Wednesday, July 22, 2009
RAYA MARTIN | Some days are magical, and magically d sappear.
Some days are magical, and magically d sappear.
INSTALLATION BY RAYA MARTIN
July 25 (Saturday), opening 6PM
Exhibition runs until July 31 only, Gallery Hours: 2-6PM Wednesday to Friday, Saturday by appointment only
Anyone's guess is probably as good as the next door neighbor's because as the current global financial pandemic has it: speculation spells the difference in a world gripped by skeptical optimism. Cynicism has somewhat taken on the same status symbol as the trendiest mobile gadget or social networking site. A mask we wear– badge that is proof of being contemporary. There is another catchy word, often misconstrued with layers and layers of association. The liter of enthusiasts or experts vying for the most sound opinion on the pages of dailies, fashion and society magazines. Is it not so tempting to ask then: "but who has the final say?" Probably a distinct mark of our psyche: eternally preoccupied with independence, emancipation and democracy yet needy of an authoritative 'other' to validate our claims. And since speculation is so 'in' these days, we could go on and link this with our overly Catholic upbringing. Magic playing the most important role in our lives, alongside the mystery of the Holy Trinity or of Jose Rizal, believed to be Adolf's bastard son. This constant mania for the divine and bureaucracy.
The reason why dreams of post-apocalyptic scenarios will never go away is inscribed in its very existence in our day-to-day. Flirting with our un/conscious, and sometimes admittedly, an excuse for the creative productivity that grows into some form of peculiar self-estrangement. As if you are always walking in a dream that never really wakes up. In his first solo coming-out exhibition of sort, Raya Martin's Some days are magical and magically d sappear sorts through his involuntary nightly visions recreating the scenario of what seemed to be a film set tucked away in the heart of Manila's crawly streets. A voyeur of the city himself, growing up in the southern suburbs, he attempts to recreate an experience that will most surely fail to capture its original moment of wonder. Literally tying up plastic straws into useless objects along with lost screenplay manuscripts. Then there is also that freak accident one summer in 1991. That is after all what magic is, it cannot be explained, its appearance is its essence.