Art and  Friendship

Two weeks ago, I accepted an invite from Hendri Go of Little Boy Productions to watch the one and only Manila performance of Art. I was worried about making it to the 8 p.m. show, because I had already agreed to go with my mother and my niece that same day to Pangasinan, which they always say is “just four hours away from Manila” but really takes six, even eight, if you like to take your time at, say, Dencio's Bar & Grill within the now-depressing Hacienda Luisita Mall in Tarlac. When Hendri confirmed that it was for one night only, I knew I had to make the schedule work. Happily, I made it.

I'd also invited my best friend to come along, and she was already there, laughing her heart out, when I snuck into my seat a little more than five minutes late. She quickly briefed me, and, relieved, I calmed my pounding heart, forgot about my bursting bladder, and settled back in my seat to enjoy the rest of the production. And enjoy I did.

I think I've mentioned it here before that I'm a huge fan of Jett Pangan's theater performances. I was expecting to be blown away by him again. So imagine my surprise when it was obviously Ricky Davao's moment to shine. Jett and Michael de Mesa, the quibbling Mar (the traditionalist) and Serge (the modernist), also turned in memorable performances, but it was really Ricky as Jun (who's caught in between, planning a wedding, and thinks he's going to be a failure) who wins everyone's heart.

Even as I stood to give them all a standing ovation, I felt quite sad that there were only a couple hundred of us in the packed venue to appreciate the talents of these three men. For a split-second, my mind changed frame to the staples of today's more accessible entertainment media—most of whom can't even talk straight, much less put palpable emotion into a single sentence—and really felt... deprived.

This, of course, is reason to celebrate and support people who bravely venture into the less popular arts. I'm glad we still have a more or less healthy flow of theater productions. It could be more, but I'm not complaining. Just two weeks before I watched Art, I was also wondering what to do with my B.A. in English with Princeton of the equally hilarious Avenue Q. In a week or so, I might be watching another musical, so all's well at my end of the curtain. I'd also like to congratulate Hendri Go for the success of Art. I'm happy there's someone like him passionately working to keep the theater scene lively in Cebu.

Hitting close to home I'll just go straight into what really hit close to home as I was watching Art. When I first saw the all-white painting, the traditionalist in me immediately empathized with Mar. It brought me back to the few times I dared venture into the modern art sections of museums with artist friends who would look at me expecting some sort of reaction. I'd look at paintings I immediately judged as weird, and think thoughts like, “I can do that too!” and “But there is nothing there!” I racked my brain for whatever I could remember of my college Humanities and Literary Theory for anything that could make me appreciate the intellectual repartee better.

All that slid away, however, when I was drawn into the intimacy of the trio's long-term friendships. There was Mar, who prided himself in having influenced Serge in the beginning, who basked in Serge's appreciation of his taste and way of thinking. There was Serge, coming into his own, finding his own taste so different from Mar's. And there was Jun, whom they kept around for being unique, being special, and was steadily convincing his own self that he was going to amount to nothing while he was preparing for a new chapter of his life. The fight about the painting became a fight about friendship, with everyone feeling unsettled as everyone else shifted their own understanding of their selves, because everyone's definition of their selves is really hinged on what everyone thought of each other. Serge couldn't be different without Mar being different, and so on.

And even all that slid away when I thought of my own friendships. I was watching Art with my best friend of seventeen years beside me, with whom just last year I'd had a fight because we both were also coming into our own. “They really are friends, aren't they?” I whispered to her during the scene where Mar and Serge go at each other, pushing each other's deadliest buttons. She had to laugh. We can be so good at that.

It was this time last year when she and I declared a non-verbal ceasefire over my birthday carbonara and frozen sugar-free strawberry cheesecake. It was not unlike Mar and Serge's trial period. When we resumed our friendship, our cattiness had “deconstructed” each other as well. But all that has only led to a better understanding of each other, a deeper appreciation of our selves separate from each other, and a wider knowledge of the art of making friendships last.