The other piece of my soul hands me this photograph today with his very indignant buzzing on the instant messenger. He's been trying to get his groove back into the artflow as I am while the other half of this piece of my soul has flown to London.
On to the artflow.
This picture was taken last September. My recent visit to Cebu led me back to The Cebu Cathedral Museum. In my 31 years of being an island native, I wonder why in the world I never got around to visiting the place. But it's never too late for rediscovery.
This shot is Javi's and I do not exactly know why he took this shot but I can only assume or sense given what I know of him. Out of the ordinary locations of something ordinary catches his eye. From the array of museum collectibles this hangs in stark contrast. The dirt and the dust probably caught some fleck of sunlight giving it a rustic beckoning of something old. Perhaps old enough to hold some story.
I am provoked to wonder about what story it holds.
So...on to the artflow.
On to the artflow.
This picture was taken last September. My recent visit to Cebu led me back to The Cebu Cathedral Museum. In my 31 years of being an island native, I wonder why in the world I never got around to visiting the place. But it's never too late for rediscovery.
This shot is Javi's and I do not exactly know why he took this shot but I can only assume or sense given what I know of him. Out of the ordinary locations of something ordinary catches his eye. From the array of museum collectibles this hangs in stark contrast. The dirt and the dust probably caught some fleck of sunlight giving it a rustic beckoning of something old. Perhaps old enough to hold some story.
I am provoked to wonder about what story it holds.
So...on to the artflow.
it hung on a wall that's been scarred for centuries
neither of us knew it's place on the page of history
a museum in a town that's been absent
because of overgrown buildings towering
over the landscape that made it what it was now.
the ancient walls with cobwebs on a ceiling's corner
became a mark that spelled neglect
and it was this unknown hour
i decided to capture a part of what wasn't select
not the benches that were carved out of mahogany
or the antique statues that commanded respect
not the pillars that aged three hundred years over
no it wasn't what i wanted to get
from this visit i wanted to know
if old stories are kept and stored
the way they have been remembered
is it exactly how it happened before?
but the woman ranted on and on
without knowing what the story's song
sounded or played in some memory's ear
and all i could do was gaze at this red tank hanging
on the faded wall it was hanging
on the unscrubbed
peeling
supposedly
whitewashed
walls
what was it doing
so awkward in that
place they called
sacred
who held it last and how many
fires had it put out?
what part of history was burning
when fumes needed to be extinguished?
what kind of mind
would think of
burning a fragment
of his story?
or what kind of passerby would
strike to keep it lit?
no fire needs extinguishing
if it knows where to burn.
neither of us knew it's place on the page of history
a museum in a town that's been absent
because of overgrown buildings towering
over the landscape that made it what it was now.
the ancient walls with cobwebs on a ceiling's corner
became a mark that spelled neglect
and it was this unknown hour
i decided to capture a part of what wasn't select
not the benches that were carved out of mahogany
or the antique statues that commanded respect
not the pillars that aged three hundred years over
no it wasn't what i wanted to get
from this visit i wanted to know
if old stories are kept and stored
the way they have been remembered
is it exactly how it happened before?
but the woman ranted on and on
without knowing what the story's song
sounded or played in some memory's ear
and all i could do was gaze at this red tank hanging
on the faded wall it was hanging
on the unscrubbed
peeling
supposedly
whitewashed
walls
what was it doing
so awkward in that
place they called
sacred
who held it last and how many
fires had it put out?
what part of history was burning
when fumes needed to be extinguished?
what kind of mind
would think of
burning a fragment
of his story?
or what kind of passerby would
strike to keep it lit?
no fire needs extinguishing
if it knows where to burn.
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