My great-grandmother, who lived on a cocoa farm, often said “Ang guliay para sa baboy. Ang baboy ay para sa akin”. In English: The pig eats the vegetables. I eat the pig. My Mamita would say “Your Daddy got his pallet from me, and I got my pallet from your Lola. That is why you taste food like a Spaniard, Christoph”. In an age-grade society, food bound us from generation to generation.
Now, years after leaving my home behind for good, I have been painting food from memory. Painting has been somewhat like indulging in a comfort meal: good for the soul. Distance has a way of making people cling to the place they left behind. When I paint the meals that defined me for so long, I can relive. I can realize.
Still, the most important part of my paintings is painting. When I am painting, I am able to slow the world down. It is a ritual that gives me room to breathe and acknowledge my experiences. To me, painting is a place of meditation, of indulgence, and of sharing. Painting fills my soul just like a spoon full of adobo and rice.
I’ve never been a man of many words, so I use painting as a way to share my past. In the Third World, we have a more direct connection to our food than we do in the First World. On the islands, we pluck lobsters and eat them raw, and we don’t worry about microplastics. In the Philippines, we eat our island, Spanish, Malay, and Asian heritage every day.