Jaylord S. Losabia: Drawing Iloilo’s stories with heart and independence

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By Noel Galon de Leon

In a modest corner of Iloilo City, a young boy would sit on the floor beside his father, an upholsterer for bus companies like Ceres and CBL, watching as sheets of leatherette were rolled out, measured, and cut. While his father worked, the boy gathered leftover scraps, inner linings, bits of fabric and started to draw. No sketchpad, no fancy tools, just a pencil and a vivid imagination. That boy would grow into an illustrator whose work now reflects Ilonggo identity, culture, and the power of self-taught creativity. His path didn’t start in art schools or studios but in the quiet corners of home, where simple moments sparked big dreams. One day, his sister, a student at the University of San Agustin, brought home a book, “Mga Ginto sa Iloilo” by Felicisima Torres Campos. It wasn’t just a book; it opened his eyes. “I think that’s when I first discovered the richness of local stories,” he says. From then on, Iloilo became more than just his hometown, it became a source of inspiration. His art is a tribute to that realization, a way of honoring his roots and showing that creativity, even when born in silence, can speak volumes.

Growing up in Iloilo City, Jaylord S. Losabia had no formal mentors in art. “I think I was the only one in the family who loved to draw,” he laughs. His biggest influence came from anime. Without internet tutorials or art classes, he would save his fare money just to visit SM City and flip through manga art books at National Book Store. He memorized every line, every shadow, every style, and practiced relentlessly at home. It was his own small, quiet act of independence, teaching himself, on his own terms, driven by passion and curiosity alone.

As a student, he joined school contests and sharpened his skills. Later, when he became an illustrator, he carried those lessons with him. When he picks up a pencil today, he starts with composition, the way a scene is arranged. “Characters, colors, and emotions all follow the composition,” he explains. In his illustrations, even the smallest details, like a woven placemat or the shape of a tree carry meaning. These are inspired by everyday Ilonggo life.

His books, such as Piyaya, Sa Plasa, and Ang Mahiwagang Patadyong, are filled with local textures, colors, and stories. He often includes Dinagyang patterns in the background or uses traditional weaving motifs in his designs. “Our Ilonggo identity is what makes our work stand out,” he says. “But stories about food, family, and values connect us all, no matter where we’re from.”

From traditional to digital art, he has learned to adapt. At first, he used watercolor, colored pencils, and markers, styles influenced by Filipino illustrators like Ruben de Jesus and Beth Parrocha. But as deadlines grew tighter, he moved to digital art. Still, he never left traditional media completely. “Sometimes I go back to it, especially when my eyes get tired from screens,” he says. “There’s something personal and heartfelt in traditional work.”

Even in his most visual stories, he always does research, studying the animals, people, or plants in the story’s setting. In Si Kabog, ang Batang Paniki, he didn’t just draw a cartoon bat; he looked at real bats and trees found in the Philippines. “Details make the difference,” he says.

As a teacher in Iloilo, he now gives back by mentoring students in poster-making and digital art. He also speaks at workshops and school events across Western Visayas, helping other teachers create and illustrate their own storybooks. “If even one or two students decide to pursue art because of me,” he says, “that’s already a legacy.”

But he dreams even bigger. Someday, he wants to be a gallery artist, showcasing his work in exhibitions. Influenced by anime and pop art, he hopes to create large-scale paintings that celebrate culture in bold and colorful ways. “Being a teacher takes most of my time,” he admits, “but I hope I find the courage and resources to chase that dream, too.”

For now, he keeps working. He encourages young Ilonggo illustrators to share their work online, join contests, and reach out to publishers. “This industry is tough,” he says honestly. “But if you stay focused, keep practicing, and stop comparing yourself to others, you’ll find your audience.”

His story is a reminder that art doesn’t always begin in studios or with perfect tools. Sometimes, it starts with scraps of leatherette on the floor, a secondhand book, and a deep love for the culture you grew up with. This is what makes his work special, not just the technique, but the heart, the heritage, and the journey of an Ilonggo who carved his own path.