Art-light versus life's unbearable darkness, according to Jose Tence Ruiz
(Photo by Pinggot Zulueta)
MANILA, Philippines — Philippines’ post-modern social realist artist Jose “Bogie” Tence Ruiz has declared art’s impotence over life but he refuses to give up art as a form of expression because he believes that an artist – armed with philosophy and visions – can “continue documenting, commenting and meditating” and in the process stop the unbearable darkness of being.
The tectonics of his despair over life’s tragic stillness and downhill trend, compounded by art’s lack of strength to stop the rush of things, despite the shrill anger, early warnings and the ‘I told you so’ that came from social realist artists like him and his peers from the ’70s to the ’80s — when they head-butted on the dialectical clashes between the rich and the poor, the oppressor and the oppressed, the (post) colonials and the (post) colonized — has reached to a boiling point (after 36 years of art-making), that he would be expected to repudiate (in art, at least) several symbols of superstructure like Christ, church and powerful women that have enlivened his art works since the early 2000.
In a show entitled "Desiccated Proxy" at Galleria Duemila in Pasay City , which started on January 7 and will end on February 29, Ruiz seemed decisive, meticulous, philosophical to say good-bye to his chosen symbols of superstructures. with his signature style of parody, no other post-modern social realist artist in the Philippinestoday has reached the capability to dramatize a scalding environment in art that can move viewers and sweep them off their feet towards action (or anger about life’s challenges).
But when asked about his predicament in art, Tence Ruiz says, “I never said good-bye to anything (not to the symbols of superstructures that I represent in art). I go back to them. I don’t preach. Hindi ako mahilig sa mental conquest (or imposing my personal choices in my art). Mahilig ako sa discourse.”
For a hard core revolutionary or an action man who does not need art to respond on the spot to raging social and historical issues of his time, art’s over-used prerogative to dramatize approaches towards choices in life is lamented or may seem belated or belabored. But art is different, says Tence Ruiz. “Art is about contemplation of existence. Art is a proxy of reality. (And when it comes to conflict) mahilig ako sa detente, it’s like riding a wave (of life’s challenges).”
At Duemila, his more than five-foot Gothic cathedral he titled ‘Santuario’ is enclosed by a swathe of 50 yards of velvet; its shut glass windows reveal a mysterious inner garden blooming on top of the ramparts of a smaller inner church. Wrapping the art work with a “sensuous” curtain of velvet is easily seen as symbolic of man’s hunger for bliss and at the same time the church’s death or irrelevance to man. It is a radical depiction compared to his series of cathedrals that he propped up on top of karitons in a show at Pinto Gallery in Antipolo in 2008. in that show, they are symbolic of churches propped up or made alive by a congregation of poor people. And the parody is not lost on the sumptuous and aesthetic church erected on a lowly kariton.
“I don’t like to disrespect faith. (Although for me), faith is a kind of beautiful neurosis. (At the same time) one can never say good-bye to the church because it is connected to will to power,” says Tence Ruiz, who also confesses, “I was the most devout Catholic in my family until I joined the group of social realist artists in 1978.”
At Duemila, Tence Ruiz presents a cathedral with a woman’s body on a tall and dark tower, her voluminous skirt, made of worn-out and burned wooden parts, serves as the church’s roof, its sacred belly obliterated under her skirt. he calls this piece ‘Dama de Moliccion’ (as in demolition, a term associated with the eradication of slum areas in Metro Manila). the parody of a woman associated with destruction and of the church, the patriarchy’s old and true domain, oscillates between parody and fantasy.
In the same show, Tence Ruiz has reincarnated the Biblical tablet with a faucet, rows of bathroom tiles, hint of poso negro, rust, broken windows of shanties; and a white gliding swan. these images are easily read as dismal failures and disappointments heaped on a well-known spiritual symbol.
A gory crucifixion of Jesus Christ, entitled ‘Golpe Sarado, Ayon sa Ngalan Niya’, is beautifully rendered ala Francis Bacon. his other proverbial Christ-like figure, he titled ‘Bunjeefixion According to (film director) Sam Raimi’, does not ascend (like Christ in the Bible); it descends freely, like a victim.
At Duemila, Tence Ruiz repeats his forte in portraying the wasp-waisted powerful women of the 17th century, with a post-modern twist: there are weapons of conflict hidden under their big skirts. his provocative titles for his powerful women at Duemila are ‘Nock Nam Pieta Mo’ (sounds like Putang Ina Mo or p.i); ‘Tongue in a Moot’ (another p.i); and ‘Ano nga bang Tawag sa White Lady’ (How should one call a White Lady)?
“looking at my art (on women) is an act of enlightenment,” says Tence Ruiz. “Underneath their skirts are not weapons of mass destruction, but weapons of conflict,” says Tence Ruiz, clarifying that viewers, when confronted by powerful women (in art works), should recognize the artist’s appeal for conflict-resolution (or a subliminal gifting of power to women).
Viewers though may see Tence Ruiz’ idea that power dehumanizes, corrupts and does not enlighten women, a class that has been struggling for freedom and liberation. the sense of empowerment seriously sought by modern day feminists in the Philippines is about enlightenment, equality and not necessarily about greed and materialism.
Granting that Tence Ruiz’s Cotillion ladies represent Marie Antoinette (1755 – 1793) and other historical characters like her: quintessentially flawed, with excesses and sense of materialism, replicating them in the same manner as he did since 2009, make them true as true portraits of women today, which somehow condemn or nullify a class that is still ascribing for liberation and freedom. this normal view of men in general is anomalous for feminists today.
“Freedom is negotiated daily until one is dead. there is no crystal path to freedom. Everything is negotiated (That is détente, my forte),” says Tence Ruiz about true struggle.
His elevated canons of paradoxical expressions (that never miss to agitate and excite viewers), his refusal to make choices (in art works, between good and evil, oppressed and oppressor, etc.), and his option for meditation on clashing forces are the true reasons why his show at Duemila is aptly entitled “Desiccating Proxy”.
“the desiccated proxies we cherish, treasure, castigate, condemn or at least listen to and observe offer a pained hope that we might know ourselves,” Tence Ruiz says to explain the importance of a deep glance on historical past, for the eyes and mind to see more beyond the horizon. this struggle to see the wonderful evolution of art and life ahead of him pleads for long life.
This solipsism may reveal lack of radicalism; apologizes for art; and reinforces art’s weaknesses, but it is an avenue for which Ruiz can elevate the artist as a philosopher-dreamer, the true center of his own existence. the artist, he says, is a “possessed being (who is) never fully satisfied, yet never fully giving up on the window to a higher frame of seeing”.
The artists’ narrations are always historical (objective), however flawed or correct, agitated or still they are from his interpretation of issues in life is the synthesis of Tence Ruiz’ art.
The country’s gem, Tence Ruiz is now one of the most active, prolific social realist painters who emerged in the late ’70s. his courage to evolve forms has made him one of the most interesting artists among his peers.
“I never had a style. I have a personality. I like to increase the vocabulary of my art. And I’ve never settled for one approach (in art making). I have been called the ADHD (attention deficit hyperactive disorder) among social realist artists. they take me for what I am,” says the artist who is fully booked for two shows a year up to 2015.
Looking forward, he says, “I have downloaded about 400 images (that were done by people who have inspired me a lot). I have 200 sketches of unexecuted works. Ang dami pang gagawin. Mukhang mahirap gawin. that keeps me going.” his creative process is also interactive. “I don’t mind being inspired. I have the integrity not to copy. I deliberately refuse copying because I find it corny. I do a lot of thinking before I do my art,” he adds.
In 2005, he asked a tattoo artist to inscribe the name of one of his inspirations: R(udolf) Schwarzkogler (1940-1969). his plan was to have more names of mentors on his belly such as Francis Bacon (1909 – 1992); Jasper Johns (1930), Edward Keinholz (1927 – 1994), Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008) among Western artists; Mars Galang (1945-2001), Francisco Coching (1919-1998), Botong Francisco (1914-1969), Roberto Chabet and (musician) Francis Magalona did not push through “because the money for it went to my children’s allowance.”
At the time, his daughter Amihan Ceres, now 21, was still a student. his son Javier Lorenzo Spike, 17, is still a student.
Tence Ruiz’ black humor also mirrors his provocative art works. “I have told my wife Rotchit and my children that I will donate my body to a medical school. when I am dead, I don’t want to be viewed in a box,” he says. on top of that is his unusual delight to be etherized on a dissecting table. “Malay mo, baka may consciousness pa rin ako when it happens,” he jokes.
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