Posts Tagged ‘Order of National Artists’

Awards and Criticism: Rewards and Punishment?

16 October 2009 1 comment


I don’t trust that I’m either an intellectual or emotional masochist, but I love reading criticism on subjects that influence my character:  Being a Filipino, woman, middle class, agnostic, even a literature major.

My attitude towards criticism is the same with that of a conversation.  You watch a movie with a friend and afterwards feel an urgency to talk about it.  It is a dialogue wherein the participants’ main goal is not to agree or disagree with each other, but to throw light on why their responses to the work are such.

But when the critique is directed at methe specific and unique I, I am definitely no masochist.  A negative statement about you, your word, work and deed, hurts.

To anyone engaging in the art of communication, to those who are serious about their message and want to be taken seriously, the worst things that can happen, considering they are heard, are:

  1. Be misunderstood and dismissed; and
  2. Be completely understood and logically shown that your words are wrong and weak.

Item one makes you feel helpless and conclude at the end of the day that only you can talk to yourself.  You truly are your best audience.  Item two on the other hand tells you that there is someone else who gets it.  That there is a reader and a reading to benefit from.  Between the two, which response would you prefer?

Criticism has gained a reputation as a fault-finding practice.  Maybe because those who practice it are focused on digging for mistakes, or because those whose works are criticized are too sensitive and take critiques as personal attacks.  Maybe both.

Do art and literature matter?

I gave and received my share of criticism (mostly on poetry) when I was still writing under a pseudonym on another blog in 2006.  Several observations were:

  1. People care and are curious about poetry.  They crave a discussion on what is happening, what is good, bad and ugly.
  2. People listen.

With a framework of writing as if in conversation with a few friends, involvement of readers outside my circle surprised me and led me to believe that I was not alone in my confusion regarding what people think pass as good poetry.  An audience I was not familiar with also pushed me to take more responsibility.  They may only be a few, but considering I was writing about poetry, that audience was more than enough for me.

Readers would ask the big question:  What is a good poem then?  And I felt bad for not being able to reply; partly because I felt like I had to give an introductory course on poetry, since not one sentence or book could answer that, and partly because I realized I was practicing criticism on a very superficial leveldigging for mistakes.

If art and literature matter

When I first heard of the National Artist Awards controversy in August, my initial reaction was, Okay, so what? I’d grown desensitized to questionable awards.  I would even side with those who think that if the name Carlo Caparas were as obscure as Emmanuel Garibayand we loved our presidentno one would say a word about it.

All this to me shows that while we are concerned about the arts, we do not bother enough to examine it (as with many things, we leave it up to emotion and reflex).  When we say art, people’s reactions will mostly be associations with beauty, truth, rebellion, the profound and inexplicable; or I don’t care.  And we have always been fine with that.  There is a virtual consensus that there is no objective way of viewing art, or at least an objective way of articulating one’s feeling towards an artwork.

Some, in their own ways, have been taking action to promote the arts and educate people about it.  There are two things, though, that I believe art could benefit from the most.

1.  We need the awards

  • Yes, to acknowledge and encourage artists, but only secondary to recognizing and demanding artistic excellence.  Artists may have different motivations for joining a contest, but all that will not matter if they win through the merits of their work.
  • To serve as another context in studying the craftas a record of what the standards are of a particular period.  What are the trends, what are the deviations, what are the merits of the deviations?  Why?
  • We need the awards and right now we are seeing how we also need to: (a) improve on its systems, and (b) change our attitude towards it.  Some suggest that the prize money could better be invested in a cause that would enrich the arts.  And instead of a token that seals the artist’s creative credibility and recompenses good work, an award must oblige and challenge the artist to further develop artistic institutions.
  • And yes, by all means give awards for criticism, if only to encourage it and celebrate critical thinking.

2.  We need criticism

  • To serve as another context in studying and valuating an artwork.  (Other than the audience and artist’s personal biases.)
  • To serve as another stimulus in art appreciation.
  • The best promotion of art is discussion.

While we teach how to produce art, we do not teach how to give a critical estimate of an artwork.  (Production is also a practice of critical estimation; the former is exclusive to the artist, the latter is beneficial to both artist and audience.)

Regular criticism in all possible media could serve as a continuous conversation, and if you like, a kind of calibration that would guide us in understanding and appreciating art.


Awards given to the National Artists are sourced from public funds.  That is one solid line that connects art and society.  If art matters to us, we should act as if it really matters.  We can always stay in our world of read-write-paint-et cetera, but once we start expecting recognition for our work and expressing discontent in the environment that influences what we hold dear, then we have to involve ourselves in that bigger world of criticisms and develop our artistic institutions.


  1. Being completely understood and logically shown that your words are wrong and weak can also be one of the best things to happen to someone.
  2. Nothing against Mr. Emmanuel Garibay.
  3. The post is in part a response/additive to what Butch Dalisay previously wrote; Philbert Ortiz Dy’s ideas on how to improve the awards systems are also taken into consideration.
  4. Ideal criticism is subject for another discussion.

Reopening the question, Does poetry matter?

16 October 2009 1 comment


“Poetry is the highest and most difficult of the literary arts.”  It is also the most useless.

If I am asked, Does poetry matter?, the answer is yes, it matters to me.  But the question is not, Does poetry matter to you? To rephrase and put the question in context:  How relevant is poetry in the Philippines in these times?

A chat with a friend has led me to say, Art, especially poetry, is insignificant in these times and in this country.  It is a chat situated in a time when two typhoons have destroyed families and properties in Luzon; when death of democracy icon, Corazon Aquino, under what is considered the worst administration in Philippine history, has Filipinos debating on how to reconstruct our sorry nation; accordingly, it is a time when the next presidential election is months away.  Given these circumstances, where does poetry stand?

I would be the last person to advocate political propaganda over aesthetics in literature (though aesthetics is never stripped of politics, let us keep the term politics to its social and economic nuances for the meantime).  But one has to ask, where do writers get the motivation to write despite knowing there is barely an audience who care about what they are saying.  We are a poor (economically and culturally) country.  We can barely feed our bodies, what more our minds with this foie gras of a poem.

Poetry is insignificant in these times and in this country.  I almost wrote useless, but wrote insignificant instead.  I have long resigned to poetry’s uselessness, but I am not ready to give up on its importance yet.


To those of us who exert energy, invest time and money in a specific enterprise, it is inevitable that we ask, Why am I doing this? What for? To which some poets’ reflex response may be, No reason necessary.  Well and good.

I have no problems with the poet’s arrogance.  He needs it.  No one else will best acknowledge his worth and his work than himself.  It only becomes a problem when he starts to deplore the artistic environment he is a part of and does nothing about it.  It is as simple as reacting to a bad piece of work.  What is good and bad art is always subject for debate.  That is no news to us.  What is astonishing is that no one is debating about it.

Literary and artistic scandals—the most recent being the National Artist Awards—at one point excite writers as there will again be something to buzz about (showbiz gossip predominantly influences the culture we have).  To an outsider (and perhaps to some writers), it exhibits how passionate and protective they are of artistic institutions.  But I am quickly reminded of criticisms against Filipinos’ passivity.  While we associate artists with revolutionaries and bearers of truth, the existence of these scandals and the absence of artistic debates show how even they (whom we want to look up to) lack the honesty and resolve to keep at least Philippine art progressive.


Poetry would not be perceived as a snobbish academician’s business worthy of contempt and dismissal (we are lucky if the perception is far from the fact) if those who practice it take the cliché seriously: artistic integrity.

Some modes of “poetic” thinking and practice that have been observed in the past years until now are:

  1. Eager to be accepted and get published—copy tried and tested formulations;
  2. Afraid of sounding boring—write verses that would least resemble what is considered the norm;
  3. Gay poetry that is more gay than it is poetry.

Given the three, where is the real critical study and understanding of poetry?  Much of poetic technique is based on what feels right instead of consciously delineated standards.  Or based on agendas wherein poetry is not the primary consideration, but the writer.

(If I may digress—What, say, happened to poetic devices that make the poem an aural art?  What happened to rhyme?  Where did rhythm go?  Aspiring poets may have been given the memorandum that not all that has rhyme and meter is a poem, but where do they get the idea that nothing can be gained by these devices anymore?)

This is not to say that we are without excellent writers and that there are no venues to help cultivate the craft, but one has to wonder why a lot of published works never seem to have passed any kind of inspection.


To have the nation reading, it takes a lot of work and a bit of a miracle.  To problematize why we do not read critically or at all is to problematize education is to problematize poverty is to problematize government.  It really is up to you if you want to put responsibility on the government, the people, or sheer luck.  What we know for sure is that it is a complex problem requiring a creative solution that would take time, if we are intent on solving it in the first place.  And that is if we all agree that reading critically is important.

How can poetry stand in a nation of non-readers?  The answer is: it stands, because it does not talk to the nation.  Poets and poems talk amongst themselves.

Filipino poets know there is no such thing as national readership, not even a readership within the capital.  And university readership is a myth.  What is interesting to note is how much they care about this condition and how they act upon it.  Some of them may not be bothered at all with extra-literary matters; they simply write, while some wish what is left of the poetic institution would be more daring and creative.  Some shove poetry into trains.  Some, I suppose, are happy with the status quo—if silence can be interpreted as such.

I have no answers to lend to the national reading dilemma (or I have some ideas, but that’s subject for another discussion).  I do believe, however, that we do not have to wait for the country to get its act together before the poetry community can.

Poetry is not being read as much, not because the reading public is generally uninterested in it, but because of the lack of good poetry and criticism to filter and promote good writing.  If creative writing students and those who willingly engage themselves in poetry are confused about what constitute good art, or do not attain a high degree of confidence in their valuation of art—why this poem gets praises and the other does not, why this collection wins an award, etc.—what more the public?


It is not difficult to be convinced that poetry is alive in the Philippines, if by alive we mean breathing.  Books are published, students take creative writing courses, workshops abound, and once in a while there are essays about it.  I sometimes wonder if these kids who take CW degrees were pressured by their parents (Anak, tumula ka), or encouraged by their peers (Ano’ng kukunin mong kurso?  Ako kasi, gusto kong maging makata…). It is interesting (and entertaining) to think about what compels one to write.  And when you ask them, they will give you the most—poetic—responses (To make sense of things; To turn chaos into order; I love words…). Not the answers writers are sometimes accused of (to be popular among girls, to get a promotion in the English department).  Whatever the writer’s motivations for writing are, I am always humbled by seeing how poetry does not need us; we are the ones who need poetry.  (If one agrees that language is important, it is in poetry that one can find the best techniques to manipulate it.)

Apparently, while there are a number of Filipinos who see value in poetry, not a lot bother to keep its integrity.  We care, but are not critical, about it.

Poetry will matter if we write good poems and if we keep our poetic and extra-literary practices in constant check—which is to say, if those of us who care about it act as if it truly matters.  (For starters, let us not talk behind each others’ backs.  Go beyond descriptions of a book in reviews; provide judgment.  Write regular reviews in the first place.  Evaluate why our responses to a piece of writing are such.)  This may be a long shot and something I will definitely not witness in my lifetime, but I am still romantic enough to hope for and declare it anyway:  That poetry becomes an integral part of our artistic consciousness and that the arts become a part of our intellectual consciousness, because if we can afford it, then that would mean our country has truly risen above its sorry state.


  1. Opening quote is by Jose Garcia Villa.
  2. Poetic standards and the need for criticism are subjects for another discussion.
  3. Like the titular question, most of what is said here may not be new, or has been better argued before.  But I’ll find ways of restating it if only to save it from having the life of a cliché.

Complacencies of the cookie

26 August 2009 13 comments

Yesterday, the Supreme Court (SC), in response to a petition filed last week by various artists—National and otherwise—academicians, and other individuals, issued a status quo order to stop the conferment of the title of National Artist on all those who had named last July 29.

Thus does another scandal land in the laps of our justices, as highly contentious issues are wont to do in this country. While such matters are certainly within the sphere over which the SC presides, if only because the SC takes on the responsibility for them, that things invariably need to be brought before the SC for resolution speaks of an increasingly sad, because apparently chronic, social condition: the inability and/or the unwillingness to engage in civil, thoughtful, meaningful dialogue, and, in so doing, arrive at a compromise that is acceptable to everyone—or to no one, which could be nearly as good—and (potentially) waste less public money and hot air.

According to the petitioners, grave abuse of discretion was committed when President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, in consultation with the Malacañang Committee on Honors, included Francisco “Bobby” Mañosa, Jose “Pitoy” Moreno, Cecile Guidote-Alvarez, and Magno Jose Carlos J. Caparas in the roster, as well as excluded Ramon Santos, one of the four artists who had actually passed through the screening process of the National Commission of Culture and the Arts (NCCA) and the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP).

Incidentally, the Committee on Honors is not at all mysterious, despite several widely circulated reports and statements: Executive Order No. 236 clearly establishes it. Bayan Muna party-list representatives Teodoro A. Casiño and Raymond V. Palatino, authors of House Resolution No. 1309, are obviously misinformed, and that is a disservice to the sector for which they wish to take up the cudgels.

In Wigberto E. Tañada, et al. vs. Edgardo Angara, et al., among other cases, “grave abuse of discretion” is defined as follows:

By grave abuse of discretion is meant such capricious and whimsical exercise of judgment as is equivalent to lack of jurisdiction. Mere abuse of discretion is not enough. It must be grave abuse of discretion as when the power is exercised in an arbitrary or despotic manner by reason of passion or personal hostility, and must be so patent and so gross as to amount to an evasion of a positive duty or to a virtual refusal to perform the duty enjoined or to act at all in contemplation of law. Failure on the part of the petitioner to show grave abuse of discretion will result in the dismissal of the petition.

In view of the foregoing, that the petition invokes the selection of Fernando Amorsolo to support arguments regarding the limits of discretion tends to register as hilarious, because the very existence of the Order of National Artists (ONA)—until 2003, the National Artist Award—was caused by the (in)famously whimsical Imelda Marcos: it was at her behest that Proclamation No. 1001 was issued.

The petition also states in part that the controversial exercise of presidential prerogative “irretrievably taints the Order of National Artists as being one that is subject to politics and will diminish the prestige of the rank and title for the National Artists who are alive and active”—assuming, perhaps, that the honor of the dead is unassailable.

How the petition will be dealt with remains to be seen, but the truth is that, had the artistic community been vigilant custodians of culture, been mindful of its responsibilities to the public whose funds support it, the petition would never have been needed in the first place. Given that the community has had a significant degree of control over the ONA since 1986, I am frankly surprised that it never took legal action until now. Are two decades not enough for the flaws of the system to be evident? What does it say about the community that it was willing to live with—maybe even take advantage of—these flaws? Instead of lobbying for amendments to be made, were the artists lobbying for and against each other in miscellaneous struggles for recognition and legitimization—in grabbing for cookies, as Butch Dalisay might put it?

Why did the artistic community, initial protestations notwithstanding, stand by and watch as Ernani J. Cuenco, Alejandro R. Roces, and Abdulmari Asia Imao were named National Artists via presidential prerogative? The case of Imao is particularly interesting: Why had no Muslim artists been included in the ONA until Macapagal-Arroyo used her discretion to do so?

Why did the artistic community not file any petitions when Fidel V. Ramos took it upon himself to create the  category of “Historical Literature” for the purpose of honoring Carlos Quirino? Wouldn’t the establishment of a completely new category and the insertion of an honoree count as “grave abuse of discretion” too?

What was the artistic community doing when Executive Order No. 435 was issued? Why does the community not seem to have heard about it? It is on the basis of this order that the NCCA and CCP were reduced to an advisory function, ostensibly in order to “harmonize the procedure for awarding the Order of National Artists with the purpose and intent of existing laws”.

Of the beasts that pursue a terrified Dante as he stumbles through the Dark Wood of Error, the most relentless and the most fearsome is the she-wolf, and her appetites—gustatory, carnal, and otherwise—are savage and utterly insatiable. The she-wolf is therefore generally seen as representing the sins of incontinence.

Were there a Dante to write Inferno today—he would be in his 40s—and were one to imagine—as I do, for my own amusement—a Dante steeped in popular culture, enamored with allusions, and possessed of an irreverent sense of humor, it is not entirely unlikely that he would install Cookie Monster in place of the she-wolf. Despite a fairly recent move toward a healthier diet, the blue-furred, googly-eyed, growly Muppet has achieved little else by way of self-control—he will still gobble up anything that seems remotely edible, such as Stephen Colbert’s Peabody Award. Although the monster formerly known as Sid is far and away more lovable than a slavering, bloodthirsty canine, malevolence is not, in any case, a prerequisite for incontinence.

What does serve to complement, if not buttress, incontinence is complacency. Cookie Monster exists in a state of blissful obliviousness, unaware of the ways in which he impinges upon the property and well-being of others, and unmindful of the effects of his actions on the network of social relations in which he is unavoidably, inextricably entwined. It does not even occur to him to worry about himself. But of course he would have no reason to be other than what he is: ravenous, messy, careless. The advantage of being Cookie Monster is that, at the end of the day, he is merely a fuzzy blue sack, and whatever agency that he might be said to have begins and ends with the script of any given episode.

The artists now upset over the ONA cannot lay claim to fictionality or disavow their agency, no matter how loudly they insist on living inside a Kantian bubble. Hitherto poor stewards of the arts, whether through passivity, arrogance, willful ignorance, or malice, they have brought this controversy upon themselves. What is truly unfortunate here is that, for all their wrangling over cookies, it is the public that suffers the toothaches and the stomachaches.

Notes on the 2009 National Artists controversy

Bared last 29 July, the roster of National Artists for this year has caused such controversy as to make the headlines. Suddenly, art is everywhere, a player thrust upon the stage and into the limelight of public debate, the intensity of which recalls the furor that raged over the acquisition by the Government Service Insurance System (GSIS) in 2002 of Juan Luna’s Parisian Life, “a piece of history” that cost Php46 million. The Commission on Audit (COA) would later find the purchase “morally objectionable“, a phrase that has also been bandied about to characterize the ongoing uproar.

At the heart of the current scandal are perceived irregularities in the selection process: in a heretofore unprecedented exercise of presidential prerogative, President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo refused to confirm the proclamation of composer and musicologist Ramon Santos, who had been one of the choices of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) and the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP), and added four names that had not been screened by the aforementioned agencies: Francisco “Bobby” Mañosa, Jose “Pitoy” Moreno, Cecile Guidote-Alvarez, and Magno Jose Carlos J. Caparas. The latter two choices are particularly galling to many: Guidote-Alvarez is the executive director of the NCCA, and thus is disqualified by the very guidelines of the commision she helms, while Caparas has been tagged as undeserving.

Certain denizens of the artistic community have been so outraged that, among other protests, necrological services for the death of the National Artist Awards were held last Friday, with National Artists for Literature Virgilio S. Almario and Bienvenido L. Lumbera vowing not to use their medallions until the issue has been settled, which presumably means the withdrawal of honors from Guidote-Alvarez and Caparas, at the very least, so that Almario will be able to sleep at night.

How this matter will be resolved has yet to be seen, as the Palace is standing by its choices. Nevertheless, as an interested outsider—not to mention a taxpayer—I wish to reflect on some of the issues that the present dispute has exposed.

Contrary to statements that have been made deploring the “politicization” of the Order of National Artists (ONA), the ONA is, with or without the participation—or interference, perhaps—of Malacañang, always already political, woven inextricably into and constitutive of the very fabric of power relations of the art world. In any case, the President is not explicitly forbidden from making selections of her own—given that she is the head of state, and that the ONA is a state title, I do believe that she should have some control over the process, at least until a law is passed prohibiting her from doing so.

One need only look back three years ago, when Philippine Star columnist Alfred “Krip” A. Yuson, passive-aggressive beerhouse rhetorician extraordinaire, blasted the selection of Lumbera as National Artist over his bet, Cirilo F. Bautista, describing Lumbera as “the communist candidate” and “a second-tier citizen in the republic of arts and letters”, while simultaneously making the ridiculous claim that such assertions were not attacks. (Some of the responses to Yuson, of which my personal favorite is by Rosario Cruz Lucero, have been compiled in this blog entry by University of the Philippines professor Jose Wendell Capili.) In that same article, Yuson quotes Gémino H. Abad as saying that, had he been aware of the way the deliberations were going, he could have made a stronger case for Bautista. While it may well be that artists can make the most credible and authoritative judgments about their peers—a point that I do not necessarily agree with—the ONA is, in a sense, a glorified culturati cockfight, with each faction rallying behind and lobbying for its respective rooster. The art world is not a rarefied sphere of civility, courage, and goodness floating autonomously above the rest of society—artists are every bit as petty, as contentious, and as malicious as government officials.

The comments of Caroline S. Hau in Necessary Fictions are illuminating, and her description of the literary scene as incestuous could tentatively be applied to the cultural scene as a whole:

The so-called literary scene in the Philippines is characteristically small, and although a number of literary biographies have been produced in recent years, the main form in which information circulates within that scene has been gossip, which is woven out of the threads of personal relations linking writers to writers, and writers to critics (who are often writers, too). It also means that writers pat each other on the back and give each other awards, and that younger writers get their chance and opportunities through the beneficence or patronage or praise of older, established writers. Come Choosing-the-Canon-Time, who else but their friends would these writer-professors nominate?

…the Philippine literary scene resembles a hamlet patrolled by small, overlapping bands of writers who conduct their feuds and rituals, if not in full view, then at least within gossip’s range, of each other.

Therefore, Caparas has a point when he decries the snobbery underpinning the criticism he has received as a result of being proclaimed National Artist. While Caparas is wrong to reduce the controversy to the classic—and ultimately unfruitful—oppositions between high culture and low culture, between fine art and popular art, and between the elite and the masa, the ONA is, by its very nature, elitist. Notions of honor, of prestige, of merit, and of taste are not free-floating, abstract, innocent, democratic concepts, but ones that cause the inclusion and legitimization of certain figures, activities, and phenomena at the expense of others, and with specific material effects over and above whatever honors and privileges come with any given award or title—effects that, I suspect, many National Artists would disavow. Consider, for instance, that the goal of many a serious collector of Philippine art is to own at least one work by every National Artist, which means that such works tend to fetch astronomical prices on the market. Even ephemera that were never intended to be exhibited or sold—e.g., sketches, studies, and memorabilia—can be very costly, particularly if the National Artist is already deceased. And what the National Artist cannot gain in monetary terms, he/she gains in terms of authority: his/her very presence and opinions are inevitably considered weightier and more significant than those of others.

I would like to underscore that even when the choice of National Artist is relatively uncontroversial, it is only because that artist is acceptable to a broad consensus of the artistic community, which is hardly representative of the Philippines as a whole. In a country where over nine million families recently rated themselves as poor, I doubt if art exists in the lives of the majority at all, and yet it is this same majority that funds the ONA. Do our National Artists truly belong to and engage with the public, or do they merely delineate a self-contained, masturbatory economy exclusive to the cultural cognoscenti? (I think it fair to ask, for example, where our National Artists for Literature were when the Department of Finance levied a tax on imported books earlier this year.)

Lest I be branded a cynic—or worse, an apologist for Caparas—what I have been trying to do here is to lay bare the tensions roiling beneath the surface of what may seem to be a fairly simple dispute over protocol and transparency.

If, as UP professor and Star columnist Butch Dalisay asserts, “no true artist needs an award, especially one granted by a government whose credibility and sincerity many artists will or should find trouble with“, then I have to ask why the artistic community bothers with the ONA in the first place. That Dalisay resorts to a romantic idealization of the ONA is, to my mind, rather disingenuous: “The National Artist Award was meant to rise above petty politics, to give some material recognition and sustenance for our most creative and most productive imaginations—a vain hope, as it turns out, in this politically besotted and benighted country.” If the ONA has now been corrupted, as many protesters allege, then why did the National Artists stop at a symbolic burial of their medallions? Wouldn’t the truly meaningful gesture be to relinquish their titles, return their medallions, and give up whatever privileges the ONA accorded them? Or why not set up a private award-giving body to confer the National Artist Award? Doesn’t the Manila Critics Circle give out the National Book Awards?

Whatever else this tumult may lead to, I believe that this is a good opportunity for artists, especially National Artists, to take stock of themselves and their practices. According to the NCCA, National Artists are recognized for their “vision, unusual insight, creativity and imagination, technical proficiency of the highest order in expressing Filipino culture and traditions, history, way of life, and aspirations”. What sort of nation, what sort of “Philippines” do our artists imagine themselves as being part of and participating in? Who are the Filipinos that they wish to address? What is really at stake for the artists who are now up in arms?