The Roots; The Fisher's Chronicle

To fully understand how Realizationism Art begun and evolve it is inevitable not to have a glimpse of my life experiences which is the very foundation of all my artworks. I will try as much as possible to be very honest although I reserve some private episode intact on my paintings. The visual revelation is what this evolving artwork is trying to impart...

    The playfulness or the spontaneity of my strokes and styles came up after those accidental turn (which is actually not a result of mere chance but of divine interference) and so I am oblique to reveal some of those important details that leads to Realizationism...

The FisHER Chronicles

The Echo of the Random Man 

Summer of 1985, when my life truly begun…it was one of those cherished moment in my entire life. It was also the day when I finally begun considering myself as an artist.
The Roots
On the eve of July 10, 1967 the drama started…my mother was pronounced clinically dead when I came out of this word. She challenged the existence of the Almighty in her dying breath…or perhaps her last cross-over request that she would be granted to carry me into her arms before God would take her…and then her prayers were answered when the flash of light fierce thru her forehead.
   The hospital staff was perhaps amazed at the wonderful works of God. If they still consider miracle as a work of a Supreme Being besides science. So I was special…perhaps…
   Yes, I always thought that that incident was enough proof that I would be an important citizen of this planet. Besides, I was baptized immediately because they thought I would not live long because I’m a very sickly child. Now after 4 decades I realized that the world would in fact exist without me…probably even much better.

   As a boy, I had to be classified as a mild case of Introverts. Although I have a normal social life of a little boy…I brawl, laugh, cried, peep, and jest. But I enjoy most, the company of my imaginary friends. It was perhaps very normal for a creative individual to act like that.  I never outgrew that fantasy world that is why I was destined to be an artist.
   Artists never grow up…. Always wondering and always trying new things. They must retain that child-like quality or they’ll end up in an asylum.

   I explore every available resource then…draw on walls, cabinet, floors, even on myself. That usually put me into trouble with my mother. 

   Yet, I was not groomed to be an artist…or to even think that I can be an artist. I can not draw anything unless it is a school project. My father was an artist too (No perhaps, maybe his dreams had died along the way) but never encourages me to take it as a serous career path. In fact, he thinks that artistry is for the elite…the chosen few….and I am not the chosen few. Perhaps his own experience taught him those bylaws. My mother approach to my arts was totalitarian….a hostility towards anything related to my desire to draw.
   So when she discovered my hidden artworks under my bed, she was so enraged and took a hammer and crushed my hand twice. Luckily my father was there to rescue me…it was a mild hit I know but it hurts and knowing the temper of my mother when she’s mad, she sometimes turn uncontrollable. My hands were numb the whole day…I remember withdrawing to my room sobbing…the pain was not on my hand’s alone but it pierce inside my soul. I was told never to draw anymore. I fell asleep…when I woke up; I saw all my artworks burned into ashes. That was the day when my dreams slowly extinguished.

   When I enter collegiate life, I've felt squeezed from every side. I don’t want to be an educator but it was the chosen path of my mother for me. It was a daily struggle to meet the academic standard of PNC. It was the best school for future teachers….and I feel I don’t belong here.

I never know what brought me here, as if somebody led my hand
It seems so hard to understand my course was planned….

   God knows better…one summer afternoon on my 2nd year; I was called by Dr. Gloria to drop by in her office. I was surprise and felt so blessed when she told me that she’s sending me for a free art workshop in CCP. 
   I was elated yet at the same time afraid to announce to my parents that I would be attending a workshop about arts. I was surprise that my mother simply didn’t react. She finally gave in. And with that acceptance, or partial acknowledgement my life begins…..

The Soul-Search
   The CCP workshop taught us to create portfolio of our progress as a student artist. The result was that I’ve accumulated tons of works and studies. After the workshop I did not stop and began my venture to discover my insignia…this brought me to my self-search. I tried every medium and experimentations available. Once I’ve decided to call myself as a genre artist, recording the daily scenes but then this period was short live since I’m more inclined into painting faces…not necessarily copying the face but the feeling…then I also venture into painting uncared object, like old shoes, slippers, and label myself as a still-life artist of the scamp.

   To keep track of my progress I created albums to file these works…then by chance (I always believe in divine intervention) while working on a cover design I accidentally discover the tear-out style, which is directly writing on the artwork itself…that style I have retain and called my own signature style.
   With this style I began exploring my capacity only to discover my limitations.

The Glitch
   Since mostly self-taught there are areas that I can not comprehend or execute. The advice of my mentors at CCP to regularly visit galleries was encouraging and my only source to learn painting…all I did was observation…trying to duplicate what I saw in experimentations.

   Here is my first tear-out experiment, combining pastel and watercolor plus the first work to have the written word directly on the art work itself.

   Reading is my best source of information. Not about how to paint but what the Masters think. I read biographies of artist…and luckily PNC had libraries enough to supply what I need…though not that sufficient. I also try to learn the various schools of thought in ART like classical, impressionism, cubism, abstract, and most especially surrealism.
   Science text-books also became my source of learning to paint. Albert Einstein had taught me a lot…he taught me about awareness and curiosity.

The Gospel Art
    There was a Film-showing that day by The Maranatha Christian Ministry about Satanic Music, back-masking and so on…it was an eye-opening experience for me. I was a searching lost soul then, already accepted Jesus Christ as my savior and begun to be an avid Bible reader since High-School. I read a lot about Christianity, religions, occult, and almost anything that would consume the gigabyte of my brains. I love information and this seminar that I attended enlighten me couple with another divine coincidence….I was also scheduled to attend that same afternoon an art exhibit at CCP on Fil Dela Cruz one man-show…he was called a surrealist.
   Both experiences mingle on my brain that night and begun to formulate another searching quest…the next day, I painted my first surreal attempt “Shriek of Tumult” and started to label my self as a surrealist too.
   Surrealism will enable me to tell the story I want to share…if there is Gospel music then there is gospel art. As well as Satanic Art….so I search…go back to reading more about history.
   I started to write this entire discovery and research in to The Preacher in Colour (1986)…now this was lost too. But some of the fragment I have kept in my Visual Manuscripts. 

Laboratory of Personal Experience

   Perhaps, I was more of a writer than a painter…I chronicle all my progress then, concise those things and create my collections into books. That is how my Visual Manuscripts began; by pure randomness of events…by recording all my feelings in my artworks…the philosophy, the angst, the search…it has become my Laboratory of Personal Experience.
   I can not recall how many times I’ve re-created my first Art Journal or what I simply label at that time as Junk Art…it was financially draining me too beside the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve shed on it. These visual manuscripts had become my Lifetime Thesis.
   Realizationism, an artist collection (recreated around 1995) was the incorporations of all my earlier art journals that span the era of 1985 to 1990s…at least those I manage to save…
   Unfortunately, I did not save some of my earlier collections (The Touch, Glimpse, The Literal Colours, etc…) due to varied reasons. Mostly moving and dying hopes ended the immortalization process of my earlier collection.

   After leaving PNC my artistry was set aside…I had to face daily necessities of a working man.

Chapters on this period will have to be hidden....


   Realizationism Art is a process…an on-going processing of experiences. Sometimes random that follows the dictates of feelings and emotions. While allowing sporadic images to come naturally and with all honesty yet there was intent to analyze the essence later. Therefore I coined it Realizationism--to realized, to internalize
   In 1995 the neophyte concept begins from devastating experiences. It was my healing process why I recreate the visual journal Realizationism…time to tear down and time to be rebuilt.

Randomness and a static state of mind often hinder my capacity to finish a project. Ever since I started journalizing my art pieces up to now there are still no finish book….


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