Abueva is building the Chapel of the Resurrection, which will stand next to his home and workshop. He had planned it as a multi-purpose hall with movable parts until he was advised that the Roman Catholic Church now only allows single-use buildings for places of worship. Nevertheless, Abueva will proceed to create the chapel as he envisioned it, but only as a house of God.
Abueva plans the building with trusses which will open up the roof when the weather is mild. This is achieved by two methods: One is by mechanical means, placing counterweights composed of thin slabs of concrete pulled up by a cable winding around a spool. The other is by using hydraulics, similar to a machine that raises the back of dump trucks. When the roof is open, it will resemble fans that cool the air. He believes worshippers in the chapel will feel their spirits soar in this architectural structure which is also a sculpture. Its altar will consist of a pivot stage which he originally intended to house a library when the chapel is not in use. Although he thinks installing a library is no longer possible, Abueva will create something more directly relevant to the chapel.
Another movable part will be the brass door in the shape of a disc. It will open and close like a wheel, reminiscent of the large stone on the cave, which Mary Magdalene discovered moved when she went in search of the Resurrected Christ.
There is no doubt that Abueva is moved by his faith in God. His sculptures and architectural projects reflect his Catholic beliefs. In his domicile, he has surrounded himself with his creations of religious figures, much as a child would surround himself with his favorite things.
At 70-something years old, Abueva exudes the energy and zest for life of a young boy. He showed me around his place, describing almost every piece, telling stories of how they came to be. He remains enthusiastic about starting projects, giving his imagination free rein.
Inside his main compound, the Temple of the Child Jesus combines prefabricated concrete cylinders, reinforced concrete and glass. Abueva calls this column Consunji Columna after the contractor who has helped him with his projects. There’s the precursor of a place of worship with movable parts where the organ stands. A few pews slide in and out through the concrete floor’s metal grooves. In the central post, there is a bas-relief or low carving on wood of a life-size Jesus, as a child, talking to priests and wise men. It is Abueva’s vision of why Jesus went missing and was found in the temple. The effect? Viewers feel that they, too, have been searching for the young Jesus for some time.
Behind the temple is a winding ramp that goes up to his yet to be completed Tower to the New Filipino. "I am still waiting for the right timing," ponders Abueva, in anticipation of that period when he will feel good about having a celebration. Before the incline up, he turns on the tap to start a fountain by a pool of water. It is a quiet fountain with plants and a cherub seemingly pouring water into the pool. Next to it is the entrance to a suspension bridge over the Culiat River that skirts around his house. It is a memorial to Abueva’s siblings Manoling and Maria who died in childhood. A brass plate commemorates this.
As we reach the first floor, we enter Abueva’s studio or what he calls his "design room." It is where, we might imagine, his famous bust portraits are composed with molding clay. Some of his studies cram the shelves, exhibiting Abueva’s prolific production of sculptures. This box studio has windows all around, making sure it catches sunlight for the duration of the day. After viewing his models and studies, he ushers me to the rooftop where a gigantic demon tempting Christ looms. The deck also boasts a tiled wading pool, a space for a barbecue or picnic and a lush container garden. From this vantage point, the view of this side of Tandang Sora offers some relief from the nearby concrete jungle.
Passing through another set of stairs – spiraling this time – we descend into a greenhouse full of orchids in various stages of growth. Some are being propagated while others are in bloom. This is his wife’s domain. Cher, a retired psychiatrist, not only tends to her orchid collection but is also involved in the business side of her husband’s work.
In one conversation, she claims that she can verify the authenticity of Abueva’s wood sculptures because she would sometimes assist in sanding them. She would also remind her husband of the high cost of maintaining the workshop and his staff. It seems she is Abueva’s reality check in his three-dimensional world. From one of the orchidarium’s edges, we catch a glimpse of Abueva’s enormous workshop where some of his staff are busy preparing casts. This is definitely production on a grand scale.
The home of the Abuevas sits between this workshop and his Temple of the Child Jesus. Every corner is adorned with his sculptures or paintings of his artist friends. "We would exchange works," he says, standing proudly next to a big Jose Joya painting. I catch sight of the famous wood swings that serve as sofa. On the corner of the area is a dried-up pool lined with more Abueva sculptures. Above is a tiled wall with a brass sculpture from the 1970s. A long wood panel marks the separation of the dining area from the living room. He shows me the individual pieces that make up the panel and acts like a vertical blind.
"When we’re having dried fish, I can close the blinds to keep our humble food from the visitors’ view," Abueva explains while demonstrating how the divider works.
It is a busy time for the National Artist with commissions for public art in Cebu and sculptures for private patrons. A comprehensive book is forthcoming which art critic Rod Paras-Perez will write. Abueva will probably hold the book launching to coincide with the opening of a personal museum for his sculptures later in the year. In the middle of this, he admits that his vision of the Chapel of the Resurrection is the one that preoccupies him most. After all, he is a man of deep faith and boundless artistic energy.