New Ending Old Story

The artist recounts awaking to the sound of the sewing machine as a child;

a mechanism which served to be his alarm clock on a school day.


His playground resembling a dance between order and chaos, 

Oliveros vividly describes exploring his mother’s factory workshop:

a tight turvy occupied by mounds of fabric thickened with the agitation of a buzzing noise;

the kernel within this frenzy being the consistency of pattern—

a tranquility which seems to have hemmed the artist’s attitudes.


As children fear the unknown, routines protect their sense of security.


Attaining a sense of equilibrium through the sterile progressions of his process,

Oliveros terms his painting procedure a concrete plan.


While others seem to reject the banality of manual labor,

Oliveros embraces every step of craftwork with an exhaustive thoroughness,

declining all supposed benefits of delegation;


The artist needing to do all things by himself, for himself.


In “New Ending Old Story,” the painter counters all traces of disruption by

stitching refuse from his former shows: fringed imagery woven as pattern—

a stillness calming the variabilities of our present disarray.  


(Words by Dani Valenzuela)



In the Digital/Analog world.

These images? Yeah, The artworks.

What’s up with that.

It’s up to you, or it is up to me.


That painting. Is it allowed to be by itself?

Can be.

An infinity pool of color alienated strokes?

Can be.

Lines of force?

Can be.

Or they’re just a matter-of-factness.

“A compilation of the physical reality”?



But then again, it is a sensation of real presence and real action.

Or just another unexpected cure!


It’s up to you, or it is up to me.

These boundlessness,

The endlessness,

The self-sufficient dynamism.


It’s allowed to be by itself. That painting.

Oh, the paintings.


Let them be,

Can be?


Bato-Bato sa Langit

Rocelie Delfin’s drawing series of unusual rocks has been an ongoing endeavor for many years. This exhibition encompasses the progress of their evolution, beginning with a focal point on single rocks. Later her unique drawing technique is translated to the shadows of individual trees cast over rocks. Recently she depicts them as part of larger, more complex compositions that make up forests and bird habitats.


The rocks are based on a collection of smooth grey lined rocks from Taiwan. Delfin applies hundreds of miniscule lines to mimic the tiny markings on the rocks’ surfaces.  Through the use of a thicker ink pen, the lines appear softer and more feathery, creating a visual tension that is both meditative and mesmerizing.


For the succeeding series, Delfin abandons the use of references and draws entirely from imagination and memory. Twelve small drawings are of fantastical trees whose shadows are cast over rocks. The roots, sometimes absent, are smaller than reality—her direct way of portraying that above ground, only the upper part of a tree’s roots are visible and in some cases are completely hidden underneath the soil. In the larger drawings, the rocks belong to scenes that include birds, plants and houses, each subject scaled with surreal perspective and proportion.  The single largest drawing, titled “Buhay na Bato”, shows plants growing on rocks. The term “living rock” refers to rocks where plants have taken root from soil sediments caught in their rough surfaces, the rocks thus becoming a microcosmos of different organisms. 


These are curious drawings, with sincerity and spontaneity ruling over other concerns. The forests recall ones we see in storybook myths and fables rather than the truly menacing jungles of our world. Yet Delfin captures their wildness, densely packed with obsessive detail.  Beneath the enchantment, these drawings hold mysteries that leave us pondering time and again. (Stephanie Frondoso)