With the rise of digital spaces, art lovers can now encounter works they might never have had access to otherwise. Online exhibitions hosted by platforms like VINYL ON VINYL and blanc archive past and present shows by Filipino artists, opening the doors of Metro Manila’s galleries to anyone with an internet connection. For those who cannot afford transportation costs or entrance fees, or who live far from major art hubs, these sites make the country’s vibrant art scene accessible, perhaps for the first time.

As a college student, I relied deeply on these online galleries. My budget was reserved for tuition, commute fares, and lunch; there was little left for leisurely trips to galleries. Yet through these virtual archives, I found myself imagining a future where I could finally visit exhibitions in person, speak with painters whose works moved me, and maybe even begin collecting art of my own.

Being both an artist and a writer has taught me that the pieces we gravitate toward reveal more than aesthetic preferences. They reflect what occupies our inner world. When we look at a painting, are we merely acknowledging that it is “good”? Or are we engaging with it, wondering what it means, discovering personal stories within it, or sensing our own emotions mirrored on the canvas? Beauty is never just on the surface. It invites us into a dialogue with ourselves.

Lately, I have found myself drawn to artworks that explore the epiphanies of early adulthood: the quiet realizations, the disappointments, the hopes, and the process of learning how to live with all of it. Growing up felt distant and abstract when I was younger — something grand, exciting, or terrifying. Now, in my early twenties, adulthood feels less like a destination and more like a series of small reckonings. I am still discovering what happiness means, what purpose I want to follow, and how to find beauty in the ordinary. The artworks I selected below resonate with these themes, and I can imagine them in a personal collection someday. They tell stories that intersect with my own.

Jeosh — Enigma of the Grey Area (In Between Now)

Jeosh’s piece beautifully captures how life is shaped by fleeting, seemingly insignificant moments. Making coffee, walking under an afternoon sky, or sitting quietly on the grass — these liminal spaces, the in-betweens of major events, often determine who we become. Some people find these grey areas unsettling; others recognize them as essential to one’s making and unmaking. This painting invites us to examine how we spend our downtime and whether we can find meaning in the mundane.

Paolo Icasas — Never Still, Never Silent (Excerpts from a Monotony Journal)

Icasas’ work, with ink blooming into water like unending fractals, feels like a portrait of the mind. Constantly moving, thinking, generating, even in moments of monotony. It reminds me that thoughts create more thoughts, branching endlessly as long as we are alive. Beneath the surface of routine, our inner world remains vibrant. For me, this piece affirms that even the quietest days contain a form of motion.

Brisa Amir — muni muni kay mayari (A Body Draws, A Leaf Sprouts)

Mayari, the Kapampangan goddess of night and beauty, becomes a symbol here of resilience in darkness. The exhibit’s title suggests that art is as natural to humanity as leaves sprouting from soil. Just as plants grow after being buried in shadow, people create art to make sense of emotions — sadness included. This piece reminds me that darkness is not merely an obstacle but a condition for growth.

Gia Luistro — Paint as Water, Marks as Flow (Nature of Looking)

Luistro’s organic paint strokes evoke the passage of time and the way experiences leave traces on us. Even when something fades, it leaves marks that shape who we are. I love how this artwork honors the quiet insistence of human meaning-making: that even if our names never become legacies, the marks we leave — acts of care, moments of connection, daily labors — still matter. The more we cultivate the art of noticing, the more we recognize that the world is full of evidence that someone was here.

Miguel Uy — Astral Prison 3 (A Past, A Future)

I am drawn to Uy’s exploration of time, though the title Astral Prison challenges my own beliefs. I see time not as a linear thing, confined to cause and effect sequencing. The past, the present, and the future all exist simultaneously, and this idea is liberating to me. Calling this piece a “prison” disrupts that view, prompting me to question my assumptions. Perhaps to others, this knowledge restricts them and reminds them of their smallness, while to me it does the opposite. This tension is what makes the piece fascinating. It invites reflection on how our mortal, limited perspective tries to make sense of something far larger than ourselves.

Anton Mallari — Divine Thread 2 (Divine Thread)

Among all the pieces, Mallari’s work aligns most closely with the kind of art I make. The near-realistic portrait, the contemplative expression, the incorporation of organic elements — it feels like a visual meditation on interconnectedness. This painting ties together every theme I am drawn to: that our stories touch one another, that meaning ripples outward, and that existence itself is a network of cause and effect.

These artworks helped me reflect more deeply on how I see the world and what makes something beautiful. Art does not merely mirror our perspectives—it shapes them. It is not a frivolity but an instinct as human as scientific curiosity. It is an act of living, not just surviving.

I used to wander through these free online galleries as a student, grateful for the access they offered. Now, I hope to visit these exhibitions in person and experience the paintings more intimately.

How about you? What kind of artwork are you drawn to and what stories do you see in the world? And if you could build your own collection, what pieces would you choose?