Dominic T.

Quimpo June 16, 2021

Hope for the Antichrist

As many institutions born of less than ideal origins, one must take into account the dark
origins of CCP and PHSA in order to navigate their contemporary roles in the culture of art in
the Philippines. It is popularly known that CCP and PHSA are products of the Marcos regime,
having been built by the Marcoses during their time with the intention of furthering the arts in
the nation. Therefore, it goes without saying that these institutions are not only products of a
desire for cultural progress, but products of the abuse and national theft of the administration that
built these. However, this does not discount the contributions CCP and PHSA have made to
Philippine art. This is where the gap exists: the birth of the institution versus the development of
its products.

In my opinion, the best these institutions can do is to, first and foremost, recognize their
beginnings. One cannot change the way that one is without first admitting their dark past — to
admit that there is a problem is the first step to solving such a problem. These institutions are the
same way. They may have been built on the graves of the victims of the Marcos regime, but they
have been built nonetheless and now possess the power to reclaim the good they can now do.
Just like the way children are not defined by their parents’ upbringing, CCP and PHSA need not
follow in the footsteps of their creators.

However, it must also be noted that because humans are creatures of pattern, so are the
things that they build. After these institutions recognize the dysfunctional and harmful patterns
that the Marcoses have set in place for them, they must spend the rest of their existence
recognizing these patterns, unlearning them, and learning behaviors that further the arts and
Philippine culture. These institutions must return to the original purpose: to enable artists to
create art, and to bring such art to the people. A notable example of this is the way CCP and
PHSA are at risk of putting art on a pedestal, of situating it on top of an ivory tower, out of reach
from the masses. This defeats the very purpose of their construction, but it is a byproduct of the
Marcos regime’s prioritization of the upper class. They have fostered the belief that art, as a
commodity, must be of prestige, making the masses unworthy of experiencing it.

Today, CCP and PHSA have begun unlearning their isolated ways — demolishing the
ivory tower brick by brick, they have begun to condemn their origin as to not allow it to define
them while simultaneously using the power their creators have bestowed upon them to
recalibrate their compasses back to its true direction: to make art by the people, for the people.

It must be said, however, that even institutions outside of CCP and PHSA are victims of
losing their way. Museums and galleries, for example, are generally only accessible to the rich.
We see this in the way most of these places require entrance fees, as if to say you must have
capital in order to experience art. This, of course, is not to say that artists should not be
compensated for their work. It more accurately indicates that the responsibility of compensation
is misplaced; it is not the duty of the masses to support art production and circulate art amongst
themselves. It is instead the duty of art institutions to, once again, make art by the people, for the
people. Although, a sizable portion of these institutions consists of the artists themselves.

Artists are not the only perpetuators of the beliefs of art institutions. Though in today’s
cultural landscape, they possess a unique sort of power in shifting the tides of the Philippine
context. They are, however, as much as the oppressed, slaves to the powers that hold them by
their throats. This juxtaposition between having the means to instigate change for the better, yet
being subconsciously under the control of institutions that directly oppose this creates a
complicated picture of artists, their accountability, and how and why at times they are complicit.
There is certainly the risk that their capability to influence the industry be stripped from them if
their strategy isn't well thought-out.

In order to examine the power of an artist, one must examine their capabilities and
limitations, and subsequently identify the relationship between them in order to determine why
they behave the way that they do. Artists, just like any other person, are both creators and the
created. It is in realizing this that we can set parameters as to how complicit an artist can be in
the building of the ivory tower, and how accountable they are to picking up the hammer and
demolishing it. In my eyes, one such parameter is privilege; the absence of obstacles and barriers
in the face of attempting to sway the world around you for the sake of molding it into something
you deem it fit to be. To put it simply, an artist can only be as complicit as they are deprived of
privilege, and can only be as accountable as the power that that same privilege gives them.
However, this is not to say that those that are less privileged may be excused permanently from
accountability. We must still recognize that they were not given the head start that they deserve.
This does not mean that they have the choice to no longer run the race. A real world
manifestation of this is the emergence of self-publishing and independent cinema. In the same
way, privileged artists must not allow themselves to exist in a vacuum; the power they hold
should be used to eliminate the obstacles of the less privileged. If they have the mic, they must
pass it on from time to time for the sake of further diversifying and thus enriching Philippine art.
Those especially who are benefactors and beneficiaries to The First Lady’s Dream are chained to
this responsibility. There’s politics to being an artist — one must balance maintaining the
privilege that has made them into pillars of art, literature, and music, while using that same
privilege to create pillars beyond themselves. As much as they are trapped in the market that
enables them to create and sustains that creation, they too must influence that market in the name
of artistic progress. Although, as trapped as they are by the capitalist institutions that drive their
industry, one can still tell a lot about an artist from the way they react to their shackles.

Like caged animals, all artists respond differently to their prisons. Some endlessly
attempt to bite their way through the bars, some break their own thumbs to escape the handcuffs,
some pick the locks to their closed gates, and some surrender to the solitude. And as mentioned
before, humans are creatures of pattern; the way one acts today is a product of all the ways they
have acted before. This is why almost all art is autobiographical, even if unintentional. They
draw from their experiences and reinforce their patterns because it is comfortable, and it is what
they understand best. Therefore, an artist, in some ways, is their art. It does not define them
wholly, but it is nearly impossible to separate them from their work. Indeed, inspiration can be
taken from the external, but the way these stimuli are processed, interpreted, and thus produced
into art are all results of the inner workings of the mind of the artist. Much like food, you cannot
give someone raw meat and tell them it is nourishment. In the same way, the world cannot be
consumed as it is; it must be transformed into something palatable, something meaningful,
something the artist deems worthy.