GSIS National Art Competition 2026: Non Finito Work

I almost joined the GSIS (Government Service Insurance System) National Art Competition this year. Almost being the operative word.

The competition, which started back in 2004 in partnership with the Art Association of the Philippines, has become one of the more established platforms for Filipino artists. This year marks its 21st run, and for 2026, they streamlined things to a single category: representational. The theme, “The Filipino Public Servant,” sounds simple enough on paper, but it actually takes a bit of thinking to land on a subject that feels fresh without trying too hard.

TOPS, where I purchase online my
museum wrap canvases.
I like the quality of their canvases.

Entries had to follow a strict format, 36 by 48 inches, landscape, and submitted by April 25. The call for entries first appeared on the GSIS Museo ng Sining Facebook page in February, with full details released in March. That gave artists roughly a month to produce a finished work. At the time, I was confident I could pull it off. Acrylic dries fast, I told myself. What could go wrong?

Apparently, time.

My work in progress is still sitting in the studio, very much unfinished and very much judging me. So to everyone who made the deadline, genuinely, hats off. Finishing is a skill in itself.

I decided to join this year mainly because of the theme. With all the political controversies and corruption allegations surrounding government, it felt like a good exercise to step back and look at public service from a grounded, everyday perspective. No grandstanding, no heavy-handed symbolism, just actual people doing actual work, quietly fulfilling their mandate as public servants despite the noise and scrutiny around them. That led me to the Department of Environment and Natural Resources, specifically the Biodiversity Management Bureau.

Their work under the Coastal and Marine Ecosystems Management Program includes mangrove conservation, among other things, and that immediately clicked with me because I already had visual references in mind. I had just been to Puerto Galera, where I visited the Puerto Galera Mangrove Conservation and Ecotourism Area. It was my first time seeing mangroves up close, and visually, they’re hard to ignore. The roots alone are enough to build an entire composition around.

I was there with cousins, one of whom dives regularly, while I stayed firmly on the “enjoy the beach from above sea level” team. That contrast, being above and below water, stuck with me. So the concept for the painting became a split-level composition, inspired by over-under photography. It’s the kind of image where you see what’s happening above the waterline and below it at the same time, which is perfect if you want to show two connected but very different scenes in one frame.

Since I didn’t have an underwater camera setup and only had my phone, I supplemented my references with a few images online just to get the underwater perspective right. The goal wasn’t to be hyper-technical anyway, but to make the composition believable and cohesive.

The canvas is divided horizontally by the waterline. Above it, the focus is on people. Below it, the focus shifts to the mangrove ecosystem.

On the upper half, I placed three main DENR figures interacting with the community. The central figure is a female DENR employee guiding a child as he plants a mangrove sapling. The child is with his grandfather, who I imagine as a fisherman. It’s a simple, unstaged moment of teaching and participation, but it also points to something bigger. Mangrove restoration carries long-term, generational benefits, reflected in that pairing of grandfather and grandson, with the DENR employee facilitating that continuity. Often associated with blue carbon and vital ecosystem services, these efforts help sustain coastal communities and biodiversity for decades, even centuries.

My reference for the boat. I would have added the DENR
BMB, ang bagong Lipunan Logos as I progress.

My reference for the mountain/volcano
in the background. Looks like the Mt. Mayon.

On the right side, there’s another DENR worker standing on a boat. The boat carries the Philippine flag along with DENR and BMB markings. He’s holding a trash bag filled with collected debris in one hand and a pair of litter tongs in the other. It’s meant to show the less glamorous part of the job, the cleanup that usually happens in the background.

One of the informational signages
I photographed at the Puerto Galera Mangrove site

On the left side of the canvas, there’s another DENR employee working with a local resident, planting and tagging mangrove seedlings. Behind them is a bamboo walkway, directly inspired by agency logos. That detail grounds the scene in something familiar and recognizable, especially for anyone who has visited similar eco-tourism sites.

The composition above water is balanced but not symmetrical. Each group is doing something slightly different, but all within the same narrative of community involvement and environmental work.

Below the waterline is where the contrast comes in.

The mangrove roots take up most of the space, forming a dense, almost sculptural network. On the foreground on right side, I added two plastic water bottles caught in the roots. It is also the same side where the worker collecting trash aboard a boat is placed but on the midground. It’s not meant to be dramatic, just a quiet reminder of what ends up there.

My reference picture for the idea.

On the left side, beneath the planting activity, the underwater scene is cleaner and more active, with more fish moving through the roots. It’s a subtle visual comparison between areas that are maintained versus those that aren’t.

The idea is straightforward. Same ecosystem, different conditions, depending on human action.

Color-wise, I wanted the upper half to feel like early morning. Not a full sunrise, just that soft, in-between light. Think pale peach, muted yellows, hints of lavender and blue. Enough warmth to suggest the sun is coming up, but still cool overall. Light rays filtering through clouds add a bit of movement without overcomplicating the sky.

The underwater section leans slightly darker and cooler, but still clear enough to show detail in the roots and fish. I didn’t want it to feel murky or heavy, just distinct from the atmosphere above.

Everything about the composition is intentional but still meant to feel natural. No exaggerated gestures, no overly dramatic expressions. Just people doing their jobs, interacting with the environment, and the environment responding in kind.

Environmental themes can easily become too preachy or overly technical, and I wanted to avoid both. The painting isn’t meant to explain mangroves in detail or list out conservation strategies. It’s more about showing a snapshot of what that work looks like on the ground and how it connects to the bigger picture without spelling it out.

In my head, the finished piece is already there. The balance, the lighting, the color transitions, it all makes sense visually. Translating that onto canvas, however, is a different story, especially when time isn’t entirely on your side.

So yes, I didn’t make the deadline this year. Big congratulations to everyone who made it in, met all the requirements, and secured their spot for a shot at the ₱600,000 grand prize. That alone already makes them strong contenders, and I’m looking forward to seeing their work.

More than anything, the whole process turned into a solid learning experience. From planning a composition within a fixed format, to gathering references, to actually starting a piece with a clear narrative in mind, it gave me a better sense of what it takes to follow through from concept to completion. It also reinforced how different the pace and mindset can be across competition pieces, personal work, and commissioned projects. Each comes with its own expectations, structure, and creative approach, and navigating those differences is part of the process.

Next year, I might try again, depending on the theme, with a clearer runway and a schedule built around the piece from the start. Until then, my studio is officially open for commissioned work. I am ready to take your vision and translate it into a custom painting. If you have a concept that belongs on canvas, let’s make it happen.

Michael 2026: Review Michael Jackson Movie

Michael Jackson, 5 Decades and Beyond

Born in the 70s and raised in the 80s, I belong to that in-between generation that remembers life before everything became instant, digital, and endlessly scrollable. A true Gen X upbringing meant cassette tapes, MTV on loop, and artists who did not just release music, they defined entire eras. And while Michael Jackson was technically a decade ahead of me, his peak years aligned perfectly with my formative ones. You did not have to be born in his exact timeline to feel his gravity. You just had to be alive when the world revolved around him.

Quick heads up: this review contains a few spoilers, especially around key performances and scenes.

The 1980s were not just a successful decade for Jackson, they were a cultural takeover. With Thriller in 1982, widely recognized as the best-selling album of all time, and Bad in 1987, he did not just dominate charts, he reshaped what pop stardom looked like. Music videos became cinematic events. Dance became storytelling. The “Moonwalk” became mythology. By the time the 90s rolled in with Dangerous and HIStory, his influence had already cemented itself across generations.

Watching Michael in IMAX felt less like viewing a film and more like stepping into a time capsule that somehow still breathes in the present. What struck me immediately, even before the first act fully unfolded, was the audience. It was not just Gen Xers reliving their youth. I saw Millennials, Gen Z groups, and even Gen Alpha kids sitting beside their parents. That alone says something no statistic ever fully captures. Jackson is not nostalgia. He is continuity.

And yet, numbers do tell a compelling story. The film reportedly opened to around $217 to $219 million globally during its first weekend in April 2026, making it the biggest opening ever for a biopic and even surpassing Oppenheimer in opening day performance. That kind of reception is not just about hype. It reflects enduring relevance.

Directed by Antoine Fuqua, the film focuses on Jackson’s life from the late 1960s up to 1988, stopping just before the controversies that would later complicate his public image. It is a deliberate narrative choice, and one that shapes the tone of the entire film. This is not a full cradle-to-legacy biography. It is a portrait of ascent, of talent under pressure, and of brilliance forged under relentless scrutiny.

The story opens in Gary, Indiana, during the late 60s, where a young Michael, portrayed by Juliano Krue Valdi, rehearses tirelessly under the strict discipline of his father, Joe Jackson, played with intensity by Colman Domingo. These early scenes are uncomfortable at times, not because they are overly dramatized, but because they feel grounded. The film does not shy away from the rigid and often harsh environment that shaped the Jackson 5.

When the group transitions into their Motown years under Berry Gordy, played by Larenz Tate, the tone shifts. Suddenly, the grind meets glamour. The Jackson 5’s rise is portrayed with energy, anchored by hits like “I Want You Back” and “I’ll Be There.” These moments are not just musical highlights, they show a young performer learning how to command an audience.

The film truly finds its rhythm in the transition from child star to solo icon. The collaboration with Quincy Jones, portrayed by Kendrick Sampson, becomes a turning point. You feel the shift from controlled family act to independent artistry. The creation of “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,” “Beat It,” and “Billie Jean” unfolds with a sense of urgency and purpose.

One of the most powerful sequences recreates the 1983 Motown 25 performance of “Billie Jean.” It is here that Jaafar Jackson, making his film debut as Michael, delivers a performance that goes beyond imitation. When the Moonwalk lands, it is not just choreography, it is a moment suspended in time. You already know it is coming, yet it still gives you chills.

And that was my experience throughout the film. There was this unexpected emotional pull from the very beginning. I felt a lump in my throat before I could even rationalize why. Goosebumps. A quiet kind of awe. It is difficult to explain, but it speaks to how deeply Jackson’s presence is embedded in collective memory.

Jaafar Jackson deserves real credit here. He captures the voice, the physicality, and the subtle vulnerability of his uncle. More impressively, he rises to the challenge of embodying one of the greatest dancers in pop culture history, someone whose movements were not just learned but honed to near-perfection through relentless practice. You can see the effort in the precision of the choreography, the sharpness of each beat, and the confidence in his stage presence. He channels not just the steps, but the attitude and aura that made Michael Jackson so magnetic. That said, there were moments where I found myself thinking he could have leaned further into the physical transformation. Michael had a certain ethereal fragility, almost otherworldly. He was often described as an ectomorph, with a slender frame, fine bones, and a naturally lean build. But then again, replicating someone larger than life is an impossible standard.

The film does not just rely on performance, it thrives on music. The official soundtrack, “Michael: Songs from the Motion Picture,” includes 13 tracks that span his career, from Jackson 5 classics like “Who’s Lovin’ You” to solo anthems like “Human Nature” and “Bad.” Beyond that, the film layers in additional songs such as “Smooth Criminal,” “Black or White,” and “Man in the Mirror,” enriching the narrative without overwhelming it.

There are also quieter, more intimate moments that stand out. A scene featuring “I Can’t Help It” plays over a reflective studio sequence. Another uses “Blame It on the Boogie” during a playful interaction involving Bubbles the chimpanzee. These glimpses humanize Jackson, reminding us that behind the spectacle was a person navigating extraordinary circumstances.

One of the film’s most intense sequences revolves around the 1984 Pepsi commercial accident, where Jackson suffered serious burns due to a pyrotechnics malfunction. The scene is handled with restraint, focusing less on shock and more on aftermath. It becomes a turning point, symbolizing both physical and emotional strain.

The narrative builds toward the Bad era, culminating in a grand IMAX-scale recreation of the Wembley Stadium performance. This finale does not try to outdo reality. Instead, it honors it. The scale, the sound, the energy, it all comes together in a way that feels earned.

Naturally, comparisons to Bohemian Rhapsody are inevitable. That film, centered on Freddie Mercury, set a high bar for music biopics, particularly with its Live Aid climax. Rami Malek delivered an Oscar-winning performance that captured Mercury’s flamboyance and vulnerability.
If I am being honest, Bohemian Rhapsody may still edge ahead in terms of narrative structure and emotional payoff. Its Live Aid sequence remains one of the most electrifying finales in recent cinema. It knew exactly where to land.

But Michael does something different. It does not build toward a single defining moment. Instead, it immerses you in a series of defining moments. It is less about one peak and more about understanding the sustained magnitude of Jackson’s career. And perhaps that is why it resonated with me in a deeper, more personal way. From the opening scenes, I felt emotionally anchored. Not because the film demanded it, but because the subject naturally evokes it.

The supporting cast also adds dimension. Nia Long brings warmth and quiet strength to Katherine Jackson. Miles Teller as John Branca and Derek Luke as Johnnie Cochran contribute to the broader picture of the people surrounding Jackson during key moments in his career.

What the film ultimately achieves is balance. It celebrates without blindly glorifying. It acknowledges pressure without turning the story into tragedy. It chooses a specific window in time and explores it with focus.

Walking out of the theater, I found myself reflecting not just on the film, but on the phenomenon itself. How does one artist remain relevant across five decades? How does music created long before streaming still resonate with audiences who have never known a world without it? The answer lies somewhere between talent, timing, and transformation. Michael Jackson was not just a performer. He was an innovator. He understood visual storytelling before it became standard. He treated music videos as short films. He pushed boundaries in ways that artists today still build upon. More importantly, he connected. Across race, across geography, across generations. That is not something you can manufacture. It is something you become.

And that is why the theater felt the way it did. Why different generations sat side by side, reacting to the same moments. Why songs released decades ago still trigger immediate recognition. The magic did not fade. It evolved.

Michael as a film is not perfect. It has pacing issues in parts, and it occasionally leans into safe storytelling choices. But it succeeds where it matters most. It reminds you why Michael Jackson mattered, and why he still does.

For those who lived through his rise, it feels like stepping back into a moment that once defined the world. For those discovering him now, it is a powerful introduction to an artist whose influence still shapes what music, performance, and pop culture look like today. Michael Jackson stands in a class of his own, not bound by era, geography, race, or gender, but elevated by a legacy that continues to unite audiences across every possible divide.

And somewhere in between those perspectives lies the real achievement of the film. It bridges time.

Long live the King of Pop.

Baguio Culinary Tourism: 7th Mangan Taku Cordillera Food Fair 2026

Baguio Culinary Tourism
7th Mangan Taku
Cordillera Food Fair

The Philippines does not ease gently into summer. It shifts, often abruptly, from one extreme to another. Earlier this year, the northeast monsoon, locally known as the amihan, delivered a rare stretch of crisp, cool weather across much of the country. In the highlands, temperatures dipped to unusual lows, with Baguio recording around 10.6°C in January 2026, a reminder of why it has long been the country’s go-to escape from the heat. But by March, the amihan had quietly withdrawn, giving way to a dry season that wasted no time making its presence felt.

By the first week of April, heat index levels in several parts of the Philippines had already surged into the “danger” category, reaching 42°C and above. At that point, stepping outside felt less like a routine errand and more like a test of endurance. The air turned heavy, the sun unforgiving. Naturally, the instinct was to head somewhere cooler, somewhere breathable. So we packed our bags and made our way back to Baguio.

There is something almost ritualistic about escaping to Baguio when the lowlands begin to simmer. Perched over 1,500 meters above sea level, the city offers not just relief from the heat but a complete shift in pace. The air is thinner, fresher, and tinged with the scent of pine. Mornings invite movement, not hesitation. For us, that meant slipping back into our Run-Walk-Run routine, something that feels nearly impossible under the oppressive heat of the plains but becomes almost effortless in Baguio’s cool embrace.

What we did not expect, however, was that our trip would coincide with a vibrant celebration of Cordilleran culture and cuisine. From April 23 to April 27, 2026, Burnham Park played host to the 7th Mangan Taku Cordillera Food Fair, an event that brought together local producers, farmers, and cooks to showcase the rich culinary traditions of the region. It was the kind of serendipitous timing that elevates a simple getaway into something far more memorable.

Baguio has always been known as the Summer Capital of the Philippines, but over the years, it has steadily evolved into something more dynamic. It is increasingly positioning itself as a hub for fitness and wellness, attracting runners, cyclists, and outdoor enthusiasts who take advantage of its terrain and climate. At the same time, the city is embracing culinary tourism, highlighting indigenous ingredients and traditional cooking methods that tell the story of the Cordillera’s diverse communities.

The food fair embodied that shift perfectly. It was not just about eating; it was about understanding. Each stall offered a glimpse into a culture shaped by geography, climate, and tradition. Recipes were not merely prepared, they were preserved, passed down through generations, each bite carrying a piece of history.

One of the highlights for us was finally getting to try a dish that had eluded us on a previous visit. Back in June 2024, we had planned to dine at Farmer’s Daughter, a well-known spot in Baguio, specifically to try pinuneg, a traditional blood sausage associated with the Ibaloi people. Unfortunately, the restaurant had been closed at the time, and the experience had to be postponed.

Pinunog

This time, however, the food fair introduced us to something both familiar and new: pinunog, sometimes spelled pinunnog. At first glance, it might seem similar to pinuneg, but the two are distinct in both ingredients and preparation. Pinuneg is made using pig’s blood combined with fat and spices, resulting in a rich, earthy sausage. Pinunog, on the other hand, takes a different approach. It is a bloodless sausage made from pork entrails and fat, carefully seasoned and then smoked to develop its signature flavor. It is widely considered a specialty of Ifugao cuisine.

The vendor, an Ifugao woman who spoke with quiet pride about her product, described pinunog as a versatile ingredient, almost like a local version of Chinese chorizo. It can be incorporated into a variety of dishes, adding depth and smokiness. She suggested mixing it into fried rice, using it to enrich monggo stew, or adding slices to pinikpikan, a traditional Cordilleran chicken soup known for its distinctive preparation method and deeply savory broth.

Of course, pinunog can also stand on its own. Simply fried and served with rice, it delivers a satisfying combination of smoky, fatty, and slightly chewy textures. We decided to take some home, purchasing a vacuum-packed portion for ₱450. The vendor assured us that it could last up to a month when properly stored in the refrigerator or freezer, making it not just a souvenir but an extension of the experience.

Hanging Etag

Another standout at the fair was itag, also spelled etag or e-tag, a staple in many Cordilleran households. If pinunog is subtle and versatile, itag is bold and unapologetic. Made from pork that is heavily salted and then either air-dried or smoked, itag is often hung in strips, giving it a distinctive appearance that immediately draws attention.
Considered the indigenous counterpart to ham or bacon, itag carries an intense flavor profile that reflects its preservation process. It is commonly used in traditional dishes such as pinikpikan and other regional stews, where its saltiness and depth enhance the overall taste of the dish. Seeing rows of itag hanging at the stalls was both fascinating and grounding, a reminder of how food practices evolve out of necessity and environment.

The fair also offered lighter, more unexpected treats. Among them were wines made from honey, often referred to as mead. These locally produced beverages showcased another dimension of Cordilleran ingenuity, transforming simple, natural ingredients into something celebratory. The sellers even offered free shot samples, but it is best not to try everything all at once, the label shows about 12% alcohol by volume.

What made the experience particularly meaningful was the direct connection to the people behind the food. These were not mass-produced items stripped of context. Each product came with a story, each seller eager to share not just how something was made but why it mattered. In a time when convenience often overshadows authenticity, events like the Mangan Taku Cordillera Food Fair serve as important reminders of the value of tradition.

Beyond the food, the fair contributed to a larger effort to support local tourism and sustain regional economies. By drawing visitors and encouraging them to engage with local products, it helps create opportunities for small-scale producers and artisans. It is a form of tourism that feels more responsible, more connected, and ultimately more rewarding.

As our trip unfolded, it became clear that Baguio offers more than just a reprieve from the heat. It offers layers of experience. You can start your morning with a brisk run through pine-lined roads, spend your afternoon exploring local markets, and end your day discovering flavors that you will not easily find elsewhere.

The timing of our visit could not have been better. While much of the country grappled with soaring temperatures, we found ourselves in a place where the air invited movement and the culture invited curiosity. The contrast was striking, almost surreal.
For those considering a similar escape, the window for experiencing the Mangan Taku Cordillera Food Fair runs until April 27. It is an opportunity not just to cool down but to immerse yourself in a region that continues to redefine what it means to travel meaningfully within the Philippines.
In the end, what stayed with us was not just the cooler weather or even the food itself, but the sense of connection. Connection to place, to people, and to traditions that continue to thrive despite the rapid pace of modern life. Baguio may still be known as the Summer Capital, but it is steadily carving out a reputation as something far richer, a destination where wellness, culture, and cuisine come together in ways that feel both grounded and inspiring.