Chapter 7: ABSTRACTION


Once again, my friend Juan Tabagwang and I were in the same old Tomadors' Tavern where we used to pass away our negative time. How long ago? I've forgotten. But this I remember, every time Juan was very drunk, he blurted out this poetic refrain,

"Agua de Pataranta, the ambrosia of wines. You can find it in Tomadors' Tavern. It is somewhere, someplace. If you seek it, you cannot find it. If you ignore it, it will seek you. It is whispered by the wind, announced by the faint, distant thunder, and carried by the wings of dreams; drunken dreams."

Yes, the 'agua’ .... We were waiting for our order of seven bottles from our pretty waitress friend super Maria D'Kapri, or super Kapre for short. But even before we were drunk, funny and foolish ideas started to play in our minds.

As I looked around the tavern, I saw a framed painting. I called Juan's attention, "See that abstract painting?"

"Oh yeah!" Juan exclaimed. "It won first prize in the contest sponsored by the Pintor Kulapol Art Society."

"But they took back the first prize from the winning artist," I added. "They found out that the artist didn't deserve to win."

"Why?" Juan asked.

"It was painted by a monkey," I answered. "The other artists complained."

"The other artists are also monkeys?" Juan asked again.

"No!" I answered. "They are humans, so are the judges."

"Hahaha!" Juan roared in laughter. "They made gorillas out of themselves, particularly the judges."

"They discriminated the monkey," I said mischievously. "The last I heard, the monkey was represented by a 'liar' to get back the award. Heh heh!"

Juan also chuckled. He then said, "You know what!?"

"No, I don't," I answered suddenly as I smirked.

Juan looked at me with a grin, slightly irked, but amused with my answer. Nevertheless, he continued. "I heard there was this elephant that could also do an abstract painting," he said. "And now the elephant is being trained at a university."

"To become a professor of humans!?" I asked to tease Juan.

"No, no!" Juan protested. "A professor of other elephants." He then exploded into loud laughter.

By then, Maria arrived with our orders. "You two haven't drunk your 'aguas' yet," she said, "but you already look drunk by your abstract screwball conversation."

"C'mon Maria, be nice to us," I complained in a soft, friendly voice, so as not to make her excited and unleash her powerful uppercut. "We're just enjoying ourselves. Besides, 'screwballs' like us are what make the world go round."

"No! More screwed and flat!" she said firmly, contradicting me. She then left us.

Juan winked at me and then looked at Maria. "I think she is still angry with you," he said. And then he turned towards me. "You haven't given her a tip yet. That's why!"

"No, we look like abstract screwballs to her," I countered in jest. "Anyway, let's go back to our conversation ..., foolish joking aside, you know I like doing abstract painting. It's easy to do. Realistic painting is difficult to execute and it's killing me."

"That's probably the reason why many artists are fascinated by and into abstract art," Juan reasoned.

"Or probably, they are bored at looking at anything that's realistic," I said. "They then break, reduce, and rearranged the forms and colors to arrive at the profound and ultimate essence of art."

"It follows that abstract art is associated with intellectual art," Juan concluded. "Essentially, it has a deeper, more symbolic meaning than realistic art. So ...," he paused and scratched his head as he got the sense of it, "that's the reason why I can't understand it."

"Or is it meaningless?" I asked. Not waiting for Juan's answer, I propounded an alternative philosophical idea. "Take for granted that the reality is the abstraction of something perfect and sublime. Consequently, the abstraction of reality is a gross abstraction, a corruption! And so, if it is a corruption, then it is worthless and it is not worth your time. Therefore, it is meaningless."

Juan scratched his head again as he grasped the other meaning of abstraction. "That's another reason why I can't understand the meaning of abstract art because it is meaningless," he said. "What then is the difference between artists and monkeys who do abstract paintings?"

"That's an interesting question," I answered. "Obviously, abstract art has either profound meaning or it is meaningless. Anyway, some artists like me who love to paint meaningless abstract paintings must have something in common with 'monkeys' who can paint." I then burst into impish laughter. "Which brings to mind Charles. We are indeed related to monkeys!"

"Not me!" Maria, who suddenly butted in, remarked with an angry tone in her voice. "Maybe you two abstract screwballs are related to Charles' monkeys. I have had enough of your idiotic talking. Pay up! The two of you go home and sober up."

"But we haven't finished our drink yet," I complained.

"That's your problem!" she firmly said. "Pay up, now!"

I didn't want to argue further with Maria, who took my jesting so seriously, and who strongly believed otherwise. Also, her powerful uppercut can sober any drunk to dream world. I reached for my wallet, but I couldn't find it. I nervously looked at Juan and said, "I lost my wallet."

"Don't make a joke like that!" Juan said, concerned. "I don't have any money either."

"Aha!" Maria threateningly exclaimed. "Don't give me that crap!"

"We'll pay you when we come back Maria, please," I begged.

"Yes, Maria! We'll pay you double plus tip when we return," Juan said fearfully.

"No! I wasn't born yesterday!" Maria said forcefully to put an end to our pleading. "To the kitchen. Wash all the dishes as part of your payments."

We silently and meekly did what we were commanded. Inside the kitchen we saw a mountain of dishes. Juan was aghast and speechless at the sight of the great amount of washing we had to do.

"Let's start Juan," I said. "If we're fast enough, we'll finish by morning."

Juan reluctantly obliged. "It's all your fault!" he exclaimed.

"I know," I said. "I'll make it up to you and Maria next time, okay?"

Juan made a deep sigh of frustration, and said, "I don't believe you. Your promises always come short."

"I will, someday," I said.

"Yeah right!" Juan countered, still unconvinced.

"Well ... anyhow, what we are in right now is a good lesson for us," I said, "an abstract situation."

We finished before the sun was up. We exited the tavern and slowly walked down a dark and quiet street. We were too tired to sing our abstract song. Besides, it would be daylight soon and we wouldn't dare sing. People around might know who were the singers with broken voices that sound like drunken croaking frogs in a waterless pond.

The sun could barely be seen above the mountain tops. Juan noticed it and appreciatively said, "What a beautiful, quiet, and peaceful morning; the start of a perfect day!"

We passed by the house of the guy who was always cursing us, and throwing empty cans, bottles, and rocks at us. We fondly called him Kurso, the Great, because of the great amount of cursing and profanity we get from him. I picked up a big rock and hurled it toward the wooden door of his house. The rock made a loud noise as it hit the door. It awakened Kurso, his dogs, and his cats. The perfect day was ruined by his loud cursing and the howling and meowing of his dogs and cats.

"Run, Juan!" I hurriedly said as I ran. "Faster!"

Juan ran after me. He couldn't believe what I just did. "What did you do that for?"

"I wanted to get even with Kurso, by disturbing his sleep," I explained. "Also, it's a non-artistic illustration to finally make you grasp the meaning of abstraction; the abstraction or corruption of a perfect day."

"I knew already!" Juan exclaimed. "You're really, reeeeaaaaally nuts!"

"Again, it's the side effects of the 'agua', you know," I reasoned as I ran very fast. Juan was right behind me.

Chasing after us was the angry and cursing Kurso and his snarling, vicious pit bull. Though we were drunk, we outran him and his dog. It was the fastest run for our lives. I called it abstraction in motion.

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