An ode to Onib

I’m sorry, my readers, but I have the flu. My mind is clogged with a stuck cold. I cannot think. So I thought I should just edit a little speech I gave for my dear friend, painter Onib Olmedo, last Saturday night. But first here’s a bit of a backgrounder. His wife, Bettina, called and invited me to speak. I was closer to him than to her but I did not see how I could politely decline. We had lunch. She gave me a copy of the book written by Alice G. Guillermo. I read the book but it didn’t move me anywhere. It is an excellent book for positioning yourself in the art world in a left-brained logical way, but I know in my heart that Onib and I would have exchanged a look that spoke volumes to each other. Anyway here is my speech:

Maybe out of desperation for something to say tonight, I dreamt of Onib. We were about 20 years younger. We were in a library. A lot of people were walking around. He was preoccupied with giving me a manicure, bent deeply over my right hand. I think he was trying to make me start writing. In my dream he noticed I was looking at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Inaantok ako. I am so sleepy.”

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” I said. He laughed. That Onib laugh somewhere between a giggle and a grunt. 

“No,” he said. “I will finish this.”

Then — we all know how strange dreams are — I was walking out of the library and when I looked back he was standing, leaning against a filing cabinet, laid back as usual, smiling broadly at me. He waved and in his eyes I read, “Tell them I’m happy here.”

I don’t know why Bettina asked me to talk. Onib and I were friends. Our friendship was pretty quiet but also pretty close. Whenever we would see each other, we would sit together but we were always with other friends who were noisier — Odette Alcantara, Gilda Cordero-Fernando. There was always so much chatter.

I first met Onib after I had my youngest son, who is 37 years old now, and I decided to take painting lessons at the Miladay Gallery. Onib was one of the teachers. All I remember was that promptly at five he was in a hurry to leave to pick up Bettina. I think they were newlyweds then. That’s how our friendship began. Then I ran into him again later with Odette’s group. He became one of my judges in Guhit Bulilit, a painting contest for grade-school youth sponsored by the Coca-Cola Foundation Philippines, when I was its chairman and president. We traveled together judging the work, choosing the winners.

I remember we were once in Cebu with him, Billy Abueva, Odette Alcantara. We had time to kill so we drove around and parked somewhere by the bay. Under Odette’s constant prodding he recited his saga of Mr. Sago, a charming, witty poem in Taglish which everyone laughed about. 

I liked Onib’s work. I bought a painting of his when I was rich. It was an empty bar and there was a tall single man slouched on a barstool. I bought it, did not care if it was expressionist, impressionist, or what. I saw it and it grabbed me. It brought back memories of men I had sent to bars drinking well into the nights feeling miserable. It brought back memories of me wanting to do exactly the same thing — to drink seriously, alone and miserable over grief some man had given me. That painting is lost, was stolen from me together with other paintings. That’s another long story I don’t have the time to tell.

I watched Onib’s work and admired it but he had grown too expensive for me. And I was no longer a collector though I have an Onib painting that I bought from a friend. It’s a portrait and, knowing Onib’s style of portraiture, I can claim it is a portrait of me. I have the guts to do that.

He was at the opening of my first watercolor exhibit at the Ayala Museum and I saw him studying my paintings. Later, just to be nice I am sure, he said, “You know, I learned a lot from you.” I looked at him with eyebrows raised to the ceiling, “What can I possibly teach you, Onib?” He smiled. But that’s the way he was — a very sweet, gallant man.

It was my daughter’s wedding reception. We were all in Carmel when I overheard someone at the next table say that Onib Olmedo had passed away. That moment is frozen in my memory. It brought about more than a minute of silence within me. Time stood still and I sadly thought of Onib, my good dear friend, passed on to another life. I raised my wineglass in a silent toast to him then went on to my other duties as mother of the bride.

So tonight we are here to celebrate the launching of a book on Onib’s work as he watches us, quietly smiling. I would like to propose a toast to him. To Onib — a fabulous painter, and friend. Be happy, be happier, be happiest. We all love you.

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