Art in the air

The Good Life with Eli F.J. Tajanlangit

Against Saturday’s skies that were bright and blue with tufts of white rose these handcrafted flying toys -- saranggola to Pinoys, burador to Ilonggos – and for a few hours, excited, entranced and enthralled an already excited crowd that had gathered to watch the first Palupad festival in Bacolod.

There were, literally, a hundred and one kites that participated in the ABS-CBN competition that saw entries from as far away as Iloilo across the straits and Escalante up north.

They showcased, not just the Pinoy gift in visual art, but also his genius in science; after all, making those things fly and fly beautifully was nothing short of science.

What rose in the skies that morning were works of art and science, each one a fusion of aerodynamics and visual artistry. How else could you describe the wonder of these lanterns made from sticks and paper or plastic or cheap cloth that ride the winds, so to speak, and soar and dance in the skies? How else could you describe the painstaking way with which they were painted and finished, some as finely as having the rough and ribbed skin of dragons, others as whimsical and playful as naïve art but almost all of them expressive of the Pinoy mastery of medium and color?

Up close, the kites were canvasses on which the artist drew his inspirations and feelings, and whether they were paper, plastic or cloth, they were properly used.

Up the skies, they looked like flying fishes, floating boats, bumble bees, boxes and butterflies, dragons trying to find their prey, dainty dragonflies going nowhere. There was one half-bodied superman; there was also a smiling mask, a spider, a winged lion, and some unidentified contraptions that were nevertheless colorful and delightful – all a testament to the rich visual artistry of the Pinoy.

For some time there, the sunny skies provided the backdrop upon which these kites flew and floated – indeed, a virtual, sweeping, if fleeting landscape of colors and shapes.

Like all art, those kites are a cultural symbol as well, an icon of Pinoy play and game. They are also a reminder of the time when open fields, especially those that were “resting” after harvest, were our playgrounds. In those endless plains, under an endless sky, we had ran and played and flew kites and thought of endless possibilities.

Who among us – well, my generation at least – does not have some kiting [I mean kite-flying, not the bad banking term that seems to be more famous in this generation] memory tucked in his heart?

I have plenty and one stood out as I watched Saturday’s contest of kites. This was the time when a friend created a biiiiiig kite, as big as our table, which to us then was big as big can get. The excitement built up while he worked on it for days, and when he finished, we had all ran to the fields to watch the launch. I don’t know why, but the super kite, the neighborhood masterpiece, would not fly. It failed on launch. There was plenty of discussion but no launch. The kite won’t even float for six feet. I can’t recall what happened next, but that was my first lesson on aerodynamics. It planted in me a robust respect for the intricacies of science, and a resolve not to stray to that subject again; it was something for the big brains. I guess that also resolved the role I’d play for the rest of my life: to watch and enjoy art and science, not to create them.

This is why I thoroughly enjoy watching those kites fly. They have never failed to amaze me: how paper, plastic or cloth on nylon threads, sticks or cartons can be made colorful and beautiful and sent soaring to the skies.*

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