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Elsewhere: Writings on Art
221 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2024
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May 4, 2024While reading Lyra Garcellano's Elsewhere: Writings on Art (2024), I couldn't help but be reminded of how much I couldn't care less about literary and art scenes. Still, I resonate with the rage in Lyra's jaded musings on the commercialization of art and its apparent incapacity to deliver a potent critique of the world.
This exhaustion and frustration about being an artist in a commoditized world comes from the sheer impossibility of overturning the social function of art under capitalism. Like any commodity, say, a chair, artworks are implicated in a rigged and thoroughly compromised web of relations that does not favor any genuine attempt to destabilize it. Of course, a passionate chairmaker can always build one for herself and her loved ones without thinking about all these things. But once she decides to pursue chairmaking as a way to put food on the table, she will already have entered the commoditized space. I would even argue that even the most isolated chairmaker living on a small island in the Visayas is already implicated in this web, by virtue of her living under this particular historical moment. No artist is isolated from the ravage of war, conflict, ecological devastation, and social relations in general.
Thus, two divergent (but not mutually exclusive) paths appear to the "enlightened" artist: (1) to continue pursuing a career in the scene, to hedge their bets, and make the most out of one's efforts, and (2) to categorically reject the whole lot and establish small yet "autonomous" zones of alternative art-making that doesn't rely on these compromised webs of commoditized creativity. There is not much to say about the former, since it is the default "practical" choice. But the latter demands some interrogation, as it is also the default for artists on the more "alternative" side of the spectrum.
There is a high price to pay for this recalcitrant smallness. While there is undoubtedly some pride in calling oneself "independent"/ "autonomous"/"alternative", it also goes with the stubborn pride to be small and remain small. Anything other than small is suspect and is considered selling out. This "folk politics", a term coined by Nick Srnicek and Alex Williams to describe the prevailing Western leftist tactic of emphasizing small, interconnected, and spontaneous communities over broad, popular, and interest-based campaigns that seek to challenge authority through hegemony, is still the default strategy by many artists today. Marginal is cool; popular is cringe. In the age of social fragmentation and insularity, small communities hesitate to enter the political arena as artists with their own sectoral interests. No wonder it's been decades since we've heard of an artists' union in the Philippines. No wonder no significant pushback has been seen against the Creative Industries Act of 2022, with some artists even arguing that artists do not need government support because "real" art happens only in radical organizations and they do not want to "compromise" their practice with public money. While a broad mass of creatives are clamoring for public creative spaces, funding for creative projects, and a standard for just living compensation for creatives, "independent" artists insist on sticking to their small "uncompromised" zones and settling with their precious autonomy that most creatives cannot afford to have.
That is not to say that choosing the autonomous route is useless. Alternative publishing in the Philippines, for instance, has come a long way from simply chinking the armor of the feudal system of publishing to successfully exposing the emptiness and vanity of literary awards, the macho-feudal patronage system, literary and art barkadas, and all other similar problems. The Palanca Awards is not as prestigious as it was in the 20th century. And despite the fanfare and glamor that the university-backed critics and "establishment" personalities try to bestow on so-called literary genuises and their masterpieces, the larger reading public still chooses to read Wattpad novels and foreign books on how to not to give a fuck. No more need to commit "literary patricide", as Adam David proposes - the Filipino literary establishment has become a bejewelled zombie that only college-educated people read because their teachers tell them to. All these thanks for the tireless efforts of critique and making small resistant communities that demonstrate that the gold is to be found "elsewhere."
Thus I arrive at the central question that Eileen Legazpi-Ramirez brings up in the opening essays of the book. Where is this enchanted "elsewhere?" I insist that instead of fetishizing smallness, insularity, and autonomy, maybe it's time to build the elsewhere through a popular fight that involves not just a small number of advanced, enlightened artists but something that brings together all artists, not just as artists, but also as citizens. The minimum goal would be to empower the creative sector to give them the power to change their conditions for the better. The maximum goal would be to overturn the social function of art - a tall task, indeed, that requires no less than a social revolution. The elsewhere is here, but not yet: it is a better future where being an artist is no longer about compromising one's vision for a few scraps of food and recognition - a world where everyone is an artist while remaining a human being.
This exhaustion and frustration about being an artist in a commoditized world comes from the sheer impossibility of overturning the social function of art under capitalism. Like any commodity, say, a chair, artworks are implicated in a rigged and thoroughly compromised web of relations that does not favor any genuine attempt to destabilize it. Of course, a passionate chairmaker can always build one for herself and her loved ones without thinking about all these things. But once she decides to pursue chairmaking as a way to put food on the table, she will already have entered the commoditized space. I would even argue that even the most isolated chairmaker living on a small island in the Visayas is already implicated in this web, by virtue of her living under this particular historical moment. No artist is isolated from the ravage of war, conflict, ecological devastation, and social relations in general.
Thus, two divergent (but not mutually exclusive) paths appear to the "enlightened" artist: (1) to continue pursuing a career in the scene, to hedge their bets, and make the most out of one's efforts, and (2) to categorically reject the whole lot and establish small yet "autonomous" zones of alternative art-making that doesn't rely on these compromised webs of commoditized creativity. There is not much to say about the former, since it is the default "practical" choice. But the latter demands some interrogation, as it is also the default for artists on the more "alternative" side of the spectrum.
There is a high price to pay for this recalcitrant smallness. While there is undoubtedly some pride in calling oneself "independent"/ "autonomous"/"alternative", it also goes with the stubborn pride to be small and remain small. Anything other than small is suspect and is considered selling out. This "folk politics", a term coined by Nick Srnicek and Alex Williams to describe the prevailing Western leftist tactic of emphasizing small, interconnected, and spontaneous communities over broad, popular, and interest-based campaigns that seek to challenge authority through hegemony, is still the default strategy by many artists today. Marginal is cool; popular is cringe. In the age of social fragmentation and insularity, small communities hesitate to enter the political arena as artists with their own sectoral interests. No wonder it's been decades since we've heard of an artists' union in the Philippines. No wonder no significant pushback has been seen against the Creative Industries Act of 2022, with some artists even arguing that artists do not need government support because "real" art happens only in radical organizations and they do not want to "compromise" their practice with public money. While a broad mass of creatives are clamoring for public creative spaces, funding for creative projects, and a standard for just living compensation for creatives, "independent" artists insist on sticking to their small "uncompromised" zones and settling with their precious autonomy that most creatives cannot afford to have.
That is not to say that choosing the autonomous route is useless. Alternative publishing in the Philippines, for instance, has come a long way from simply chinking the armor of the feudal system of publishing to successfully exposing the emptiness and vanity of literary awards, the macho-feudal patronage system, literary and art barkadas, and all other similar problems. The Palanca Awards is not as prestigious as it was in the 20th century. And despite the fanfare and glamor that the university-backed critics and "establishment" personalities try to bestow on so-called literary genuises and their masterpieces, the larger reading public still chooses to read Wattpad novels and foreign books on how to not to give a fuck. No more need to commit "literary patricide", as Adam David proposes - the Filipino literary establishment has become a bejewelled zombie that only college-educated people read because their teachers tell them to. All these thanks for the tireless efforts of critique and making small resistant communities that demonstrate that the gold is to be found "elsewhere."
Thus I arrive at the central question that Eileen Legazpi-Ramirez brings up in the opening essays of the book. Where is this enchanted "elsewhere?" I insist that instead of fetishizing smallness, insularity, and autonomy, maybe it's time to build the elsewhere through a popular fight that involves not just a small number of advanced, enlightened artists but something that brings together all artists, not just as artists, but also as citizens. The minimum goal would be to empower the creative sector to give them the power to change their conditions for the better. The maximum goal would be to overturn the social function of art - a tall task, indeed, that requires no less than a social revolution. The elsewhere is here, but not yet: it is a better future where being an artist is no longer about compromising one's vision for a few scraps of food and recognition - a world where everyone is an artist while remaining a human being.
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