Pastilan

Duality in life does not necessarily mean two distinct beings or situations. Sometimes it’s the same thing seen differently, meant differently. Visayan visual artist Rey Labarento explores this relationship in the exhibition “Pastilan.”

In keeping with his previous works, Negros Island provincial life is depicted with much generosity in Labarento’s works, from people at basketball games, the local plazas, and anywhere around the town of Valencia and Dumaguete.

Each of the paintings is a scene brimming with emotion, hence the expression “pastilan” Now this reaction can go both ways. It can be a “wow!” or a “tsk!” In “Drunk Man and the Scorers,” you can almost hear the children say “pastilan sabaa nimo kol” calling out the noisy uncle heckling from the bleachers, while in “Partners in Crime,” it’s the simple pastilan joy of a beer with your best friend. Next door it was “Game Over” after the card game, and manong mutters “pastilan walay swerte,” as he wonders if he can ask for a cigarette.

Meanwhile, strength in numbers is a common tendency in the country — both the city and the countryside, much aligned with Philippine horror vacui aesthetics. In the Visayas, the habal-habal is a motorcyle ride where capacity is pushed to the limits, sometimes adding wooden planks to make extra seats. It easily elicits a “pastilan layo layo pa ang byahe” for being careless, but to the “Family Trip,” it’s a “pastilan” for the excitement.

One of the more interesting scenes is from “Outdoor Massage” where one sees a pair of hands on a tree on the edge of the painting. This stems from the belief that the negative forces drawn out from the massage guest, when transferred to nature, helps the tree grow. It sounds “pastilan hinaya ra” until you realize, it’s not so far from humans exhaling carbon dioxide which becomes plant food.

Being in Negros, a sense of adventure seems innate to anyone, whether you’re a local or “nadagit.” Trekking and running culture has always been around — pastilan fun until your feet are sore, and it becomes pastilan “Runner’s Foot.” “Ninja Boy” is a throwback to those times when, after watching a favorite superhero tv show, the kids would play around the house or outdoors, and the parents could only sigh “pastilan ning bataa.” In this era of phone picture documentation, moments are decided quickly “Pastilan! Chadaa uyy!” Whether it’s a photo of your friend “Framing You” or a mirror selfie “Picture Picture.” That moment your *slightly* tipsy friend says “Moses” while hanging out at the local river is the pastilan shot of the day.

Of course, in some situations “pastilan” is only really a good feeling or a bad feeling, but we can’t deny its versatility as a way of expression. “Pastilan” as well links us to our greater Asian family, where there are words in the everyday vernacular that have a plethora of meanings that rely on context and experience. “Mai pen rai” in Thailand generally means “it’s okay” but has become multi-layered as a response. “Yabai” in Japanese previously meant a negative situation, but is now also used for strong immediate emotions, especially when something is really good.

Rey Labarento in each of his exhibitions, especially outside his hometown, gently highlights that which makes Visayan culture meaningful and unique. While his style appears to fall under the characterizations of Naïve Art, they are actually complex layerings of human identity formed by the Negros mountains, the Visayas oceans, and the Dumaguete sun, to which I say: “Pastilan what an artist!”