Welcome to the Machine
December 11, 2005 | 12:00am
Pods. Husks and cases. Seeds and sporogenesis. Just some of the things that come to mind when viewing the work of Yvonne Quisumbing-Romulo.
Also H.R. Giger’s Alien visions, Eraserhead’s worm-baby, and the transmutational mindset of Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg.
No, this stuff might not be coming down next season’s catwalk. But it’s here in Manila now, and it’s visionary enough to have earned Yvonne the Young Designer of the Year award from the Fashion Design Council of the Philippines and allowed her designs to compete in Paris.
Last month saw an interesting showcase for local installation art at the LRI Building on Reposo St., Makati. Called "Lifestyle in Motion," it brought together works by Gabriel Barredo, Rom Villaseran, Juan Caguicla and Yvonne’s contribution titled "Infernal Desire Machines": a floor space devoted to large canvases, sculpted furniture and what she calls "soft sculptures" – pieces that are meant to be worn as well as looked at, all eminently transmutable.
The bags and jackets get a lot of attention, with their sac-like appendages suggesting all sorts of organic growth. But they’re not just bags. Intricately layered and detailed with beads and buttons, they dangle from elaborate sculptures created out of wrought iron like pods germinating in some otherworldly hothouse. The gallery was hot on the day I visited, free from the mingling guests, the clicking cameras and – unfortunately– the benefits of air conditioning. But it was a good opportunity to leisurely take in the pieces strewn about the gallery.
Yvonne’s space is decorated with 700 yards of draped fabric suspended in billowing shapes from the ceiling, suggesting alternately a bed of cobwebs, a network of neural connections, and an enveloping "womb." It’s an imagined space, something that had to be discovered, coaxed into the world.
For the show, models displayed the work, draping the bags around their necks or torsos, displaying the blouses and pants that shape-shift into accessories and pieces of décor. Sound design was provided by Malek Lopez, who conjured up some womb-like rhythms and pulsating patterns.
As for the "soft sculptures," they, too, convey a theme of transformation: a short-sleeved shirt can be unbuttoned, its extended fabric turning it into a tunic; a pair of pants has a zippered apron which, when removed, serves as a lampshade. The three large sculptures in the small space serve as both bedroom dressers (with attached motorcycle mirrors) and pieces of art on their own.
On the phone, Yvonne is happy to talk about her work, but what interests me is her enthusiasm for monster movies. She cites Cronenberg – director of such disturbing classics as Videodrome, Dead Ringers and Existenz – as an influence. "I’ve been a fan – not a die-hard fan, exactly – because he’s into organic forms (that are) parasites in a way" – something her work also strives to convey. She especially enjoyed an early Cronenberg cheapie called The Brood – in which a psychiatrist’s wife gives birth to a pack of murderous demons wielding meat-tenderizing mallets – and Existenz, which had Jude Law mutating into a virtual reality game.
What she likes in Cronenberg’s work is "the possibility of nature evolving into something that maybe we’re scared of now, but could become natural in the future."
This is another reason she likes using wrought iron, which is a popular medium for Filipino artists. Sure, it’s flexible and easy to mold. But it also contains some of the contradictions found in Yvonne’s work: "It’s very industrial, but you can mold it into something organic, to make it look natural."
The canvases on display were striking: large-scale black and white visions of sepulchral grottos and tied fabric that look tortured, but somehow inviting at the same time. Maybe if you were an alien.
Even the title of her show – "Infernal Desire Machines" – suggests the struggle between the organic and the man-made – the demons of technology and the demons within. But talking with Yvonne, who smiles shyly when you meet her, little of this dark subtext is evident.
She studied painting at the UP College of Fine Arts, but her sculptor brother, Anton, steered her towards interior design instead. She says her asthma prevented interior design as a viable career option; she switched to fashion design instead, taking courses with Inno Sotto.
She quickly developed something of a reputation with her early fashion label, ummagumma (named after an early Pink Floyd album with one song memorably called "Several small furry species of animals gathered together in a cave and grooving with a pict"). Her style and vision had crystallized early on, even with her thesis project: a dress that included several hidden pumps which inflated balloons beneath the fabric, simulating beating hearts, or some kind of organic pulsation.
For this show, which she began conceptualizing last year, she did hundreds of sketches for each item, then called on her husband (STAR columnist and sound designer Erwin Romulo) and a photographer friend to help pare down the work. For the sculpture, she hung dozens of sketches – mostly life-size, from all angles – on the walls of a studio and called in welders to size up what she wanted.
Getting the ideas out clearly, the way she conceptualizes them, is of utmost importance to Yvonne. Asked her personal philosophy toward art, she simply says: "Doing my best without compromise."
"When I have an idea, I fight for it," she adds. Sometimes her vision outstrips her budget. Yvonne didn’t have much money to make the current show happen, but "I had to let it out, even if I was short on cash."
She names Gabby Barredo – who came up with the concept of "wearable art" to describe his unique creations – as a mentor and inspiration. He’s also the curator of the LRI Building’s art space. "He’s someone who’s very aware of the arts in the Philippines… When we talk, we almost speak on the same frequency, I’m comfortable with him and like his work."
In this overly textual, overly visual world, Yvonne needs to clear her head before each new work. "I need to have peace of mind to execute whatever I’m working on or imagining. If I read something before I work, it makes me less clear. Also, I have to solve the logistics of the piece before I can do it…. It’s a lot of brain work," she explains. And this suggests another visual cue to be drawn from the thickly latticed creations hanging overhead in the gallery: the inner workings of the mind.
Yvonne’s "Infernal Desire Machines" concluded at Gallery Astra, 2nd Floor, LRI Building, Reposo St. Makati on Nov. 30.
Also H.R. Giger’s Alien visions, Eraserhead’s worm-baby, and the transmutational mindset of Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg.
No, this stuff might not be coming down next season’s catwalk. But it’s here in Manila now, and it’s visionary enough to have earned Yvonne the Young Designer of the Year award from the Fashion Design Council of the Philippines and allowed her designs to compete in Paris.
Last month saw an interesting showcase for local installation art at the LRI Building on Reposo St., Makati. Called "Lifestyle in Motion," it brought together works by Gabriel Barredo, Rom Villaseran, Juan Caguicla and Yvonne’s contribution titled "Infernal Desire Machines": a floor space devoted to large canvases, sculpted furniture and what she calls "soft sculptures" – pieces that are meant to be worn as well as looked at, all eminently transmutable.
The bags and jackets get a lot of attention, with their sac-like appendages suggesting all sorts of organic growth. But they’re not just bags. Intricately layered and detailed with beads and buttons, they dangle from elaborate sculptures created out of wrought iron like pods germinating in some otherworldly hothouse. The gallery was hot on the day I visited, free from the mingling guests, the clicking cameras and – unfortunately– the benefits of air conditioning. But it was a good opportunity to leisurely take in the pieces strewn about the gallery.
Yvonne’s space is decorated with 700 yards of draped fabric suspended in billowing shapes from the ceiling, suggesting alternately a bed of cobwebs, a network of neural connections, and an enveloping "womb." It’s an imagined space, something that had to be discovered, coaxed into the world.
For the show, models displayed the work, draping the bags around their necks or torsos, displaying the blouses and pants that shape-shift into accessories and pieces of décor. Sound design was provided by Malek Lopez, who conjured up some womb-like rhythms and pulsating patterns.
As for the "soft sculptures," they, too, convey a theme of transformation: a short-sleeved shirt can be unbuttoned, its extended fabric turning it into a tunic; a pair of pants has a zippered apron which, when removed, serves as a lampshade. The three large sculptures in the small space serve as both bedroom dressers (with attached motorcycle mirrors) and pieces of art on their own.
On the phone, Yvonne is happy to talk about her work, but what interests me is her enthusiasm for monster movies. She cites Cronenberg – director of such disturbing classics as Videodrome, Dead Ringers and Existenz – as an influence. "I’ve been a fan – not a die-hard fan, exactly – because he’s into organic forms (that are) parasites in a way" – something her work also strives to convey. She especially enjoyed an early Cronenberg cheapie called The Brood – in which a psychiatrist’s wife gives birth to a pack of murderous demons wielding meat-tenderizing mallets – and Existenz, which had Jude Law mutating into a virtual reality game.
What she likes in Cronenberg’s work is "the possibility of nature evolving into something that maybe we’re scared of now, but could become natural in the future."
This is another reason she likes using wrought iron, which is a popular medium for Filipino artists. Sure, it’s flexible and easy to mold. But it also contains some of the contradictions found in Yvonne’s work: "It’s very industrial, but you can mold it into something organic, to make it look natural."
The canvases on display were striking: large-scale black and white visions of sepulchral grottos and tied fabric that look tortured, but somehow inviting at the same time. Maybe if you were an alien.
Even the title of her show – "Infernal Desire Machines" – suggests the struggle between the organic and the man-made – the demons of technology and the demons within. But talking with Yvonne, who smiles shyly when you meet her, little of this dark subtext is evident.
She studied painting at the UP College of Fine Arts, but her sculptor brother, Anton, steered her towards interior design instead. She says her asthma prevented interior design as a viable career option; she switched to fashion design instead, taking courses with Inno Sotto.
She quickly developed something of a reputation with her early fashion label, ummagumma (named after an early Pink Floyd album with one song memorably called "Several small furry species of animals gathered together in a cave and grooving with a pict"). Her style and vision had crystallized early on, even with her thesis project: a dress that included several hidden pumps which inflated balloons beneath the fabric, simulating beating hearts, or some kind of organic pulsation.
For this show, which she began conceptualizing last year, she did hundreds of sketches for each item, then called on her husband (STAR columnist and sound designer Erwin Romulo) and a photographer friend to help pare down the work. For the sculpture, she hung dozens of sketches – mostly life-size, from all angles – on the walls of a studio and called in welders to size up what she wanted.
Getting the ideas out clearly, the way she conceptualizes them, is of utmost importance to Yvonne. Asked her personal philosophy toward art, she simply says: "Doing my best without compromise."
"When I have an idea, I fight for it," she adds. Sometimes her vision outstrips her budget. Yvonne didn’t have much money to make the current show happen, but "I had to let it out, even if I was short on cash."
She names Gabby Barredo – who came up with the concept of "wearable art" to describe his unique creations – as a mentor and inspiration. He’s also the curator of the LRI Building’s art space. "He’s someone who’s very aware of the arts in the Philippines… When we talk, we almost speak on the same frequency, I’m comfortable with him and like his work."
In this overly textual, overly visual world, Yvonne needs to clear her head before each new work. "I need to have peace of mind to execute whatever I’m working on or imagining. If I read something before I work, it makes me less clear. Also, I have to solve the logistics of the piece before I can do it…. It’s a lot of brain work," she explains. And this suggests another visual cue to be drawn from the thickly latticed creations hanging overhead in the gallery: the inner workings of the mind.
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