Abbey Road

Abbey Road image update

Abbey Piano by Edd Aragon 2011

Won't let the bad August moon pass by without a blog entry:) Lately I've been playing tracks found in Abbey Road (voted greatest Beatles album by readers of Rolling Stone in '09). Well the wind is high and the sky is blue so I've created a new Abbey for you. Call it "derivative" digital job after using images proliferating in the net plus the need to feed an inspired tribute to this legendary album. FYI The Beatles guys were part of my high school days in Manila since the early 60's, the magical days of my youth.

Take the piano keyboard off their feet and Abbey Road won't be the same. The piano rendition in You Never Give Me Your Money and the Moog synthesizer in Because are hauntingly sweet. Was it Paul on the piano?

Did you know?

..Abbey Road is the eleventh studio album released by the English rock band The Beatles and their last recorded.

..widely regarded as one of The Beatles' most tightly constructed albums, although the band was barely operating as a functioning unit at the time.

..album front cover design is a photograph of the group traversing a zebra crossing, based on sketched ideas by McCartney and taken on 8 August 1969 outside EMI on Abbey Road. At around 11:30 that morning, photographer Iain MacMillan was given only ten minutes to take the photo whilst he stood on a step-ladder and a policeman held up the traffic

..Abbey Road was also the first and only Beatles album to be entirely recorded through a solid state transistor mixing desk as opposed to thermionic valve. (wth is that?:)

Talk about legacy!


.. image of the Beatles on the crossing has become one of the most famous and imitated in recording history. The crossing is a popular destination for Beatles fans and there is a webcam featuring it. In December 2010, the crossing was given grade II listed status for its "cultural and historical importance"; the Abbey Road studios themselves had been given similar status earlier in the year. - (from Wiki)

Visit Abbey Road live via webcam. Here's the link:

http://www.abbeyroad.com/visit/

Also here's an Abbey medley, Abbey nice day mate!

Within and Without

 "Welcome, welcome to Manila!" grimaced the man wearing an elegant terno. Later we were offered sashes to wear as blindfolds. We all stood up quiet. Brace yourselves I thought, we're in for some surreal surprise. For a moment the black cloth made me feel I was to be executed at Bagumbayan.  See, to be enveloped by a deliberate silence with vision occluded left me nowhere to go but within me, biological apps snapped to survival then to meditative mode where I grasped some Beta waves fading out into Alpha; and when it was about to hit a crescendo of Gamma the placid mind was rattled by  "Quiapo! Quiapo! Sakay na kayo.." Then the roar of motor vehicles, pedicabs, trains and an ambient hum of a familiar street crowd.

 The on-your-face darkness set out a mild nyctophobia, provided a mysterious but sweet sensation of being boxed in and boxed out, imaginatively peering out of a Fedex box only to find out I was inside a bigger box, while my body materialized in and out of an endless stack of Babushka dolls.

What madness to be instantly tele-transported to a distant geo-political state while escorted by an aural assault of MP3-formatted soundtracks of traffic noise and olfactory stimuli.  I relished with gusto the atomizer aromas of beloved Manila, the sticky scent of sampaguita and ylang-ylang, the fragrance of roasted peanuts, a whiff here, a whiff there, a whisper in my right ear and  then left alone to drown in a staccato of Miss Saigon's rotor blades that hovered pervasively like aromatic molecules.

It was a blitzkrieg of third eye visual assault..then woot! ..woot!..woot!..a panicking siren cued us to remove the blindfolds after which we were politely ushered into a bigger gallery and lo and behold..a miniature Manila landscape!

 "What's this?" I asked myself with pupils still dilated. Have some gifted children finally grown up, those same creative kid savants who preferred playing with the boxes instead of toys contained within?

The garlicky smell of adobo meanwhile launched a tug-o-war between my gut and brain. Cool, after odor-ama we found ourselves in the middle of a huge diorama. I did realize the tremendous collective effort of people who gouged hundreds of windows out of buildings seemingly sculpted with disciplined abandon. There was even traffic monitored by a spycam behind the miniature jeepneys and relayed to a screen. Thank God there was no aroma of carbon monoxide from pretend car exhausts. The scene was an analog GoogleEarth, a bird's eye view of a human giant over a city from a distance of about a kilometer at a 35-degree angle in about 100:1 ratio.

 This was the point of no return I thought, I was back in my old city of birth only this time the landmarks were made of cardboard cut-outs, Pandora's corrugated boxes hollowed out with passion and determination of a Jules Verne. Manila for a moment was the center of the earth viewed from down under.

The vista reminded me of the last frames of the Raiders of the Lost Ark that gloomily showed a warehouse full of cobwebby boxes that were to be joined by the Ark of the Covenant.

 Then a scaled-down Black Nazarene slowly wheeled in front of me as the crowd (us) screamed Viva, Viva, Viva!

Manila by night with white-tape lined roads led to staircases and  rooms that offered earthly pleasures. Also in a mock karaoke room I saw a thorn-crowned, half-naked body spread-eagled on the floor which I excruciatingly ignored.



The audience was treated to a cornucopia of  film projections that looped endlessly while in a corner I spotted a makeshift lathe that spun and wove meandering shadows of a city skyline.

The Cultural Center of the Philippines floated against the wall like a weird UFO in the sky ostensibly prophetic of the second coming of the political kind for the person behind this iconic building situated along Roxas Boulevard.
 

It was also intriguing to see the UP Oblation man with his elbows bent as if gesturing "Whadda?!"

 Manila City Hall with its signature red Big Ben clocks was to my right, a step away to the left sat a nocturnal Ermita clad in black stockings.

Outside the gallery I could faintly hear the squabbling of magpies agitated by a cold front that set out earlier.



However I must confess I've "destabilized" Malacanang Palace when I accidentally heeled it. My apologies, somehow it was my impish subconscious that demonically possessed wayward foot craving justice due from previous tenants.

 Of course, you would have known by now that I was fleetingly within a performance play, inside a mock tour group that almost caricatured Manila's Walk This Way tour operated by Carlos Celdran, that articulate guy who bravely conducted a one-man protest recently  inside Manila Cathedral, and held up a handwritten sign in bold letters that screamed: DAMASO, name of  bullying priestly character out of Dr. Jose P. Rizal's Noli Me Tangere.

                                        image source
Touch me not!..or else you'll be charged extra over the striptease, says an unseen sign. There was a long menu for vicarious hedonism that fueled black humour, as Celdran's opus was also evident in the performance play, a simple sign that mocked as painful reminder to a stubborn Church which resolutely abhors the proposed Reproductive Health Bill.

Intramuros was a city within walls and modern age has expanded it beyond its boundaries, symbolically at least. To draw upon a parallel, I thought the Church was somehow privy to knotting a somewhat national  blindfold that tightly gripped future of next generation of Filipinos already immune to poverty.  I like to think that for majority, cloth cruelly garroted  and threatened to squeeze the brains out of a feudally conditioned people. Likewise Munch's Scream could not be muted enough for insanity ruled inside two-dimensional walls.

    Above: Datu Arellano of Anino Shadowplay Collective

The play was wholistically compelling and  there were moments the carved boxes betrayed their hollow, corrugated flesh, flimsy facades aloof of commercial logos while actors metamorphosed into living paper-maches.

    Above: Kenneth Moraleda, writer Menchie Maneze, this blogger and Paschal Daantos Berry

Being part of a test audience that  interacted with the performers proved worthwhile. Immersive it was and  left me soaked dry in dusts of internal dialogues which debated social issues; and corroborated a pleasant quote: the opportunity to create a small world between two pieces of cardboard, where time exists yet stands still, where people talk and I tell them what to say, is exciting and rewarding.
 

                                    Above: a few members of the cast

Entitled Within and Without the play was written by a friend, the brilliant Filipino-Australian playwright Paschal Daantos Berry and Deborah Pollard in cooperation with Valerie Berry and Anino Shadowplay Collective wtih Datu Arellano, Andrew Cruz and Don Maralit Sulabayba;

      Image: Kenneth Moraleda plays major role in Australian film   "Lucky Miles" which was also featured on ABC tv.

..while good friend Kenneth Moraleda of Australian movie "Lucky Miles" fame is guest actor. Don't miss this unique performance at Blacktown Arts Center. See poster for details.

Life’s a Doodle, Dude

                                                read article relating to image above        

The Gene-isis

Do you doodle? You do? Great! I do, too; and so we do.. and we wonder of its whys and origins.

Primordial doodles perhaps were the impermanent sand drawings made by ghost crabs and by my great, great uncle Hominid; and when the surf was up, the drawings were transferred and redrawn on cave walls; and the crabs got eaten.  Then agriculture was invented, wheat grew..and ET doodles (e.g. crop circles) were born:)

                                  www.gfkovach.net/ Australia/Australia1.html

Eons may have long been gone but what if we looked down thru a biological lens and find the past-time of doodling still well-preserved in our genes or DNAs? I like to think that doodles are visual manifestations of something behavioural and the phenomenon betrayed by a very mobile sperm cell that first etched the fleeting swim paths in the soupy albumen of Life.

Like a simple, animated doodle with own volition and sentient, the spermatozoa’s head was the penhead nib and the tail a hand that steered; and when the tadpole exploded in delight as it victoriously made contact with the huge egg cell of a canvas; the headstrong wild oat (incidentally it's tao if read backwards, meaning human to Filipinos) was instantly rewarded with a chance to evolve into something more complicated yet simply designed, beautiful, magical, interesting and precious. Perhaps a painting.... perhaps a human being.

 (above image) "keeping-in-touch"  doodle I've sent my family in Manila in 1984

Doodles, I might say,  are manifestations of both the conscious and the subconscious mind. They maybe dysfunctional and functional; and could lend well to reverse engineering; like sometimes I doodle for no reason at all and if I like what I saw, I chuck it into the scanner then enhanced in Photoshop. Sometimes the doodle ended up to be a fine reference image for a future painting; or a finished art for framing once printed out on those glossy photopaper or even faux canvas vinyl sheets (Ugh! Hate them, it's aesthetic deceit. I say leave the photo alone as a photo and a painting as a painting; and never the twain shall meet).

                                                                          www.deichmann-photo.com/

(Sorry, I lost the plot there for awhile:) Okay guys, this might need a little eye-rubbing but try to imagine the first doodler pick up a charcoal from last night’s reptilian roast, still drunk with dinopiss, crudely and rudely doodled on the cave wall the next day’s quarry to a very much impressed, excited and unshaven Cro-Magnon hunting mob. Then a few eons later some smarty-pants Neanderthal guy barged in the cave and asked “Ugh-ugh..hey boss, ‘aven’t ya ‘eard of Wacom Cintiq? Snort..ugh-ugh.”

Could it be that the significant, historical past of doodling is the unseen soul of softwares programmed inside all those much- glorified doodle hardware?

Call it a victory for vectors and lossiness for jpegs but we do owe charcoal sticks of the ancient Past and our brains may still be hard-wired to it.

We call professional and clever doodlers craftsmen while some seemingly mock plain doodlers as draftsmen. Drafts, rough studies, doodles, nothing more and some guys believe they can't evolve. Too bad, the latter's belief shall only push our potential talents and capabilities back to the Stone Age.

There's also this perception that artists are born; not made. How wrong! How unfair to judge ourselves in such a simplistic manner. We can make artists of ourselves, no matter the age. Just acknowledging life and love are actually colours that could fill in the voids inside lifeless doodles.

A great majority of us landed on earth with full -growth potential, mind and body; and nobody's going to devolve nor get stuck in idle mode. No such thing. Life is always active, the heart beating even if we're asleep; and the hand doodling even if we don't think about it. It's similar to but not auto-writing. We just enjoy the spontaneity of pen-skating.

No Fine Art involved here,  just a natural thing when trapped by situations; (e.g. time-killing, boredom, hunger, stress, etc.) Doodles are beadless worry beads. Some guys in orange robes might agree with me..when we doodle, we are actually in meditation, even for a brief moment.

Kids' drawings we call doodles because as adults  we perceive their creations as..err..childish. But no matter, their concepts are pure and pristine albeit technically challenged. Their doodles betray their pure desires that are inaccessible due to their age. But the intent is there. Therefore that kid's lopsided house, ovate sun and cars with weird wheels have potentials to become a mansion, a sun accurately drawn with flares and spots, and a nice Foose Chevy, respectively.

 So let the kids in us come out of the closet because..

Even Presidents do!

Take for example that famous Obama doodle (above image) that the media spun as being sold to someone for more than $2,000. Yeah right. Of course it was not about the doodle, it was  the doodler afterall, and the money went to charity while the doodle collector guy had a guilt-free tax deduction. 

Why even a doodle could appear treacherous like this guy who doodled something that looked like a design for an iron gate.  Who did da doodle? (above image;  flip image for answer)

This one (above) by another U.S. president. It looked like a battleship heavy on the waterline. I think it's an overworked doodle. Poor sailors.

                                                       images from www.presidentialdoodles.com/

What about this one (above) by an early American president who probably liked watermelons (refer to mouth and body) and what looked like a crude version of the Roadrunner cartoon (and what a good time for Wile E. Coyote to pounce on its nemesis:)

Make a Living out of Doodling? Mad! (Can we really?)

(Image from this site)

Mad! Remember the magazine? I was a kid fan of this famous American comics, its cultist influence almost evident on my face which slowly began to look like Alfred E. Neuman. I was an angry, pubescent, young man, ready to lose a tooth for the latest imported Mad monthly edition!

Copies were rare but available in Manila, mainly sold as pocketbooks. Tony Bautista, a beloved senior friend, Pasay neighbour and amateur doodler, introduced me to Mad owing to his vast collection. He read them during work breaks inside the Manila Bay Floating Casino where he worked as a card dealer. The diarrheaic Bic ballpoint pen playfully held by his doodling hand was replaced by playing cards.

                                                                                    image from this site    

    A cartographic doodle plan of Old Manila (+ 60's floating casino:)

Tony loved the graveyard shift and wearing his elegant and sleak work uniform--a couple of expensive and finely woven Barong Tagalog! Then boom! He suddenly died of a heart attack. I sobbed for days. I lost an older and favorite friend. Inside, I was fuming mad, angry for the  loss. I've now healed and each time I see a copy of Mad, it wasn't Alfred E.'s face; I missed my funny but soft-spoken friend.. and his crazy doodles.

                photo © BrokenSphere / Wikimedia Commons

My Pluralistic Namesake:)

One favourite Mad cartoonist was Sergio Aragones, a Spaniard who studied in Mexico, landed in America in 1962 with $20 in his carta y moneda, spoke little English and ached for a cartooning job. He heard of Mad, went to its Madison offices in New York; the editors liked what they saw and he was hired on-the-spot. Que suerte! 

                                                                                              www.collectingfool.com

His silent cartoons were a brilliant idea, no English balloon captions, no dialogues and no full-page drawings were assigned to him (at that time)...perfecto! That way he also avoided hiring translators. Clever Spaniard! He might be first in America (or the world) to make a lucrative profession out of doing little, silly doodles.

                                              www.collectingfool.com

Soon blank white margins and panel dividers of the popular comic pulp became his playground and a new word was coined for his radical creations. Marginals!

This mad blogger posing proud in his equally mad XXL Mad straitjacket (very rare;-)

Truly a bleeding layout yet independent enough not to interfere with the regular comic frames.  What a bold move for Mad editors; and soon enough the page ed had to consider the page edge; while mesmerised young readers began inverting and flipping the magazine to make sense of his drawings. The magazine somehow symbolized free America. If its cheeky brand of humor were to appear in comic stands of non-democratic countries, the editors could easily become desaparicidos overnight.

 Mad cartoonist Sergio Aragones rubbing shoulders with this blogger Aragon;)

Back in 1991, a dream came true. Dios Mio! Como esta Señor Aragones?! He was guest during a gala night organized by the Australian Black & White Artists (cartoonist club) where I was a member.

                   http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergio_Aragon%C3%A9s

The Mad artist defied the straitjacket of a formal occasion, a big guy and muy amicable. I was fortunate to have conversed with my Mad idol (albeit using my crooked Spanish) and to have shaken his legendary doodling hand.

Dengcoy Miel (editorial cartoonist of Singapore Strait Times) with Sergio Aragones (2002, Cancun, Mexico)

I (and Dengcoy) hope to see him again in Manila this October where I'll be one of guest speakers and exhibitors at the First Philippine International Cartoon, Comics and Animation (PICCA) festival. It runs from October 15 to 18, Thursday to Sunday at SM Megamall. Come!

During that time with Sergio, I also met Rolf Harris, a celebrity Australian, also known for his BBC tv portrait painting programs. Recently the ghost crab of his doodling past haunted him again for his controversial lyrics of his popular Aussie song Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport. 

Rolf was sincerely friendly and even drew a caricature of me. What a great guy. (Argh, and now I couldn’t find his drawing..if ever, I shall update this blog entry). 

                            Australian Mad cover by Edd Aragon, 1989

Then Australian Mad was published sometime in 1989. Steve Lopes, then editor invited me to do a cover art for them, lampooning the movie Men In Black (MIB) (above image)

In the early Seventies, my doodles grew up  and became editorial cartoons for our college paper (PCC) under the editorship of Jimmy Flor Cruz (who is now anchorman for CNN’s Beijing Bureau). Doodling earned me an automatic scholarship in college, plus a spare academic one. Perfecto!

Then I animated my doodles for animation projects of Nonoy Marcelo. In '77 and '78 my comic strip doodles were published in major Philippine papers (Phil. Bulletin Today and Phil. Daily Express). 

In the eighties I landed in Australia and quickly found a newspaper doodling job; was given a break by The Australian; then later I moved to The Sydney Morning Herald.

I guess I'll be doodling 'til the day I die. Why, only last night I dreamt I was famous than Jackson Pollock, was big-headed and brandished a squiggly tail!;)

Tandang Sora in Blue

Ten years have passed but still haven’t forgotten childhood aroma of diesel-filled air of Pasay. I remember Lola jealously tending her magic garden which flourished with a variety of herbal plants. She was village herbalist and I remember when I was only 5, people came in and out of her garden asking for toppings of talinum, pandan, sarasa, kakawate, dahong isis, alagao and katuray. Fruit trees  included bayabas, caimito, atis, ipil-ipil and kamias. Lola was meditative in her activities, highly-organised and viciously protective of nature and lifeforms. She boiled leaves of a certain herb which us kids drank for tummy aches. That herb eventually became notorious at the advent of Vietnam war and birth of hippies in early 60’s. Sarasa leaves when you have an infected swelling on your leg (wonderfully cold, those leaves!). There’s guava leaftops for toothache and post-circumcision wounds. Scientists have now isolated anti-biotical properties of guava leaves.

We’re just a stone’s throw away from La Salle and St. Scholastica, and I’m really excited to see the place again. Pasay is where I grew up and I have two siblings there who chose to stay. I was there in ’89, ’98 and now ’08. Hmm I wonder, figure 8 must have something to do with my travel life;-) Most of my family have lived in Canada since the 60’s but I never wanted to go as snow and cold make me itchy and crazy! Blame the troppo kid in me:-)



Oh Lola knew everything aside from a green thumb and handled carpentry tools as well, aided by a sharp lateral thinking. No nylon ties then, she used iron wires to build a protective fence around her nursery. She can knot an iron wire better than a boy scout.

Has history deliberately forgotten our senior citizens? Lola’s (grandmothers) are so full of wisdom and caring, a warm-hearted input for generations of Filipino parents and children to evolve in a compassionate womb, and I still wonder why there’s no such thing as Lola’s Day.

Take Tandang Sora aka Melchora Aquino. She was a caring nurse of the Philippine Revolution (1896). Perhaps Lola of Katipunan would be more appropriate than Mother of Katipunan. 

Where did Tandang Sora hang out during the upheavals? Of course at Tandang Sora Avenue in Quezon City. There’s a place there called Banlat (Banilad) and this is where my Pareng Heber Bartolome (of Banyuhay ni Heber band) lives. It looks like an old, brick castle with an intriguing, stylized sculpture of Andres Bonifacio atop roof's facade. The place is historic, the old trees and walls witnesses to one of our nation’s revolutionary upheavals. This is where Tandang Sora took care of wounded Katipunan soldiers. One can readily imagine dramatic and horrific scenes of war. On her lap would be a dying Katipunero reminiscent of La Pieta.

Tandang Sora was born in Banilad, Caloocan where she tended a small sari-sari (variety) store in Balintawak (scene of the First Cry which launched the Philippine revolution). She gave first aid (of that time) to sick and wounded Katipuneros and when the Spaniards found out, they kicked the poor old woman to exile in Marianas. Soon the Americans were running the country and Tandang Sora among other exiles were returned home. Possessions lost, they lived poor, sick, old and betrayed. She died March 2, 1912 at the age of 107. Her daughter Saturnina took care of her for a while.

Today that old house in Banlat is called Banyuhay ni Heber Arts & Music Center. When not busy with his numerous painting, writing and singing activities, Pareng Heber tends his garden like Tandang Sora would. The place is surrounded by vegetables and medicinal herbs. If you are in Manila this April, come visit Banlat and see my UV exhibit there that will run for a month (tentatively).

Younger brother Ricky and his artist friends Jonet and Bodjie have also been very supportive, even constructing a Mulat pyramid and preparing promotional posters and streamers. (Thank you guys! I really appreciate your help. I'm bringing awesome Aussie red wine for youse!:)

Tandang Sora in Blue is part of my Tres Kantos exhibits (3 venues) in Manila which include digital art and editorial cartoons published in the Sydney Morning Herald and other Australian publications since 1980.

I was reminded of my own Lola while I painted Tandang Sora. Painting her and using unusual pigments which are ultra-violet light reactive is challenging yet fun. During daytime, Tandang Sora (and my other UV paintings) can’t be seen as other spectra of light dominate. However under the dark light beamed on a glowing, historical past, the concept or spirit of caring by the aged shall always serve as reference points as to how far we have realized that Tandang Sora shall be us sooner or later..and we shall be a lone, dim candle in the vast darkness. Tandang Sora lives within the Filipino family, quietly observing, imparting wisdom to grandchildren, immune to asides and verbal abuse for her petty mistakes as she is accused of senility. Lest We Forget.


Images: Photos of Tandang Sora in Blue (Invisible painting/UV-reactive painting visible only under UV light aka blacklight). This image is part and central of Mulat (Invisible UV paintings) exhibit by Edd Aragon at 170 Banlat Rd, Tandang Sora, Quezon City which opens on 12th April this year. 

Flea Markets, Men Produce

Flea Market Update
Photos from Beijing, Oct 22

One of reasons why it's fun browsing through Sydney's festive flea markets is discovering an item without that ubiquitous label Made in China. We would rather find hand-made items!

But what if we find ourselves in China ? What items do we find in a Chinese flea market?
Well photographer friend Claro Cortes IV just sent us fresh images from a Beijing flea market. Claro is photo-editor of Reuters (Beijing) and member of our Banggaan Art Group.


Based in a huge, bustling and busy city, he often shares anecdotes over hot noodles with another Filipino, our CNN-Beijing man Jaime "Jimi" Florcruz. Jimi was editor of our college organ and was his editorial cartoonist for Ang Malaya in the late 60's.

Thanks to Claro for sending us photos of flea markets in Beijing (note: Claro's photos in this blog may not colour-match his original photographs as I lowered their resolution and also due to disparity of embedded colour profiles among different image software programs).

Curiosity gets the better of me trying to trace origin of unique items one can find in flea markets.
Like you know, there's this Three Gorges Dam built in China displacing almost 300,000 people and burying 4000-year old ancient sites.

Things too big to move are left drowned by the huge dam (satellite photos above from Wikipedia), small items were zipped away and landed in some vague flea markets around this vast country. Here there's a chance a $50,000 museum-priced Chinese vase can be unknowingly sold for $5.

Check out Claro's photos and see if you can spot difference between items sold in Sydney and in Beijing flea markets.


I'm astounded seeing photos of exotic stones and ethnic carvings; not to mention a variety of Buddha heads and miniature Ming Dynasty-like jars.

Can an ordinary Chinese spot the difference between "new" and real antique teapot?

There are also makeshift tables for old books and literature. In my younger years as a freshman student in PCC I was able to get hold of an English version of Mao's little red book.


In it were his sayings and poems pertaining to his revolution. If he were alive would he have a quatrain on greenhouse gas emissions? I don't know where my controversial and "leftie" book is now; it probably has faded into pink after so many years, my acquisition of which even preceded Chan Ching's own brand of Cultural Revolution.

Maybe some items in these photos survived her silly Gang-of-Four blitz. Look at the bottom of items and there you won't find Made in China but Made in Hunan ;-)

Watch out, after the 2008 Beijing Olympics, there would be a lot of metallic and medallic things dumped in flea markets;-)

Thanks, too to Alfredo "Ding" Roces and Ed Labadia for their Manila and New Jersey, USA flea market photos which I've included in my earlier flea market blog entry (below).


Flea markets are an old concept, maybe not older than the flea itself; but older than Marché aux puces of Saint-Ouen , first flea market in Paris in 17th century. Name is said to have come from flea-ridden rags and second-hand clothing sold there.

Flight or Flee? Could it be originally Flee, coined after fleeing displaced merchants whose stalls were demolished in slums of le vieux Paris where they regrouped to sell secondhand goods? Or was it from Fly Market (Dutch vlie meaning valley) in New York in the 18th century?


Whichever, the tiny flea of a trade leapt in bounds and spread all over Europe and America, even evolving into well-hyped antique fairs; into high-rating tv programs which people itched to watch (e.g. Antique Roadshow); at the same time devolving into car boot sales which more often than not contain hot items like bootleg liquor and fake brands.

Of course there's garage sales. They are little pockets of fleeting flea market phenomenon around suburbia which create weekend hobbyists who scan the neighbourhood for a bargain.

Drive around any part of Sydney and there will always be a garage sale sign sticky-taped around a post or tree advertising one this coming Saturday.


Asked partner to take photo of one in front of a church while idling before traffic lights. (photo below) It's God's garage sale, for heaven's sake;-)

Well I guess we naturally have to get rid of excess and the unwanted; and somehow, somewhere there'd be a place for such trade gatherings.

Wonder if country of birth, Philippines, (as far back as land bridges were still existent in the beautiful archipelago), had a sort of ancient tribal flea market, where warrior for a while could forget his military stature and hollered something like.."Hey buddy, trade you my bow and arrow for your penis gourd?"

In the mid-50's, Mother took 10-year old me to places called Dao and Bambang markets. There were places called talipapa or palenque which was smaller than mercado.

She loved to shop and haggle for colourful textile which she transformed into clothes for my sisters. I was mesmerised by colours, shapes and ingenuity of imported products displayed next to fish and vegie stalls. There were yo-yos, wooden acrobats and broomsticks with winged creatures on wheels.


There's Baclaran for religious shoppers and a bustling trade under Quezon Bridge in Quiapo. For really cool items she shopped at Cartimar in Pasay.



Five in the morning we would be in Divisoria market to get provisions for her little carenderia (eatery) in front of our Pasay home. Mother would also buy big trays of sticky rice puddings and I would subdivide them in smaller portions for retail. (offcuts were mine, yum;-)

Then an aunt opened a hot pandesal store next door, then a neighbour picked up eatery idea and opened one, too. Soon our enclave became famous for cooked food trade. A very big and informal food mall;-)


Clutter and chaos often assault senses of an organised homemaker. It's best to banish clutter for 20 minutes a day starting in one room first and the kitchen the next day.
A slow-phased chore shall give us more time to study which items have become eyesores; e.g., Kitchy things like old art deco clocks that could be repaired but not just worth the time.

And so we end up with a few boxes full of detached emotions. Take them to the tip? No! Might as well give them to the Vinnies or Salvos. But if you want to make a bit of mammon, take them where they can be hot again.

Que asco! Kadiri! Probably what Malu Fernandez wannabes would say if they find themselves browsing in some of Sydney’s flea markets that draw tourists and locals alike hunting for good bargains every weekend. Set up your stall and display boxful of "trash".


Take your pick..oily and antique Monopol lighters, dusty vacuum cleaner hoses, obsolete phones, raspy analog music players, exhausted box cameras, art school paintings, mouldy brass doorbells, fruit, thick honey, cheap Gucci handbags, expired TimTams, grimy electric cords, a UFO flak of plastic hubcaps, and glasswork from all over the fragile world.

Well there are “sanitized” flea markets. At top end of spectrum are The Rocks markets; where George St. bottlenecks at foot of Harbour Bridge. Stallholders have brick-paved floors, elegant booths dotted with muscarian designer umbrellas to protect sensitive skin of (mostly) Japanese women swinging Ken Done paper shopping bags.

Midtown where today BMW's and flashy Hyundais criss-cross like laser swords was my favourite market back in early 80’s. Not anymore. Yup, for smart yuppies, flat & unit-dwellers, backpacker tourists and urban arty types there’s Paddington Market run by the Uniting Church at Oxford St. not too far from Sydney CBD.

It’s good not everything is made in China here. Lots of new “antiques” tho';-), opal things and souveniers, abstract acrylic paintings, prints, geological gems, etc. all canopied by "Woodstock" stalls with cotton sails that soothe the wind. Years ago we used to hang out there with artist friends. Not very far was Dorian Grey gallery where we had art exhibits and lifedrawing sessions before.

Excited with my then new Pentax Super ME film camera I took pictures (scanned proofprints dispersed in this blog entry) of Paddington in early 80's. Scanning alleys for hidden art galleries, I found Heritage Gallery at Queen St. which exhibited Australia's best-known artists and displayed a huge collection of ethnic and tribal art. Australian artist Victor Dove and I used to frequent another Paddington gallery where I first saw my first prints of Arthur Boyd and where I met in person Pro Hart, another great Australian artist (almost like our "Botong" Francisco) who recently passed away and was given a state funeral.

An intruder hungry for the unusual, I mustered courage and nonchalantly sneaked inside Paddington's abandoned town hall (now a theater). I smelt the bureaucratic dust of history and felt the rough resin varnish on furniture. Stacks of dusty chairs stared at bare walls with missing doors and staircase while a narrow window looked out at Victoria Barracks across the street.

Footpaths then were cracked, patched up and unfriendly. But not the people. Amazing, even orange and spiky-haired young dudes greeted me "G'day, mate! How's yer goin'?"

Plywood panels which hid construction work became billboards for the hip. Overnight they become a tapestry of band posters playing at local pubs (above photo, 1981). Who remembers the 80's Pop Mechanics, All Niters, Insteps, Graphic Arts Club and the young Michael Hutchence of INXS?

Oxford St. reminded me of Ermita streets in Manila. Full of fashion shops, cafes, fish & chips, No Names pasta restaurants (much like carinderias in Manila) off Riley St. where one can eat no- frills spaghetti with free cordial juice aka lollie water. Just before Taylor Square are a line of seafood restaurants, most famous of which is Balkan.

Twenty-six years on, Paddington Market has evolved inward. Couldn't blame people who run it. They might have become too self-protective from blatant commercialism fed by a deluge of cheap, imported products while avoiding criticisms of church elitism.

Tho' the flea market idea remained intact, there seems to be fewer antiques. Nary an old record of Charlie Parker nor a larger group of serious artist/vendors. Something's amiss; maybe lack of sincere and "heartfelt" canvas paintings peddled under the maple tree; and where are the baskers and jugglers that could keep crowd inside trade zone for hours while adults search for an eco-friendly gift for a vegetarian, artist friend.


Where are the improvised stalls around each maple tree? Why, most vendors look pro! What's an international brand doing in Paddo? I always assumed the Church "filtered" traders who just wanted to take advantage of crowd attracted by their hallowed grounds.



The "market cleansing" began in mid-90's in a city council's move to preen Sydney's feathers for the 2000 Olympics. Soon as IOC guy Samaranch announced victorious decision "Sydden-ney!" as next olympic city, traders felt a rush of lucrative excitement and brought out their best linen for visiting hordes.

Oi! There’s Paddy’s Market in Sydney Chinatown. Don't get confused. Although Paddy is nickname for Paddington, they're different markets. The former is too crowded and lacks natural light.

Paddy's used to trade weekends, now they’re open beyond wallets. Heritage society saved the day for the original stallholders. It used to be a vegetable and fish market. Half of the stalls sell cheap Australian souvenier mostly made in…where else?

China can mass produce any gadget a human being can find useful, working and priced ridiculously cheaper than its European and American counterparts.

Down here in Sydney’s west there’s a flea market proving popular to people from different walks of life. How do I know? I can tell by the cars parked neatly on the rough bitumen grounds. The area metamorphoses into a drive-in theater at night where young people take the backseats to experiment on pubescent relationship.

Blacktown Drive-In market in Prospect is hidden, very well hidden and not everyone knows about it except maybe patrons of The Royal Cricketer's Arm Hotel that guards the market compound. Elmer reintroduced me to this poor man’s expo ground which used to conduct boot sale for mowers, car parts and junk metal. That was in the early 80's where items were just dumped on the rough ground; 90% of which were rusty. Then wives of these vendors brought in their old lampshades and unused baby cribs and strollers and the rest is history.

Now it has evolved into a “Westie” version of Paddy’s market. (Not exactly Parklea which is highly commercial and no trading of old stuff.) Pre-loved typewriters orphaned by tape ribbons lined up like a tired army. One reminded me of Mother's Corona typewriter in the 50's. It was her constant companion while she wrote comics novels and poems. As I moonwalk to next booth, mind shift is quick. Before me are cheap Korean-made mp3 players and gadgets only my 12-year old could comprehend.

Some unique items originate from Europe brought in by early immigrants. Ah, trade shall always heal the broken romanticism of Mark Twain whence twains of East (Paddington Market in Eastern Sydney) and West (Prospect Markets in Western Sydney) met in this blog entry albeit via photographs. A bonsai plant growing in a Polish pot? And hey where are the boys in blue? I just got a 10-dollar Louis Vuitton bag for my partner. I guess no one’s impressed anymore with your Rolex or Gucci if you flaunt it like a 10-dollar wristwatch;-)

And here in Prospect Sunday markets is where I met Marjorie, a chirpy and honest-to-goodness Filipino lady married for 16 years to a charming Australian named Bill. They met at Lidcombe train station and fell for each other. Maiden Marjorie Lozada is related to late comedian Ike Lozada, that “heavy” singer during days of tv and radio personalities Eddie Mercado and guys from Student Canteen with Leila Benitez, Eddie Ilarde and Bobby Enriquez.

And here’s how Marjorie trades. In five years she’s mastered the trade pattern unscathed by the stock market. Volumes away from the pages of The Financial Times but the adrenaline is there. She scans suburban garage sales and buys interesting items and resells them in the markets for a little profit. That simple. Sometimes she gave away objet-d’-artes for free or if you haggle hard and pretend to be an arts collector with little money;-)

But what strikes me most is the realization that despite being economically challenged, here’s a Filipina who stuck by his man and make do with little earnings from something as trivial as Sunday markets.

Business depends upon the weather and so they look up to the skies Sunday mornings before they stuff their vehicle with goods. Battlers they are often called, and what a noble title for people who work hard for a living, no matter how small scale the business is. Fair go, a bit of hard yakka mate and Bob’s your uncle!

Marjorie’s Ilonggo, was a farmer, a dancer and a non-certificate nurse for Bill who is still recovering from a major heart surgery. Marjorie almost lost him. It’s true if you feel depressed and need help, help someone instead who’s got a bigger problem and feel the magic work.

Old books come easily to Marjorie via garage or auction sales, sometimes freebie as included in unwanted bookshelves and some contained in cardboard boxes. Out of compassion she saves and send them to the Philippines as donations to provincial schools.

For her, she says, doing small-time Sunday trade is therapy. She enjoys wearing afro fake wigs, brightly-coloured vests and silly socks..all signs of a smart business person. I remember that Marketing class acronym we had to memorize: AIDA. (something like attract Attention, fan Interest, create Desire and urge Action). She definitely knew the first letter;-)

Marjorie always had a “new” set of old items every Sunday. Their booth is our pitstop for some items Elmer and I bought but were too heavy to carry around. My $12 wrought-iron framed mirror rested comfy on top of Bill’s car while I wandered around aimlessly, sometimes tripping on antique boat paddles. My eyes get entertained by the surreal variety of things for sale. There’s a hubbly-bubbly here, American Chopper t-shirts there, an oven top next to it, and if you see through people six-deep, you’d discover nice picture frames and birds in cages.

I find flea markets artistically-inspiring, romantic and oozing with human nature and behaviour; and find kindred spirit with people who look at old objects beyond its fleeting monetary value. As Marjorie acknowledged, one thing maybe treasure to one yet trash to the next guy. Old stuff will be forever with us and as long as there are “eccentric” collectors of classic and aged everyday objects there will always be flea markets and people like Marjorie and Bill.

And I wonder as I respond to my own query..what are two things that make the world go ‘round?

Love and trade.

Similarly, there are two other things (or lessons) I learned from Mother which still ring in my ears: Matuto kang magpatawad (learn to forgive); and matuto kang tumawad (learn to haggle).

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Learn more about Sydney Markets here