Untitled

(Interior) Tolentino Hall, UP Fine Arts Diliman. January 2009.

Early January of this year, I dropped by the College of Fine Arts to have my canvas prepared for an exhibit. Sprawled around the college grounds beside the Painting classrooms, were the huge colorful constructions that were paraded at last month’s Lantern Parade. Some maintenance guys that I knew  were dismantling them, breaking their wooden bones.

At that time of the year, the students haven’t returned from their Christmas break, and so the atmosphere at the college was quite and empty. Too quite and empty, memories rushed in to make some noise. I had one of the best times in this place.

***

Every time summer comes, I get nervous. In April, the College of Fine Arts begins its drawing workshops. And most of the time, I’m pretty sure the people enrolled there will be taking the Talent Test.  In 1999, I took that same workshop and most of us, well except 2 or 3 in a class of 20 or more, were going to take that test. I had a wonderful teacher and it was she who taught me how to draw better. I didn’t pass the UPCAT, so this was my lifeline to the college of my dreams. I swear, it was UP Fine Arts or out of school youth.

Well, I didn’t pass on my first try, which really really sucked. I think I made my parents really nervous when I didn’t want to go to another university because I felt that the shortest way of getting into FA was to just focus on my drawings. So we made a deal, if I don’t pass it the second time, I move on and enroll at the university that accepted me.

To keep me busy for a year, I did some independent studying – the most fun that I could think of. I bought a thick history book, National Geographic magazines, and read the newspapers everyday. I took another drawing class to refine what I learned. I also got myself a book that taught me the value of writing daily and showing up on the blank page for morning pages, and having artist dates with myself in galleries and coffee shops.

Although I had fun, it was also very lonely. I was at home most of the time with my older sister, mostly keeping to ourselves as we worked on our own stories or drawings. Sometimes, I didn’t feel like doing anything and just lie in bed all day. Merienda time, we’d take a break and hangout together to talk about what we’ve done, our concepts, our ideas, this and that guy, showbiz chismis, and a lot of other interesting topics.

At an exhibit in Glorietta, I met an artist who asked me what I wanted to pursue. I said I liked writing and painting, but that I really wanted to paint. He gave me the worst advice ever, “Why don’t you become a writer? There are already so many painters. We need people to write about art.” And then hands me a postcard invite to one of his exhibits. I couldn’t believe he said that. The world will never have enough of painters – or whatever kind of artist they want to be: musicians, directors, etc.

When April rolled in the next year, I took the Talent Test again and got accepted. For days, I slept with a smile on my face.  I know not everyone who wanted to be in that year passed. I’ve seen a lot of them cry when they didn’t see their names on that list. I hope they try again, and again if they have to.

When I finally met my classmates (some of them became my greatest friends), I learned that some of us shared the same stories. For us, there was no other way to live but to pursue our bliss.