FINE, IT’S ART!

Hut By The Sea. November 2011. Photographed by David Fabros.

I joined the collective of Filipino photographers called Blanc Worldwide sometime middle of last year, and was quite excited with the prospects of working on a new collection of fine art photographic works. I was in excellent company as well, with illustrious names such as Dominique James, Kyo Suayan, Lester Callanta, Randy Tamayo and Michael Mariano — all fine gentlemen with unique eyes for what is beautiful and photographable. ( http://web.me.com/dominiquejames/BLANC_WORLDWIDE/Blanc_Worldwide.html )

For a while, i struggled with the delineation between photography (which is plainly the capture of images one sees in real life), and fine art photography (which deliberately mixes in inspired combinations of color, theme,mood, composition and lighting drama to achieve a certain response.) These days, when the line is blurred all the time by photographers (and painters), we get all the more confused while we continue to be mesmerized by both media — evident from framed art that I see in glitzy homes and austere museums where I live. But then, I realized that while being ART requires something to fall into certain categories and follow certain rules. how different people respond to a work of art determines how “beautiful” or how “fine” the artwork is. I think of that everytime I shoot — whether it be for a shy debutante sitting for her first glamour portrait, or dainty cupcakes in a row on peach satin, or an imposing stone monument on a dreary afternoon — I try to see the art in it, in whatever way..and then, I click the shutter.

Art for me I found, and quite simply, is what feeds my soul, and makes me feel good everytime I see it.

WHY WAIT…SAY IT NOW.

Repertory Philippines stages the Tony-award nominated NEXT FALL featuring some of Manila's finest theater actors. Photo by David Fabros.

It was not a rollercoaster, but more of a seesaw…a quiet festering of opposing emotions and opinions about a touchy subject, at a time when people are still struggling with it. But it did shake me to my core. I love not only how the dialouges engage me, but also how the actors made everything truthful and romantic at the same time.

“NEXT FALL takes a witty and provocative look at faith, commitment, unconditional love and what goes beyond a typical love story. The play takes place between 2000 and 2005 in New York City. The present narrative takes place in a hospital waiting room where Adam, Brandon, Holly and Luke’s parents have gathered after he is hit by a runaway cab. Interspersed with these chronological scenes are flashback scenes showing how Luke and Adam met, fell in love and constructed a life together with the final flashback occurring the day before Luke’s accident. Luke is a devout born-again Christian, which creates tension in his relationship with Adam and in his friendships with Brandon and Holly, and leads him to hide both his homosexuality and his relationship with Adam from his equally devout parents. In the present narrative in the hospital, Adam, Brandon, Holly and Luke’s parents deal with the fallout from these conflicts and secrets, while also struggling to understand what it means to be faithful in the face of the immense unpredictability and fragility of human life. NEXT FALL plays until February 5th at Onstage at Greenbelt 1, Makati.” (–from http://www.clickthecity.com/events/details.php?id=13414 )

I let myself go witnessing NEXT FALL  onstage, and I’m a better man because of it…with a better grasp of what relationships are and how beautiful they become when we know better.

THE SHOW MAKES US GO ON

The stars of the BoomBoom Room, in Singapore, circa 2003. Photographed by David Fabros (on self-timer).

In Singapore back in the early 2000s, there thrived a night spot where the most garish and flamboyant entertainers of the country put on a show of music and mimicry. Boom Boom Room was the only place of its kind in the locale when I was living there, and I had the honor of immortalizing these stage gems right when I was just starting to go pro with my photography. The experience was a gleaming moment in my mind.

As all of the performers are men, it makes the project even more unique. I was allowed to watch them dressing up and do their make-up but we all decided that part was best left to speculation. And then onstage, number upon number, in their fabulous gowns, feathers, and eyeshadows, they re-enact the brightest performances of tinseltown’s icons, to a happy audience lost in a mild alcoholic stupor.

Entertainment on stage, or even on television and film, is a product of modern-day magic. A show — a labor of absolute love, a fruit of intensified imagination, an event that influences minds and changes lives — is a magical event. As soon as the audience is seated and house lights are turned off, they are thrust into another plane of reality, where people are more beautiful, places are more exotic, and passions are more disturbing. For an hour or two, we forget our woes and fixate on someone else’s, and at times, even see or learn something we can totally relate to.

For the performers, it’s a chance to be someone other than themselves. One may be a lowly salon attendant downtown, but here onstage, he becomes the iconic Shirley Bassey in her slinky, sequined gown. Another might be a bank teller at some humdrum office, but at night’s, he is applauded as the sultry Marilyn Monroe in her colorful rendition of ‘Tropical Heatwave.’ If there’s anything of psychological importance with what these performers do, I think it shows the benefit of ‘playing other roles’ sometimes –breaking through the ice of passionless routines, and refreshing the tired spirit.

The Importance of Being Important

David pays homage to Avedon. At the background, Dovima with Elephants, Evening Dress by Dior, Cirque d'Hiver, Paris, 1955; gelatin silver print; courtesy The Richard Avedon Foundation; © 2009 The Richard Avedon Foundation

At the US exhibit of celebrated photographer Richard Avedon in the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art back in 2009, I spent a good three hours oggling at the famous portraits that crystallized the stature of the world-renowned image artist. He was an enormous force and a fearless rebel who believed that he was doing something very different, yet something very right.

In the video “Darkness & Light: Richard Avedon,” the photographer spoke at length about his trials and travails, his philosophies and his triumphs. His work for the illustrious Vogue Magazine placed him in the high fashion category, but apart from that which was obviously “work for the money,” he spent years of photography work inside hospitals, war zones, and crisis institutions to bring to the printed media and the public eye the cries of help and the desperate calls for life. It wasn’t all bling and poses for him. He wanted to show wrinkles, tears, and madness, to focus people’s attention on what they’re “choosing not to see.” He believed it was important for people to see and know. He has dozens of photos of his own father, and at stages where cancer was slowly ravaging his face and person. They showed an interplay of emotions between father and son, the feigned intimacy and seeming resentment. He believed it was an interplay that a lot of people can relate to, and would lead to a deeper understanding of the relationship. Most of all, he believed in only the truth.

The New York Times in his obituary said that “his fashion and portrait photographs helped define America’s image of style, beauty and culture for the last half century.” Eight years after his death, and 3 years after I got to know more of Richard Avedon through the SanFo exhibit, I experience an epiphany about my work as a photographer. For images to graduate from mere printed or digital visual delights into important pieces of art and communication, it has to serve some higher purpose — a cause beyond one’s self, one that offers comfort and relief, one that touches humanity with the will to be better. Actually, you could be a writer, a make-up artist, an engineer, or an accountant, but once you willfully use your work and expertise into raising money for typhoon victims, spend time helping build houses for the poor, or help new artists in marketing themselves and in gaining professional experience, your work transcends into something FAR MORE IMPORTANT than just another day at the office.

It must be great to be the richest photographer who ever lived. But Richard did MORE. Making your work mean something more can be a force much stronger than the will to just survive. Importance as it turns out, trumps success.

LOVE AND APOLOGY

After some time in the States, I come home to my family in Manila, both excited to reconnect, but at the same time, missing the comforts of my life in that previous locale. It’s true that I got impatient with things here, critical of the way things have stayed the same, and on the most part, quite the arrogant a-hole. I’m not really sure if the States made me that way.

I remember an incident when I came home after a business meeting, and found some of my books in my room in disarray, and some with the covers slightly soiled and folded. It seems my niece Sarah, then 3 years old, had an adventure in my room without the adultts’ knowledge, and played with some of the ‘new’ objects in there. I had a fit. With the family at the dining table, I was so peeved about it while trying to eat dinner, I started to reprimand the people in the house for allowing the toddler in my room in the first place. My mother, who was watching my niece that day, tried to reason out that she thought the child was asleep, but in my room, nonetheless.

I screamed at my mother, in a shrill, condescending voice that was never typical of me, but with a level of rage i’ve never allowed myself to show.

All was quiet for about 15 seconds. My mom’s lips were trembling in disbelief. I imagined a camera do a swift 360 degree track around us at the dining table with an absolute, tense silence. I was suddenly struck by a stinging reality. This is not me. I never raise my voice to my mother. I felt all dark and black inside I wanted to disappear from that scene, and wish that this was all a bad daydream. But it wasn’t.

I said a soft apology, and looked at my 54-year old Mom, and held her hand, “sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Modest tears trickled down from both their eyes. I have never seen her cry up close, and because of me. Suddenly, nothing else mattered…not the soiled books, not my niece’s misdemeanor, not my mom’s lapse in watching my niece….all I felt was a deep remorse for what I have done to the most important person in my life.

I thought about this terrible moment while I looked at my Mom’s face under the glass of her coffin at her wake in 1994. It was a sadness that burned me to the core. But it was important to remember too that I had apologized right at that moment, and owned up to my mistake. Of course, it never happened again. But it did happen. And she got hurt.

In the following years of my life, I would be hurting other people in this manner, and I would cower in guilt, and dispense the apologies right after. While I made a conscious effort to change, I realized too that it was part of my weaknesses — i give in to anger too easily sometimes. I heard the saying ‘love means never having to say you’re sorry.’ But indeed, it is LOVE that makes me say it. To to be human is to judge, and to falter. But to be human is also to love and to be sorry if you hurt the one you love. I may never be at peace with myself while I still remember that screaming incident with my mother. But it would always remind me to love for real, to get past myself and my anger and my vanities, and to reaffirm my love by saying ‘I’m sorry,’ whether I’m wrong or not.

Lourdes and a 6-month old David

GET UP AND GO

Timex Run 2012. Piolo Pascual and Coach Rio. Photographed by David Fabros, November 2011 in Makati City.

“Push yourself to the limit
Don’t ever quit.
Work till your legs are going to fall off
Or you fall apart.
Live for the games
Long for the practices.
Hate running because it isn’t your fault
But love it because it means you’re part of a squad.
Be struggling to breathe
Because you’ve done the dance twenty times getting it perfect.
Stunt with everything in you
Even when your flyer falls on your face.
Get up, wipe yourself off and say
“Okay let’s do it again.”
Do it till you get it right
Not until you start to hurt.
Never stop until you have nothing left to give.”
Quote by Victoria Leann.
OK. I’m not training for the marathon right at this moment. I am perusing a beginner’s running program, as I started to late last year. I SHALL NOT FLAKE.
It’s time to re-affirm my commitment to my physical well-being and continue what I started. So I’m checking on the yoga classes and the running clinic tomorrow so i could dive back in, after one hapless month of culinary gorging and fabulous late nights. I’m wondering at what age I can keep doing these things.

So whatever happened to “moving at your own pace” and “finding your own rhythm?” My thinking is that it’s the necessary start of whatever one’s trying to achieve. Ever had that resolve to sign up for an expensive gym and buy all those pricey workout wear, only to give in to the absolute luxury of sleeping and getting up late, and of course, dinners with friends and clients? How many times did you promise yourself, ‘this is the last one, this is the last time…that’s it,” only to fall into the same exact rut the next day.

It’s hard! No one is saying it’s not. But maybe, we’ve been spoiling ourselves too long, taking too much time ‘finding our rhythm.’ What happens if we try and put just a LITTLE bit more pressure on ourselves, knowing that the result will be this HUGE impactful change — a better-looking body, a happier disposition, resilience to disease — teenagers are oblivious to this, but at our age (you know what age), we should stop kidding ourselves.

I don’t think i’ll ever survive in the Army, but I totally believe in what they try to achieve in there. BE THE BEST THAT YOU CAN BE. You could be in army fatigues or just in track & field attire, and YOU CAN DO THAT. Hell, you can be wearing your office suit, or your school uniform, and YOU CAN DO THAT. Yo don’t have to be the next Mother Teresa, Steve Jobs, Oprah Winfrey. I remember a brilliant young actress named Mylene Dizon, whom I had the honor to work with in my days at ABS-CBN. Looking a bit like the actress Aiko Melendez then, the reporters at the press conference kept referring to her as the ‘Next Aiko Melendez’. She politely stood up and declared she was going to be the ‘First Mylene Dizon.’ Today, she’s a very prolific television and film actress, well-respected, and the envy of many for her beauty and dedication. She didn’t sit and wait and take her time. She never stopped running.

So, I’m tossing my running shorts and sneakers into my knapsack, and getting off the computer now, to do just that. With any luck, i can maybe join the beginner’s events at Piolo’s Timex Run on the 22nd. Maybe, I won’t. But I’m getting off my butt just the same.

A New Stream

This could be Sagada, Benguet, and at least 10 years ago when I stopped wearing those sandals.

I’m calling it a stream, and not a river. Rivers are uncontrollable and continuous surges of water and elements, finding its tributaries and little ways into the land. Streams are smaller, more steady, and calmer bodies, that resembles more poetry, than outright declarations. As far as writable thoughts are concerned, my outputs range from tiny trickles of ‘wisdom’ to waves of rambling, depending on how passionate I was about anything on that day. Committing to a blog is like physical exercise — you know you want to do it, and you must, but can’t seem to find the time for it. I’m hoping that will change, this year. The challenge — daily. Yes. One blog entry a day.

I’ll start by looking back at that cyclone of a year called 2011. It was a very interesting year to say the least, with unusual highs and lows, and lots of meaningful things happening in between. Major photoshoots included three of the country’s foremost celebrities in their banner brands: Derek Ramsay for Belo Man and Red Mobile, Angel Aquino for The Spa, and Piolo Pascual for Timex…three of the Philippines’ most beautiful, most talented, and most admired people who will inspire my profession over and over, and keep me on a creative tangent throughout the year; three grandiose weddings: one with a childhood friend, and two from folks in the US and Europe; a handful of corporate shoots and personal portfolios. Really not a bad year for photography. In the process of all this however, I had a rude awakening as to the direction my career should take in the coming year. Thus, valuable insights from friends in the advertising and entertainment industries came streaming in, and with those in mind, I’m now planning my professional year.

Two very close friends died and left me in awe about how difficult it is to prepare for death. My ‘brother’ Del who has been colleague, confidante and friend, as well as the effervescent George Bantolino, who for years gave us decent haircuts, were both claimed by cancer. I might not hear them again physically, but our lovely conversations and memories will wallow in my mind for the rest of my life. A young actor friend passed away in a violent accident in the middle of the year — a handsome ingenue whose most sterling qualities aside from acting skill are humility and sincerity. AJ Perez left too early. Another talented thespian, RJ Rosales, crossed the bridge as well, in nebulous circumstances. Also, a close companion and feline friend, Mikey the cat, succumbed to a disease.These deaths left me with a resolve. I will not take another day in my life for granted, and will live each year to do what I set out to do, help make the world better, and try and inspire others with my goals and deeds. I will see to my good health and impress upon others to do so. And I will love as much as I can. There must be a good reason I haven’t followed these people yet.

It was a year to begin new things and revive old passions. I volunteered for PAWS in rescuing pets stranded in flooded Bulacan. I did a charity shoot with some famous chefs to help raise funds for the education of 1000 prospective teachers. I did several shoots to raise money for a 5-year old niece who needed urgent reconstructive facial surgery. And after 10 years, I am again playing a role in a theater play, to be staged in February this year. I started yoga, a running program, took digital imaging courses…it was like going back to college, but on a bigger, more important course — LIFE.

I’ve gone with the flow of things long enough, and I thought I’d try and make new streams for myself. I ran into a few disappointments, and fewer still, some successes. But it’s the motion of digging, and thrusting, and creating a new path through which I could travel, that makes it all worth it. I envy those who’ve done this throughout the ages, in their own fields, in their own times and places. I just thought it’s time to do it myself.

My stream is running. I have no idea where it will take me next. But I’m glad, its running.

FOR OUR CAT, MIKEY

Yes. I am grieving for my dead cat.

It’s weird to see how a grown man sheds tears for a pet cat — a seemingly small and insignificant thing that could be no better than a conversation piece. It’s also strange how since we had Mikey checked, and he was diagnosed with a heart problem, we somewhat felt much closer to him. In the months that followed that check up, he with his labored breathing and weight loss, would worry us. We would allow him to do something we don’t usually do — let him into our bedroom. Once inside, he would sit still for several minutes, peering at the small lights through the window, or the paper rustling on my desk when the fan hits them. In those moments, I would imagine Mikey to be a old man, tired from living a full life, just staring into space while reminiscing the years that have been. He then would jump up the bed, and greet us with his odd meow (like a low-pitched “murraw”), and begin to savor the soft, wide bed — a welcome change from the cold tiles in the living room near the front door. He would then proceed to approach me and firmly thrust his front paws alternately against my stomach, as if massaging it. He was called “masseur cat” because of this, just one of the many fond names our friends have come to call him (i.e. others are “fluffycat”, “Mikey The Cat”, and “yellowfur”).

It was during these “funny” moments that I get a sense of (oddly) affection from a non-human creature. It could be from watching movies like “Flipper”, “Lassie”, and the other animal flicks that I feel an outpouring of attention and warm contact… something we don’t always get day by day, from any human or otherwise. I could almost equate it with my Mother giving me a sponge bath at age 6 when I have high fever, or my best friend asking me to go biking with him, or my grandmother taking me to the movies even when I was too young to remember any storylines. It seemed important enough to feel, analyze, and remember. Subsequent research would tell us that most cats do this as a latent “force-of-habit” gleaned from being tiny kittens suckling from their Mama Cat, pushing the tits to squeeze the milk out as they feed. Funny as that seemed, I do so enjoy allowing Mikey to do his “habit” on me. It was a way that we connected.

He would go on with this massage for as long as 20 minutes, until we tire of it, get sleepy, and need to send him outside the bedroom so we could sleep. I would feel sorry for sending him out, but its rare that he would stay in the room til the time we need to get up in he morning. He would sleep on the bed, and then get up after a few hours, open our bedroom door, and slip out. Yes, he opens doors. He jumps the small lever that opens the door, a skill only he has, among our 3 cats.

This morning, as Harry was packing his bags to go to a weeklong work activity, Mikey stood close by in the room, like a mother watching her son pack for summer camp. It was the last time Harry would pick him up and talk to him. Tonight, after refusing to ingest his heart medicine tablet, Mikey saunters into our studyroom where he usually looks for us when he wants attention. He lets out a shrill yelp, a sound we have never heard from him. We rush to find him gasping and stiffening, as if drowning. Within seconds, he lost life. I took out a towel, wrapped him and brought him to Harry, who also bade a tearful farewell. It felt like a friend died. It felt like love died. It was quite sad.

It was not insignificant. For four years, Mikey would keep our little apartment alive with his antics and noises. Now, even the two other cats feel his loss, hiding in a corner of the living room, as if in disbelief. I may be crazily ascribing human emotions and actions to a bunch of “lower” creatures. But having taken these cats from when they were kittens, rescued them from the cruel streets, nursed them to healthy youth and then to adulthood — nothing else came so close to having children of our own. This may seem silly to some, but to me, it makes sense. The same way we value a job, a memory, a promise, a friend…I value Mikey, our cat, just because of what he is and what he makes us feel, despite his “non-humanness”. It was a fondness that overshadowed any silliness or idiocy, or triviality that anyone might poke at it. All those never mattered to us. What matters is that we had Mikey, he had us, and even for just a few years, we co-existed and drew happiness from it. Thank you, Mikey. We feel your loss quite dearly. We will remember you for life.

All pets go to heaven. Mikey couldn't wait.

Smile, And Be Done With It

SMILE...DO IT! Shot in 2008. Victoria Peak, Hong Kong.

Believing I’ve been quite a spoiled kid when I was little, I used to think that the reason I get frustrated many times in too many situations is that I am used to ALWAYS getting what I want. I realized that untruth when I look at the mirror now and see how much I’ve wanted, and how much I haven’t achieved. Do you feel that that you had your own car too early and did not enough jeepney and bus rides? Do you think that you’ve always been the one breaking relationships first, and breaking other’s hearts before the other person break yours? Do you feel more privileged that you got the best jobs, and always left it at the sight of an even better one? Does all that make you feel good, accomplished, and superior? Or does it make you feel spoiled, guilty, and unworthy? After enough thinking, one may reach the conclusion that the latter may be true, but there are no more chances to ‘fix’ things, and one is left with a heavy heart and a forlorn expression on one’s face.

Too much thinking gives you wrinkles and gastritis (this I know for sure). But I learned how one simple thing can save the day, just when you most need it. The same way that a good whiff of fresh brewed coffee or orange blossom hand soap, or Katy Perry’s “Firework” perks me up, seeing someone smile at me changes things almost immediately. I smile back and see that it usually has the same effect on the other person. Notwithstanding that smiling uses way less muscles and energy than frowning does, smiling (forced or spontaneous) does “brighten” things up instantly. Suddenly things don’t seem so bad. Suddenly, problems have solutions, some light seems to pour into the dark room, and some sweet smelling aroma awakens the senses. I feel this in the very special mornings when I wake up beside my baby, and the very first thing he does is smile at me, even before he opens his eyes.

Being a photographer, smiling is usually of prime concern to me, as most people need to smile to look happy or pleasant in a photo. Making someone smile has become more important to me because of this, yes. But when I know that the smile is real and sincere, I get satisfaction that I was part of that fulfillment or happiness, and there’s a good photograph of that smile to prove it. I am on the verge now of finding a way to put in legislation, that just as wearing seatbelts are mandatory for drivers on the streets, people must make it a point to smile as soon as they wake up, and several times throughout the day. Maybe I’ll smile at my congressman today and see how he reacts.

Not with a frown I hope. I’d like to do it, nonethess, and regardless, I’ll be done with it and made things a little better. At least for me.

 

The Moving Box

Times Square

If you can be somewhere else right now, where would you want to be? That is the place, physical or an abstract where you really want to be. That’s where your longing and dreams point to, and that is where happiness and true love reside. People who like to travel, as I do, often feel the need to keep moving — sometimes to familiar places they’ve gone to in hope of a new experience, and sometimes to uncharted areas where they hope to find some piece of themselves. Living in a new place is yet another adventure. It’s a calm surrender to new rules of the environment, and the people who were there before you — it could be effortless, or taxing, but in the end, something we need to get over. Some would move near a serene lake where there’s a view of the lush forests and nearby mountains, others would live by the sea with the unending  sound of ocean waves caressing the shore. Some love the bustling city where there is always something to explore each hour of the waking life, and some love the peacefulness of temples and idyllic relaxation in a place far from the rest of the world. And everywhere we go and move to, we try to adapt to new situations with what we know and have, pick some new things up and learn new bits of knowledge, and we discover that some of the things we used to know as true, are really not.

It seems it’s what every human being wants to do. But I have met many who want to stay where they are. With a house they built, with a wonderful job, with their family. I have to confess a basic envy of these people, who feel they do not need to move, to get where they want to be. More than the change in position from point A to point B, moving is really the act of achieving what one wants, the necessary and pro-active way to be happy. Nothing can be more exhilirating than finding that pot of gold after we walked miles following where the rainbow ends. This is what WORK is about. What STUDYING is about. It is what RELATIONSHIPS are for. To MOVE is to continue living happily.

Some days, I feel that I am tired of moving, and will decide that I want to stay right here, where I am, only to find in a few years, that I can be happier somewhere else. I began to realize that it’s not the action itself that is liberating and fulfilling, but the decision to leave some things behind — the unnecessary and the negative; and bringing with you the stash of great times, brilliant achievements, beautiful memories, and wondrous relationships you’ve garnered along the way. Photos of past birthdays and christmas parties, letters from people we’ve met and related with, trinkets and baubles from exotic places we’ve visited — these are things found in my Moving Box. Whenever I open this box, it feels like time travel and dreaming. I go to it when I need to feel assurance and the affirmation that I’m doing quite alright. I keep it close by when I need to be convinced to keep on moving. When I return from a trip, I often have something I want to add in it, to enhance the collection. Sometimes, I discover something in there I don’t want to keep anymore, because I want to make some space for a new acquisition. And sometimes, I just empty all the contents on the bed and judge which objects stay and which ones get discarded –  a moment when I would be both sentimental for the things that mean a lot, and ruthless in throwing away that which no longer means anything.

We all have to move sometime. We stay for some time in a place, and then, move again. It’s not an automatic phenomenon, though. One has to will it. There will be times in our lives when we absolutely need to move. Oftentimes, it would just be a thought that sits in our head until a compeling reason comes along.  And when one feels he wants to get out and get moving, a look into the Moving Box may help. Happiness can be both simple and complicated. In the end, it is what we let go of, and what we keep with us that keeps us happy.