a segment of "Die Kreuzigung Christi (1994)"

In 1521, the world's first circumnavigator Ferdinand Magellan came across the islands now known as the Philippines and brought that archipelago to the attention of Spain. His arrival began nearly four centuries of Spanish colonial rule. During this period, Diego Silang witnessed the Spaniards' abuse of Filipinos and spurred the Ilokano revolt against the Spanish regime. Following Diego's assassination, his wife Gabriela Silang carried on the crusade for freedom. After she and the remainder of her army were finally captured, the Spaniards hanged her soldiers—known to be among the toughest of Filipino rebels—and lined their bodies along the coastal towns for everyone to see. Their bodies were left to sway with the sea breeze as a disincentive to those thinking of fighting the Spaniards. Gabriela was given the doubly painful experience of witnessing the death of her followers before becoming the last to die. She was 32 years old.

I have written poems to fictionalize—and create—a new life for Gabriela Silang in the 21st century. In writing these poems, I sometimes depict Gabriela in the midst of mundane activities (for example, doing the laundry) to contrast against the larger matters of revolution and politics that took over her life. I believe that war teaches us how to appreciate the luxury of having no other momentary concerns than, say, to clean house. Gabriela's story, in fact, reminds me of how war eliminates Home—in Gabriela's case, the Spanish invasion eliminated home, not just in terms of her specific household but, in terms of psychic stability as well her country as "homeland." Here is one of the poems on Gabriela's behalf:

Dusk (As Gabriela Reads Baudelaire II)

I remember the rice fields
sometimes melancholy at dusk

sometimes a rippling mirror
of a sunset's maidenly blush

In San Francisco and New York City
where the sky is a presence

witnessed "through a ventilation
or between two chimneys"

the visual compression offers a "more
profound idea of the infinite

than a great panorama
seen from a mountaintop"

I could continue, but long poems—
"they're the resource of those

who can't write short ones"
As one "who has so deeply loved

the perfume of woman," I sadly
observe, "You're always armed

to stone me
along with the world"

My Gabriela Silang poems question the need for originality in art-making as well as subvert narrative through my use of textual collage and seemingly non-related juxtapositions of narrative detail. These strategies result from another component of the Philippines' colonial history. The United States succeeded Spain as the Philippines' next colonial master. In 1898, the United States claimed it owned the Philippines after buying it for $20 million dollars from Spain through the Treaty of Paris. The Filipinos—who had won and declared their independence from Spain—protested, and thus commenced the Philippine-American War. With their prowess on the military terrain, the United States defeated the Philippines to make the archipelago its first and, to date, only colony. The United States solidified its colonial domination by popularizing English as the language for education, administration, commerce and daily living. Thus, English as narrative—as a means of communicating meaning—was applied as an imperialist tool, facilitating my desire to subvert narrative. Relatedly, I use other people's words because I feel no need to be "original" in a language that is not original (or indigenous) to my race.

English as narrative—as a means of communicating meaning—was applied as an imperialist tool, facilitating my desire to subvert narrative.

I wrote "Dusk (As Gabriela Reads Baudelaire II)" (or "Dusk") partly by collaging fragments from some of Charles Baudelaire's letters: an 1860 letter to Armand Fraisse; a 1862 letter to Charles-Agustin Sainte-Beuve; and an 1861 letter to his mother Caroline Aupick (these excerpts are seen in the third to tenth couplets of the poem). I wrote about Gabriela reading Baudelaire as I like to think that if Gabriela had a preference for how she would have spent her life, she would have spent time with poetry.

Of course, other poems in my Gabriela Silang series do incorporate references to her real life: the words "Ilokano" or "Ilokos," the Pacific Ocean, the mountains where she and her rebels fought and hid from Spanish soldiers, and the phrase "reluctant warriors" because the Filipinos were fighting a war in defense of their homeland rather than in an attempt to conquer someone else. However, despite such references, the poems mostly present stories that are different from how Gabriela's life unfolded. I am comfortable with this result because the underlying sensibility of these poems is one of sadness. For me, it is the poem's combination of loss and desire that ultimately captures Gabriela's life. For Gabriela's martyrdom was not her choice. Gabriela inherited a set of circumstances which she probably did not desire as her fate.

Among the last words reverberating in Gabriela's ears must have been the sound of her own countrymen proclaiming "Long live Spain!"

Thus, when the poem ends with the Baudelaire quote "You're always armed to stone me along with the rest of the world," I recall how Gabriela met her own death. For her own execution, Gabriela was taken to a plaza in the town of Vigan. She was hanged before a crowd of Spaniards and Filipinos. Apparently, all were in a holiday mood as Gabriela was featured as a feared enemy of the government. Among the last words reverberating in Gabriela's ears must have been the sound of her own countrymen proclaiming "Long live Spain!" These were the same people for whom she had fought, sacrificed domestic comforts, and died.

*****

I wrote my Gabriela Silang poems over a year ago. But I was reminded of this series as I looked at Manuel Ocampo's exhibition of paintings at 1808 Babilonia and Pusod Center, programs of the Babilonia Wilner Foundation located at 1808 5th Street, Berkeley, CA. Ocampo's exhibit runs through January 19, 2002 and features about 30 small to mid-size works in a collection entitled "FREE AESTHETIC PLEASURE NOW!"

A native Filipino, Ocampo moved to the United States in 1986. He was part of the landmark exhibition "Helter Skelter: L.A. Art in the 90's" curated by Paul Schimmel at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, Documenta IX in Kassel, Germany, and a Saatchi Collection exhibition in London in 1992. A former fellow at the American Academy in Rome, Ocampo's work also was featured at the 1997 Kwangju Biennial and the 2001 Venice Bienniale. He exhibits widely in the United States, Europe, and Asia at museums, galleries, and alternative art spaces. Now living in the Bay Area, he is represented by Jack Shainman Gallery in New York, Galería OMR in Mexico City, Galerie Philomene Magers in Munich, Galería Soledad Lorenzo in Madrid and Galerie Nathalie Obadia in Paris.

a segment of "Die Kreuzigung Christi (1994)"

 

Ocampo became widely-known for canvases like "Die Kreuzigung Christi (1994)" whose subversive images incorporate such charged signs as bottles of poison, crosses, the face of Jesus Christ, and hooded penitents as well as scenes of debauchery and excess (a small retrospective of these works hangs at the Pusod galleries). His more recent paintings from the past three years that comprise "FREE AESTHETIC PLEASURE NOW!" reflect kitsch as inspiration and offer a child-like approach to the application of paint. Though different in style, the works offer as vibrant an energy as seen in his older works. Other recent paintings—particularly his application of art theory text onto canvas—also retain the elements of paradox and sedition for which he is known.

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