HIS past works have always dealt with the harsh realities affecting children. On his tenth show, full-time visual artist Eric Guazon took a journey into his past and, as a son to his personal hero, ushered his audience into a conversation that invokes tracing back history; about the hard lessons the nation must not forget as we try to define a future that’s free from making the same mistakes.
Titled Pag-alala sa Hinaharap (Future Recall), Guazon says, in a video interview, that pag-alaala is to look back where you came from but because of hinaharap, “we can see that if there’s no conscious effort in the part of this generation the past will repeat itself.”
He further explains that “the themes of my work since I started with my first solo show already had themes of violence or street violence affecting children, and then it evolved into other forms of violence against children, and branched into war.
The themes of war and violence against children, I attempted to place them in the context of Martial Law under Marcos.
To me, this exhibition is like my own small contribution to help in my own way, especially to educate the youth.” And this he does so, the only way he knows best.
It is Guazon’s distinct style, as noted by Lisa Ito, “to use of metaphor and symbolism, and particular choice of material is aptly demonstrated in his mixed media works” that carries visual complexity.
“The artist is known for utilizing toy outlines and sawdust glue to create recurring patterns. Motifs and metaphors related to play, games, and childhood are visual devices explored in Guazon’s body of work, drawing out ironies and contradictions whenever juxtaposed with grimmer realities.”
In the triptych May Mga Sugat na Bumubulong (There Are Wounds That Whisper), Guazon “incorporates droppers, gauze, and paint to reference the blood shed and figures felled in the wake of Presidential Decree 1081.”
Guazon says that “these faces represent the people who were victimized or killed during the time of Martial Law while the vacant spaces are the representation of those who disappeared. The number represents Proclamation 1081. It’s a dark part of our history that’s quite brutal. And what’s happening now is that it’s being whitewashed.”
In a similar approach, in Ang Bangungot ng Republika (Nightmare of the Republic), Guazon utilized common objects and images as visual cues reminiscent of the past dictatorship. The reproduction of the iconic photograph of Marcos’ monumental concrete bust blasted open soon after the dictatorship’s downfall, a brand logo appropriating the animal symbolism of the alligator, duct tape holding intact a folded garbage bag.
The installation work titled Declassified, on the other hand, implies how silence reigns even after the information on PD 1081 has been publicly disclosed.”
These serve as a brutal reminder that coax sad and painful recollections from those who have chosen not to forget, and for those being educated, the haunting images heavily question one’s values and sensibilities in a challenge to be more than an audience.
Ito also notes that “Guazon’s sharp commentary on the fascist past and authoritarian present, for instance, is keenly visualized and articulated in a series of three works, titled Stainless Ruler, Numbers Don’t Lie, and Camouflage.
Stainless Ruler seamlessly merges the ruler as object, the reference to Pres. Marcos as a reigning ruler, and checkerboard patterns to signify how even the longest of strategized ploys eventually meet their end game and demise.
Numbers Don’t Lie integrates into the composition the figure of 3257—a reference to the killings documented between the years 1975 to 1985.
Finally, Camouflage overtly appropriates hues and patterns of combat uniforms with protest paraphernalia and toy figures to simulate the conduct of war games, where one must take sides or be caught in the middle. ”
While the exhibit addresses historical truths and present it in today’s context, Guazon’s personal tribute to this father, an activist during the Martial Law who worked with the urban, gave it a relatable touch point, a first hand account that’s more valuable to today’s generation. It’s a subtle retelling of one of the many Filipinos who resisted, struggled and sacrificed to end the Marcos dictatorship.
Inevitably, Guazon, through his work poses the question: kanino ka papanig (who will you side with)? This forces the audience to confront their sensibilities and sense of justice and to choose what’s worth living and dying for. Clearly, Guazon, in Pag-alala sa Hinaharap, demonstrated where he’s at. He now awaits for the replies.
Pag-alala sa Hinaharap was exhibited in Eskinita Art Gallery from March 30 to April 23. All photos (except the artist profile shot), video interview, and exhibition notes were provided by the said gallery.
Image credits: Images courtesy of Eskinita Art Gallery