By Noel Galon de Leon

PART I: WHEN A CITY BEGINS TO ARCHIVE ITSELF

There are things that easily disappear when they are not written down, photographed, recorded, and, most importantly, preserved in a form that future generations can revisit. Art is one of them. A mural may remain on a wall, a sculpture may stand in a public square, and a painting may survive in a private collection, but cities change, buildings are demolished, institutions are replaced, artists pass away, and the stories behind works that once mattered to a community gradually disappear. This is why the publication this year of Himbon: Contemporary Ilonggo Artists, a coffee table book that brings together, recognizes, and documents artists and artworks contributing to the contemporary art scene of Iloilo and Western Visayas, is significant. More than a beautiful book for a coffee table, it is an attempt to say: We are here, these are our works, and this is a part of the region’s artistic history that we do not want to lose.

It is important to return to the name of the group itself. Himbon means “to gather together.” It is not merely a name but a principle behind its formation. The group began in 2015 from the desire to bring together established and emerging artists who struggled to find spaces where they could exhibit their work. It was formally launched in September 2017 by Harry Mark Gonzales, Vic Fario, Gina Apostol, and Marrz Capang. Over time, the group became a home for artists from different parts of Panay and Guimaras who work across various artistic forms. This history matters because it shows that art collectives are not simply groups of friends who exhibit together. In a city where exhibition spaces can be limited and where many artistic collectives appear and disappear, the survival of a group for nearly a decade is already a cultural achievement.

This is where the book becomes even more important. Himbon: Contemporary Ilonggo Artists is not merely a catalog of paintings, sculptures, and other artworks. It is an attempt to give material form to a collective history. According to the publication statement, the book serves as a tangible legacy of the group’s contributions to the arts of Iloilo and the region, highlighting its artists, their works, and their achievements. Seen from this perspective, the book becomes a form of cultural archive. An artists’ collective that was previously encountered through exhibition halls, malls, public spaces, festivals, murals, or social media now has a physical document that can be held, read, collected, placed in libraries, preserved in archives, and revisited years from now.

Here, we need to take the word “archive” seriously. When you choose to place an artist in a book, you are choosing to preserve that artist’s name, face, work, and story within cultural memory. When you leave someone out, there is a possibility that the artist will disappear more quickly from the official narrative of art. When you give an artwork an entire page, you are saying that the work deserves attention. When you make it small, push it to the margins, or use it merely as decoration, you communicate something else. This is why an art book is not only about what it contains. It is also about how it teaches us to look at the artists we want to remember.

The history of Himbon is also important because the group did not emerge in isolation. It developed within a much larger ecosystem of regional art practice shaped over many years by artists, curators, educators, cultural workers, galleries, institutions, and independent initiatives. Among those who guided the group were Ed Defensor and Martin Genodepa, two figures deeply connected to the development of contemporary art in Western Visayas. Defensor is recognized as one of the pioneering Ilonggo multimedia artists and cultural workers and played a significant role in regional art development. Genodepa has likewise built a long career as a visual artist, sculptor, curator, educator, and cultural worker. Their presence in the history of Himbon demonstrates something we often forget about cultural work: artistic communities survive through transmission. There are those who came before, those who follow, and new artists who need the opportunity to discover their own language.

In this context, the group’s public artworks are also significant, particularly the Dinagyang mural at Esplanade 1 in Mandurriao. The mural demonstrates how contemporary art can move beyond the gallery and enter the everyday landscape of the city. People do not need to buy a ticket to see it. They do not need to be collectors to have access to it. Ordinary residents, tourists, students, workers, families, and children growing up in the city encounter it. When art occupies public space, its relationship with the community changes. It is no longer simply a private possession or something viewed inside an exhibition. It becomes part of a city’s visual memory.

This is also why the messages of the group’s advisers deserve serious attention. For Genodepa, an art community is not simply an organization that gathers artists. It is a place where established and emerging artists can learn from one another, where experience can be shared, and where individual passion can become collective strength. This message is particularly important in a regional art scene because we often measure success through awards, exhibitions, sales, international exposure, and recognition. Yet before there is an award-winning artist, there must be a community that provides a place to begin. Before there is a nationally recognized artist, there must be a first exhibition that offers an opportunity. Before there is an important regional artwork, there is often a small studio, workshop, collective, friendship, mentor, or community that says, “Keep going.”

At this point, Himbon becomes a larger story than the collective itself. It is a story about how art survives outside the center. In the Philippines, it is easy to assume that the most important artistic conversations happen in Manila. It is equally easy to think of regional art as merely an extension of the national art scene. The existence of collectives such as Himbon challenges this hierarchy. Iloilo has its own history. It has its own artistic memory. It has its own artists, aesthetic debates, institutional struggles, public artworks, collectors, audiences, and creative communities.

This is perhaps where a book like this becomes most important. It does not have to prove that Iloilo is better than Manila. More importantly, it insists that Iloilo has its own story that deserves to be read.

PART II: WHEN A BEAUTIFUL BOOK IS NOT ENOUGH

But this is where the more difficult conversation begins. If Himbon: Contemporary Ilonggo Artists is important, is it enough to say that it is important simply because it has been published?

The answer is no.

Perhaps this is the most important question we should ask of any cultural publication: If a book is a document of art, does the way it is designed adequately represent the art it seeks to preserve?

This is a difficult question to raise about a project built through collective labor. People invested time, money, talent, coordination, and personal resources to make the book possible. According to the publication statement, much of the project was carried by a creative team that included project chairperson Aivee Genson and in-house layout artist Althea Villanueva. Sponsors, partners, families, and friends also contributed to making the publication possible. This kind of labor should not be underestimated. In a regional setting, producing a coffee table book devoted to local artists is rarely a simple editorial exercise. It often requires overcoming limited budgets, production resources, technical expertise, and institutional support.

But precisely because the project matters, it deserves to be examined critically.

An art book is not simply an album containing many photographs. Book design has its own grammar. It involves sequencing, visual rhythm, the relationship between typography and image, the appropriate scale for artworks, the choice of paper, color reproduction, image resolution, captions, white space, pagination, and visual hierarchy. Every page should have a reason for being arranged the way it is. If a painting is reproduced too small to reveal its details, the value of reproducing it is diminished. If an image has poor resolution, it is not only technical quality that suffers. The reader’s understanding of the artwork is also affected.

This is one of the most important criticisms that can be made of the book: an art book cannot be treated simply as a container for artworks. The book itself becomes part of the way the artwork is seen.

If a painting is blurred on the page, the reader cannot see the texture of the brushwork. If the colors are inaccurately reproduced, we are almost looking at a different painting. If an image is stretched to fill a page, it may become larger without becoming a better representation of the work. If an artwork is used as a blurred background behind text, it risks becoming a decorative object rather than remaining the primary subject. If too many artworks are crowded together, each work loses the opportunity to breathe.

This is not simply a matter of aesthetic preference. It also has an ethical dimension.

When an artist spends years developing a visual language, a publication has a responsibility to represent that language properly. The photographer, editor, layout artist, printer, and publisher all become part of the interpretation of the artwork. The book is not a transparent mirror. It is a filter. Every filter has consequences.

This is why the critical assessment included in the publication itself deserves attention. It notes that some reproductions are too small to allow readers to properly study the artworks. It also raises concerns about image quality and color fidelity, as well as design decisions such as the use of blurred artworks as backgrounds. Another concern is the amount of space devoted to sponsors, which reportedly extends to approximately thirty-four pages. The issue is not the inclusion of sponsors. Institutions and individuals who support cultural projects naturally deserve recognition. The question is how that recognition can be presented without allowing it to overwhelm the artistic content that gives the book its purpose.

This is one of the dilemmas faced by many cultural projects in the regions. We need sponsors to make projects possible, but sponsorship requirements can sometimes consume the space intended for cultural content. We need institutions to support exhibitions, but institutional branding can become more visible than the artist. We need audiences, but if we follow only the commercial logic of audience engagement, we risk losing the complexity of the artwork. We want beautiful publications, but being beautiful does not automatically mean being well designed.

This is why the regional cultural sector must learn to be more critical of itself. Applause is not enough. Congratulations are not enough. It is not enough to say that something is important simply because it is local. Being regional should never be an excuse for lowering standards. If anything, it should be a reason to raise them.

If Iloilo is serious about establishing itself as an important center for the arts, it needs a stronger ecosystem for art publishing. We need book designers who understand the particular demands of art books. We need art photographers who understand color accuracy and reproduction. We need editors who can engage with artistic practice rather than merely proofread captions. We need curators who understand that selection is as important as inclusion. We need cultural institutions willing to invest in documentation. And we need publishers who are not afraid to ask what can be done better in the next edition.

This is where Himbon can have a second life.

The first book can become a beginning rather than an endpoint. It can serve as a baseline for a future volume. It can document artists working today while also creating a foundation for a more systematic record of their development. Future volumes could show how their aesthetics, materials, themes, and relationships with their communities evolve. They could include deeper artist statements, curatorial essays, timelines, interviews, archival photographs, exhibition documentation, and more carefully reproduced artworks.

Most importantly, the next volume can ask: Who is missing?

That is a question every cultural archive should carry.

Who is the young artist who is not yet known? Who is the artist working outside Iloilo City? Who works in Hiligaynon, Kinaray-a, Akeanon, or other local contexts? Who creates art in community spaces rather than formal galleries? Who lacks the resources for professional documentation? Who are the women, queer artists, Indigenous artists, community artists, muralists, illustrators, digital artists, craft practitioners, and experimental artists who may not fit traditional definitions of a visual artist? And who might become part of the next chapter?

Because the true value of an art book is not measured only by the number of artists included in its pages. It is measured by the breadth of the world it allows us to see.

Himbon: Contemporary Ilonggo Artists matters precisely because it gives us something to celebrate and something to debate. It has achievements that deserve recognition and limitations that deserve reflection. It has a history that deserves to be recorded and a future that can still be shaped. The first important steps have already been taken: the artists gathered, created, organized, exhibited, collaborated, and now published.

But a publication should not become merely a monument to the past. It should become a challenge to the future.

Perhaps the best thing that can happen to a first art book is not for everyone to declare it perfect. It is for us to say: This is the beginning, and the next one can be better.

The artists of Iloilo do not need pity. They do not need special treatment simply because they are regional. What they need is serious attention, rigorous documentation, adequate space, honest criticism, and institutions that understand that culture is not an ornament of the city. It is part of the city’s identity.

And perhaps this is the most important message of Himbon: art remains alive when people come together, but it becomes history only when we choose to remember, document, and preserve it.

Himbon means gathering. But the next stage is no longer only about gathering.

It is time to gather, archive, question, critique, edit, design, and publish with greater ambition.

Because if the artists of Iloilo can create art worthy of public attention, we should also be capable of creating books worthy of history.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and professor at the University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in the Division of Professional Education and at UP High School in Iloilo. He is also the secretary of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts’ National Committee on Literary Arts.