In the good old days (actually bad old days under Marcosian martial law), from the late 1970s to the 1990s, Heritage Art Center in Cubao, Quezon City, managed by dear friend Odette Alcantara of happy memory, was a favorite watering hole of many artists, writers and activists. There was a Manansala Café run by Bet Montecillo, who baked delicious cakes, and a Manansala Chess Tournament, for many of the habitues were keen chess players.
And sometimes the great maestro himself, Mang Enteng Manansala, would grace the occasion, and hold listeners spellbound with his anecdotes and booming Kapampangan voice.
On any given day you could see Nestor Mata, Leo Benesa, Allan Cosio, Ivi Avellana Cosio, Prudencio Lamarroza (Odette’s favorite painter), Gig de Pio, Onib Olmedo, Babeth Lolarga, Gilda Cordero Fernando, Alex and Barbara Mae Dacanay, and many others.
And then there was Neil Doloricon, painter and printmaker, among other accomplishments. Quiet, almost baby-faced, with a diffident half-smile. But when you looked at his paintings and prints, wow. What power, what anger, what protest. And then he became dean of the University of the Philippines (UP) College of Fine Arts! But we are getting ahead of our story.
Leonilo “Neil” Doloricon was born in Esperanza, Agusan del Sur, where his father was a worker in a logging company. Neil was only 3 years old when an older brother, his only sibling, died of cholera. The mother, distraught, decided to go to Manila to make a new life there. The father refused to accompany them, and so mother and child made the journey by themselves.
It was a difficult life, staying with relatives and moving from one place to another. Neil studied at Geronimo Santiago Elementary School, impressing teachers and classmates with his talent in drawing; then at Philippine College of Arts and Trade (now Technological University of the Philippines).
His mother was too poor to give him an allowance so the youth just walked from their house in Singalong, Manila, to the school. In 1974, two years into martial law, he enrolled at the UP School of Fine Arts, which would be instrumental in charting the course of his career as a visual artist.
Simmering ’70s
Under the calm surface of the New Society, things were simmering. Some artists had been arrested, while others were underground. Doloricon joined the nationalist organization of artists called Kaisahan, whose members included Egai Fernandez, Adi Baens Santos (who later dropped the “s” from Baens), Biboy Delotavo, Ato Habulan, Jess Abrera and Heber Bartolome.
There were forums, immersion in urban slums and exhibits in mainstream galleries with a liberal orientation, like Hiraya, Hidalgo, Ayala Museum, Heritage and the NCCA (National Commission for Culture and the Arts).
Decades later, in an interview in 2018, Doloricon recalled: “My perspective in art changed. Before I was concerned only with form, technique and abstraction. But when I became active, when I joined Kaisahan, I no longer did abstract works. I saw the direction of my art. There was a strong influence of Chinese revolutionary propaganda. At first I just copied (nangangapa ako) but eventually I honed my own style.”
His first one-man show, titled “Mga Biktima ng Lipunan” (Victims of Society), was held at Hiraya Gallery in Ermita, Manila, in 1981. The themes were of labor unrest, workers, peasants and the urban poor. This set the tone for his future solo shows, numbering around 30.
The critics were divided on the works of the social realists. Some, like Leo Benesa, considered these “propaganda” while others, like Alice Guillermo and Eric Torres, praised them and analyzed the paintings incisively.
Familiar figure
One recent painting (“Patay Gutom,” 2015) by Doloricon attracted more than a passing interest. Between modern buildings and toiling, half-naked workers there is a familiar figure in a terno, surrounded by mafioso-like bodyguards, one of whom is holding a parasol over her coiffed head. (No, he does not look like the chief justice who was pilloried for doing just that.)
Doloricon served as dean of the UP College of Fine Arts for three years. The first was a period of adjustment, the second spent in learning the ropes: “In the last year we strengthened the academic program, made it nationalist in concept and orientation, with indigenous studies, culture and heritage, that could be used in designs, indigenous design, with a strengthened national identity.”
The artist, who died July 16 of an undisclosed illness, once admitted that he felt sad when one of his paintings was sold: “Unlike in print, you can’t have a copy. As much as possible I don’t want a painting sold. There’s something of value in my paintings, they’re like my children. But if they don’t sell that’s sad for the gallery.” —CONTRIBUTED INQ