“Nothing to Declare” is an exhibit of contemporary art tentatively scheduled to be held in Manila on October 25-November 25 this year and hopefully in other countries too in the succeeding years.
So what have I to do with a contemporary art exhibit?
We are trying to sell the travelling Lagalag Notebooks to be part of the exhibit to the project curator herself, Dr. Flaudette May Datuin of the University of the Philippines. Yes, she is the Ate of CLSU’s Datuin brothers.
What do the notebooks got to do with it?
First, because the Lagalag notebooks are works of art created by photographers who are all contemporary artists in their own rights. Second, the art exhibit will explore movements “across waters, land, and air…” which the notebooks did, and discourse on migration in general which the notebooks are all about.
Any chance?
May Datuin was excited with the idea. Willy Pascual promised to submit a proposal. Jobarracuda was designated as the point-person in Manila. Me? I’ll just glide in and out whenever I feel like doing so.
Meanwhile, we got to get the notebooks from The Dafinator for a final turnover.
W.G. Sebald is described by Wikipedia as “one of the greatest living authors” until his death in a car crash in 2001, and “a possible future winner of the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature”. His work is described as “curious and wide-ranging mixture of fact (or apparent fact), recollection, or fiction…” and has evolved a literary genre called creative non-fiction.
On a cool Baguio night amidst the haunting ambiance of the Café by the Ruins, Sebald was picked and strung with devotion to Nora Aunor, a komiks rental stall in San Jose City, and Oyet’s journey and travails from Sagada to Bangkok to San Francisco. Baguio’s literary elite in attendance seemed creamed but I heard those stories before so I busied myself with other things like finding the rice wine too sour and the house coffee overrated. The pinikpikan will pass but the Palawan chicken is a big letdown. Next time, I will stick to beer and that superb lumpia of a kesong puti and tinapa bits.
I have not read Sebald and don’t intend too. I’ve had my moment of reading someone big and then unconsciously morphing into a poor ape of that great one. If ever I write seriously, it would be me no matter how ridiculous it will turn out.
The great thing about Sebald-ing in Baguio is finally drinking rice wine and beer with Frank Cimatu (who fell asleep midway into the Ghana-North Korea World Cup match during a post-Sebald-ing nightcap at Casa Vallejo), meeting a flickr denizen for the first time, and saying “Hi!” again to a journalist acquaintance.
Hindi ako nagpunta sa taunang parada ng mga Taong Putik sa Bibiclat.
Una, dahil nagbago na naman ang iskedyul nitong si Oyet.
Pangalawa, wala na akong ganang i-shoot pa ulit ang mga nakunan ko na noon lalo na’t madaming mga usisero.
Naglaho na ang misteryo ng ritwal.
Kaya’t pagdaan nina Oyet, Tolits at Cez sa opis para maligo ay pinagtiyagaan ko na lamang kunan ang matigas na putik na kumapit sa balat at pansamantalang nagtago sa mga tato ng pinakabagong Taong Putik.
Sa Siem Reap ibinurda ang mga tato ni Oyet.
Pitong oras ang inabot sa halagang 30 dolyar.
Pagkatapos ay hinimatay itong si Oyet nang makakita ng isang turistang kumakain na pinapanood ng isang bata na sini-shoot ng isa pang turista.
Hindi ko maintindihan ang koneksiyon pero ganun daw yun.
Iyon marahil ang binanggit ng nagtatak sa kanya na isang malaking labanan pagkatapos maisagawa ang ritwal.
Sabi naman ng kapatid niyang nurse ay epekto marahil ng toxin mula sa ginamit na tinta ng pinaghalong katas ng tubo at dinurog na uling.
Nasa ibaba ang tato.
Masdang mabuti at diyan nakalagak ang mga susunod na labas sa lotto.
