A glimpse of a hero's life and times

TWICE a year I drop by the Museo ng Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas [central bank museum], located at the basement of the Metropolitan Museum of Manila on Roxas Boulevard, to view the stunning collection of Philippine pre-colonial gold and pottery. When people ask why I revisit something I have seen before, my reply usually is that it is one way for me to recharge, to find something in the past to be proud of because contemporary news is so depressing. The only problem is that when you reflect on these intricate pieces of jewelry and realize that the Philippines is one of the top gold producing countries in the world, you wonder why we are in such a rut economically.

On each visit, I examine every piece in the vitrines to see if I overlooked anything on previous visits. For example, in the filigree work on one of the gold trinkets, one can make out human figures where I once only saw geometric designs. Surely there is more than meets the eye and it is only a matter of time before we find every clue in these artifacts.

It is unfortunate that most visitors to this very solemn basement museum are drawn to the glitter of gold rather than the dull tinge of red that makes our earthenware so fascinating to archaeologists. Here we see vessels in various shapes and come to realize that our lowly "palayok" [earthen pot], which is often used to serve "sinigang" or "kare-kare" dishes in Filipino restaurants, has a design and function that have not changed much in thousands of years.

There are a number of oversized burial jars on display and I often see visitors knocking on the sides, or even putting their heads on the mouth and making noise to elicit an echo. If they knew that these jars once bore the remains of our pre-colonial ancestors, they would surely show more respect. Those who keep away from these jars probably saw the B-rated horror flick "Halimaw sa Banga," in which an evil pre-colonial spirit eats people who come near the jar used as interior decoration in a posh suburban home.

Before you go into the basement of the Metropolitan, you pass by a Bench shop with some very cute items, and one wonders if Ben Chan would make more money if he plastered the walls with those sizzling underwear and b/low posters that are causing traffic accidents everywhere they have been prominently placed. The walls on the way to the basement are also filled with paintings from the collection of the Bangko Sentral, which were loaned to the Metropolitan so that the public can enjoy these masterpieces without having to go into the high-security central bank complex. At the moment, the mezzanine floor has more paintings from the BSP collection running around the theme "Gold in Philippine Art," a rather loose excuse to group these things together. The chance to see these paintings, many of which I have only seen in photographs, was worth the trouble.

The Met has an ongoing exhibit on the Paternos of Manila's Quiapo district, which is worth a visit. There is a previously unknown painting there by Jose Rizal that sparks more questions than answers. It's a very good portrait of one of the Paternos and one wonders why someone who painted so competently as this left us with only one painting. Where are the rest of Jose Rizal's paintings and why has this particular one eluded historians for over a century? All of Rizal's artwork has been documented, even those that were destroyed during the Battle for Manila in 1945. This portrait has emerged out of nowhere and I wish that other unknown Rizal works will surface in the coming years.

Part of the exhibit that I found particularly fascinating was the embroidery work by the Paterno women. These look like very fine drawings on silk, and one will surely overlook these unless you are told that these were made of human hair! That's what happens when you have few distractions like the Internet or cable TV.

Pedro Paterno, the most prominent member of the family, is everywhere in the show, and if you want to read his works today, you can get hold of a copy of "The Pact of Biyak-na-Bato" and "Ninay" published recently by the National Historical Institute. The former is Paterno's first-hand account of the Pact of Biak-na-Bato in 1897 and the latter, also in the same volume, is "Ninay" which, contrary to popular belief, is the first Filipino novel (not Rizal's "Noli Me Tangere").

Looking at all these Paterno relics reminded me of his account of a native of Cavite province:

"A lady, a beautiful lass of 17 years came to me one night panting, trembling with her long hair spread out on her shoulders down to her back like a dark night. Her sweet lips were rosy and quivering, with her eyes filled with tears and her chest palpitating. I asked her, 'What do you want?' And, I came to learn that all she wanted was for me to take her along. She told me between sobs and tears that she was very unfortunate, having fallen prey to a revolutionary chief whom she hated. My soul was tearing me to pieces because of this enchanting lady. But what could I do?"

Paterno solved the problem with money to manage her escape and all he got in return was a garland of sampaguita flowers, which he placed in a box filled with stale papers and bad debts. This exhibit provides an intimate glimpse of the life and times of a historical figure, with each artifact producing more questions than answers.

Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu