JAIME de Guzman, the brilliant painter, the hermit from Banahaw, is now on show at the Yuchengco Museum. During his lifetime (he died in 2023), he was a reclusive figure in the art world. The exhibit is being patronized by Gen Z in droves.
Jaime de Guzman’s last dwelling was on the foothills of Mount Banahaw, a mystical mountain like nearby Mt. Makiling—both were havens of remontados, tulisanes, all manner of nativists, outlaws, pariahs, revolutionaries, in centuries past. The slopes of Banahaw were soaked with the blood of Apolinario de la in Cruz (Hermano Pule) and his followers in 1841. Barred from the priesthood for being a native, he founded the Cofradia de San Jose exclusively for indios like him. He was captured by Spanish colonial authorities and to chastise the populace, Hermano Pule was drawn and quartered, head severed and put on a spike.
Before Mt. Banahaw, Jaime de Guzman lived in Sagada, a town nestled in another mountain range farther north, the Cordillera. When Sagada became unsafe because of rebels fighting with the military, he went in search of another mountain fastness.
When I began collecting Jaime de Guzmans, he was already a recluse in Candelaria, stricken with a neurological disease that immobilized his body, but spared his creativity. I would embark on veritable expeditions to his atelier. From my Cavite home, I would arrive at Jaime’s house before 12 noon passing through Carmona, Cavite; San Pedro, Biñan, Sta. Rosa, Cabuyao and Calamba, Laguna; Santo Tomas, Batangas; Alaminos, San Pablo and Tiaong, Quezon, before reaching Candelaria.
Perhaps the cruelty of distance is what makes his works so few since no one, save myself, was willing to travel so far for his paintings or maybe the scarcity of his paintings was because he always strived for perfection. Traveling to his residence was a provocation. Upon arrival, one was greeted by the barks of a friendly black dog named Lee that ushered visitors to his master’s atelier.
De Guzman’s paintings are haunting. His portraits remind me of the portraits of Modigliani with their expressionless faces and long necks. But unlike Modigliani’s, his figures had eyes and had the look of persons who appear to have waited all their lives to be painted. What strikes me about De Guzman’s portraits aside from their backgrounds that show specific places in Banahaw are the melancholic, secretive looks of his subjects who appear to have seen the future and were heartbroken by what they saw.
He also painted trees, plenty of them. Impressionist, green and almost cosmic. They appear to move each time I look at them. I often told him that with his paintings displayed in my home, I feel that I am inside a forest. His absolute favorite was Mount Banahaw where he opted to build a cottage.
If Cezanne had his fields and landscapes, sunlight and unhappiness, de Guzman had his forest greens, plains, and trees with an equal amount of sadness. Unlike other artists, he was one who I could not influence with my ideas or choice of colors.
Indeed, when I talked to him while he was not painting, sadness descended upon him, but the moment he took palette and brush and began applying paint on canvas, his gloomy disposition vanished. Painting gave him respite from his ever-progressing disease.
Although I did not talk about his illness, not wishing to offend him, I suspect that he had Lou Gehrig’s disease, or ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), a disease of the nervous system that affects the brain and the spinal cord which causes loss of muscle control. The disease appeared to be progressing. It has no known cure, it devastates its victims and its psychological impact is profound since its victims are afraid that they may wake up one day with their bodies completely immobile. It is indeed a death sentence. I sensed that was Jaime’s constant fear which to his great credit, he never showed.
Nothing it appears could escape the mysticism of Mount Banahaw and San Cristobal, its companion mountain. People in Banahaw say that when it erupted it sprouted water and not lava. A benign volcano, even in its explosions it refuses to be violent and deadly.
There is a story, which was also the trope of various religious cults in Europe— Palestine and the entire spiritual structure of Jerusalem, is now in Mount Banahaw. The true believers say that a rebel against Spain sought refuge in Banahaw where he became a hermit. He was chosen by spirits to be the custodian of the sacred places in the mountain. He lived in a cave and the spirits spoke to him as the “Santong Boses,” or holy voice.
The voice is carried by the air and the sound of a ringing bell precedes it. As for the mystical transfer of Palestine to Mount Banahaw, believers say that the footprint of Jesus in a “pwesto,” or sacred site called “yapak,” proves it, so does a rock that resembles a long table where the Last Supper was held.
There are other “pwestos” where believers point out physical manifestations of Holy Land transference like a huge rock in Pwesto Pinaggapusan with rope markings around it which is said to be the place where Jesus was tied and whipped. There are several religious sects in the mountain that harbor nativist and eclectic beliefs, which would explain the mystic magnetism of Mount Banahaw.
Jaime painted meticulously and regularly. He did not repeat his paintings. Each painting is different from the other. The color green was his favorite, responding to the greenery of his surroundings. The second was yellow, in response to sunlight. Axis colors are magnificent. Like the great artist Federico Aguilar Alcuaz, his mastery of color is phenomenal.
His final painting showed a portal to another world and its title says it all: “In a few days I shall enter here—then I shall be free.”
The exhibit was put together by Jeannie Javelosa, director; Joel Wijangco, creative concept development; Michael Francis Mayores, production designer; Elma Abrina, associate curator; Gabriela Silos, curatorial assistant; Shaina Mari Inojosa, graphic designer and Alida Rose Lejano, sound editor. Yvonne Yuchengco is “Top Gun.”
The exhibit is located on the third floor of Yuchengco Museum, which sits at the heart of Makati City. When I entered the place, I felt that I had been transported to the atelier of Jaime de Guzman. The exhibit was set set up in such a way that it allowed the viewer to enter the mind of Jaime de Guzman, see in situ the subjects of his paintings. A papier-mâché of a black dog is done in memory of the lone sentinel to his atelier. The exhibit is magnificent!
In writing this essay, the author did not use Chat GPT or any form of artificial intelligence since his memory of Jaime de Guzman and Mount Banahaw cannot be left to the interpretation of nonhumans.