Pacita Abad: D.C. Artist & World Gatherer
by Remé-Antonia Grefalda

The Artist with her Trapunto art. © Paul Tañedo

She was the darling of community, as far as I could tell.

In our town where foreigners and out-of-towners seem to outnumber the locals, she stood out. Not because she was an artist with a capital "A," but because she was not the "enfant terrible" most people connected with the wild and exuberant style of her exhibited works.

She had a ready smile, self-assured yet simultaneously shy. She had a way of dressing that confounded the latest fashion. In cosmopolitan D.C., a town of suited professional women, she wore her hair long, loose or braided or in corn-row fashion. Her put-together-outfits always hinted at traces of some exotic heritage. South Seas, was it? . . . Islander? Fiji, maybe? She gave the impression she delighted in the guessing game before she would say with a laugh in her voice, "Philippines. I am a Filipina."

Pacita Abad. art book

Filipino women during the late 70s and 80s in the nation's capital were mostly non-professionals in the World Bank, or clerks and receptionists at embassies, or civil servants in federal agencies. The influx of immigrants from professional fields or the arrival of domestic workers had not coalesced into significant numbers that would carve a profile of the Filipina. Pacita struck people she met for the first time with her nonchalant disregard for conventional acceptance.

I loved the stories she told of her early years toting canvasses and tubes of paint. How she dreaded the end of the month because rent time was her nemesis. "I think if anyone had a collection of my early work in those days, it would be my landlord. I bartered finished pieces and unfinished ones for the price of my lodgings."

The first time she and I met was at an exhibit space: the culminating annual showcase of art culled from individual exhibits at the Martin Luther King Library Exhibit Hall in Washington, D.C in 1988. I had heard of her, seen some of her tapestry pieces displayed at lobbies of prestigious office buildings. Undoubtedly, the woman "had arrived" but she carried off her mythical status with self-deprecating humor.

"China Town Kid" © Paul Tañedo

I would have thought that being one of the artists featured that evening, at this point in her career, it would be an occasion she could take for granted. She was the artist of the moment. All others including myself were merely "emerging." But her excitement at being selected was infectious. "Have you seen my piece?" She pointed to where her latest "trapunto" art piece occupied two thirds of a wall.

"And there's mine!" I said pointing to a photographic enlargement one-fourth the size of hers that hung kitty-corner to her piece. She was delighted. She had been looking for the photographer. Here she was—Artist of the Year wanting to exchange one of her works for a photograph in my collection. I was tremendously flattered. The trade never happened, of course. We lost touch. I now look at my work with her eyes and hold the affirmation she imparted just by her insistence on a "trade."

Two years ago, I took an interest in a book she had published abroad, simply titled "Pacita Abad" with a foreword by Ian Findley, her biographer. She was living in Indonesia and traveling to remote areas there and in other Asian countries in search of indigenous materials, cultural artifacts, oral traditions carried over through several generations, as though each discovery experience would reveal a realm of which she caught glimpses in a vision. Through a maze of mutual acquaintances, I obtained her email address. She remembered me. Asked about the photograph she had liked. I asked about the book and whether we could feature it in this new publication on the Internet that I was involved in. It was difficult to pin her down but yes, she would submit to an interview.

"To Die For" © Paul Tañedo

Pacita Abad characterized her art as "trapunto" from the Italian trapungere: to sew and to stuff. She claimed it allows her to paint as well as indulge in mixed media, often veering off into different processes such as stitching, quilting, tie dye, collages, embroidery all within a single work. But her eye and her hand insist on colors that singe the viewer's intake, and it is in the dynamism of these color combinations contained in various circular modules that her signature style is most evident.

In an introduction to another exhibit catalog publication, "Pacita Abad: Wayang, Irian and Sumba", she claims she was attracted by the strong earth colors and the stark figures used in ikat weaving. She discovered more than the woven materials. She absorbed the culture, the folk stories and traditions. The wonder of her art is that she is able to bring the soul of a storyteller to all her emotional unearthing of various cultures and intrepid folk expressions—bringing them right smack for the viewer to marvel at and absorb. One absorbed Pacita. One couldn't merely pass her by.

"Night of Shooting Stars" © Paul Tañedo

Pacita Abad succumbed to her struggle with cancer in early December 2004. She leaves behind an abundance of her art. People she encountered hold memories of the times spent with her, especially those whom she met during her travels: the students and the elderly with whom she shared her process of working, the art communities, curators, gallery owners, collectors and her friends around the world.

For us in Washington D.C., where we consider her "homegrown" and constantly returning, it will be difficult to imagine her no longer able to fill a room with the combustible joy of her Being.

© Remé A. Grefalda

Editor's Note: Permission granted by the artist for the above images to be included in this essay. The author wishes to thank Rosalinda Yangas for her loan of the artist's books and to Paul Tanedo for making available the images that he took of her art pieces.

http://www.pacitaabad.com/htmls/painting.asp?id=66&collection=1