Although Kan and I have taken part in many big events in our hometown Dagupan City years ago being involved most of the time in the design and production of some marketing collaterals with The Mouse House, we were still surprised when approached by friends (Elvis, Meg and Bim) to help in the physical design of the stage of our community's local celebration of the 114th Philippine Independence Day last June 9. Asked to come up with something in three days on a minimal budget, the concept of using corrugated boxes became a natural consequence because of the nature of my current workplace. My day job is with an organization that rolls out beautifully designed corrugated boxes all over NZ. (Thanks to boss Vic by the way for helping me secure the boxes.)
Thus, the first Philippine flag in a box, rather, ON a box, was born.
Ok, ok, just to be sure, let me categorize that even further. The first Philippine flag on corrugated boxes of 56 was born.
It was basically graffiti art using corrugated boxes as a disposable wall. It took me about 30 minutes to assemble all 15" x 20" x 24" boxes with the help of some friends, stack them up and another two hours to paint them with Kan using nine cans of spray paint plus heaps of the Dominion Post to protect the Taita Community Center's varnished wooden floor. (I guess the Dominion Post wasn't made for external affairs such us this and had to ask a little more help from friends Jay, Joel and Bim because a neat faint red line was stenciled somehow on the floor at the base of the boxes.)
Other than the stage having a corrugated box-assembled Philippine flag serving its purpose as a background and all around beautifier to the event, Rael also took a few photos of it to post in our blog.
The Philippine flag unfurled in the wind has appeared in my photographs a few times. At one time, I even had it painted on the faces of three models to celebrate Philippine independence. I guess it was my take on the flag, instead of having it flat and rectangular, I wanted more grace to its shape, more motion, a little bit of action, even if it was frozen in place. And having these models pose on top of an elevated bridge like a flagpole, overlooking the Dagupan cityscape for the shoot, completed the effect.
This time, I had it flat and rectangular. The number of boxes was irrelevant, in case you find numerology mystical. I find it weirdly coincidental tho that maybe in some way, I was subconsciously protesting the local's official representatives' non-participation of the nationally important event. The boxes did resemble the flag from afar, but in reality, a closer look at the installation defines the inter-independent nature of some of us. Like boxes, we sometimes still act as stand-alones prioritizing our political interests and trying to conceal our Pandora's dreaded character of selfishness, pride and the inability to deal with others.
I was pretty proud of that backdrop, that's why I had it immortalized. But to my surprise, a writer friend who happened upon the photo on this website saw something more:
"The signification of this boxed installation seems to manifest the deconstruction of the nation as concept and its re-creation in various levels, the brownness of our skin asserting itself in the midst of blatant efforts for the re-coloration of culture as a means to adapt to foreign lands; this is something that can never be denied as it remains conspicuous in its utter magnanimity."
What a way to justify the corrugated boxes' brown color shining through despite the blues, reds and yellows. And, quite noticeably, there was no white. I honestly don't remember why I didn't use white although I had Elvis buy a can, and I guess that made a difference on how it all came together. My flag in a box, all in brown, absorbed a lot of the colors but was never fully covered up. Maybe that really says something about where I am right now, where we are, brown in the midst of white, assimilated but never completely lost. Changing where we live doesn't change who we are or the color of our skin.
Happy independence to us.
