Naked Singularity

Tanglaw

When I was approached to create an alibata calligraphy painting whose themes were centered around Philippine Science High School, one phrase leapt to mind: liwanag mo’y tanglaw, from the Filipino version of the school hymn. The line it corresponds to in the original English version is “thy light our beacon be” — liwanag is light, and tanglaw can mean anything from the glow of candlelight to the burning of fire to the radiance of the sun. That line, in both its English and Filipino version, stands out; it is what we are meant to be, living flames.

As I thought about it, I realized more and more that I couldn’t do what I wanted with this using watercolor and ink, the way I did with O Pagsinta. So it was off to acrylic. I finished a piece last year, but I wasn’t very happy with it. Then yesterday I decided that this could not be borne, and so I started work on a completely new piece.

A confession: I have not used gesso before. My experiments with acrylic usually involve spontaneous exercises in color and texture, more learning experiences than anything else. But this painting was a piece commissioned for display, and I think exhibits should be made to last, with techniques as rigorous as possible. They should endure. And, well, be beautiful, but that goes without saying.

So I cracked the jar of gesso open and set to painting. Slathering it on was surprisingly fun.

And of course since I was busy with work, Peaches (the evil half of the Peaches & Cream tandem) had to come see what I was doing. He sauntered into my room and hopped up onto the bed while I slaved over the board and newspapers on the floor.

Gesso dries so slowly! I gave in to temptation and used my hairdryer on it. I use my hairdryer on just about anything — paint, gloss, primer — except hair.

I’ve heard it often said that few things terrify a writer (or artist) so much as a blank sheet of paper (or canvas). I don’t feel that way, though; all that pristine white is very exciting to look at. (In anticipation of how one will soon deface it, perhaps…)

The first layer was a very bright purple. I could have gone straight to the colors I planned to paint the background with, but I like doing the first layer in some sort of plain color before anything else. For one thing, it helps me get used to painting (because I am almost always rusty when I do manage to paint) and for another thing, it makes the other colors all the richer when they’re painted on. I forget if this is called the underpainting or a wash of some sort, but in any case — I like doing it. Something like wearing pretty lacy underwear beneath a dress, you know? Nobody will know it’s there, but it makes you feel nicer.

When I think of Pisay I think of blue — but of course; not only is it in our school logo, it is practically everywhere during those four years of high school torture — and green. Green for the trees and the grass and the bushes, green for shade and quiet and gentle solitude. I loved Pisay’s greenery more than I loved most of the people there, which probably says a lot about my relationship with my high school.

My cat, having determined that nothing was happening and that his slave was still occupied with painting streak after streak after streak of color, went to sleep. I can’t blame him. Backgrounds like this one aren’t very exciting to watch, or paint, but they’re important just the same. Especially when it comes to pieces where all you have are curves and lines; the background is the groundwork, literally.

It was worth it, in any case: I achieved the effect I wanted. I wanted something subtle enough so that the lines of the calligraphy would pop out of the background, but still vibrant in its own right, capable of shimmering with color. When viewed from some angles this is dark blue, lightly textured with varying shades of blue-green; in other lights the blues and greens and purples come alive.

After this I paused a little to let the paint dry completely and calm myself. I was nervous — I couldn’t find the brush I wanted and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to pull off the calligraphy with a smaller brush.

(Also, I’m always nervous just before scribing letters. I don’t draw the shapes and just fill them in with paint; I use the same strokes in painting that I do in everyday ink calligraphy. So I didn’t want to make mistakes.)

While doing this I thought of phoenix and adarna birds and how part of the main building of the Diliman campus (where I spent my high school years) was destroyed by fire a few months back. I pictured those flaming birds on branches, bright golden tails sweeping down to the ground, and the image was strengthened by my feelings about that fire. Life from ashes — it is no accident that the kudlit of ma is shaped like a flame. The glyphs are: li-wa-na mo ta-la; liwanag mo’y tanglaw.

Another break to rest my hands, then I added silver to emphasize the curves and give the letters some sort of movement. This was easily the most fun part of the whole thing: I was able to use a brush in the right size, for one thing, and I enjoyed the little dipping, curving motions of the strokes.

Tanglaw the afternoon of the following day, signed and ready to be sent.