Windows vs. Windows

I stop and gaze outside. My sight passes through the window beside me, and it is my portal to a greater world outside, a world breathing with a breath that most surely comes from a source.

Our micro worlds surrounded by dreams, aspirations, presumptions and even fears and are translated into things tangibles such as houses, money, guitars, balls, reports, assets, booze, blues and who knows what else that has overridden us a lot of times . We may have thought we were much bigger than the life outside.

Zildjian is a name that only rings among drummers, and a few. "Newly hatched blue face" will receive blank stares from us but will give a knee jerk to breeders and cockfighters. A Grumbacher surely sounds like a member of the Third Reich, but mere mention of it turn painters' heads anytime. 

The point is, we are almost always get caught, sunk, and buried underneath a pile of words and figures and trivia and everything in terabytes, much of which, are relatively relevant only to the recipient.

I look again and see the glorious sun, washing the streets in its remaining three hours or so, before we humans call it a day. That good old sun does not even care if it is relevant or not, it just simply is. One moment, we ride atop the so called popularity via number of likes, follows and comments.  Next moment, the windows beckon us into a more real world - a harsh world, a dying imperfect earth, but nevertheless beautiful, because it is REAL.

No, you can't minimize these windows, or click-drag them - or even resize them at the flick of a finger. But I'd have them anytime.

Hi. My Name is Jerry.

2012's here and I haven't really had much time to update. But that does not mean I'm through with this site. 

For the four followers of this blog, (that's a mighty large deal of followers) I'm planning to do a series, updated monthly on a certain "Republic A", an imaginary Republic I'll be building one post at a time. It's an absurd utopia that reeks of me. 

And, a full feature on the 3rd Bacolod Jazz Festival is also coming up, with album reviews to go. 

It has been a long while and I guess the juggling of personalities is finally taking it's toll: facilitating a small group, playing instruments, organizing my first guitar clinic, endless meetings, taking the role of a researcher in the name of public service, judging inter-office searches in the name of public service (again), making guest speeches in the name of public service (and then again), surveying in the name of public service (oh, brother), preaching/teaching (whew, finally), buckling up for the administration of the 2012 examination in the name of public service (there it goes again), and a countless slew of oddities I hope to finish, well, before 12-21-12.

Meanwhile, I still am not into fan pics. I don't post pictures of me with 'leggit' guys whom I don't really have at least 10 minutes of decent conversation with. But then, here's le me with shots from various occasions.

Tots Tolentino on Tenor Sax, BJF 2011

The late great Edgar "KOYANG" Avenir, BJF 2011

Mia Tengco of ABSOLUTE ZERO before taking stage. BJF 2012

Jazz Society of Negros main man, Bob Coscolluela, The Wizard Joey Puyat, and KTB Keyboardist/ composer Tony Razon. Sound Check, BJF 2012

Earthlings, I present to you the next guitar wunderkind Gelo De Oro. BJF 2012

a lesson on headroom, drummers and what else with Joey Puyat, Sound Check BJF, 2012

The Raul Banzon on EWI  joins Nancy Brew on stage. BJF 2011

"This smile means we're tearing your heads later". And they literally did. Dane Alderson (bassist) and Glenn Cannon (guitarist) of the Australian power fusion quartet, LOGIC? with Ronald Amoroso (drums), Butch Inson (bass) and keyboardist Michael Tambasen

Gotcha. 


Now that you've reached this far, you've realized it was just one of those self indulgent social-networking-type posts full of fan pics without really saying anything, isn't it? Hahahahaha!


To your left is an epic palm face, dudes, for your convenience. Please.



But, yes, the guys I'm with above? They know me by my first name.  In fact they often call me "Eric", "Jerry", or something.

Hukay-dat-Baul pt. 3

JOHN, ink on paper

1998.

Tronco Advertising days. 


Doodles and sketches were legal during office hours. 

Good material and supplies were within reach.


Good ole boarding house days.

EAT/SLEEP, ink on paper

My room mate John was sleeping. In this pre-digicam/ SLR era, all you need is paper and a pencil.


Our communal area was the bed of our friend Darryl. His bed was slept on, converted into a dining table, a pantry, a work area, and a drying area for Leonardo's silk screened shirts. 

Poor bed. Poorer Darryl.


Talks of a collective group show among the staff were always in circulation.

It remained in circulation,  and to this day, remains as simply talk. 

Inking Heroes

Thor, ink on paper

Years of reading and rereading old comic books was primarily driven by my love for comics illustration. Names such as Jack Kirby , John Buscema, Frank Frazetta, Walt Simonson, Joe Rubenstein, Michael Golden and more were always in my psyche. I would dream of the day, that I would be one of the guys behind the heroes.

Kids grow up though and find out that you can't exactly fall from a skyscraper maneuver your body, land on your feet nary a broken bone. Or stop a charging truck with your bare knuckles. Or that you will be engulfed in a plasma with raging strength every time you grit your teeth. It just doesn't happen that way.

 

Wolverine, ink on paper

I also learned that a landing a career in comics illustration was in some way, akin to the aforementioned feats. It wasn't just about drawing  figures, or stills - but was mainly about creating a flow through panels, breathing life to a script. 

Iron Fist, ink on paper

Fortunately, I outgrew the fantasies of having to sleep on drawing boards, attending comicons and make my living off from strips, because I know that I don't have the skills needed for the job.



I am happiest given a little time, pen and paper ; channeling the days of unfaltering heroism and

invulnerability, drawing power from the mjolnir, adamantium, or the ch'i.

See The Line Walk

It is said that drawing is taking a line for a walk. If so, you'll be amazed how far it travels in the hands of this self taught, talented woman.

Hasale Mañoso Jayme doesn’t use a pantograph ,  a triangular scale, or draws graphs on her reference shots. Just four things: a pair of eyes, glasses, her hands and a pencil. She looks at the subject, draws freehand, and with the simplest materials, manages to come up with these stunning pieces.

Easy? No. Brilliant? Absolutely.

 This 70 year old lady simply inspires the pursuit of innate gifts bestowed by the Creator. The life in her works undeniably spring from the hopeful life she lives: surviving breast cancer, widowhood, and the rough and tumble of life in God's great grace. She is my aunt, my mother's sister. 

 

 

Almost everyone wants to be famous for five minutes and will fight for one shot at any opportunity that bears the title "Got Talent". 

With Hasale, there is no need for such.

All the love.

And now, a Word for My Sponsor

This is the guitar I have named for the umpteenth time. I don't have a thing for finding a good name and sticking with it,  like BB King's "Lucille". A no name caster was better, so I thought.

What's not interesting about it anyway? Tales tell that the earliest traced owner, local guitar pioneer Boy Vargas (now of the famed Checkmates) sold it to stand -up comedian Ram Lopez. Sometime in the 80s, my late father had a chance to drop by Mr. Lopez' (whom he played with on occasions) place. Lopez gave him the guitar, with another bass guitar to go. He declined the offer for the bass, but took the guitar home.

It’s a red Tokai strat, with a DiMarzio humbucker modified at the neck. Smooth feel, warm toned and not too heavy for a guitar.  I learned the solo to Lionel Richie's "Hello" on it,  the guitar intro to Asin's "Bayan kong Sinilangan" and Neocolours' "Hold On".

He gave it to me. Exactly when , I can not recall. It went through a lot of phases and modifications since. After a rewind job the DiMarzio replacement finally rested in silence. All its pickups now are previously owned by Gabe Ascalon. An exact account how it funnily landed in my hands would merit another post though.   

It wasn't only the name that suffered changes.

I ripped the paint off  three times. One day I just woke up with the weirdest notion that I can be a good painter. Seeing the aerosol paint labeled "chrome" was just too good to stay away from. Visions of Satriani's Chromeboy finish just kept recurring. I ended up with a finish that looked more like a pewter can opener than the blue dreamer's axe. Goodbye red, hello tinfoil.

Some self proclaimed pro redid the paint job, and it ended up with a cross between a black matte and gloss finish. It looked like the Batmobile, only dented after running down the Joker. Simply put,  it was ugly.

I was one hard headed dude though. I thought if I can't make it look like the chromeboy, then I can surely make it look like something cooler, but more attainable. With a sparkle green and blue aerosol (persistent, wasn't I?) at hand, I rubbed sandpapers until late hours to get a cross between Keith Howland  (Chicago) and Steve Lukather's Music Man.  What I got though was a cross between a Christmas décor and the Blue man group. This time it wasn't ugly - its ugli- errrr.

The house underwent renovations at that time too. I came across some anti termite wood treatment lacquer with woodstain finish used for window sills. Next thing I knew, I was again sanding the guitar's surface (Oh brother. Palmface.) and noticed that the body's grain followed interesting patterns. After the stain, I got the body to a guy who did the paintjobs on church pews, cabinets and stuff. He Had it lacquer finished and had it buffed.

That's just the paint job. Yet, even after countless abuses in the name of modification and tone,  the poor thing never failed me - not even a single gig. Sometime ago, It got its share of laughs in a forum as some purist chap insisted that putting varnish on guitar is a bad, cheap taste. I couldn't really care much. After festivals, opening acts, countless gigs, jams and worship services,  I swear I still can not hear how varnish sounds - because I haven't tried one.  Honestly , I can not hear how paint sounds.  Music remains colorblind, thankfully.

There goes a word FOR my sponsor, the guitar that brought food on the table, got us through college , told countless stories, paid the bills and who knows what else. 

Long Weekend Yahoohoo

What started out as a doodle 

during one of the 

normal phone queries , 

has recently been fleshed out 

in another form.

SALAMANKERO IN OIL

I could have titled it "Salamankero 2.0" or something else, knowing the original doodle was done purely in ink and highlighter on a scrap of paper.  But "Salamankero in Oil" sounds a lot like some spicy dish. 

This is my second work with oil on canvas.

THREE OF A PAIR

A fairly larger work in black paper. A pair which look too big and too colorful to be birds, but too bird-y to be flowers or blossoms.  So is it a pair of birds or a pair of flowers? Or a pair of a flower and a bird? Partridges in a pair three? I do not really know.

Oil pastel on paper.

OF RUST and DUST

Rust and dust surely cloud the subject in this post apocalyptic-themed work. My first try on fantasy art/ female subject,   though I have toyed with the concept for a while. Perhaps the comics years are beginning to resurface.

Watercolor on paper.

TABLE # 1

Here's an artwork that remained taped on one of my working boards for a long time, simply for the reason that I didn't 'feel' it was done yet. One day, I just had it framed and is now reserved for a buyer.

Mixed media on paper.