Bukas

As I considered how to open the year 2025, I found myself circling back to a quiet yet insistent question: How do we, in the face of creeping nihilism, continue to believe in tomorrow? This question led to the conceptual seed for Bukas, a group exhibition that asks 18 artists to reflect on a single word—Bukas—which in Filipino means both “open” and “tomorrow.” It is a word steeped in possibility and anticipation, holding the tension between optimism and vulnerability. The prompt I shared with the artists was deceptively simple: Why does tomorrow matter?

The responses, as varied as the lives and creative practices of the artists, form a mosaic of perspectives—personal, communal, spiritual and universal. Together, their works are visual testaments to the enduring human impulse to create meaning, even in the face of uncertainty. Through these pieces, the artists confront despair not with grand gestures, but with the steady act of making.

Tomorrow, after all, is an imagined space—a liminal pause between what has been and what might yet be. In an era shadowed by complexity and doubt, Bukas becomes a meditation on how we, individually and collectively, envision and shape the future. JC Sicam’s Tahanan, Aann Reynales’ Keep the Coffee Hot, Carlmel Belda’s Simula, and Salvi’s Present remind us of the small, sacred sanctuaries that sustain us—home, rituals, and the quiet glow of everyday life. Lance Gomez’s Studio Study II and Nina Garibay’s Portal widen this lens, reflecting nature’s own capacity for renewal and possibility.

Some artists approach Bukas with a yearning to break free. Christian Culangan’s Ahon, Hanna Sayam’s Runaway Chicken, Bam Garibay’s Kool Aid, and Ram Castillo’s Avatar Party evoke the tension between constraint and release. Their works resonate with the urgency of liberation, whether from societal expectations or personal limitations, even depicting escapism as another route in the pursuit of emancipation. Meanwhile, Chanel Pepino, Edmond Rivera, Jan Llegue, and Marrenz Antonio offer contemplations of trepidation. In their subdued, somber works, they explore the fragility of hope, urging us to sit with discomfort and face the quiet doubts that often accompany dreams of tomorrow.

Other pieces turn inward, searching for an anchor amidst uncertainty. Delmo’s I Am Is the Force of Tomorrow, Kennette Luagues’ Kulay ng Kaluluwa, and Red Santillan’s Untitled beckon viewers to tap into the internal compass of the self—a wellspring of resilience and renewal. KR Rodgers’ Root-bound, with its stark monochromatic palette, speaks to the slow yet deliberate work of grounding oneself, even when progress feels imperceptible. It is a meditation on persistence, reminding us that even the smallest acts of continuity hold the power to shape the future.

These works are not mere images; they are offerings—acts of courage in their quiet refusal to surrender to despair. They remind us that hope, while fragile and fleeting, is not an abstract ideal but a living force that propels us toward small, deliberate actions. Through their practices, the artists carve out spaces where meaning lingers, illuminating the truth that creation itself is a profound gesture of resistance.

Some pieces call us into connection, offering antidotes to isolation through shared spaces of memory, care, and community. Others reach inward, seeking renewal in spirituality or personal resolve. Still others invite us to imagine and play, exploring the transformative potential of what could be. Together, they remind us that tomorrow is not a grand concept, but a series of choices unfolding in the present—a canvas upon which we sketch our hopes, bit by bit.

Bukas is not a manifesto but a tender declaration—a persistent whisper that tomorrow matters because it allows us to begin again. These 18 artists extend an invitation: to believe, not in grand promises, but in the quiet, deliberate acts that shape the future. They offer not answers, but possibilities, leaving us with this quiet yet insistent truth: the future is not something we await but something we make—with hands that dare to open and hearts that choose to hope.