Duddley Diaz struck me as a Farmer John with the heart of a hippie. Between bites of sushi, he talked about living in the Florentine countryside where he raises geese, chickens and ducks on a diet of corn ("That makes the flesh so sweet and lean that my guests often ask me if I have any cooking secrets," he enthuses). His farm animals freely roam the property until it is time for them to grace his dinner table. Early on, he learned the cardinal rule of surviving in the countryside: Because it is inhumane to slaughter your pets, farm animals are not to be given names. Fortunately, there are no moral dilemmas when it comes to harvesting his vegetable garden.
His home is a century-old farmhouse a breath away from an honest-to-goodness Italian castle. Red wine he buys by the pitcher at a nearby vineyard. On clear summer nights, his garden is the venue for open-air poetry readings. "I love living there. In winter, it gets really cold at night because of the mountains nearby. Snow melts quickly but I still need to stock up on firewood for heat. I depend a lot on my fireplace because my house doesn’t have modern heating. When I wake up in the morning, everything is white because of the frost. In late spring, in my garden, at night when the nights are moonless, you see lots of fireflies. It’s so magical!" Duddley gushes.
That night we parted minus dessert which wasn’t available at Ta-ke Ho-Me (no kidding!). The casual meeting ended with invitations to his art exhibit at a gallery in Makati and to the unveiling of Ina at UP.
Neither of us thought we would continue the conversation a few weeks later. Ironically, the next meeting began with dessert–as if to complete our previous meal. Before us was a rectangular mocha chiffon cake with red icing welcoming Ina to Manila. Duddley cut and distributed slices, looking as relaxed as he had been in the midst of unexpected problems.
It didn’t shock me to hear that he had hosted a send-off party for his sculpture’s cross-continental voyage. Their rendezvous in Manila was so well planned that he made sure he would arrive ahead of her–expecting to receive her with a bienvenida party. But when word got to him that she was still in London, he cut short his vacation (he was then enjoying the sights and sounds of Baguio) to find out why she was being detained.
"I was told that she refused to board three planes! (Actually, she was just too tall for the doors.) But her papers were in order and she was really safe from harm," he reports, sounding every bit amused with his own anecdote.
To its maker, Ina is as alive as the person listening to him. Duddley penned a lyrical tribute using words that display his affection: "She sits regally on a throne adorned with owls that signify her wisdom. Her serene face welcomes those who would come to her–for comfort, strength and guidance. Her body is like the fertile earth, burgeoning with promise and bearing the essence of all things material and spiritual. Her broad feet are firmly and deeply rooted on the earth that shelters humanity. She is Ina–the Mother of All."
The Mother of All also proved to be the Mother of the World. She was born in Europe from a slab of Italian marble quarried in Carrara. Before her journey to Asia, strong winds deposited golden sands from Africa on her arms. Her feet now lie firmly on Philippine soil–proof that her kind of motherhood crosses oceans and boundaries.
The lady, one would think, threw quite a tantrum. A grand event had been arranged for her on the 11th of December. Invitations had already been sent to and accepted by admirable women like former President Cory Aquino. All was set to welcome her to her new home at the Parish of the Holy Sacrifice (better known as the UP Chapel) in Diliman. But when she was a no-show, organizers had no choice but postpone the festivities for January 1, the feast of Mary as Mother of God.
"Ay buntis pala! (Oh, she’s pregnant!)," happily exclaimed one of the several men whose ingenuity safely installed the 400-kilo marble statue on the hill assigned to her at the Parish’s Hardin ng Ina. The feat took three hours with nothing but some rusty ball chains and slabs of wood for equipment.
By the time he serves the welcome feast (an edible tribute in a Goldilocks box), there is no doubt that Duddley has grown attached to his work. "It’s impossible not to develop a relationship with something that you’ve worked on for two months," he explains. "But I’m this way with all my works. Until now, I visit them whenever I can. I’m also quite possessive of them. I only accept commissioned projects from people who I know can appreciate my work."
Such visits can be both time-consuming and expensive. His works are displayed in four churches around Europe including Perugia’s ancient Church of San Tommaso a Lama where his Via Crucis (The Way of the Cross) is displayed and his Resurrected Christ in wood hangs opposite a Della Robbia sculpture. The San Lorenzo Ruiz Monument (unveiled in 1987 on the eve of the saint’s canonization) is at the Vatican. A bronze depiction of Rizal as a boy stands at the Calamba shrine (placed there to mark the Philippine centennial). Then, there are countless private homes in Italy and the Philippines where his sculptures have landed in the hands of art aficionados.
The world-class artist is now so Italian he speaks the language like a native Florentine ("That’s not a compliment since they say I sound like I’m from the countryside," he explains). But he hasn’t forgotten his humble roots in San Mateo, Rizal. In fact, he regularly comes home to spend Christmas in Manila and to stage exhibits of his works.
"The first article ever written about me was done in 1974. I was only 11," he shares. The headline read "Little Maker of Santos Would be Pope". Duddley spent much of his childhood marveling at church art. When he started dabbling in juvenile sculptures (using modeling clay), his creations naturally showed that inclination.
The sculptor didn’t grow up to be a priest, much less a pope. But his media debut earned him a scholarship from the CCP. He spent his Saturdays under the tutelage of then Prof. (now National Artist) Napoleon Abueva. On his own, he visited the talyeres in Quiapo where he watched wood carvers at work. In 1983, he graduated from the UP College of Fine Arts where he excelled (winning the gold medal for sculpture at the 1982 Art Association of the Philippines Competition, against some of his professors). Professors Lucrecia Kasilag and Abueva convinced him to apply for an Italian art scholarship.
"I asked to be sent to Florence, the birth place of Michelangelo and the seat of the Renaissance Movement. The minute I set foot in Florence, it was like magic. All the things I used to see only in art books were in front of me in real color. But I never thought I would live there beyond the one-year scholarship given to me," he admits.
Duddley proved to be such a promising scholar (both talented and diligent) that he completed the four-year course in Sculpture at the Accademia di Belle Arti at the top of his class, sharing the honor with an Italian classmate. The Italian government allowed him to enroll at the academy’s School of Painting from 1988 to 1990 as an extension of his 1983 scholarship.
"I was the one who decided I no longer wanted to study. Actually, I felt guilty that I was taking the place of another worthy artist from the Philippines," he says, denying that he used his scholarship as a reason to stay in Italy. "There were never any clear plans about what I would do with my life. Things just happen and so I live my life. I knew I would have to go back to the Philippines after my scholarship. You see, I was a student’s visa holder. I knew I had no reason to stay in Italy. Fortunately, the year I got my degree in sculpture, the government decreed that anyone could apply for a change in visa. So I ended up with a working visa."
Leaving the academy after seven years proved to be a wise move. Before long, he was hired as artistic director of a company that commercially produces woodcarvings used for interiors. The dream job only required him to put in four hours a day (to train people and oversee their work). Whatever is left of his day was devoted to his art.
Living in the quaint surroundings of Incisa Valdarno provides him the pleasures of an alternative homeowner. Solitude comes naturally. Though neighbors are only a scream away, country people rarely bump into each other except in the summer or on weekends. If he gets lonely, bustling Florence is a mere 15-minute car ride. There are rare chances to get lonely, what with unexpected visitors dropping by. His friends include Italian artists and their friends eager to breathe in the refreshing country air. E-mail also helps keep him in touch with the rest of the world. Impromptu parties are born via the Internet.
"It’s nice to be alone once in a while," he insists. "But it feels like I’m always welcoming people to my home. Once, I tried keeping a guest book to track the number of guests I entertain in a year. Would you believe that there were around 300 entries? All of them had something nice to say about my place as well as my art."
Fortunately, the beauty of Europe has not obliterated his ethnic identity. Star columnist Emmanuel Torres describes Duddley’s style as a merge of "modernist and naive art". Admittedly, Diaz scupltures possess Asian features: "Confusingly Japanese or Indonesian–not easily seen as Filipino–but definitely Asian!"
Myths and legends have fascinated him so much that he has done intensive research on the similarities of European and Asian versions. In Manila, he captures significantly Philippine scenes on film, buys Filipiniana books and scouts around for collectible ethnic-looking santos. When he goes back to Italy, he brings essential souvenirs that inspire his art.
The longest he has stayed in Manila (since 1983) was four months when he prepared for his solo exhibit at the Galleria Duemila. The experience was unforgettable–his art taking a form so uniquely different from his tendencies in Italy. But what bothers him most as a sculptor in Manila is the lack of tools and equipment. "If we were in Italy, I could have mounted the Ina in five minutes. It’s quite unbelievable for me that it takes so long here," he says, sounding more saddened than boastful.
Despite the crude manner it was mounted, Ina has attracted considerable attention among churchgoers. During one of the first masses of the new year, Fr. Robert finally introduced the statue to his baffled congregation. Though Ina is a generic woman in the throes of pregnant bliss, devout Catholics revere her as the Virgin Mary. Their parish priest extends the idea by saying it was no coincidence that she chose Jan. 1 (the feast of Mary as Mother of God) as her dedication day. After all, Mary is a simple woman whose mission is not to be an exceptional woman but to be the mother of an exceptional son. Her guests of honor were not famous women but ordinary wives and mothers.
Similarly mystical events also enveloped the crucifix Fr. Robert commissioned for Bishop Chito Tagle. Duddley had met the amiable clergyman through his priest-friend (they used to roam the streets of Rome in the mid ‘80s, making them old buddies). Almost simultaneous with the idea for Ina, the Running Priest told the sculptor of his desire to give the new Bishop his "own" cross. "No one becomes a priest without first taking up the cross. That’s a given. In his case, I see him being burdened with a special kind of cross," explains Fr. Robert while he showered Tagle with praises.
The cross was supposed to be inspired by the UP Chapel cross with the crucified Christ on one side and a resurrected Christ on the other. But when Duddley imagined Bishop Tagle, all he could come up with was a crucified Christ. And so it was to be.
Suffering is etched on the image with its arms nailed on the cross vertically instead of horizontally. Still, there is a sense of peaceful surrender depicting dignity.
On the day Duddley carried Bishop Tagle’s crucified cross into the UP Chapel, a pre-dawn incident left a pool of blood on the cement floor. Fr. Robert was delivering his Simbang Gabi homily when a young man shushed two noisy parishioners. The men’s tempers rouse. A scuffle resulted in 11 stab wounds and an impending prison sentence. Miraculously, the victim recovered in time for the Christmas mass during which Fr. Robert presented him to the crowd. Whether or not the incident was an omen for Bishop Tagle, the usually eloquent priest refused to say.
Such violence adds to Manila’s infamy despite the Sept. 11 tragedy that shattered the belief that some parts of the world are safer than others.
"I don’t think it’s possible for me to live back here again," Duddley thinks aloud. "I get depressed when I’m in Manila when I see how the people live and I can’t do anything about it. But I feel I can do more by staying in Italy. As a sculptor, I’m able to correct the impression that all Filipinos in Italy are domestic helpers."
That’s not to say the artist has closed his doors to becoming a returning native. His dire wish is to someday have a studio in Manila. Maybe then, he can shuttle between Europe and Asia. "It was when I was away from my own country that I began appreciating our culture. I can see beyond the ugliness when I’m in the Philippines. When I went to Sagada, I was impressed at how people have preserved their dignity despite immense poverty. There was this old lady in tattered clothes who was seated like a queen. That’s the kind of image that moves me."
Through e-mail, Duddley reported a "safe and not so tiring" trip taken on the last day of the year. "There was snow in Frankfurt when we landed. I waited for a few hours before taking a smaller plane for Florence. It was sunny when I arrived. I was met at the airport by some friends. Last night the temperature went down to -4°C. It seems impossible that I am already here in Florence."