Today, April 15, is the birth anniversary of my dear mother, Dolores Lombos Valentino, who died of ovarian cancer in 1978 at the age of 55.  May I ask you to join me in saying a prayer for her? I remember her very fondly - she was very hardworking (she ran a handicraft business with my dad), always very cheerful, and sacrificed a lot for us. I remember many hot summer nights as a child - before we could afford an electric fan - she would use an anahaw leaf fan to help us bear the heat and go to sleep. She was also a good dressmaker - and I would watch her sew my clothes using a Singer sewing machine (that I much later learned was bought with a loan from Harvey Jewell, the man after whom I was named).  I would watch and wait until she finished, because it was an excuse to stay up late.   Because we were poor, new dresses then were only for special occasions or when needed in school, so to watch a new dress being made was exciting.  Until I was in college, she was sewing clothes for me.

Oh, college! In my final year in college, I stayed in an apartment outside of the U.P. Diliman university campus with three American room-mates. One night, they had a party with some fraternity guys, and the apartment was a mess in the morning - the floor was littered with empty beer, scotch or gin bottles. That was the day, the only day,  when my mother came unannounced to bring me extra food - and although I didn't drink, I didn't know how to explain the mess to her. To my relief, she didn't ask.

I also remember that in 1966, she worried about my traveling to Baguio and Banaue with some friends. For some reason, she was always worried about my safety, but after the trip was done, and I was back home, I would hear her proudly tell others about my adventurous trips to places she herself had not seen.

One of the regrets of my life was not attending my university graduation ceremony. It was optional in 1969 when I earned my degree in political science,  and I was young and at that time, still rebelling against traditions and conventions. I was the only one among my siblings to finish college, and yet, I denied my parents that proud moment of seeing me march to receive my diploma. I am sorry, Nanay and Tatay, I wish I could turn back the clock to undo one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

Thank you for loving me, Nanay. I love you, too, and miss you very much. I wish you were still here to see my own daughters, and now, my apo. It would have been fun to celebrate your 90th birthday here, but celebrating in heaven is, I am sure, far better.  Happy birthday, Nanay. <3

Meeting a former Adphoto photographer

While Kathy, John G and I were walking towards Mother Care at the Fort, we chanced upon a former Adphoto employee whom I had not seen since he left, about five years ago. I could not believe how he reacted to seeing me. He hugged me for a long time, and if I had not wriggled my way out of his tight embrace, he would not have let go, and when he did, he was in tears. I was deeply touched. Then he showed me pictures on his iPhone of his four-month old son. All I could say was, "Imagine that - you're now a father! To think that you were a kid when we took you in!" He was a student at La Salle, taking up computer science when he came to do OJT, and after the program, he refused to go back to school, and pleaded with us to hire him as an assistant. We did. When he was with us, he devoured all that John shared about photography. John never withholds when he teaches an apprentice, so this young man learned a lot. But the lessons that I tried to impart - on the business side, on marketing, on developing presentation and negotiation skills were lost on him - like many photographers, he was not interested. He stayed with us a few years, maturing as a photographer. He is now on his own, and I can imagine that whenever he faced business challenges, he probably heard my voice in his head. I suppose those lessons remained dormant while he was with us, like data that is inputted into a computer but simply ignored, but now that he is not only a photographer but also a business person, he discovers that it was there -has always been there - for him to retrieve. No lesson is really ever lost - when the right time comes, it will be used - this is what I love about teaching, and that was the affirmation that I received last night. :)

I am trying to get in the habit of writing, so here's something, not quite finished, and not quite edited... 

Photography: First Love

For John, his falling in love with photography came with thunder and lighting effects, so to speak. He was a high school graduate, and quite lacking in confidence that he could make a name for himself. One day, his sister’s husband, Ric, showed him a camera, and he “borrowed” it. The word “borrowed” is in quotation marks because he did not ask permission to use it. His curiosity got the better of him, and he took that little camera – a Canon QL17 rangefinder – loaded it with film and pointed it at everything he could see – plants in the garden, frogs and even cockroaches. He was thrilled! It was in the days of film, and in order to save on cost of films and processing, he limited himself to one roll of film. He challenged himself to produce at least one good picture from each roll of film.

Ric was excited that someone shared his interest in photography, and invited John to see his darkroom. Again, John was filled with wonder upon seeing images begin to appear on papers soaked in developers. With whatever savings he had, John began to build a darkroom under the stairs of his mother’s house, and went on to do black-and-white printing. He wanted to see his photos right away, and could not wait for photo shops to process and print his pictures, which in those days meant a wait of a few days.

He was showing off his pictures to anyone and everyone who cared to look at them. At that time, he had no concept of portfolios, so all he was carrying around were 5”x7” photos.

One of the people who appreciated his photos, and thought he had “an eye” for photography, was the general manager of a printing press whose client was the publisher of a small, low circulation travel magazine, “Manila This Month.” He took a few of those photos and showed them to the publisher. The publisher offered John P500.00 a month (just for comparison, the minimum wage then was P120.00 a month) for his photography – but that was to be inclusive of use of his equipment, films and processing, and prints;  plus all his travel expenses, as well as the salary of his assistant. Obviously, P500 a month was not enough to cover his “cost of doing business.”

This was in 1970, I was 24 and working with that magazine as a writer. Our first assignment together was to do an article on rattan furniture manufacturing. When I was advised that the photographer assigned to this project was waiting for me infront of the building, I went down. On the driveway, I saw a huge white American car – a Pontiac Parisienne, a young Chinese in his early 20’s, wearing white long-sleeved trubenized shirt with rolled up sleeves, black rimmed glasses, and hair stiff with pomade. An even younger assistant was carrying his black camera bag, while inside the car sat his (actually his mother’s) driver. I worked with other photographers before, but they usually came alone, so I was shocked to see a three-man party, and said to myself, “All who’s missing is his mother!”

During the long ride from Manila to Cavite where the factory was, I tried to engage him in conversation, but he was painfully shy and answered me in monosyllables or one-word answers, so after a while, I gave up trying.  At the factory, he went straight to work, and was quiet the whole time except for one-word instructions, “dito” (here), or “doon” (there) that he mumbled to his assistant. On the other hand, I was having an animated conversation with the owners of the factory, and sometimes with the workers, whom I also interviewed.

We were done by noon, but the owners would not let us go without getting us to accept an invitation to a seafood restaurant for which the town was known.  John sat with his assistant and driver at one end of the long table, and quietly and quickly finished lunch – I believe in two minutes flat – while I savored the food – oysters in vinegar and onions – and the conversation with our hosts that lasted about an hour. As he waited quietly and seemingly enraptured with his camera, John was simply oblivious to all of us.

In the next few months, I gave him a few more assignments to accompany my articles, sending him to photograph the University of Santo Tomas a few times, and handicraft products at S.C. Vizcarra’s. I also introduced him to my other photographer-friends.

After I quit my job at Manila This Month and in the next couple of years, we went from magazine to magazine, offering our partnership with me as writer and he as photographer. At a men’s fashion magazine that we briefly joined, I quit when my boss decided not to publish a story on a restaurant manager because the restaurant was not going to advertise in the magazine.  Besides, while my pay was okay, John was only being offered gift certificates for his photography and I did not think that was fair.

After a couple of years of partnering together, John and I talked about what we liked to do, and we agreed that we both liked travel and adventure. From that analysis, it was easy for us to decide that we would do travel articles. We boldly approached Sunday Times Magazine, and offered them a story on the Moriones Festival in Marinduque, since we were planning to go there with friends.  I asked how much they would pay for the story and photographs, and the editor said “P100.00.”  John and I discussed the offer and while we found it low, we rationalized that we were both inexperienced, and were willing to start at the bottom by accepting the low fee. However, when I asked further, “How much would you give for travel expenses?” I was both disappointed and aghast when I was told that P100.00 would cover all – payment for the article, photos and travel expenses. It was a rude awakening and we very quickly realized that we could not live on income from travel photography, at least not from local magazines.

At that time, John had a friend whose brother owned Trebel Industries, makers of pianos and inventors of the one-man-band (precursor of electronic pianos that can produce music as if from different instruments). They needed a photographer to photograph a young protégé named Cecille Licad. The company was then handled by an agency called Nation Ads. John got the assignment, and so, we got introduced to advertising.

Since advertising work was still quite irregular, John volunteered to assist a British Broadcasting film producer, Hugh Gibb, who was doing a 16mm documentary film on the Philippines.  In the course of this assignment, he and Mr. Gibb went all over – Manila, Cebu, Banaue and later on Mindanao. In the meantime, I decided to enroll as a special student in the College of Fine Arts and Advertising in UST, but stopped without finishing the semester because President Marcos had declared martial law.

John was in Marawi in Mindanao with Mr. Gibb when martial law was declared in September, 1972, and both hurried to fly back to Manila. Mr. Gibb returned to Hong Kong, unsure if he could finish his film on the Philippines.

The young art director at Nation Ads, Veyong Rollamas, introduced us to other advertisers– Motolite Batteries and Apex Motors. Even though there was political turmoil and the economy was down, there were photo assignments streaming regularly from this advertising agency.  We decided to establish our own studio and to rent a place where we could hold office and build a darkroom. The ad agency offered us the space (bodega) where they kept all their old newspapers and magazines, but the next day, the offer was withdrawn as the owner’s husband said he would use the space for his law office.

I felt bad – being edged out like that, so I got a copy of the Manila Bulletin to look for office-for-rent ads.  Although John was picky about where to set up our studio  (No to certain areas of the city, and no to certain streets), he did not have the patience to inspect places. I had to do this all by myself. Then when I found a place that I liked, he came along. After a few days of searching, and inspecting different office spaces,  I found one – Room 306 Rufino Antonio Building on 60 Buendia Avenue, Makati. This was our first studio. The landlord, represented by his young daughter – younger than John and myself,  gave us a generous offer. The monthly rental of P215.00 included free electricity and water, and while we were moving in, the landlord’s carpenter, electrician and plumber would serve us for free. All we had to do was buy materials (1/4 plywood was P4.00 each, while ¾ plywood was P25.00). Aside from putting up partitions so we could have a darkroom, the carpenter also built our cyclorama.

We had earned P1,000.00 from supplying the Nayong Pilipino Ethnographic Museum with black-and-white prints of John’s shots of Ifugaos and Maranaos, and subcontracting the printing of photographs done by Dr. Robert Fox, and we used this money to pay the deposit and first month’s rent, and buy construction materials.

As soon as the darkroom was built, and the enlarger was installed, we had our first printing order – from another advertising agency.

To be continued…

I am trying to write every Wednesday, so this is going to be one long blog in several installments. Hopefully, I will be able to write the installments. I heard a speaker, Sarah Kay, say - that to accomplish what I need or want to accomplish, I should say three short sentences. "I can." "I will." "Begin."

So here goes...

Photography: First Love

For John, his falling in love with photography came with thunder and lighting effects, so to speak. He was a high school graduate, and quite lacking in confidence that he could make a name for himself. One day, his sister’s husband, Ric, showed him a camera, and he “borrowed” it. The word “borrowed” is in quotation marks because he did not ask permission to use it. His curiosity got the better of him, and he took that little camera – a Canon QL17 rangefinder – loaded it with film and pointed it at everything he could see – plants in the garden, frogs and even cockroaches. He was thrilled! It was in the days of film, and in order to save on cost of films and processing, he limited himself to one roll of film. He challenged himself to produce at least one good picture from each roll of film.

Ric was excited that someone shared his interest in photography, and invited John to see his darkroom. Again, John was filled with wonder upon seeing images begin to appear on papers soaked in developers. With whatever savings he had, John began to build a darkroom under the stairs of his mother’s house, and went on to do black-and-white printing. He wanted to see his photos right away, and could not wait for photo shops to process and print his pictures, which in those days meant a wait of a few days.

He was showing off his pictures to anyone and everyone who cared to look at them. At that time, he had no concept of portfolios, so all he was carrying around were 5”x7” photos.

One of the people who appreciated his photos, and thought he had “an eye” for photography, was the general manager of a printing press whose client was the publisher of a small, low circulation travel magazine, “Manila This Month.” He took a few of those photos and showed them to the publisher. The publisher offered John P500.00 a month (just for comparison, the minimum wage then was P120.00 a month) for his photography – but that was to be inclusive of use of his equipment, films and processing, and prints;  plus all his travel expenses, as well as the salary of his assistant. Obviously, P500 a month was not enough to cover his “cost of doing business.”

This was in 1970, I was 24 and working with that magazine as a writer. Our first assignment together was to do an article on rattan furniture manufacturing. When I was advised that the photographer assigned to this project was waiting for me infront of the building, I went down. On the driveway, I saw a huge white American car – a Pontiac Parisienne, a young Chinese in his early 20’s, wearing white long-sleeved trubenized shirt with rolled up sleeves, black rimmed glasses, and hair stiff with pomade. An even younger assistant was carrying his black camera bag, while inside the car sat his (actually his mother’s) driver. I worked with other photographers before, but they usually came alone, so I was shocked to see a three-man party, and said to myself, “All that's missing is his mother!”

During the long ride from Manila to Cavite where the factory was, I tried to engage him in conversation, but he was painfully shy and answered me in monosyllables or one-word answers, so after a while, I gave up trying.  At the factory, he went straight to work, and was quiet the whole time except for one-word instructions, “dito” (here), or “doon” (there) that he mumbled to his assistant. On the other hand, I was having an animated conversation with the owners of the factory, and sometimes with the workers, whom I also interviewed.

We were done by noon, but the owners would not let us go without getting us to accept an invitation to a seafood restaurant for which the town was known.  John sat with his assistant and driver at one end of the long table, and quietly and quickly finished lunch – I believe in two minutes flat – while I savored the food – oysters in vinegar and onions – and the conversation with our hosts that lasted about an hour. As he waited quietly and seemingly enraptured with his camera, John was simply oblivious to all of us.

In the next few months, I gave him a few more assignments to accompany my articles, sending him to photograph the University of Santo Tomas a few times, and handicraft products at S.C. Vizcarra’s. I also introduced him to my other photographer-friends.

After I quit my job at Manila This Month and in the next couple of years, we went from magazine to magazine, offering our partnership with me as writer and he as photographer. At a men’s fashion magazine that we briefly joined, I quit when my boss decided not to publish a story on a restaurant manager because the restaurant was not going to advertise in the magazine.  Besides, while my pay was okay, John was only being offered gift certificates for his photography and I did not think that was fair.

After a couple of years of partnering together, John and I talked about what we liked to do, and we agreed that we both liked travel and adventure. From that analysis, it was easy for us to decide that we would do travel articles. We boldly approached Sunday Times Magazine, and offered them a story on the Moriones Festival in Marinduque, since we were planning to go there with friends.  I asked how much they would pay for the story and photographs, and the editor said “P100.00.”  John and I discussed the offer and while we found it low, we rationalized that we were both inexperienced, and were willing to start at the bottom by accepting the low fee. However, when I asked further, “How much would you give for travel expenses?” I was both disappointed and aghast when I was told that P100.00 would cover all – payment for the article, photos and travel expenses. It was a rude awakening and we very quickly realized that we could not live on income from travel photography, at least not from local magazines.

At that time, John had a friend whose brother owned Trebel Industries, makers of pianos and inventors of the one-man-band (precursor of electronic pianos that can produce music as if from different instruments). They needed a photographer to photograph a young protégé named Cecille Licad. The company was then handled by an agency called Nation Ads. John got the assignment, and so, we got introduced to advertising.

Since advertising work was still quite irregular, John volunteered to assist a British Broadcasting film producer, Hugh Gibb, who was doing a 16mm documentary film on the Philippines.  In the course of this assignment, he and Mr. Gibb went all over – Manila, Cebu, Banaue and later on Mindanao. In the meantime, I decided to enroll as a special student in the College of Fine Arts and Advertising in UST, but stopped without finishing the semester because President Marcos had declared martial law.

John was in Marawi in Mindanao with Mr. Gibb when martial law was declared in September, 1972, and both hurried to fly back to Manila. Mr. Gibb returned to Hong Kong, unsure if he could finish his film on the Philippines.

The young art director at Nation Ads, Veyong Rollamas, introduced us to other advertisers– Motolite Batteries and Apex Motors. Even though there was political turmoil and the economy was down, there were photo assignments streaming regularly from this advertising agency.  We decided to establish our own studio and to rent a place where we could hold office and build a darkroom. The ad agency offered us the space (bodega) where they kept all their old newspapers and magazines, but the next day, the offer was withdrawn as the owner’s husband said he would use the space for his law office.

I felt bad – being edged out like that, so I got a copy of the Manila Bulletin to look for office-for-rent ads.  Although John was picky about where to set up our studio  (No to certain areas of the city, and no to certain streets), he did not have the patience to inspect places. I had to do this all by myself. Then when I found a place that I liked, he came along. After a few days of searching, and inspecting different office spaces,  I found one – Room 306 Rufino Antonio Building on 60 Buendia Avenue, Makati. This was our first studio. The landlord, represented by his young daughter – younger than John and myself,  gave us a generous offer. The monthly rental of P215.00 included free electricity and water, and while we were moving in, the landlord’s carpenter, electrician and plumber would serve us for free. All we had to do was buy materials (1/4 plywood was P4.00 each, while ¾ plywood was P25.00). Aside from putting up partitions so we could have a darkroom, the carpenter also built our cyclorama.

We had earned P1,000.00 from supplying the Nayong Pilipino Ethnographic Museum with black-and-white prints of John’s shots of Ifugaos and Maranaos, and subcontracting the printing of photographs done by Dr. Robert Fox, and we used this money to pay the deposit and first month’s rent, and buy construction materials.

As soon as the darkroom was built, and the enlarger was installed, we had our first printing order – from another advertising agency.

To be continued…