walls Gallery, and Ysobel Art Gallery.
There will also be exhibitions from galleries in Asia and Europe, and from the crypto space: Art Agenda (Singapore/Jakarta), Gajah Gallery (Singapore/Yogyakarta), Mayoral (Paris/Barcelona), Yavuz Gallery (Singapore/Sydney), Gallery Kogure (Tokyo), YOD Gallery (Osaka), and NFT galleries A/Terhen and Cyber Baat.
Art Fair Philippines was founded by Trickie Lopa, Lisa Periquet, and Dindin Araneta in 2013. The annual fair boasted tens of thousands of visitors pre-pandemic. Previously located at The Link Carpark, the fair has evolved into a virtual event last year due to COVID-19 restrictions.
The fair has also expanded into a ten-day event, giving fair-goers ample time to explore the entire Ayala Triangle Gardens exhibition space. (Pro tip: If you want some art appreciation but you’re still wary of crowds, take advantage of the Art Fair’s online gallery tours so you can narrow down the spots you’ll be visiting. While you’re at it, sneak in listening to the talks in between gallery hops.)
Specifics on ticketing, viewing schedules, and more will be announced at a later time, subject to safety officers’ recommendations, the Art Fair organizers said. For more information on Art Fair Philippines 2022, visit their Facebook and Instagram.
I’ve said it once before: One of the best things about food is that it can become a bridge that connects us to others. Regardless of culture, location, age, or history, food shared can rarely be a negative experience.
Even food shared virtually, through a screen—specifically, through a film—could be a source of joy. In case you missed it, the Japanese Film Festival Online started last Feb. 14. With more than a dozen films in the lineup, it may be a challenge to choose which one to start your movie marathon with. But if you, like me, are a foodie, here are four films I’m sure you’ll enjoy.
“Bread of Happiness” (2012)
Rie and Nao, the cafe owners. Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
Scenic views of Hokkaido serve as the backdrop of “Bread of Happiness.” Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
Like dough, we also need to rest in order to rise. If you’re in need of an escape right now, “Bread of Happiness” has that on the menu. Set in a quaint cafe in the town of Tsukiura, Hokkaido, the film is a two-hour-long highlight reel of the breathtaking seasonal views of Hokkaido interspersed with ASMR cooking and baking, and idyllic Muji life visuals.
Aesthetics aside, the film features stories of people in various life stages and the different kinds of pain they carry. Their visits to the cafe (called Cafe Mani) provide them both a physical and emotional respite, and they leave the place much happier. (I, too, came out of this film feeling lighter, to be honest!)
It brings to the forefront the idea that food, aside from nourishing the body, also holds great emotional power. The various vignettes show that food can bring people—even the most polar of opposites—together; it carries memories; and the experience of food can also be transformative.
If you like slice-of-life food dramas like Netflix’s “Midnight Diner” and “Izakaya Bottakuri,” add this to your must-try list.
“The God of Ramen” (2013)
Kazuo Yamagishi in the original Taishoken. Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
Yamagishi and his apprentices. Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
If you love ramen, this one is a must-watch. “The God of Ramen” is a documentary that follows the man behind Tokyo’s legendary ramen shop, Taishoken.
Despite being small, cramped, and quite old, crowds of around 200 people line up to eat ramen there every day.
The documentary gives us a glimpse into the life and principles of the late Kazuo Yamagishi, the founder of Taishoken, and who may well be considered one of the pillars of the Japanese ramen industry. It maps the origin of Taishoken, and how through Yamagishi’s passion and generous mentorship, he was able to spread the technique of making delicious ramen.
Be ready to book a seat at your favorite ramen bar after watching this.
“Mio’s Cookbook” (2020)
From beginner cook to Edo’s next best chef. Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
“Mio’s Cookbook” is also a heartwarming tale of the power of friendship and believing in others. Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
While it is the most recent film on this list, “Mio’s Cookbook” is actually set the farthest in history, almost 200 years back to Japan’s Edo period. The two-hour period drama tells a heartwarming tale of friendship between Mio, a young girl making a name for herself as a chef, and her long-lost childhood best friend Noe, now a high-class courtesan.
The film showcases various dishes from traditional Japanese cuisine, and gives us a glimpse into the rich culinary heritage of the country as Mio strives to differentiate and marry the varying tastes of Osaka and Edo (now Tokyo).
The expert reproduction of the Edo period environment, fashion, and architecture make this a beautiful and entertaining time capsule.
“The Chef of South Polar” (2009)
The film is based on the autobiography of Jun Nishimura, the cook at the South Pole’s Fuji Dome base. Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
Despite being located in the middle of the Antarctic, the eight-man crew manages to enjoy gourmet meals, thanks to their chef. Film still from the Japanese Film Festival Online website
It’s a little funny and ironic being “stuck indoors” and then choosing to watch a ragtag group of grown men “stuck” living together in the middle of the Antarctic, but this classic comedy and its parallels to our current situation (if you really think about it) provides some strange comfort.
After all, in “The Chef of South Polar,” the men, who are isolated from the rest of the world as they work at the research and observation base in Antarctica, find comfort and joy in food—the very thing we too have turned to for pleasure in the early months of the pandemic.
The film depicts how the men navigate their lives away from family and loved ones in the middle of the harshest cold. As the number of reported COVID cases go down and the world slowly begins to open up, the film’s moments of cabin fever, food shortage (remember early 2020’s hoarding incidents? The Great Flour Shortage? Liquor bans?), and frustration with “housemates” prompt a reflection on pandemic life so far.
At the core of it all though, is still food, and how simply and universally, “delicious meals make people happy.”
With the goal of ultimately bringing art closer to people, the recently inaugurated Metropolitan Theater is opening its doors to the public for a series of free film screenings starting this February 25.
The program entitled “Mga Hiyas ng Sineng Filipino” will be launched this weekend, featuring three restored classic films in collaboration with the Film Development Council of the Philippines (FDCP), the Philippine Film Archive, and ABS-CBN Sagip Pelikula.
For the program’s first edition, the films “Dalagang Ilocana” (1954), “Pagdating sa Dulo” (1972), and “Sana Maulit Muli” (1995) will be shown for free.
To ensure social distancing and in adherence with current health protocols, The Met is requiring interested audiences to sign-up for the free screening via Google Forms on their Facebook post.
“Dalagang Ilocana” (1954)
10 a.m.
This romantic-comedy stars Gloria Romero and Dolphy. The film was digitized by the Korean Film Archive, FDCP, and the Central Digital Laboratory. This will be the first screening of this film since its restoration.
“Pagdating sa Dulo” (1972)
1:30 p.m.
This film was the directorial debut of National Artist for Film Ishmael Bernal. The film also won the “Best Film of the Decade” at the Gawad Urian Awards.
“Sana Maulit Muli” (1995)
3:30 p.m.
This multi-awarded romance film stars Aga Mulach and Lea Salonga. This was one of the first films to be restored under ABS-CBN’s Sagip Pelikula program.
*Update as of Feb. 23: The postponed February 20 screenings have been rescheduled to February 25. The current version of this article now reflects the new screening date.
