“I jumped into the sea not knowing if it was deep or shallow—but I had to swim.”
This is how Joar Songcuya, former seafarer turned acclaimed visual artist, describes the life-altering leap he took from the engine rooms of international cargo ships to the studios and exhibition halls of the global art world.
From Iloilo to La Union, from oil-streaked overalls to canvases drenched in color, Joar’s story is one of quiet persistence, artistic convictionP and a deeply personal relationship with the sea. In this rare and intimate interview, Joar opens up about how art called to him in the middle of the ocean, how he answered that call in the face of uncertainty, and how the very waves that once carried him around the globe now flow through his paintings.
The calling from the cabin
Joar Songcuya didn’t find art in a studio or classroom — it found him in the belly of a ship.
“It was on the ship where I realized that I wanted to pursue arts,” he recalls. “After working in the engine room, I would always draw or paint inside the cabin. I grew up loving the arts — my notebooks from elementary to college were filled with drawings — but I never thought it could become a profession.”
What began as a private practice — sketching alone at sea — became a persistent whisper. For years, he kept his brushes close even as he toiled far from shore, packing art materials in his luggage and downloading YouTube art talks to watch during rare moments of quiet.
“This was my routine for a whole decade — drawing, painting, bringing home my baggage. But I couldn’t immediately let go of seafaring. I was the family breadwinner.” He was caught between duty and desire, until a global pause gave him space to listen.
Anchored in the pandemic
When Covid-19 shut the world down, Joar found clarity. Ships docked. Time opened up. It was then he gave art a real chance.
“I said, let me try this. No expectations. I could always go back to the ship anytime.”
But what started as an experiment quickly took root. “I just kept painting. I got invited to exhibitions. I poured all my time into it — even my savings. I told myself I couldn’t waste a single moment.”
And from there, a new voyage began.
Storms, struggles and stillness
Though many artists grapple with uncertainty at the start, Joar’s struggles began even before he picked up a brush professionally.
“While I was on the ship, I was already thinking that I wanted to become an artist. But it was a huge emotional struggle. I had no art degree, we had no wealth, and I was the breadwinner. It felt like everything in reality was going against art.”
But Joar refused to drown in doubt. Instead, he used fear as fuel.
“These fears — that no one would buy your work, that no one would pay attention — those became my inspiration. It was like jumping into a sea not knowing how deep it was, but knowing I had to swim.”
Joar treated art with the same discipline as his life at sea. Every day was filled with relentless studio work, not unlike the grinding hours in engine rooms. “As hard as the work was on the ship, I worked even harder in art. Here, you don’t know where the income will come from, but because you keep going, it’s your work that opens the doors.”
Recognition and reverberations
Little by little, Joar’s work found its place in the world. His themes — water, statelessness, oceanic labor, migration — resonated widely, especially among Filipinos, whose histories are deeply intertwined with the sea.
One breakthrough moment came in Europe:
“I was invited to the Haus der Kulturen der Welt in Germany — it was my first time back in Europe, not as a seafarer, but as an artist.” Standing beside global artists in an institutional exhibit felt surreal, validating and humbling.
But with recognition comes new kinds of fear.
“There’s joy, but there’s also fear. You don’t know what’s next. Will anyone invite you again? Will you still earn?”
Yet, Joar knows these feelings well by now — and embraces them.
“This is the life of an artist. You live with those feelings. But they’re also your fuel.”
Roots and realizations
Joar’s work is deeply autobiographical. His upbringing in Iloilo — amid fishermen, farmers, and laborers — permeates his canvases.
“I grew up by the river. We’re a clan of farmers and fishermen. I’m the child of an OFW. I became a seafarer. All those experiences — my identity as a Filipino — they all influenced my art.”
For Joar, painting is not escape —it’s excavation. It’s a way to bring to surface the buried lives of those often unseen: sea-based workers, migrants, rural families. His work is an offering to the communities that shaped him.
Words to fellow artists
To young artists navigating their own uncertain waters, Joar offers this:
“Be disciplined. Rest when needed. But keep going. Don’t be afraid to experiment. Keep learning. Share your art, value the people who support you. Strengthen your resolve. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help when needed.”
More than anything, he urges artists to make time their ally, not their enemy.
“No time is ever wasted if it’s poured into your art.”
The sea is not a quiet place
Joar Songcuya’s story is not about a sudden rise or a viral success. It is about slow-burning conviction, self-discovery in solitude, and the courage to pursue truth even when the waters are uncharted.
Like the sea he once sailed, his journey is both beautiful and brutal — always moving, always calling.
And in the end, perhaps that’s what makes Joar’s work resonate so deeply: it speaks of lives suspended between worlds, of people braving storms to find not just land, but meaning.
And in every brushstroke, we see a man who found his compass not in maps or machinery — but in art.