TUESDAY IN THE TROPICS 183
3rd October 2023
Dear friends and colleagues
It has been some time since we last talked. I must apolo…
THRUMP!
Something has hit the window to my balcony with considerable force and noise.
It is a yellow bird that now lies, crumpled, stunned and defeated on the balcony.
Groggily, it gets to its feet but seems incapable of doing more
- On my balcony
I have seen these bird quite often: they shoot, a vivid yellow across the green of the jungle. They are fast, zipping across the treetops in arrow straight lines. Along with the electric blue birds that flash by with equivalent speed they are the standout birds of the jungle, rarely seen for more than a second or two. It is, my book on birds of the Philippines tells me, a black-naped oriole.
There are also, of course, the eagles who nest on the other side of the mountain but occasionally fly round and over us. They are spectacular in a different way, much larger and wondrous stately in their flight.
The oriole’s beak stays wide open as if desperate for breath or in shock. It does not move.
It is not the first time a beautiful bird has crashed into the window. Well, at least the cats can’t get up onto the library balcony and eat it. It reminds one how intrusive one’s presence is here, literally on the edge of the jungle. My library is, for birds, a fearful unnatural hazard. I sit in an air-conditioned room listening to Bach or Beethoven and look out across the garden to the jungle covered mountain.
Am I out of place? In all sorts of ways? I guess so. I suppose you could say it is all very post-colonial and very post-modern, though I doubt the oriole sees it that way.
My life is both global and local, or in that rather horrid portmanteau word: glocal. For example: every so often, maybe every two weeks or so, I take my dog Ragnar and walk up the lane we live on and then turn left up the main road.
2. Along the main road
3. Along the main road cont.
4. My destination
It is not such a relaxing walk along the main road (Lipa to Cuenca) because the traffic hurtles down the hill. Exactly a kilometre from our front door is my goal. In the photo of my destination (No. 4) please also note the tangle of wires on the right. Like other countries prone to earthquakes, Japan is another, wires are rarely laid underground. Yes, my destination is Seven Eleven. I have come to buy some milk – and maybe some chocolate biscuits.
Why am I shopping there instead of one of the local sari-sari shops? Because I can get better milk there, with less additives. If I want to buy fruit of veg. I go to one of the local stalls. Seven Eleven is a temple to processed food, tinned, packed, air-tight in plastic, frozen, ready to squirt in a tube. They have a wide range of chocolates and sweets (“Candies” is the word used here). This is a nation with a sweet tooth.
When I get home, I make a little still life to commemorate my milk collecting visit – or should I call it a “nature morte”, or, even better, a bodegón? See the pictures!
5. An Ibabao bodegon
6. Another simpler bodegon
The mango is local but not from our garden – we have mango trees but their fruiting season has passed. The red fruit with golden hairs is a rambutan and is from our garden. The brown jug is Spanish – I bought it at a Spanish delicatessen, Terry’s, in Manila. The bag contains bread rolls – if you have some Spanish you will be able to unpack the Tagalog word “pandesal” as from the Spanish pan de sal – bread with salt. No one speaks Spanish any more but Tagalog has many such Hispanicisms – “Kumusta?” For “How are you?” is pronounced very like “Cómo estás?” And the milk? No, it doesn’t come from Alaska. It comes from Belgium. Why then call it “Alaska”? A suggestion of snow and whiteness perhaps? I pour it in my breakfast bowl and add some Muesli – from Dorset, my county.
No, I don’t feel comfortable about this. What is the carbon footprint of that litre box of milk, or of the box of muesli? A very big proportion of the food in this country is imported – including rice. I may not feel comfortable, but what can I do? Even in a rural community such as Ibabao, we live in a global economy.
But I am concerned for the bird. What should I do? Care for it? How? And then it suddenly flies away.
And before all that commotion, I was about to apologise for my silence. And some of you may be thinking why is this 183? What happened to letters 181 and 182? Put simply, I couldn’t find the right words to say what I wanted to say. I wanted to explain why having dogs – or animals in general – is somehow similar to making art. I am still working on it. Then I went to the UK for a month and got a bit ill. Came home and got a bit iller. Once recovered, I had to work very hard writing two monographs to tight deadlines (on Pow Martinez and Annie Cabigting). Having done that, I am trying to sort out several unfinished interviews for the website.
I have been seeing art all this time: three very good shows I have seen recently are Buen Calubayan at Blanc Gallery, Costantino Zicarelli at Art Informal and Allan Balisi at Silverlens. I will try and write more about them for next week or the week after.
As ever, have a good week
Tony
7. Buen Calubayan at Blanc
8 Costantin Zicarelli at Art Informal
9 Alain Balisi at Silverlens