Curious Buffet exhibit happened last June 29. I am still on post-exhibit high after the event.
It was jam-packed with people and the works are all amazing! Unfortunately, I forgot to take any pictures out of pure excitement and happiness.
Photos from Jamie Bauza and Angela Taguiang
Lechon by Pergy Acuna
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Photos from Jamie Bauza and Angela Taguiang
Curious Menu by Kay Aranzanso
Lechon by Pergy Acuna
bottles by Jason
Plate by Abi Dayacap
Pasta and Forgetfulness by Al Estrella
Breakfast by Jamie Bauza
Plate by Angela Taguiang
Yey! People!
Then some of my works :)
Ode to Common Things
Coconut grater
Pitcher set
See other works of Ang Ilustrador ng Kabataan!
Curious Buffet exhibit runs til July 13, 2013 at POST (formerly Pablo) at Cubao X, Quezon City
Ode to Common Things
by Pablo Neruda
I have a crazy,
crazy love of things.
I like pliers,
and scissors.
I love
cups,
rings,
and bowls -
not to speak, or course,
of hats.
I love
all things,
not just
the grandest,
also
the
infinitely
small -
thimbles,
spurs,
plates,
and flower vases.
Oh yes,
the planet
is sublime!
It's full of pipes
weaving
hand-held
through tobacco smoke,
and keys
and salt shakers -
everything,
I mean,
that is made
by the hand of man, every little thing:
shapely shoes,
and fabric,
and each new
bloodless birth
of gold,
eyeglasses
carpenter's nails,
brushes,
clocks, compasses,
coins, and the so-soft
softness of chairs.
Mankind has
built
oh so many
perfect
things!
Built them of wool
and of wood,
of glass and
of rope:
remarkable
tables,
ships, and stairways.
I love
all
things,
not because they are
passionate
or sweet-smelling
but because,
I don't know,
because
this ocean is yours,
and mine;
these buttons
and wheels
and little
forgotten
treasures,
fans upon
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms
glasses, knives and
scissors -
all bear
the trace
of someone's fingers
on their handle or surface,
the trace of a distant hand
lost
in the depths of forgetfulness.
I pause in houses,
streets and
elevators
touching things,
identifying objects
that I secretly covet;
this one because it rings,
that one because
it's as soft
as the softness of a woman's hip,
that one there for its deep-sea color,
and that one for its velvet feel.
O irrevocable
river
of things:
no one can say
that I loved
only
fish,
or the plants of the jungle and the field,
that I loved
only
those things that leap and climb, desire, and survive.
It's not true:
many things conspired
to tell me the whole story.
Not only did they touch me,
or my hand touched them:
they were
so close
that they were a part
of my being,
they were so alive with me
that they lived half my life
and will die half my death.