it is about one of my uncle's friends who lives in nyc. i knew him when i was a little girl and met him again in september 2006 on one of my trips to the city. on a typical friday afternoon in manhattan, i stood squinting in front of the ICP's glass doors, waiting for tito bobit. he raced up the stairs with a smile. he signed me in and made it a point to chat briefly with the guard and show off his niece from chicago. i found him to be a self-deprecating, goofy guy. very filipino. and i hardly remembered him from my childhood.
anyway, i got a chance to view the ICP exhibits and visit the darkroom. i met some of the photographers, including a woman slated to embark on a teaching trip to the philippines. upon flipping on a light switch to a back room half-filled with tired, aged equipment, tito bobit began to regale me with the story of the passion of his life. yet i wasn't sure how to absorb all of it. i wasn't sure even, how much of it was true. after all, i hadn't seen him in twenty years. i'm ashamed to admit that a small part of me felt almost embarrassed because i didn't know if the taking of the equipment was, well, socially acceptable?
i didn't know enough about what he was doing, but i was curious about his desire to stay connected with the place of his birth. and i was in a bit of awe at the fact that he wished to give back to his native community in a very self-sacrificing way. this man saw so much life left in ICP's broken-lipped beakers, stale moving boxes, and bulky decade-old computers - things i personally would've considered antique or, forgive me, fit for 'goodwill', or even the garbage. i remember him saying that he wanted to bring photography to poor people. that just because people are poor, it doesn't mean they should be without art. he said something to this effect. and it occurred to me how much he sounded like what i understood a true artist to be - passion lived and breathed.
i read this article today and i was actually a bit shocked. shocked to quiet tears on a calm, suburban weekend morning. because here's a man who is broke, but happier than most in this world. broke here and now but eternally wealthy. and i find myself struck with a compulsion to sell my house, furniture and all.
Foto Baryo
By Audrey N. Carpio
(The Philippine Star)
Friday, May 30, 2008
A photograph is always invisible, it is not it that we see. — Roland Barthes
Photos of impoverishment can go either way — they can elicit feelings of pity and revulsion, the kind charities use in advertising, or they can imbue a sense of romanticism and exoticism, the kind used in travel photography and National Geographic. Both are to some degree exploitative, and they reinforce the sense of the “other.” When the photographer is part of the community, however, things are a bit different. We see the world through his or her eyes as daily life lived. When the photographer is young, and just learning how to compose and shoot, we see the world changing right in front of us.
Foto Baryo is a project that has brought photography to a riles community in Tanauan, Batangas, to the mountain province of Sagada with a disappearing indigenous culture, and to the people who live among the ruins of Tropical Palace, a hotel in Paranaque that burned down in the ‘70s. The man behind Foto Baryo is Fernando Afable, a Tanauan native who has been living in New York for the past two decades, himself toiling in the periphery of the photographic world until hard work and earned trust gave him access to equipment, from which he has come back full circle, giving access to the Filipinos without any.
Afable was always fascinated by photographs, but never got a chance to formally learn the skill as a student. He moved to the United States in 1989 and got a job as a warehouse manager for a sporting goods store, packing boxes. “I was the only employee, and I didn’t have insurance,” he says. “But I enjoyed it! It was my first time in the States.” Through a cousin, he found a weekend job as a security guard at the International Center of Photography (ICP) in New York City. “The first English I learned was, ‘Hi, hello,’ and ‘Go straight, to the left’ when people asked where the bathroom was.”
But guarding the door to the museum/school was uneventful and Afable found himself doing other chores, like changing the light bulbs and straightening the framed artwork. His superiors noticed this willingness to go above and beyond the job description and made him assistant operations manager. Working the front desk, he got to interact with the interesting and creative students who walked though the doors. But he still had not taken a single photo class. Even though he came with recommendations, priority was given to paying students, and he was denied twice.
Eventually someone in the staff asked him to come along on a community project. Afable assisted by carrying cameras and lights around Harlem, and from him learned some basic techniques. Though overqualified, he took a part-time job maintaining the darkroom of ICP, because “that’s where the action is.” He mixed chemicals and learned about different technical aspects from the various students who would drop by with equipment. Piece by piece, he earned a virtual degree, sitting in at classes and drinking in the vibrant atmosphere, which was an international mix of students and experts all passionate about photography, all convened in the center of photography in a city that was itself the cultural capital of the world.
Because of his in-depth knowledge of the building from sub-basement to top floor, Afable was promoted to darkroom manager, a post he’s held for the past 10 years. “That’s when I started collecting,” he says. Being on the cutting edge meant updating equipment every year, and ICP was throwing away a lot of stuff that Afable still saw use in. People’s discarded materials, unwanted cameras and malfunctioning parts he took in like strays, storing them in his studio apartment, nurturing them back to life in his spare time. Easels were given new arms. Enlarger sets were patched together. Expired film was revalued for its own aesthetic of decay. He would ship some of the things he fixed back to the Philippines, and naturally, he started thinking about bringing photography lessons back with them.
Collecting took on a higher purpose, and six years ago he started building the school in Tanauan, visit by visit, piece by piece. “He’s saved the world from so much waste,” says Josie Miner, a photographer from New York who came to the Philippines to teach a printing class at Foto Baryo this year. “American culture is so wasteful in an unconscionable way, and here everything is put to use until it literally disintegrates.” She adds, “Then you just throw some duct tape on it.” Afable jokes, “Typical Filipino. Ay sayang!”
This typically Filipino attitude has enabled him to grow an equipped photography school in a remote, underprivileged location, with barely any funding and on scraps salvaged from the first world. The physical structure is also comprised of wood from Afable’s demolished childhood home, making it a place already born with a history. “The darkroom will blow you away,” Miner says. “It’s like an organic and more beautiful version of the one at ICP.” Photographers who’ve visited the site can honestly say they’ve never seen anything like it.
Miner had just completed teaching a two-month-long advanced printing class, following up on the B&W photography courses the same group of students took the year before in Tanauan. Her class was based around the upcoming exhibition in CCP, and the kids had to print all their own work. “It’s been brilliant, very wonderful and rewarding,” she says of her experience. “There’s so much beautiful imagery. They photographed the same things — the same field, the same kids playing with the same goats and dogs. But they’re all very different, which is the fascinating thing about creativity, photography and subjectivity.”
Afable has spread Foto Baryo to the places he is drawn to, places he wants to photograph, places he has a deep connection with. He stresses that Foto Baryo is not just for poor kids, but for anyone who wants to learn and for those who will truly appreciate it. The program is just beginning, and he will let it develop on its own time. “It’s not about quantity, it’s not about money,” he says. “I just want to share photography, and change the way people see, the way it has changed me.” Future plans are to establish a foundation so that Foto Baryo can run throughout the year and not just when visiting photographers come in to volunteer. The goal is for continuity — in the project, in the mission, in the kids who have discovered something they love, and learned more than just a skill but a way of communicating and relating with the world around them.
When Afable presented his slideshow of Foto Baryo for the first time to his friends at ICP, the teary-eyed audience all got up and hugged him. Humble as ever, Afable joked, “Why are you crying? No one died.” But he was touched and truly honored when someone told him that he was the only one continuing the vision of ICP founder Cornell Capa, which was to keep the legacy of “Concerned Photography” alive, ensuring that humanitarian documentary work stays relevant and visible to the public eye. Afable does not make any money from this endeavor, and often returns to New York broke. But he has in his own way reached the ranks of those whom he admired, those who came to ICP to lecture as he sat in the auditorium, not as a paying student or wealthy hobbyist, but as a lifelong learner with a vision—to share with students the joy of creation, the transformative power of the camera, the light and dark magic of the craft.
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Please join Fernando Afable in celebrating the opening of Foto Baryo, an exhibition of students’ work from the Tanauan, Parañaque and Sagada projects. Opening reception: June 5 at 6:30 p.m. at the CCP
