Lot 83: Lorenzo Guerrero (1835-1904) Vendors

Lorenzo Guerrero (1835-1904)
Vendors
signed (lower right) dated 1868, Manila
oil on wood
14”x 10” (36 cm x 25 cm)

Archipelago Magazine, Manila, Philippines, 1975, page 26

Private Collection, Manila

If Damian Domingo was the genius behind the first Manila
Academia — becoming the ‘Father of Filipino Painting’ — it was
Lorenzo Guerrero y Leogardo who was the undisputed master of
the second.
Formally known as the Academia de Dibujo y Pintura, it was
founded by royal decree in 1845 and opened its doors in 1850
with the astounding number of 70 students, according to records
unearthed by scholar Luciano P.R. Santiago.
Felipe Calderon noted that Lorenzo Guerrero was a bit of prodigy
— having taught himself to draw and paint — and then began
to teach others to do the same at the astounding age of 16 at the
Second Manila Academia.
In contrast to Domingo, however, he went beyond the notion
of creating extremely accurate snapshots of faces and costumes.
In early 19th-century Manila, Damian Domingo’s reputation was
earned by his ability to create portraits that were almost unearthly
in their detail with just a fleeting look. He is said to have lain in
wait for his subjects as they passed in the afternoon promenade
or appeared briefly in their homes’ windows. His painstakingly
accurate miniatures thus became the toast of Manila and he
managed to build an immense mansion and support his wife and
eight children from the earnings of his art.
Lorenzo Guerrero, on the other hand, used his own very particular
eye for detail in constructing tableaux from the world around him.
Manuel Duldulao, in his 1982 essay, “The Awakened Eye”, would
note that, “Little by little, Guerrero began to shed the mannerisms
of academic orthodoxy. His brushwork became bolder, his
composition freer. He tried his had at new artistic themes. Even
in his religious paintings, his vision took a nimble shift. Instead of
painting static figures and conventional allegories, he began to
depict events in the lives of saints. Only a tiny pebble had been
turned but it must have given Guerrero a sense of joyous release.”
Guerrero’s skill in establishing the ‘mis-en-scène’ allowed him to set
the scene for the trilogy “The Fire”, “The Flood” and “The Storm”
— which like, “Vendors”, belongs to what E. A. Manuel described
as “his middle period.” “Vendors” — which may more properly be called the “Tuba-Sellers”
is an exceptional and exceedingly rare work by this old master, reflecting
his stature as the most eloquent story-teller of his generation. It tells in
almost cinematic detail the inner lives of several characters in a single
scene.
An earthenware jar filled with this brew is in the foreground. A ladle
made out of a hollowed-out coconut shell on a stick lies across its
mouth.
Behind it sits a woman, with several clear bottles waiting to be filled.
They are arranged on a wooden case that is brightly painted. A basket
of green mangos are beside her. A cabeza de barangay (or village
chieftain) is tricked out like a dandy in a salakot with a silver finial and a
gorgeously striped shirt. One bare foot, liberated from a velvet slipper,
is propped on the wooden dais, adding a sense of intimacy to his pose.
He leans in conspiratorially for a bit of drink — or is that the taxman’s
share of the profits?
Guerrero takes inspiration from Domingo’s ‘tipos de pais’ and paints the
translucent stripes of the official’s shirt. The white embroidery on his
‘camisa’ and the kerchief in his hand as well as on the vendor’s cuff are
outlined in tiny but discernible curves.
A woman clasping a small child appears to be sipping deeply from a
white tumbler in a stroke of gender-equality. (What housewife has
not longed at one time or another for a pull of a long, cold beverage,
especially when another tyke begs for attention?) Another man in the
background is dazedly in his cups.
Still another fellow totes a long-tailed fighting rooster, for isn’t a bit of
that sport the perfect companion to alcohol? Another child has his arm
around the betting-man. Then as now, there are children everywhere
on the Manila streets. A woman balances a flat basket with her wares
behind him.
A blue ‘telon’ (curtain) is draped from a long tree branch, as if to
emphasize the theatricality of this set piece. A thatch hut looms,
its window open, amid a small grove of coconut and banana trees.
Guerrero, who was equally adept at religious works, here offers
a deliciously — drawn slice of life of turn-of-the-century Manila,
painting the guilty but happy pursuits of its cast of Manileños.