Adecsky Explorer

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Gapo- Olongapo City of d Pilipins

If you are looking for heritage houses and other significant places in Olongapo City, you are surely in the wrong place. Traversing the streets of Olongapo, all we find are cemented houses, sauna and massage parlors, motels as well as old bars that are remnants of the occupation of the US Naval Forces in the city. As we go on foot along Magsaysay Avenue, we are greeted with loud band music and seedy bars that still line the streets; run down establishments that still bear traces of the heat and rhythm of the nights when bar girls in skimpy bikinis and G.I. Joes cavort inside bars and dimly lit corners of some alleys. Instead of this, we now find young men and women frequenting the place, smoking cigarettes and downing bottles of beer as bands played until the wee hours of the morning.

So what then is interesting in a place once dubbed as a city of sin? It has produced amerasian beauties brought about by the intermarriage between americans and filipinos. Megan Young who was crowned Miss World 2013 and Brethnie Cay Philips, Miss Teen Earth Philippines 2013 hail from the place.

A young generation with pop culture whose lives revolve around music and electronic gadgets has sprung. Theirs is a generation that has no knowledge of the past; that the generation before them consisted of people who were either pro americans who lived the american dream or anti americans who marched the streets to protest the presence of the american bases and fought to free the filipinos from the claws of american imperialism.

As we take the bus bound for Iba, I can't help but ponder about the transcience of life. A few wrinkles on my forehead and strands of white hair that are starting to appear are cues for me that indeed time fleets fast; hence, I have to appreciate whatever is in a place and enjoy the trip to any place the bus of life takes me.

Friday, November 21, 2014

SAN SALVADOR ISLAND: Tranquil beauty that beckons- photos by Densdec

We ride a banca with other passengers going to the island of San Salvador for the fare of ten pesos each only. The sea is the color of turquoise and is pleasantly placid during the trip. I chat with an elderly passenger, lola Agapita who is a native of the island. At the age of seventy seven, she is still strong and sprightly and can carry a bundle of wood to the banca. She has eleven children and sixty grandchildren, and makes native delicacies like suman for a living. Joie de vivre is clearly written on her face. Indeed, she is a woman who has joyfully lived every single moment of her life in this peaceful, rustic island.

San Salvador is located off the coast of Masinloc, Zambales. It is not only a home for fishermen but also its sea is a sanctuary for clams locally called taklobos. It has a quality that bewitches any visitor to the island. Its beauty doesn't shout and is not imposing. Rather, like a demure Zambalena, its beauty charms, silently calls and steals one's heart slowly.

The shore is cream colored like the pastillas, a local delicacy made from carabao's milk and is a specialty in this area of Zambales. The verdant trees locally called aroma line the shore and have thorny branches that stretch far as if eagerly reaching for the sea and the azure sky. Some backyards have sturdy green stalks of rice that are pregnant with golden grains waiting to be harvested. Seaweeds are left to dry under the sun for they will be used for gelatin making.

With my tapis and accessories to match, I am ready for our photoshoot. Densdec starts taking my photos and I internalize and immerse myself in the tranquil beauty of my surroundings.

As we ride the banca to leave San Salvador before the sun sets, I can't help but glance back with a tinge of sadness in my heart. I listen to the rustling of the aroma leaves and the murmur of the waves as if beckoning me to return for another sojourn. I smile then sigh as the island grows smaller and smaller as we travel back to the mainland. Surely, I will miss the island that bewitched me and unexpectedly stole my heart. :)

A treasure from the sea

Enjoying my own company

Oh I could be a mermaid forever...

The tranquil beauty of San Salvador Island

The charming lola Agapita talks about her life

Loving the sea and sky

THE ARTIST IS THE ART- photography by Densdec

Being a spontaneous photographer is opening one's eyes to the different photographic opportunities around. It is thinking outside the box or better still, thinking without a box. This creative thinking is exactly what Densdec did. With his point and shoot digital camera, he made use of the native mat locally called "banig", foil, bubble wrap, wax paper, scarf, leaves and cicada's dry skin to come up with interesting shots making me, the artist as the art.

FIRE AND RAIN- the art of Alen Knezevic from Croatia

How does one describe the art of Alen Knezevic? It is fire and rain. The burning passion that is fire and the pouring vision that is rain, both expressed in his art.

Alen Knezevic, a twenty nine year old artist from Croatia, started his career in art in 2012. This was the year when he held steadfast to his faith, embraced christianity and emerged victorious from a personal crisis.

He was greatly inspired by the works of the masters in art that he saw in various museums in Louvre and Versailles, France. However, although this experience ignited his passion for the visual arts, he primarily attributes his artistic pursuit to God's divine guidance.

Alen is a highly creative, intelligent and versatile artist. He does paper art (quilling, collages, book scrapping) and book art wherein he incorporates words in his visual art so as to weave a story. He also paints and uses a variety of techniques and media such as fire, acrylic and watercolor.There is absolutely no limit to his imagination and ardor for his artistic creations; for him, any material can be used in art by a resourceful artist with a fertile imagination. He is also into photography with landscape and people as his favorite subjects.

The art of Alen manifests his inner struggles, philosophical beliefs, visions in life, hopes and dreams. His is intelligent art that vibrates with color and resonates with passion and ideas. He presents how he sees the world, his ideas and stand on matters and interprets them in the form of satire, folk art or fantasy.

Looking at his work is a sublime experience. The viewer goes into contemplation as he gazes at his work and is pleasantly absorbed by the intensity of colors, the fine details as well as the depth of the message conveyed.

Interested art buyers/ collectors can get in touch with him through his email address which is alen2716@gmail.com

The art of Alen Knezevic

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

TRAVERSING TEXT AND IMAGE-My paintings and poems by my favorite poets

"The Soul Of The Sea", Soft pastel, 20" X 25"

by: Adecastroan

Were I footed I'd traipse to where you are

Trundle to your side and claim a hug

But these waters hold me back

Were I winged I'd flap to where you are

Flutter around you and give you a kiss

But these waters hold me back

Unkind fate has sealed our lot

You on dry land, I on the surf

Never to hug, never to kiss

Never to hold

-Jaileen Jimeno

"If You Forget Me", oil on canvas, 30" X 40"

by: Adecastroan

If You Forget Me

I want you to know

one thing

You know how this is

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

If little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

-Pablo Neruda

"Captive Birds", oil on canvas, 20" X 30"

by: Adecastroan

We Have Not Come To Take Prisoners

We have not come here to take prisoners,

But to surrender ever more deeply

To freedom and joy.

We have not come into this exquisite world

To hold ourselves hostage from love.

Run my dear,

From anything

That may not strengthen

our precious budding wings.

Run like hell my dear,

From anyone likely

To put a sharp knife

Into the sacred, tender vision

Of your beautiful heart.

We have a duty to befriend

Those aspects of obedience

That stand outside of our house

And shout to our reason

"O please, o please,

Come out and play."

For we have not come here to take prisoners

Or to confine our wondrous spirits,

But to experience ever and ever more deeply

Our divine courage, freedom and light!

-Hafiz

"Transience", Oil on canvas, 20" X 30"

by: Adecastroan

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is shattered and

the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.

How could one not loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her.

To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night,

still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all.

In the distance someone is singing.

In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My night searches for her as though to go to her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.

Her voide. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

-Pablo Neruda

"My Dove", Oil on canvas, 20" X 30"

by: Adecastroan

Philosophy of Poetry

I have seen the highest duty of art,

emanating from the placid rebirth of instincts for preservation,

vast, and littered, painted from the details of a woman's right breast.

I have bathed with ecstasy in her theatrical mannerism

from down south, opening herself up

like the glorious wings of a butterfly: red, soft,

with moists nurtured only by the morning dew drops.

In summer, she blooms steadily, fondling the reincarnated

visions of the soul.

In the winter, she halts her odyssey, but mingles with pride

among the lost tribes of Israel.

Upon the winter's cold, her heart is imbued

with the spiritual truth of Sufi

while she speaks of the metaphysical tenets

of the Jewish prophets.

By day, she frees the slaves of political empires

who are lost of their purpose,

as she lays the lighted pathways

towards rediscovering

the most sacred essence of their existence.

Ah, yet by night, I own her,

and break down her moral compass,

provoking her utmost desires with rapture

as I thrust my worldly appetites

in her divine incurvate chamber.

Oh, sweet solicitude of the flesh,

written upon the parchment of her passion,

the portmanteau of the natural and the divine,

in my molten explosion,

a master piece is born!

-Jaypee Belarmino

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

DENSDEC- Exotic Mixture

Densdec (Dennis S. de Castro) is one interior decorator and landscape artist who is unafraid to take risk in implementing his artistic vision. He punctuates a place with exceptional objet d' arts and adds a healthy splash of enthusiasm, producing a creative cocktail that oftentimes defies rules. In the language of design, his ability is innate fluency seasoned through years of experience. Certainly, he has a designer's creative eye in weaving cultures in his design. So compelling is his usual exotic combination that one can almost hear the music of India and the east. He has this remarkable ability to capture the enduring spirit of a vivid, often cacophonous life. Indeed, his capacity to distill the essence of a place, whether indoor or outdoor, and translate it into a stunning visual imagery is his forte.