The Inaugural Salingpusa Salu-Salo
By Arianna Alcaraz and Cecilia Ortiz Luna
This May, the Salingpusa team sent out invitations to Filipinx artists for a roundtable discussion about Filipinx artist life in Calgary.
The roundtable was held at the residence of two Salingpusa principals at an apartment building in Victoria Park. The apartment’s expansive view of downtown Calgary provided a dynamic backdrop to the discussion, with the Calgary Tower looming in the middle distance; nearby landmarks like the Central branch of the Calgary Public Library, the First on Tenth apartment complex (notable for being the site of the world’s tallest mural, a point of interest for the muralists in the room), and Arts Commons made for easy references in conversation (one of the artists had joked, “So I was actually born where the Arts Commons now stands…”). On the kitchen counter, a big potful of chicken a la king and a tray of puff pastry shells were prepped and ready to serve.
Everyone at the table all knew each other in passing, or were otherwise already active collaborators on various projects. Most had met through community groups like Filipinos Rising (FRIENDS) and Action Dignity, or arts organizations like the Alcove Center for the Arts. Of the eight participants, five were born in Canada; two moved to Canada from the Middle East; and only one immigrated from the Philippines. To see them all gathered in one room, lit with the soft glow of a late spring sunset, the bustling sprawl of Calgary’s city center in the background — it was remarkable to think about the roads that led them here, and the relationships that brought them all together.
As the recording equipment was set up and the hosts got organized, the participants chatted among themselves. Some people had arrived together, and were discussing recent events they had attended; some hadn’t seen each other in a while, and were taking the time to reconnect. Jokes and laughter unspooled naturally. By the time the moderator (our own Cecilia Ortiz Luna) sat down to begin the proceedings, everyone was jovial, comfortable, and eager to talk about their experiences as artists.
The Participants
After the land acknowledgment was made, the participants introduced themselves:
- Kodie Rollan — playwright, dramaturge, artistic director of Chromatic Theatre, “artist doula”
- Tobi Sinclair — musician/singer/producer, “does anything involving sound”
- Alex Carreon — visual artist working with mixed media, photographer
- Sayson — “artist whisperer,” Operating Director of the Alcove Center for the Arts
- Precious De Leon — writer, Director of Public Engagement at the Alexandra Writers Centre Society
- Julie Alati-it — classical musician, teacher, mother, writer
- Harvey Nichol — visual artist, storyteller
- Allan Brent Rosales — visual artist, muralist, art therapist, Community Investment Manager at Calgary Arts Development
And with that, the roundtable was off to a roaring start.
Time and Money
For her first question, Cecilia asked if they have experienced constraints in their art. There ensued the equivalent of a collective eye roll. Constraints, you say? Plenty, it seemed, from the logistical to the temporal to the existential. The starving artist trope paints artists as constantly bedeviled by financial stress. While a stable income stream is a significant concern for some of the participants at the early stages of their careers, it was time that proved to be the most scarce resource.
As the Director of Public Engagement for the Alexandra Writers Centre Society (AWCS), Precious acts as a mother hen to the hundreds of writers that comprise the AWCS membership. She confessed that the job leaves her little time for her own art. “Sundays have been my writing days,” she said, and referred to her routine as “my new church.”
Similarly, the physical toll of Alex’s current job left her very little time for artmaking. “When I come home, I’m mostly tired, [with] no time to create art.”
Meanwhile, Julie has two young kids, and a slew of side hustles.“Sometimes, just to have time, I wake up really early at five in the morning so that I could have an hour and a half to do art.”
Not that money was a non-issue. For Tobi, studio time and the cost of hiring recording professionals posed specific challenges, particularly in a city where the predominant taste in music ran counter to his own. “I wanted to have my music professionally done in a studio, but a lot of them are really expensive, and didn’t cater to my style … a lot of them do country rock, and I’m an R&B kind of guy.”
For Kodie, it was a larger-scale financial constraint when the pandemic upended the operations of arts organizations like Chromatic Theatre. “How do you fill the 500-seat theaters?”
Absence of Community / Mentors
For artists starting on their journey, the lack of personal and community support had a significant impact on their art.
Alex shared how she felt isolation stifled her creativity. “Family and community is a big part of art, and to me, that is such a big piece that is missing, and I feel like I can’t fully flesh out my art because of that.”
Allan, born and raised in Calgary, almost didn’t become an artist because of the absence of Filipino representation in the local art community. “Growing up, there were no Filipino artists in the city, no mentors, no pathway forward to becoming an artist. So, I pivoted to psychology, [and my] art practice became art service.”
Many years later, this lack of Filipino art in Calgary continued to rankle Allan. “Filipinos are the third largest ethnocultural group in Calgary, and I still don’t see myself in public art.” Fortunately, he found fellow muralists Gladzy Kei and Von Zuniga, with whom he formed the FilipinX Kasaganaan Artist Collective. Together, they successfully applied for various grants that supported the creation of a number of murals depicting Filipinx culture. “Now, we can see ourselves,” Allan said.
The Pressure to Represent
This lack of visible Filipino art in Calgary art may partly be explained by a quandary experienced by a few of the participants — the pressure to represent, which proved to be debilitating.
According to Precious, “There was a stage in my life where everything I [did was] Filipino. I felt I needed to represent. I put on myself this weight of responsibility. And that stifled my creativity, because I couldn’t just tell the stories I wanted to tell.”
Similarly, Kodie had to grapple with his identity as a Filipino artist. “I ran away from being Filipino, and running away from it made me not believe in my capabilities to be an artist. When I moved to Calgary in 2017, I actually came back to my Filipino-ness and what it means to be a diasporic people. When I stopped running away and tried to be one or the other, [that was] when I found the most truth in my art.”
Harvey’s early years in Canada were also spent running away from his roots. But he believes this tendency to shade your own culture is prevalent not only among Filipinos, but immigrants in general. “When I moved [to Calgary], I saw a lot of immigrants start hating on their culture and start claiming other cultures — like saying Pacific Islander instead of Filipino — especially those who came here in their teenage years.” Two years ago, when he started drawing on his Filipino culture as the subject matter for his artwork, a friend commented that he was “too ethnic.”
Sayson, who sees a lot of newcomers in her work with the Alcove Center, said that for people new to the city, “Art is the big connector.” She describes how people come and go for art activities and then begin to form relationships with fellow artists, which often leads to art collaborations. “Everyone really latches on lovingly.”
Another thing Harvey had to deal with during his early years in Canada was his own ambivalence towards other Filipinos. “Being born and raised in Tondo, it was hard to relate to a lot of Filipinos, because being in Canada, most of [them] could be well off, but myself, growing up in poverty there […] they tend to stereotype us.”
Tobi also felt the perniciousness of Filipino stereotypes. “I went home to the Philippines and [ I saw for myself] this stereotype that Filipinos are great singers. The thing is, for the longest time I couldn’t sing. That was a hit on my self-image.” (He noted that he has since learned to sing very well.)
Not Filipino Enough
The discussion then veered to the topic that elicited the most colorful reactions from the participants: being “not Filipino enough.” The group agreed that this seems to be a generational thing, and that they heard it most often from first-generation immigrants.
Allan recalls facing disappointment and frustration from older family members because he didn’t learn to speak Tagalog as a child. Luckily, he bonded with other Canadian-born Filipinos who had also grown up in similar circumstances. “I’m really happy with where I am, and the journey I’m on, and what I’m learning.”
Like Allan, Julie also struggled with her fluency in Tagalog. She shared that when she worked in the Philippines, people would tell her, “Oh, we want to listen to you talk so we can laugh at you.” She does, however, try to be proactive on this front with her kids. “I try to explain to them that even if their dad is Canadian and they were born in Canada, they are still Filipino.”
On the other hand, Precious and Alex felt a different kind of displacement, as both had lived in the Middle East for much of their young adult lives, neither Canada-born nor Philippine transplant (at least not directly). “These fourteen years in the Middle East,” Precious asks, “how do you tell that story?”
Sayson had a nuanced experience, having grown up in a household that was very Filipino, but still felt a sense of disconnect from the culture. “We understand the language, we eat the food, we do the traditions. I never felt not Filipino — until I get together with other Filipinos in school who migrated from the Philippines who then ask me questions about the Philippines, and I don’t know the answer.”
What now?
Harvey believes that there is a way for the Filipino community to move forward from the question of whether you are Filipino enough. “I think that’s when the real work starts, because then you’ve already accepted it … we can talk about what other life experiences and nuances there are to [being] Filipino. I think we’re in these very early stages of still questioning our identity, but once we go past that, I think that’s when rich stuff can come out in the conversations.”
Precious adds, “We have been trying to be somebody else for generations. Maybe the way forward is a return to indigeneity.”
It seems Tobi agreed, having already taken his own step toward indigeneity. “My mom doesn’t want me and my sister to get tattoos. I told her, Mom, [pre-colonial] Filipinos have tattoos. It was a way of reclaiming [our heritage]. So I went and put this caribou tattoo on my arm.”
Afterwards
After the roundtable concluded, participants stayed for the “hearty merienda” they were promised (no doubt, at least part of what enticed them to come). As they enjoyed their chicken a la king, the discussion moved on to lighter topics like ongoing collaborative projects, upcoming gigs and exhibitions, and a tabletop role-playing game based on Philippine folklore. Inevitably, the conversation would circle back around to the themes that emerged during the roundtable discussions — unsurprising given how, for this group of people, their identities as Filipinx artists are deeply rooted in and inextricable from their daily lives. In the world beyond this space, downtown Calgary was wrapping up the work week, and the clear evening sky held the promise of a pleasant Friday night.
As part of its larger goal to advocate for Filipino arts and culture in Calgary, Salingpusa endeavors to provide a safe, brave, and nurturing space for members of the community to engage in critical conversations about their lives and practices as Filipinx artists in Calgary. For the Salingpusa team, it was a joy (and a relief) to observe the candor and thoughtfulness displayed by the participants as they shared their experiences and insights during this roundtable event.
While we did not find a definitive answer to the question of how to determine whether someone is “Filipino enough,” we hope that by starting this conversation and continuing to hold space for the complexity and multiplicity of the Filipino-Canadian experience, we can help break down the barriers to our shared cultural heritage. In spaces like this, we can make our home; in gatherings like this, we can be Filipino enough for one another.
