Uthceare
(Oot-key-are-a; an Old English word meaning “lying awake before dawn and worrying”)

A Group Exhibition

 

Anyone who has found himself awake during the unholy hours before dawn
would be familiar with the monotonous sound of the ticking clock, taunting almost,
amidst efforts to sleep; the desperation heightened with every toss and turn that takes one further and further away from rest, dragging time towards an incessant struggle between wakefulness and slumber. This is Uhtceare.

Eighteen artists from Kamaylayan Artists’ Initiative of Lucena City explore these
poignant moments, and boldly reveal a discovery of themselves in these solitary hours. What lies within the brief period from the stroke of midnight to first light is a world they liken to a chaotic jungle that they tread in vulnerability as they confront real and imagined monsters of self-doubt, invalidation, arrogance and wrath. Here in this exhibition, they present a personal documentation of these battles seldom visible to anyone else but themselves.

The pieces of Oliver Rabino (“Bangungot”), Arvee Lao (“Tahimik ang Mundo sa
Huling Sandali ng Sansinukob”), Niño Espeleta (“Whisper of Worry” & “Caught In The Middle”), Iris Marasigan (“Weeded”), Francis Angela Caña (“How Heavy is a Heart”) and Paul Eric Roca (“Agony”) in their depiction of inner demons, distraught creatures and pained bodies amidst pervading blackness show us the nature of this
confrontation. They command a deeper look into what keeps them awake, the sources of their fear, dread and worry. The imagery of monsters mimicking humans and humans mimicking monsters in their works seems to draw a very fine line between the two which provokes us to ask if there is even a difference between them (of being awake and asleep) during these dreadful hours.

A silent cry for protection from the gods in any shape or form - as mother, as the
heavens, as a hand from above that moves pieces below, as security blanket or a
childhood toy, as nature, as motherland - is portrayed in the works of Arthur Lao
(“Masses’ Gambit”), Gabriel Alphonse Diaz (“Insomnia”), Christopher Fernandez
(“Anak ng Bayan”), Russel Santos (“Mother is God in the Eyes of a Child”), Anna
Remoroza (“Pamumulaklak”), Eva Palma (“Prayers Before Dawn (Matins)”) and Abet
Bay (“Dusk’s Embrace: Solace and Pandemic Shadows”) where the armor of strength they seek is found in the ultimate surrender to a power greater than themselves. This surrender is a painful but essential process of cradling their weaknesses in the hopes of overcoming. In many ways, a birthing.

​

Heralding this transition from despair to a blossoming of hope through the birth
of a new consciousness, one sees in the artworks of Beatriz Rogas (“Tagni”), Isabela Asensi (“The World of the Untroubled”), Elvira Bvlgari (“Ligalig”), Christian Salay (“Unseen Beauty (Not all beauty is seen in the mirror)”) and Mary Grace Llamas (“Will It Fly?”) the convergence of their introspection and dreams that reflect a sense of openness to possibilities. Through the use of bright pastel colors, a depiction of lightness and flight, and even a sensory element of delicate scent, one catches a glimpse of a transcendental journey that culminates into a soft awakening to and a welcoming of a new day.

What these artists choose to share from the guarded confines of their personal
spaces in Uhtceare become mirrors that reflect our own personal experience, our own confrontation with what keeps us awake, and our reliance on the greater powers we believe can appease our unrest. In this communal experience, we can perhaps draw the same strength in the awareness that we are not as alone as we think we are in our moments of solitude, and find a platform for bringing our fears and worries to light in a kind of ritual, as these artists have done on canvas and through sculpture, that transforms a chaotic jungle into a safer haven, giving our conjured monsters less power over us, and liberating ourselves as we wait with the ticking of the clock for the breaking of dawn.

​

Words by Rochelle Bonifacio Prado