Mideo Cruz: His Thorny Avenue of Liberation
All the provocative paintings, installation and performance art done by Mideo “Deo” Cruz have one source: his deep-seated awareness of and resentment against his country’s historical colonialism. After several years of art studies at the University of Santo Tomas in 1992, Mideo’s major productions, done in 1998, 2005 and 2006 marked a hidden desire to free his “wounded country” from the massive maw of its colonial past. For the soft spoken and shy artist, his attempts to satirize the vestiges of a colonial past -- although seen by others as a thorny avenue of liberation or a belated sentiment in the modern era of globalization – constitute “a valid and solid stance of protest art in the Philippines ”.
Cruz has identified certain symbols that represent colonial power: Jesus Christ, the highest, most mystical symbol of power introduced in the Philippines by Catholic Spain in the 16th century and perpetrated by Protestant America in 1898; and American products: Coca Cola, Mickey Mouse and Batman, which he calls “not just products but symbols of American economic and cultural hegemony”.
His use of kitschy motifs recall American artist Andy Warhol (1928-1987). But his style of juxtaposing religious icons with popular American products – to depict symbols of power from the Spanish to the American era – has been interpreted by many religious Filipinos not as a political statement against neo-colonialism, but as the artist’s willful desecration of their cherished beliefs. Thus, Cruz has been labeled as “heretic and anti-Christ”.
This is a wrong reading, according to Cruz. His works, he says, merely reflect how two former colonial masters have used religion to soften the colonized; how the economic products of the super-powers have weakened local production and mis-educated Filipinos.
Influenced by two generations of protest artists in the Philippines
Cruz has been influenced by two types of protest artists in the Philippines who roughly belong to two generations: the social realist painters in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s during the era of dictator Ferdinand Marcos, and the second wave of social realists who continued in the same vein, but with more powerful forms after the former strongman was ousted in 1986.
Unlike earlier social realist painters who were nurtured in the writings of Karl Marx on class struggle (which greatly influenced the Russian revolution of 1922) and the thoughts of Chairman Mao (the Chinese communist leader who led his country out of foreign domination and poverty in 1948), Cruz has evaded the issue of class struggle, violent revolution and assassination of government leaders in his works.
Happy childhood in his grandfather’s farm
Cruz’s revolution in art is not the result of deprivation in his earlier life since he himself belonged to a landed family in Gapan, Nueva Ecija. “I had a happy childhood; I grew up in my grandfather’s rice land – a huge family-owned farm -- counting sacks of palay during the harvest season,” he says. His grandfather on his mother side, Deogracias Manalad, a former village head (born 1908), taught him his arithmetic as an elementary school student.
“I learned that a pile of hay (gapas or bunton) was equivalent to 10 kilos of palay, roughly 20 percent of one cavan (or a sack) of palay. I remember counting about 80 to 120 cavans (50 kilos a cavan) of palay that were harvested from one hectare of rice land,” recalls Cruz. He was in charge of segregating 10 percent of the harvest for the workers who helped till his family’s farm.
“I was strong and didn’t fall when I was taught how to operate a mechanized farm tool in the farm. Parang laro sa akin. I also learned to live with the common folk in the farm. I saw them idolize politicians and elevate them as sacred,” he says.
His landlord-grandfather was a down-to-earth fellow, though, and this prevented him from acquiring the airs of the elite. “Dala niya lagi ang matalim niyang gulok. He was industrious, parang OC. If he didn’t like the way our helpers tilled the land, he would do it himself,” says Cruz.
When the ancestral home of his grandfather was demolished in early 2000, Cruz’s sentimental bent prompted him to gather all the mementos that he could lay his hands on. The collection included inaanay na malalaking kahoy; estatua ni Hesu Kristo gawa sa Plaster of Paris; mga stampita at supot ng pera na tinatago ng mga lola ko sa kanilang dibdib,” says Cruz, referring to his grandaunts Leonora (born 1905), Juling (born 1910) and Aurea (born 1911).
Even animal bones did not escape his sharp eye. “Tinatago ko pati yung mga buto ng mga hayop na kinakatay tuwing may handaan sa Gapan. Mahilig maghanda ang mga tao sa probinsiya namin.”
Seminal art works
Keeping a big hoard in his studio in suburban Taguig allowed him to mount a show entitled ‘Santong Pinagpasasaan’at Kulay Diwa Gallery in suburban Paranaque in 2005. In Relic, he used the termite-eaten logs from his grandfather’s house to fashion a big cross, the four ends of which were covered with tin cans of Coca Cola. On the left side of the cross was a hand, made of rubber latex, dripping with blood. At the center of the cross was a copper crown (a simulated halo), inside of which was a round convex mirror. At the lower part of the cross was a moveable red colored wooden penis. “Galing ito sa kahoy na ash-tray na binili ko sa ilalim ng tulay ng Manila.” He also placed his grandaunts’ stampita and supot ng pera on the cross.
“One should see oneself at the cross,” says Cruz, like a theologian urging believers to bring their sins to the cross. Explaining the phallic symbol on a sacred figure, Cruz says, “Religion has made Christ a symbol of (earth-bound) power (stripping him of his divine halo). Coca Cola, a US product, comes to stand for America ’s economic and commercial power.”
In Altar, an antique retablo was placed on top of chunks of dried animal bones. Wooden rosaries from Baguio and colorful plastic piggy-banks, sourced from Divisoria, adorned the retablo. “Religious institutions have commercialized worship,” says Cruz, adding that Christ himself was mad at sellers and money changers who crowded the temple’s holy doors.
Instead of a halo, Cruz used a Mickey Mouse cap made of Coca Cola tin cans, to adorn Christ’s head. “Mickey Mouse and Coca Cola are not just products, but symbols of America’s cultural hegemony,” says Cruz. When laid on Christ’s head, these symbols communicate a stronger power base, and all Filipinos should be aware of this, says Cruz. His 2005 collection, now considered iconic, were part of a controversial group show entitled ‘Kulo’ (Boil) at the Cultural Center of the Philippines which opened last June and was closed on August 5 -- 16 days ahead of its scheduled ending -- following complaints from the Catholic Church and several Catholic activists. A coalition of artists smelled censorship and vowed to uphold the artist’s freedom of expression.
The social realist painters’ depiction of class struggle in the ‘80s never attracted controversy the way Cruz’s depiction of Christ with a penis did at the CCP show – surely a sign that many Filipinos are more politically-challenged (read: ignorant) while being religion-sensitive, some critics have said.
In 2006, Cruz starred in ‘Banquet’, a performance art, at the CCP. The artist shaved his head, garbed himself in white, his face covered with a papier mache mask that depicted a pig’s snout. During the act, he sat before a big table covered in white tablecloth, a formal dinner set, and an incongruous mound of animal bones two-foot high. In front of the audience, Cruz popped pellets of colorful chewing gum into his mouth and vomited colorful saliva. The performance was accompanied by an eerie industrial sound recorded by a German friend whom he met at the Hamburg Art Festival in 2004. The macabre banquet was “all about the greed and gluttony of one as against the hunger of many poor people; of excesses in developed countries as against depravity in poor countries,” says Cruz.
Minerva Mondejar, the Filipina wife of Swiss film director Michael Steiner, invited Cruz to perform ‘Banquet’ at a train station in Zurich in 2006. Singapore ’s Future of Imagination Festival sponsored ‘Banquet’ at the Sub-Station Gallery in the Lion City, also in 2006.
Ugat Lahi and thirst for more knowledge
Barely out of college in 1992, Cruz, then 19, and fellow students from UST, founded Ugat Lahi – a group that specialized in making effigies during protest rallies against former President Joseph Estrada, then being impeached at the House of Representatives. Bayan, a leftist sectoral party at the lower house of Congress oversaw Ugat’s art production.
“Gumagalaw ang mga katawan at bumubuga ng apoy ang mga effigies namin nuon. I think we elevated the history of protest art (in the Philippines) to its maximum level at Ugat Lahi,” boasts Cruz.
“Every two weeks, we produced effigies for rallies. We would spend two weeks discussing the issues before we start art production. Our research and untiring exchanges on protest art done in the past helped us a lot in our work,” says Cruz.
Noting his early predicament for political activity as an artist, Cruz explains, “We came from a very conservative school. Parang kulang ang natutunan namin. Parang kulang ang motivation namin. And we were thirsty for knowledge.”
Soon enough, Lahi served to connect Cruz and his group with the older social realist painters and other engaged artists; they became his mentors and katambayan. He and his group hobnobbed with writer Jun Cruz Reyes; painters Egai Fernandez, Tsong (tito) Jose “Bogie” Tence Ruiz, and Biboy Delotavo; poet-singer Koyang Jess Santiago ; artist-professor Bob Feleo; and the late curator Bobi Valenzuela, known for hosting the social realist group at the Hiraya Gallery on United Nations Avenue in Manila in the late ‘70s.
“Biboy’s home in Antipolo became our second home. Koyang Jess extended moral support; Tsong Bogie offered discussions and endorsed grant proposals; Jun and Bob, intellectual challenges; and Bobi, tips on discipline,” recalls Cruz, whose stint with Ugat Lahi lasted until 2005.
His involvement with social awareness continued from 2007 to 2010, when he curated for Tutok Karapatan (Focus on Human Rights), a group established in 2005 by artists who used art works to campaign for awareness about political killings and human rights violations in the Philippines.
He had a respite from Philippine politics for six months, between 2008 and 2009, when he stayed at Williamsburg, New York as a recipient of the (Rockefeller’s) Asian Cultural Council. “But after staying in New York, I didn’t feel like making art again. I realized that one must have a marketing arm to succeed and be heard as an artist,” he says.
“Pag-balik ko sa Manila, gusto ko nang magtayo ng NGO (non-government-organization). Di rin ito natuloy,” confesses Cruz whose artistic spirit lies more on communicating ideas than selling forms, shapes and colours to buyers.
Unable to escape the lure of art-making, Cruz temporarily gave up installation and performance art and went back to painting on canvases. In 2011, he had shows in commercial galleries such as Galleria Duemila and Gallery Anna in Manila ; Mondejar Gallery in Zurich and Utterly Art Gallery in Singapore. He launched ‘The Faces of Ra (Sun God)’ at Duemilia in Pasay City in mid October.
Cruz is happily married to Racquel de Loyola, an artist from the Philippine Women’s University, his partner of 14 years before their wedding in 2004. This is positive proof that behind Cruz’ brash surrealism is a youthful optimism that his country’s colonial wounds will heal. - Article Courtesy of Manila Bulletin
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