The Philippines in a Shell

“Bored na ba kayo? We could talk about this     forever,” warned an obviously worried Sonia Ner.

This was how she summed up her love for 19th century Philippine art, a passion she shares with co-author Jose Maria “Jomari” Cariño.  Today’s interview was on their latest book, Pearl of the Orient: The Philippines in Shell, featuring paintings and carvings of our Spanish colonial past on pinctada maxima shells. Before long, the conversation turned into a history lesson, with a private viewing of Jomari’s collection of Philippine memorabilia, from Juan Luna paintings to century-old embroidered piña.

Pearl of the Orient: The Philippines in Shell was launched last November at the Metropolitan Museum where the actual shells were exhibited for the first time. These unseen depictions of 19th century Philippines were given little value since they were mere novelty items brought home by travelers from the Orient. Despite the unconventional medium, some were actually creations of renowned Philippine artists like Juan Luna, Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo and Felix Martinez as well as Spanish artists like Javier Gomez de la Serna and Francisco Verdugo y Bartlett.

“Until the release of this book, there was no premium on these shells since they were considered souvenir items,” Sonia explains. “But they show so much about the Philippines at that time. You’d think the bahay kubo is just the bahay kubo. If you look at these shells in detail, you will see that there were many ways of constructing it. Then, you look at the costumes of the people. Again, it becomes a good source of material on history.”

Thoroughly documented is the authors’ discovery of two rare shell paintings by Jose Rizal. The trail of the Rizal shells, after all, reads like a detective novel with enough scientific investigation to merit a National Geographic feature.   

We could cut the long story short and say Sonia and Jomari identified the shells early last year. But any decent tale worth telling always begins with an introduction of its main characters.   

Born years apart and living in different continents, the two forged an unlikely friendship in 1994. “We were fated to be together,” Sonia declares with a chuckle when asked possibly for the nth time how she met her co-author.

Jomari describes their alliance as a complete meeting of minds. She is to him a taskmaster just as he is to her a driving force. He admits: “Sometimes, in life, you need someone to tell you you can do things on your own. That’s what Sonia has been to me. When we met each other, we knew we loved the same things. Unfortunately we also share the same low tolerance for ineptitude and shoddy work. The beauty of our relationship is that it’s on a high intellectual level. We may be a generation apart, but when we talk about things, it’s like there is no gap at all. Our collaboration is so natural that we can’t distinguish who did what. One without the other won’t work.”

Their mutual love for Philippine art and history brought the kindred spirits together in Madrid in 1994. Jomari, son of a former Philippine ambassador, was an embassy official in Spain. Sonia was on an official trip there as the director of the Ayala Museum.

Rosario Cariño, Jomari’s father, nurtured a love for art in his son during their many trips and postings abroad. The younger Cariño remembers being dragged to museums and churches as a boy. He even tried painting, but gave it up after accepting he was no great artist. Instead, he became a patron of the arts.

“I was always interested in art,” he admits. “I spent my first salary on a painting by Pedro Amorsolo. I kept it for a while, then sold it. I realized that each time I bought a painting, I found a nicer one later on. So, I would sell the not-so-nice painting and buy the nicer one. That’s how a collector builds a collection. When I went into the foreign service, I was asked where I wanted to be posted. Since I had banking experience (I worked for Citibank for 13 years), they offered me Tokyo or Washington D.C., the big capitals. But as I spoke both Spanish and French, Europe was my preference. However, my ambition was to own one Luna, one Hidalgo and one Amorsolo. So, I asked to be sent to Spain, where the chances of finding them were greater.”

It was there that he meticulously planned acquiring 19th century Philippine art despite his inexperience as an art collector. He educated himself by reading Spanish books and documents. Resourcefully, he tracked down descendants of Spanish officials who were stationed in the Philippines during the colonial period. “Then, I would call them up and introduce myself. I would go to their houses with dried mango, Tanduay Rum, Philippine tobacco and embroidered piña tablecloths. I would listen to the stories told to them by their grandparents. Then, I’d look at the walls to see if they had paintings by Filipino artists. I would keep visiting them. Eventually, I would say I love their painting so much that I want to buy it. By then, we would have become such good friends that it would be impossible for them to say no. Yet, even after I have bought all their paintings, I still continue visiting them whenever I’m in Spain. Why? Because they have relatives who also own such paintings,” he laughs.

Meanwhile, Sonia’s romance with Philippine art was much more direct. She has gained respect as an academician, historical researcher, art curator, author and editor.

“We met when he was new at collecting Philippine art. He did not know that much about it,” Sonia recalls. “He was always wanting research materials. I would either mail him or fax him materials. This was from 1994 to 1998.”

Over the years, Sonia kept prodding Jomari to make use of all his research by writing a book. Her nagging eventually paid off. The reluctant author published a book on the works of Jose Honorato Lozano. Equally an admirer of the painter, Sonia became Jomari’s editor. That first collaboration won the 2002 National Book Award for Art by the Manila Critics Circle and the Alfonso Ongpin Award for Art History Research.

“Even the King of Spain has a copy,” adds the pleased author.

In 2004, the two co-authored Album, Islas Filipinas 1663-1888 which likewise bagged the same awards for that year.

Like their other publications, Pearl of the Orient was a result of their constant exchange of ideas – each book a reflection of their journey as scholars. Sonia’s fascination for shell paintings started in 1984 when, during a visit to a museum in Vienna, she saw a painting done on shell by a German artist. That first sighting tickled her imagination about the possible existence of shell paintings and carvings on the Philippines by Filipino artists.

Ten years later, fate again stepped in. Jomari showed her two unsigned Philippine shell paintings that he picked up at a Spanish flea market and asked if they were worth anything. Excited by his finds, Sonia encouraged him to continue collecting such items. He was, however, uninspired about the shells, which he kept stored for years under his bed.

Continues Sonia: “When he came back to the Philippines in 2005, he already had something like 50 shells. I told him that he already had enough material for a book. But he wasn’t that keen on shells, and concentrated on acquiring Juan Luna paintings. He even wanted to write a book on Luna. I was interested in the shells because I felt this was something new and had a clear focus. Jomari remained uninterested until he got a shell painted by Luna. Since he is a Luna freak, pumayag na din siya.”

Naturally, the two don’t always see eye to eye. They have healthy debates which leave them much to think about.  Jomari clarifies: “Sonia and I have never quarreled. We disagree. We argue. But we never quarrel.”

What they heartily agree on is the excitement of discovery Neither considers research and history boring. In fact, they think of themselves as detectives unraveling one mystery after another.

That was exactly how they felt when, early this year, Sonia recognized the distinct signature of Rizal on two of Jomari’s shells. Both quite shaken by the unexpected discovery, they began the quest for authentication. Doing so meant following the trail from a shop in Barcelona to what they hoped would lead them to Rizal. Strengthening their case was the fact that the shells were offered to Jomari after he had purchased two letters written by Rizal on his deportation back to the Philippines. The shopkeeper also confirmed that these items came from the same owner – the descendant of the ship captain who befriended and later arrested Rizal.

Sonia is confident the shells were painted in Dapitan since pinctada maxima were endemic to the island. The scenes also corresponded to Rizal’s written description of his Dapitan surroundings. Jomari further suggests Rizal may have taken the advice of his good friend Ferdinand Blumentritt. “If you’re bored, you paint,” Jomari quotes Blumentritt’s letter to Rizal from memory.

Some years ago, two other shell paintings by Rizal were documented by writer and historian Alfredo Roces. Unfortunately, these were lost. Though they confirm that Rizal painted on shells, these shells were done in a style starkly different from those of Jomari’s shells.

“We asked Mr. Roces to write an essay in the book reacting to our discovery. Though he does not confirm that the shells were by Rizal, he also does not say they are not,” shares Sonia.

Still, the two authors were not satisfied with the evidence. They sought scientific proof that the shells were authentic. Sonia strongly felt they should advocate a higher level of art authenticity in the country. When the National Bureau of Investigation admitted they neither had the expertise nor the technology to do so, she compelled Jomari to bring one of the shells to Europe for scientific testing.

“Yes, it was really like CSI work,” he agrees enthusiastically. “Results showed that the paint on the shell was only used during the later 19th century. Here in the Philippines, authentication is done visually. But in Europe, they use modern technology. We document the authentication process in Pearl of the Orient to show others that it can be done.”

Sonia accepts that not all would be convinced that the Rizal shells are real. “We end with this idea: We believe these are by Rizal. If you don’t, prove us wrong. If people don’t believe these are Rizal’s, that’s okay. I don’t think we will be any poorer as writer-researchers because of that.”