Many years ago, because I was too late to ever become her student, I used to visit the National Artist for Literature Edith Lopez Tiempo over at her office at the CAP Building along the Rizal Boulevard and there, with me basking in her presence, she’d regale me with stories about the heydays of creative writing over at Silliman University and in Dumaguete as a whole. It was literary gossip of a different sort, and here and there, she’d give me nuggets of writing wisdom–what to look for in poetry, what makes effective fiction, how a writer must live.
One day I asked her why she never saw fit to leave Dumaguete for the so-called greener pastures of elsewhere. I told her, “Mom Edith, you have a great reputation as a poet, and you are more or less a giant in Philippine literature. Hasn’t leaving for Manila or for abroad to pursue greater opportunities for your writing ever occurred to you?”
Mom Edith turned to me with a wise smile and a wise look in her eyes, and said, “Every time I ask myself that question, I pass by the Rizal Boulevard, and I see the infinite horizon spreading before me, and then I see the gentle city behind me–and I understand why I am here.”
I think it is rootedness in a place and one’s pursue of one’s art that Mom Edith was talking about. And this realization was underlined for me with another National Artist, this one for film–our very own Eddie Sinco Romero, director of such classics as Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon and The Passionate Strangers. In 2013, I was editing a coffee-table book titled Handulantaw where we chronicled the history of art and culture in Silliman, and early that year, my editorial staff and I visited Mr. Romero at his house in Manila where we interviewed him and procured photos from his long and interesting film career for our book project.
Mr. Romero was an affable fellow, even given his age, and it was fantastic to be in the presence of a cinematic legend. Three months later, however, he would pass on–and his son Joey Romero later told me during our memorial service for the great man that before his father died, he kept saying the same word over and over again: “Dumaguete… Dumaguete… Dumaguete…”
Dumaguete was special to him. He began becoming a filmmaker here. He made two films here.
I guess every artist has a place of nurture, and a place of growing, and finally a place for longing to be back in as we stew in the crowning life of our artistry. And I think Dumaguete is a place that embodies all of that. The fact that we have two National Artists is a testament to our centrality in the arts in the Philippines. And this is a city that has always been a haven to countless writers, dancers, singers, musicians, painters, photographers, filmmakers, designers, and so on and so forth.
As we end this month with what remains of Kisaw–Dumaguete’s Arts Month Festival–we are still continuing a never-ending celebration of our city and its arts–and if we are again asked: “Why do we do this art of ours in this city and not elsewhere?” Know in your heart that this city is like no other.
This is where our heart beats.
Once again, Happy Arts Month, everyone.
Till next year.
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Author’s email: ian.casocot@gmail.com
