Send in the clones

In the two months since this column
started, ArtSpeak’s feedback address
(rlerma@ateneo.edu) has quickly be-
come a message board for readers both here and abroad, who have much to say about the fiesta bedlam that is our art and culture scene.

Last week, I received an e-mail from smtp2@info.com.ph, with the heading "Inspiration or Imitation?" Here, I reproduce that letter in full. My rejoinder follows:

Dear Mr. Lerma,

Is imitation really the best form of flattery?

This is in response to your column entitled "Where art we?" (Philippine STAR, April 19) In your essay, you mentioned several things that you believe are the problems of the art scene. What caught my attention is your reference to the practice or habit of so-called artists copying the works of other better-known artists. If this detestable habit persists, it will become an accepted norm in art making. In fact, the copying has become more brazen, more shameless, to the point that we now mistake the work of the imitator for the work of the imitated artist. Don’t you think that this is an act of artistic plunder? By copying the look, the style and the distinctive trademarks of a better known artist, the imitator – really, a plagiarist – hijacks the art of another artist, all in the guise of "influence,’’ which is what they claim in their press releases. I notice from recent exhibits that the most imitated artist now is Mr. Gus Albor. If you put his works side by side with those of his imitators, your readers will know what I mean. The imitators simply add a few touches of their own. I wonder how Mr. Albor feels about all this imitation? Does it flatter him?

Thank you,

A Concerned Art Lover

Dear Concerned Art Lover,

Kudos for speaking out regarding a matter of utmost importance. My only wish is that you had identified yourself, because your hiding behind that silly veil of anonymity only reinforces the culture of fear and feigned politesse that is central to much of our nation’s travails.

You are obviously a fan of Gus Albor. Well and good. I believe that he is an artist who has paid his dues. By this I mean that he has, through the years, carefully developed and continues to improve his craft.

Together with his contemporary Lao Lianben, Albor’s visual vocabulary blends mellifluously, and reads like a well-considered haiku, with every scratch, rake, swathe, dapple and authoritative stroke coming together to produce the minimalist paintings that have become his hallmark.

Favored by the Fab 5 crews toning up the slick, if somewhat fecklessly, generic model unit type of interiors currently the rage among urbane Pinoys, it is hardly a surprise that Albor’s critical reputation and popularity have collided with the law of supply and demand to create price levels that are beyond the reach of those with champagne wishes and caviar dreams, but with no pocket books to match.

It’s the classic story of how success spawns a cottage industry of cheap knock-offs. And in as much as this sort of thing happens all the time, I commend you for not bilking on a matter of principle.

You are correct in flinching and saying nay.

The sad fact is that not many people are enlightened enough to understand that Albors – or for that matter Luzes, Kiukoks, Laos, Lamarrozas and Tam Austrias, to name a few – are not the American Chevrolets and Cadillacs of yore that can simply be replaced by more affordable Japanese Datsuns and Toyopets.

Not many people know that art is not simply the object, but the totality of the artist’s experience. Indeed, when a 19th century painter was confronted by an incredulous (and obviously penurious) buyer: "Is that for which you ask two hundred guineas?," his brilliant retort was, "No – I ask it for the knowledge of a lifetime!"

Admittedly, it would be too much to expect busy homemakers or businessmen looking after the bottom line to research an artist’s background – the development of his style, where he has exhibited, been published, and so forth – in order to make a well-considered purchase. That responsibility falls upon the proprietors of our commercial art galleries, who ought to make it their business to educate their clients, and not tomfool around by making unfounded claims about individuals who, for the baseness of their creativity and intellectual dishonesty, are better off painting movie billboards. How often have we come across terms like "leading contemporary artist," and "exhibited in New York," when all they did was get a contract to fill the walls of a one-star hotel on Burgos, or display their work during a barrio fiesta held at The Philippine Center?

Signing another name, adding another detail, or – you are right – saying that one is simply inspired by the work of someone else just to skirt the issue of being called a copycat is not just absurd; it’s a brazen heist. Your query about Albor’s feelings on the matter, while relevant, does not change the intrinsic import of these dastardly acts.

Being inspired is different from plagiarizing, which is essentially quoting the distinctive features that characterize the original work of another, whether past or contemporaneous. The key word here is, of course, "original." And while it has been said time and again that nothing can be called original in this day and age, and that nobody in his right mind can stake any claim to a particular feature, symbol, technique, or movement and call it his own, believe me when I say that at the very core of originality is integrity or embodiment, which is seen not only in the way an artist presents his unique view of reality, but in how he is able to develop and arrive at such a creative juncture.

A sure sign of a plagiarist is one who suddenly produces works that have no connection to his previous output. For example, a conservative, figurative painter known for depicting old houses is suspect if he suddenly churns out abstract, atmospheric pieces as if they condensed from out of nowhere. Such wily creatures might yet claim that they have had a spiritual and aesthetic reawakening of sorts; but it takes sensitivity and discernment to recognize the falsity and emptiness of their conceits.

True artists are not magicians who simply pull rabbits out of hats; and they do not approach art making as if they were loading up a bowl at a Mongolian barbecue, finding just the right mix of condiments to come up with a flavorful concoction. They are not just about rote skill; and they are not after surface effects. Rather they work from what they have within and simply become – germinating, investigating, struggling, evolving – in the process, contributing a body of work that enhances the way we in the end, as viewers, reflect upon reality and see ourselves. As B.H Friedman once wrote about Jackson Pollock, the abstract expressionist "did not want simply to paint nature, he wanted to be nature."

Being truly inspired, therefore, means not only adopting features of the work of another artist, but also, and more importantly, building upon or better yet trying to improve upon that from which the seminal inspiration is drawn. Art historians, for example, can point to certain traits in Velasquez’s oeuvres that are inspired by the works of Michelangelo, Caravaggio and Titian which the court painter saw when he visited Italy at the behest of his patron, Philip IV. All told, Don Diego was by no means a lesser artist for it; in fact, for his use of late Mannerist poses, rippling Venetian chiaroscuros and evanescent gobs of pigment to create "Las Meninas" and his portraits which captured, with the utmost poignancy and honesty, Spain in the twilight of its imperial glory – reflecting our shared condition – many would consider him an even greater artist than the three.

I have always said that art represents the apogee of our humanity. To those who supplant these very ideals – those conmen offering the public with so-called "affordable alternatives," those wicked gallery brigands who stir these fakers on, and dare to canoodle with rectitude, and finally, those buyers who, for love of a bargain and lack of taste and insight, would consort with the travesty of the lot and buy these look-a-likes – I say: "For shame!"

Publicly tarring and feathering these imitators by doing a side-by-side comparison is not enough. Besides, it would only give them unwarranted publicity. Ignore them then, and condemn them to obscurity to the point that creating, selling and owning a work by one of these clones will not only be ridiculously laughable, it will also become the height of gaucheness.

For now, console yourself with the thought, concerned art lover, that a critical mass is building.

Yours truly,

Richie Lerma

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For your questions, comments and suggestions, e-mail rlerma@ateneo.edu.