The Artists I Love

Much of my passion for visual arts I imbibed, and inherited as a treasured legacy, from the deeply passionate artists I worked with in the ad agency where I was a writer and creative director  for over two decades.

They who, with only pencils, could make objects move—dance, laugh, sing, cry, comb hair, and wash clothes—in tiny little frames called storyboard, taught me that colors, textures, shapes can come to life. Their language is not words, but images, original images which soar and dip, often more eloquent than paragraphs.   

After I left the workplace, I missed their daily creation of visual concepts that sold products and services. These are gifted authentic people with extraordinary hands that worked with a drawing pencil, not a computer mouse.  There were quite a number of them in those years—some came and went,  some stayed longer than I did, and some left when I left ten years ago.

When one of them broached on FB a get-together, the idea snowballed.  “Ro,” who has since become an entrepreneur in a related field, volunteered to host it. Some couldn't be reached anymore, but those who were on FB got excited, including me.  

Strictly speaking, I am not one of them; I belong to a group called copy-based (those who take care of the words), while they are art-based (those who take care of the visuals). But I was once the boss of the art department and so that qualified me to belong. 

Ten showed up!

It was a rare collective event made up of individuals with different quirks and idiosyncrasies.  They each had a lot to say about the cover designs of my books. Hah!

What do artists talk about when they meet?  A little of family, a little of events, a little of the past, and a whole lot of art.  “A” had some paintings ready for delivery—he brought those in and my lungs went on spasmodic exercise—oooh, aaah, oooh, aaah.

This artist has had art exhibits in the USA

“J” “D” “B” “N” had paintings in their cellphones and those gadgets went around the table as  my lung exercise went on full swing.

“Every artist around this table must paint!” I said, forgetting I no longer called the shots. 

“Fulfilling but not rewarding,” was how “Ra” summarized his love affair with painting. 

He is right.  I could count with my fingers the Filipino painters who have been rewarded with fame and fortune for the work of their hands.  Majority are still simply and quietly venting their craft and passion in a little corner of their homes unmindful of  riches and recognition. 

For what is talent? I believe it a special grace to special people so that they they could give honor to the Giver and not themselves. 

To the artists I love—if fame or fortune (or both) has come, or not—may you stay the way you are.