The Philippine Pavilion will make its debut in the 15th Gwangju Biennale.

Words Pao Vergara
August 20, 2024

For the first time since its launching, the Gwangju Biennale will have an exclusive Philippine Pavilion in its 2024 edition, which will run from September 5 to December 1, 2024 in the Asia Culture Centre within the metropolitan city of Gwangju, southwest of Seoul in the Republic of Korea.

Titled Locations of Freedom, the Philippine Pavilion will stage the works of seven artists spanning different mediums, whose works all relate to a curatorial initiative by artist, cultural worker, and curator Avie Felix. Notably, Gwangju was historically a site of civil protest, state violence, and ultimately, the triumph of democracy.

The Pavilion will feature works by Dennis Montera, Adjani Arumpac, Veejay Villafranca, Toym Imao, Sari Dalena, Paul Eric Roca, Avie Felix, and Karl Castro.

Felix noted “connections” between the project’s spirit with that of the other participating Asian countries, and this was echoed by Cebu-based Montera as he related his work to the experiences of Vietnamese artists facing expansionist aggression in the South China Sea.

Felix then related how Locations of Freedom is actually the natural conclusion of conversations she has shared with many of the participating artists through the years: “We have different practices, but we’re all artists with a deep, deep love of the country.”

“More than the aesthetic, we’re really concerned about the message,” as Gwangju was “the specific biennale that can carry an exhibit like this,” she reveals in a show preview held in Fundacion Sanso (also brimming with context, given Sanso’s wartime experiences and how his art was informed by his own attempts to locate freedom) last July 17.

Two incidents in the city stand out which inform the Biennale’s often progressive focus: 1929 protests by Korean students against Japanese Imperial rule, which contributed to national consciousness, and the 1980 Gwangju Uprising, in which citizens armed themselves as peaceful labor protests were greeted with violence by state forces.

The official press kit mentions “fire, motivation, and desperation” as the driving force behind the works in the exhibit.

In the course of events in world history, democracy stands out not just as an outlier, but an anomaly. A “location of freedom,” this relatively new system is something that has to be actively preserved each generation, Felix emphasizes, relating it to her experience of being too young to have marched in the 1986 Revolution while still feeling its effects, wondering what more for those born decades after said events.

As such, the seven works in the 15th Gwangju Biennale’s Philippine Pavilion “all tread paths to trace, commemorate, and relive revolutions.”

Imao’s annually-updated sculpture series Desaparecidos, which actually feature the orphaned rather than the disappeared, dialogues with Villafranca’s self-curated series of photos from his long-time photojournalist practice. “We have billions of images since technology has advanced,” the journalist notes, “yet we seem to keep forgetting certain things.” Imao’s work has also been exhibited in institutional locations noted for their violence in the Martial Law years.

Meanwhile, Sari Dalena’s “Guerrera: Women Warriors” commemorates the role of women in pivotal moments in Philippine History, from the Revolution against Spain to the Philippine-American War all the way to Martial Law and the 1986 Revolution. It’s notable how even beauty queens-turned-dissidents also feature in “Guerrera.”

Still, what rebuilding remains to be done in the aftermath of war and conflict? Adjani Arumpac depicts the stories of Marawi Siege survivors in a way that highlights their neglect, by turning her interviews of them into screensavers, installing them in a computer placed in a room, its banality being the point: People have become so numb to images of conflict.

Roca, meanwhile, riffs off of Hieronymus Bosch’s surreal “The Garden of Earthly Delights,” but set in a Philippines rife with corruption across timelines. Montera’s abstract paintings evokelanguid landscapes gradually stained – tarnished – by blood, reflecting a fear that the places dear to him, “his locations of freedom” such as Cebu’s islands, may witness violence.

Finally, another work by Imao depicts a family delousing each other, but with their craniums exposed. Wittily titled “Debugging,” Imao reveals that they’re not removing just lice, but lies, seeded across generations, “a very Asian experience.”

Felix recalls how in her curatorial practice, she’s tried to mount shows like this with mixed results and reception, given the political climate, questioning how some depict the nation, whether they should choose “grandiosity or truthfulness.” Driven by such questions, she wanted her process for the Philippine Pavilion to highlight the internal revolutions so sought-after in the long, steady, gritty project of nation-building-via-community-building (which, after all, is the result of individual self-cultivation).

The artists were given more freedom to navigate the curatorial directive, and Felix also spotlighted the contributions of those not directly involved in the pavilion’s display, but in making it happen, from fundraising to logistical preparation.

Art often includes heavy subject matter, and while this is often commodified especially in thecontemporary context of art’s commercialization (one could argue, it always was), there is still a revolutionary ethos in that art, unlike entertainment, is often not passively consumed but asks its witnesses to do emotional and intellectual labor, as British art critic Olivia Laing often points out.

In world rife with cynicism, the seven Filipino artists participating in the Gwangju Biennale show that hope, memory, and commemoration are acts of revolution—not just political revolution, but also moral revolution, towards a more just society, regardless of national boundaries. 

Given the Philippine Pavilion’s not-for-profit nature, the artistic team is presently seeking support for the shipment costs of the artworks, airfare, and other logistical needs related to mounting and maintaining the show for the duration of its run.

As Imao shares of his experience working with Felix: “[Locations of Freedom] is about saying we value freedom of expression in our country. One place to share this is in a biennale setting. It’s more tempered, there’s discourse, we’re not just making noise. We need to communicate with an audience larger than the Philippines. So Avie gathered the artists without an instruction manual, rather, [we were given a prompt to see] how we’ll react to this particular theme: Locations of Freedom. How do you want to present the Filipino narrative to a global audience?”

To send support or check updates, follow Locations of Freedom’s official social media channels.