This is one of the covers of Papermonster Press this coming January.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
Kasagkoran: TILAD vol 1 issue 03
To celebrate the postponement of the end of the world, the Ateneo Literary Association brings you its second online literary folio, Tilad: Kasagkoran, featuring more poetry, stories, and illustrations from students, teachers, and alumni of Ateneo de Naga University. Enjoy.
Featured in this folio are the illustrations of Veeyah Peñero, Don Ramos, Ken Brian Esperanza,
Paulo Papa and Van Peñaserada.
You can download your own eBook (pdf) copy here:
http://www.scribd.com/doc/117655804/KASAGKORAN
http://www.scribd.com/doc/117655804/KASAGKORAN
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Guy on the couch
The Guy on the couch is a character in the movie of Dave Chapelle titled "Halfbaked". He's just a bum who loves his sofa very much that he doesn't leave it. My friend Elmo asked me to do this drawing for an album cover art of his band Unclemullet. The original plan was to draw it like a kindergarten would do, but I enjoyed drawing it, so here it is.
I also created a back version of the cover.
Check unclemullet on facebook
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Kamote
This is for the cover of Obras Maestras: Modules for Teaching Bikol Literature edited by Dr. Paz Verdades M. Santos.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
The Fish Hair Woman by Merlinda Bobis
I was moved by Dr. Merlinda Bobis' novel about desaparecidos to draw something out of it. The vivid images of characters played in my mind while she was performing it last 21 November 2012 at the Arrupe Convention Hall of Ateneo de Naga University. This took me five days drawing lots of lines while listening to classroom discussions or being alone at the cafeteria.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Haros
My forgotten dreams are
like yellow butterflies,Vilda
pastilles, wrappers of
assorted Belgian chocolates,
and summer trips with
no photographs taken.
They float in my sepia
tone trance, flickering
fireflies in my most undisturbed
solitude. My eagerness caught
them, almost.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Kurit
During the STORYLINES exhibit last July, many Ateneans
signified interest in line art, particularly in doodle and comic art. Some even
submitted their works for the exhibit. They are also asking if there will be venues for them to improve their
craft, so the Ateneo Design and Arts Society now brings you KURIT: parallel workshops on Doodle Art and Independent Comic, and discussion on visual literacy, aesthetics and basic
composition.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Modules for my Reading Remediation Class
Ateneo Pathways provide reading sessions for elementary schools and high schools that cannot afford the SRA program. Since SRA kits are expensive the group create their own reading modules. In our reading remediation class our teacher Ms. Julie del Valle asked us to create at least two modules. I picked two stories from the internet, which I believe are available for non profit purposes, and made an illustration out of them.
You can find the whole text of this story at:
You can find the whole text of this story at:
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
An Huring Kartero kan San Gabriel (play)
Allan's friend Jenn, who I first met during the screening of Amigo, asked me to do a poster for their upcoming play. The peg for the poster are the illustrations of the "Dean of Philippine Comics", Francisco Coching. Looking at the details of his drawings, I was damn overwhelmed. But I'm into details and fine lines, so I told my self why not give it a try. This time I used A3 glossy paper and Faber-Castell pointy pen.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Kamote
Kamuti
ni Kristian Sendon Cordero
ni Kristian Sendon Cordero
Sigi sana paawan ni Mam
saka magparapatanum sa kamuti.
Kaya uru-alduw baga baga na kami nag.gigibu
sa pantyung, sadtu namu ipagtatalbung
su mga wakag ku kamuting pigputul-putul
tapus bubu-bu.un ku tubig na galin sa sulung.
Ang.gan sa biglang nagdakulu,
tapus nagkanap su tinanum namu
paiyan sadtu tinataklang plagpul
inabut pati su lubad na namung bandira.
Gustu na namung galbutun su tinanum:
kaya lang inungtan pa kami ni Mam.
Diri kunu pakialaman ta sayang su pagal,
oras saka su unud na pwiding makutkut
pagabut ka panuwun.
Kaya pinabayaan sana namung magkanap
su kamuti, ang-gan sa makalu.ug nadi sadtu rum,
langkaskas ku pagdakulu, lang duag ku mga wakag:
nagkanap paiyan sadtu lamisa ni Mam na agku
mga ritratu ku igin man niya, tapus kin.namang
su kamuti sadtu lubut-lubut namung blakbord,
inabut pati su ritrato ni Rizal saka Bonifacio,
pati su pangangadyi.an namung ama,
su mga nagigilu-gilung ulaan,
mga librung pig-uuram-uraman
(usad sa tulung iskwila),
paiyan sadtu bintanang lanang-ib.ug ku talbu,
salug na uru-alduw naming linalampasu
(lalu na kun agku mig.abut na supirbaysur)
ang.gan sa pati naman kami kanapan ku mga wakag
paiyan sadi payu namu.
Baga na kami tinutunguk, di nakakaiwag,
uda na nababayad, di nakakabasa saka nakakasurat.
Sadtu naman nakaisip si Mam na kutkutun
su unud ku kamuti, kaya pigparakalut ku maestra
ko sa payu namu, usad-usad kami, dipindi sa apilyidu.
Pigparadugkal niya, nagparahanap sa tubuanan,
ipapakaun kunu niya sadtu supirintindent na nagbisita,
kaya lang su nakutkut niya mga gusud na unud.
Kaya nguwan, nagtitius kami ku kulug
saka apri ku mudang sunud-sunud.
KAMOTE
Walang ibang ginawa si Ma’am kundi
ang utusan kaming magtanim ng kamote.
Araw-araw para kaming gumagawa
ng mga nitso, doon namin itinatanim
ang mga wakag ng kamoteng
aming pinutol-putol, at pagkatapos,
umiigib kami ng tubig sa ilog upang
ipandilig sa mga alagang pananim.
Hanggang sa bigla lumaki at gumapang
ang mga sanga ng kamote papunta
sa kinakalawang naming plagpul
naabot pati ang namuti naming bandila.
Gusto sana naming bunutin ang mga kamote:
kaya lang pinagalitan lang kami ni Ma’am
huwag daw naming pakikialaman
dahil sayang ‘yung pagod at oras
at ang lamang-ugat na maari naming
anihin pagdating ng panahon.
Kaya pinabayaan lang namin na gumapang
ang kamote hanggang sa makapasok
na ang mga ito sa loob ng silid-aralan namin,
mas lalong bumilis ang paglaki ng mga kamote
lumaki ang mga wakag nito at nakarating
sa mesa nin Ma’am na may mga larawan
ng anak niya, at pagkatapos gumapang ito
papunta sa mga larawan ni Rizal at Bonifacio
pati sa Diyos na araw-araw naming pinagdadasalan,
pati sa mga sirang upuan namin,
mga aklat na pinagpapasa-pasahan namin
(isa sa tatlong mag-aaral)
papunta sa mga bintana namin na kumapal
na ang alikabok na dumikit, pati sa sahig namin
na araw-araw naming binubunot, nililinis
(lalo na kung may superbaysor na darating)
hanggang sa gumapang ang mga wakag ng kamote
papunta sa aming mga ulo.
Para kaming sinasakal, hindi kami makagalaw
Walang makita, di makabasa at di makasulat.
At nang maisipan ni Ma’am na kutkutin
ang mga lamang-ugat ng kamote,
hinukay nang hinukay ng titser namin
ang aming mga ulo, isa-isa kami,
depende sa apelyido.
Naghukay nang naghukay si Ma’am,
naghanap ng kamote sa loob ng ulo namin
ipapakain niya raw kasi sa bagong dating
na superintendent na nagbisita sa amin,
kaya lang, puros bulok na kamote ang naani ni Ma’am.
Kaya ngayon, nagtitiis kami sa sakit
ng palo at hapdi ng mura ni Ma’am
na natanggap namin sunod-sunod.
SWEET POTATO (translated by Paz Verdades Santos)
All Ma’am does is make us weed
the land and plant kamote.
So every day it seems we dig
our graves, there to inter
our cuttings of sweet potato
then sprinkle them with water from the river.
Until the shoots grow suddenly tall,
then what we’d planted creep and rise
toward the rusting flagpole
reaching our faded banner.
We wanted then to uproot the plant:
but Ma’am spoke in anger.
Leave it be, she said, lest we waste effort,
time, and the fruit we could harvest
at the proper time.
So we left it to creep and clamber, until
the potato plant entered our room,
it grew quite swiftly, its stems were large:
It slithered toward Ma’am’s desk, adorned
with photos of her children, then crawled
up with blackboard bedecked with holes,
up to the pictured of Rizal and Bonifacio,
and even to the image to which we prayed,
it clung to our chairs that wobbled,
to the books we passed and shared
(one for every three pupils),
there to the window in thick dust coated,
the floor which we polished day by day
(especially when a supervisor was expected)
and then the stems inched
toward our heads.
They seemed to pierce us, we could hardly stir,
could see nothing, could neither read nor write.
Then Ma’am thought it was about time to gather
the crop of kamote, so our teacher hoed
our heads, one by one, according to our surnames.
She shovelled deep, searching for where spuds grew,
To serve to the superintendent whose visit was due,
But all she could reap were diseased mouldy growths.
So here we now sit, enduring the pain
and the sting of relentless curses.
KAMOTE
Walang ibang ginawa si Ma’am kundi
ang utusan kaming magtanim ng kamote.
Araw-araw para kaming gumagawa
ng mga nitso, doon namin itinatanim
ang mga wakag ng kamoteng
aming pinutol-putol, at pagkatapos,
umiigib kami ng tubig sa ilog upang
ipandilig sa mga alagang pananim.
Hanggang sa bigla lumaki at gumapang
ang mga sanga ng kamote papunta
sa kinakalawang naming plagpul
naabot pati ang namuti naming bandila.
Gusto sana naming bunutin ang mga kamote:
kaya lang pinagalitan lang kami ni Ma’am
huwag daw naming pakikialaman
dahil sayang ‘yung pagod at oras
at ang lamang-ugat na maari naming
anihin pagdating ng panahon.
Kaya pinabayaan lang namin na gumapang
ang kamote hanggang sa makapasok
na ang mga ito sa loob ng silid-aralan namin,
mas lalong bumilis ang paglaki ng mga kamote
lumaki ang mga wakag nito at nakarating
sa mesa nin Ma’am na may mga larawan
ng anak niya, at pagkatapos gumapang ito
papunta sa mga larawan ni Rizal at Bonifacio
pati sa Diyos na araw-araw naming pinagdadasalan,
pati sa mga sirang upuan namin,
mga aklat na pinagpapasa-pasahan namin
(isa sa tatlong mag-aaral)
papunta sa mga bintana namin na kumapal
na ang alikabok na dumikit, pati sa sahig namin
na araw-araw naming binubunot, nililinis
(lalo na kung may superbaysor na darating)
hanggang sa gumapang ang mga wakag ng kamote
papunta sa aming mga ulo.
Para kaming sinasakal, hindi kami makagalaw
Walang makita, di makabasa at di makasulat.
At nang maisipan ni Ma’am na kutkutin
ang mga lamang-ugat ng kamote,
hinukay nang hinukay ng titser namin
ang aming mga ulo, isa-isa kami,
depende sa apelyido.
Naghukay nang naghukay si Ma’am,
naghanap ng kamote sa loob ng ulo namin
ipapakain niya raw kasi sa bagong dating
na superintendent na nagbisita sa amin,
kaya lang, puros bulok na kamote ang naani ni Ma’am.
Kaya ngayon, nagtitiis kami sa sakit
ng palo at hapdi ng mura ni Ma’am
na natanggap namin sunod-sunod.
SWEET POTATO (translated by Paz Verdades Santos)
All Ma’am does is make us weed
the land and plant kamote.
So every day it seems we dig
our graves, there to inter
our cuttings of sweet potato
then sprinkle them with water from the river.
Until the shoots grow suddenly tall,
then what we’d planted creep and rise
toward the rusting flagpole
reaching our faded banner.
We wanted then to uproot the plant:
but Ma’am spoke in anger.
Leave it be, she said, lest we waste effort,
time, and the fruit we could harvest
at the proper time.
So we left it to creep and clamber, until
the potato plant entered our room,
it grew quite swiftly, its stems were large:
It slithered toward Ma’am’s desk, adorned
with photos of her children, then crawled
up with blackboard bedecked with holes,
up to the pictured of Rizal and Bonifacio,
and even to the image to which we prayed,
it clung to our chairs that wobbled,
to the books we passed and shared
(one for every three pupils),
there to the window in thick dust coated,
the floor which we polished day by day
(especially when a supervisor was expected)
and then the stems inched
toward our heads.
They seemed to pierce us, we could hardly stir,
could see nothing, could neither read nor write.
Then Ma’am thought it was about time to gather
the crop of kamote, so our teacher hoed
our heads, one by one, according to our surnames.
She shovelled deep, searching for where spuds grew,
To serve to the superintendent whose visit was due,
But all she could reap were diseased mouldy growths.
So here we now sit, enduring the pain
and the sting of relentless curses.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Monday, July 30, 2012
Illustrated matryoshka bookmarks
I'm fond of the Dia dela Muerte not because I love morbid things but because I'm amazed by how the colors celebrated the grim of the dead. My intentions were really not to make bookmarks out of these drawings. I was just experimenting on combining the Russian matryoshka dolls with Mexico's festival of the dead. I cut one then, voila! I have a new bookmark.
Many of my friends asked for a bookmark so I gave them some. I doodled the bookmarks while attending my classes. My teacher (who happened to be my former classmate in college) never bothered me. She knows I'm listening to what she is discussing while doodling. That's my learning style.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Cthulhu
H. P. Lovecraft's "Call of Cthulhu" resurrected my curiosity of tentacles after my first encounter with the Pirates of the Caribbean. There's this sort of an inner call for me to create something absurd and love it.
The guy above comes from a photo in a magazine my friend Krizzia and I bought from Booksale. The tentacles are from me. Ash would say I have a fetish for tentacles. hahahaha
Friday, July 27, 2012
Madam Butterfly
While killing time at the exhibit, I tried experimenting on my doodles. So I took some colored pens (Thanks to Ara Leir), and boom! I like the result. Glossy paper + Faber Castel felt tip and colored pen.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Kadunong
Saysayán sa samô an gabós Kadunung
Mgá agi-aging suanoy ni Handióng,
Pirak mong talasan isabáy tugtugón
Mahamís, ngangalsán padapit kan Aslong
----------------------------
Si Kadunung tolos uyang kasimbagán:
Paghinanyóg kamó, aking Kabikolan,
Mangá kasaysayan kan daga na guráng,
Erokan ni Handióng panóng kagayonan.
---from the epic Ibalong
Monday, July 16, 2012
S t o r y L I N E S
This is my first exhibit in Ateneo and I'm so excited. Sir Dennis and I are currently finishing our pieces of Bikolano mythological characters. Our entire collection are in black and white. Line art demands time and lots of inspiration.
The opening of the exhibit is on July 23, 2012 at 4:30 in the afternoon. There will be a cocktail. So please come!
Monday, June 18, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
Priela-Ontengco Wedding Invites
When Rochelle and GP called me to do their wedding invites,
they were actually planing to do a very formal and classic one with the Ilocos
feel through my doodles. It was really hard for me to imagine mixing up the
classic invitation elements and doodles. So for a month, I tried looking for
different inspirations. Then they showed me some photos of the location of
their wedding. It was a village of century old houses near the beach, and the
only thing that came into my mind was Filipiniana. So I said to myself, forget
the damask and the lace-like letters, I must mix Filipiniana and my doodles. A
week after I started my sketches, I presented my work to GP. At that time, I
was afraid Rochelle will not like it since I did not follow her request (the
formal look). But to my surprise, it was really okay for her. And it was GP who
turned out to be more meticulous, but in a very very good way. Following his
requests, I added some matsuka tiles like those of the church in Ilocos, a village
of century old bahay-na-bato, a light tower, and a mini statue of a goat.
Here are some of the illustrations I incorporated in the invites.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Baltog
If I am going to follow the belief that he is Bhaerava, the son of Shiva, who travelled from India to Mudiipa (ancient Philippines) through a giant bamboo raft, he would probably look like this.
He's wearing the skin of a tiger and a cobra on his neck. He's holding a trident. These are the most common elements found in all Bhaerava's images.
He's wearing the skin of a tiger and a cobra on his neck. He's holding a trident. These are the most common elements found in all Bhaerava's images.
Oryol
This illustration is part of a bestiary of Bikolano mythology I'm doing. I have to research further on the details of the narratives so I'll be faithful to the text.
Oryol is a very strong figure in the epic fragment of Ibalong. She is a giant serpent and the deity of the river who disguises herself as a beautiful maiden. Of the creatures mentioned in Ibalong, she was the only undefeated character that the hero Handiong decided to work with her instead of being an adversary. Just like the balyanas, she represents the strong feminine force in the ancient Bikol. In the story I'm writing, Oryol is continuously reincarnated in different generations in a cycle where she and Handiong would find each other as allies or enemies.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Balyana
The Balyanas served as the priestesses of the ancient Bikol. Women have the capacity to connect to the Gugurangs or Bathala, through their rituals where they sing and enter into a trance to journey into the diferrent dimension so they can see what the gods want to show. They are powerful in the society, that when the Spanish conquistadores came they labeled the Balyanas as ghouls or aswangs.
I dedicate this illustration to my nanay Jo Bisuña, a modern balyana.
I dedicate this illustration to my nanay Jo Bisuña, a modern balyana.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
Tsokolate Eh
Inspired by the famous line of Padri Salvi in Jose Rizal's novel "Noli Me tangere", Pan de Cielo brings you a taste of this Spanish drink. More than a century ago, the thick, hot and rich, Tsokolate Eh is served only to special guests that pleased the old colonial masters, while the diluted Tsokolate Ah is for those uninvited. Today, everyone is a welcomed guest to enjoy this treat, which beans are carefully picked and roasted at the foot of Mt. Isarog.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Apres Moi
Since childhood, my favourite school subject is history, and one chapter I'm interested most is the chapter on French revolution. But before the heads of the last Bourbon king and his wife rolled out of the guillotine, the past kings and mistresses played the coffers of France living in absolute luxury. This work is a tribute to the woman who predicted the fall of the French monarchy. Truly, the deluge came after their reign.
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