It was already two in the afternoon when I reached upstairs, some of the featured artists were already in the middle of an on-stage talk.  My intention was to beeline straight to the booths, but the fluorescent lights above the stage beamed onto a highly reflective surface, it shimmered and bounced back right into the corner of my vision.  It felt as if a scene in a Michael Bay movie, the lens flare shone through between people’s backs. I could see what caused my momentary half-blindness.  Kevin Eric Raymundo aka Tarantadong Kalbo was seated on the raised platform microphone on hand, and a bit star-struck all that I could think was “Wow kalbo talaga siya…”  

Seeing that the talk had just begun and would take up his time for the better part of an hour or two, I calmed my giddy nerves and decided to stroll around the booths and stands for a bit.

Technically being a collaboration of both Litfest and Komiket the venue was split into two, so I went into Litfest first.  I was relieved when the air conditioning worked because the lobby outside was as humid as the Amazon.  Dread filled me soon after remembering a recent psych evaluation. I am apparently a neurotic extrovert meaning I both thrive and fear being around other people.  Seeing the cramped snaking paths packed with people in elaborate costumes and clunky backpacks blocking the way, the neurotic half was kicking in.  I came alone and it was rather overwhelming, it was the first time I’d been to a convention since the pandemic and it became evident how despite my vocal yearning of being amongst crowds again I had grown quite comfortable being by myself, loneliness is a drug they say.  That being said I feel like my social anxiety is not all to blame, hearing that the venue would be the IEC many including myself justifiably assumed that the event would be more spacious than it turned out to be.  I understand that conventions will always lead to sucking in one’s stomach and extending one’s arms to get by, but considering the location I feel as though the allocation of space leaves much to be desired.

A eulogy often means the death was recent, no one orates a passage that’s passed into the… past, that would be a tribute instead of a eulogy.  I bring this up because a significant complaint hurled towards Litfest is that the first half of that word doesn’t really mean anything anymore.  Event after event literature becomes a smaller and smaller presence in Litfest conventions leading many to posit that Litfest didn’t just die, that the event formerly known as LITERATURE Festival was long gone.  Eyeing each table as I stroll along and failing to see one fully dedicated to the written word, this sentiment rings true for me.  The only narrative piece of literature I could find was a comic book, something that a whole separate wing of the event is dedicated to which later, credit where credit is due, we will discover that at least the Komiket portion stayed true to its name.  The absence of a literary atmosphere was quite disappointing but nevertheless there was still a plethora of talented artists showcasing their work and if there’s anything to rival my love for literature, it would be my love for the visual arts.

In particular there was Jovi Neri and his series of illustrations of famous sports icons.  My relationship with sports has always been enthusiastic but non-participative, and furthermore the several figures that have emerged as famous idols have always fascinated me.  Out of all celebrities I think the athlete is one of the most interesting for it is probably the most meritocratic type of fame one can attain, you needn’t be charismatic or conventionally attractive (though most sports lead to becoming that anyway) you just have to be good at your field.  Jovi Neri portrays these gods of athletic prowess with meticulous colored pencil precision and a level of anatomical detail that is unbelievably impressive.  They all feature the athletes in a full body colored rendition mid-play with a close-up candid black and white bust in the background.  From Tiger Woods to Effren Reyes the drawings feel like a worship, they convey the larger-than-life aura that these people have and an admiration is palpable with every stroke.  Neri compiled all of these drawings in his very own art book entitled “just a layer drawing SPORTS ICONS” as well as selling them individually as art prints.  One of the most anxious aspects of artist’s conventions like this is having to go through the uncomfortable scenario of spending minutes marveling at someone’s art only to awkwardly shuffle away because you don’t have money to spend on buying their work. Confounding this further is how Mr. Jovi Neri offered to grant me access to the PDF copy of his art book and by that point the guilt had taken over from my cheapness and I decided to purchase a print of the late great Muhammad Ali.  It was not that big of an expense which is good because I intended to leave this place with a wallet possessing the same thickness as I entered, a conviction that as you read further did not last.