The Kinaray-a and Hiligaynon word kabuganaan, meaning “abundance” or “plenty,” aptly captured the aesthetic spirit of the Rahmag Art Group exhibition, ANIngalan: A Harvest of Art. With emphasis on ani — “harvest” — the exhibition formed part of the second Aningalan Arts Festival held in the upland barangay of Aningalan, San Remigio, Antique, from 17 to 19 April. The show gathered works that drew from fruits, flowers, and vegetables found in Aningalan and across tropical Philippines, presenting both a celebration of natural bounty and a reflection on its fragility in the Anthropocene. The works gained urgency not only for present audiences but also for those who would encounter them in the future.
Featured artists included Amer Mira, Raz Laude, M. de los Santos, Hoppo Ricarze, Joan Sarmogenes, Jonathan Bunker, Nestor Cancan Jr., Krisna Marielle Morales, Morris Lavega, Tinee Delgado, Red Haraya, Pritz Norella Samillano, Sarû, Cheenie Luces and Shekinah Sibugan. The exhibition was mounted at Ambon Mountain Resort, nearly 1,000 meters above sea level. The modest gallery space opened to expansive views of mountains and forests, situating the works within the very landscape that inspired them.
Ricarze’s Bugana (Abundant; acrylic on canvas) offered an almost abstract rendering of the Aningalan mountainscape. The familiar contours of Mount Opao and Mount Napulak emerged through dense color and textured strokes, while an impressionistic foreground of blooming flowers suggested an overflowing landscape.
A familiar local scene — farmers bringing their harvest to market — appeared in Mira’s Bakintol (To Carry on One’s Head). The oil painting centered on a figure balancing a basket of leafy vegetables, rendered in translucent, impressionistic tones that lent both weight and quiet dignity to the act.
Young artist Luces presented Huni sang Kahilum (Sound of the Breaking Dawn), a mixed-media work on a round canvas. Pale golden light washed over the verdant hills of Aningalan. Two birds — likely the yellow-faced flameback, locally known as maranday — hovered within the composition, referencing an endangered species found in central Panay. A small bamboo hut sat beneath banana trees, grounding the scene in lived space. The work’s restraint evoked a calm, contemplative mood.
Morales’ Kalam (mixed media on canvas) introduced an ecofeminist dimension. The composition centered on butterfly pea flowers (Centrosema pubescens Berth), locally called kalamputay and found in Aningalan, their forms referencing the female body, especially the clitoris. Its local name came from two Kinaray-a words — kalam, meaning “the sensation of tickling,” and putáy, “vagina.” The cluster of the unapologetically violet flowers that looks like a cluster of putáy with prominent clitoris was cupped or embraced by a gold relief sculpture of entangled golden arms and hands.
My personal favorite is Samillano’s Kabuganaan (Abundance), which might as well be titled Strawberries. The acrylic-on-canvas work is a realist picture of luscious red strawberries coming out from a tilted woven bamboo and nito basket. The strawberries are freshly picked because there is one fresh flower and the calyx are still green. “The juicy red ones represent the happy moments,” according to the young artist. Strawberries is an apt symbol of the beauty, simplicity and freshness associated with Aningalan, making this painting a favorite of mine.
Several works focused closely on local flora or locally cultivated plants. Sarû’s Pidada (Bell Pepper) magnified the vivid redness of the vegetable, drawing attention to its texture and form one cannot help but feel a certain kind of gastronomic eroticism. De los Santos’ Uyog (To Shake) captured a banana heart swaying in the wind, while Nestor Cancan Jr.’s watercolor Bayabas (Guava) offered a straightforward, unembellished study of the fruit.
Laude’s May Dugo sa ’Yong Kape, Paano Ka Nakakatulog sa Gabi (There is Blood in Your Coffee, How Can You Sleep at Night; mixed media on canvas) departed from pastoral imagery to address labor conditions in coffee production. Dominated by red tones, the work depicted worn hands holding ripe coffee cherries, suggesting the human cost embedded in everyday consumption.
Taken together, the exhibition moved beyond pastoral romanticism. ANIngalan: A Harvest of Art underscored the need to recognize and care for the natural environment. It echoed ecocritic Rob Nixon’s notion of “slow violence,” framing art as a counterpoint — a gradual but persistent form of witness and response. As Rebecca Solnit had written, it is “not [yet] too late” to act.
The exhibition ultimately invited viewers to engage with a visual harvest — of color, form, and texture — that gestured toward bugana: a sense of fullness that was at once material and ethical, calling for stewardship of the landscapes that sustained it.