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Nostalgia: With a View

Sitting on one of the best locations in Amara, James Linsey and Don Servillas’ home brings together modern architecture, classic design elements and traditional Filipino details.

Once James Linsey opened the oversized wooden double doors that led into his house, it was clear that the star of the morning would actually be the playful doberman that approached us curiously as we walked into the foyer. “I don’t really own this house. It’s actually Atlas’,” James jokes, referring to the dog who was then settling on the living room sofa.

James has had Atlas for almost as long as he’s had the house, which finished construction about three years ago. A retired lawyer from New York City, James decided to settle in the Philippines, where his husband Don Servillas is from. He especially fell in love with this particular piece of land—situated on a slight hill in Lilo-an’s Amara, which looks out to the municipality’s historic lighthouse.

“We call it the Parola House because almost every room has a view of the parola,” James shares, using the local term for lighthouse. The architecture of the house definitely takes advantage of the vista—the main living rooms are positioned towards the lighthouse, with large picture windows that frame the structure as a sort of living art piece.

The couple had worked with architect Jun Ruaya, although James had specifically wanted to take inspiration from Horace Gifford’s work on Fire Island, a small stretch of land off the coast of Long Island that had garnered popularity as a gay vacation destination in past decades. “The Architecture of Seduction,” James says, reading the title of the coffee table book which served as the moodboard for the house’s design. Wooden elements, textured details and streamlined shapes cover the inside pages of the book.

These features found their way into the Parola House in the square spaces of the layout, the high ceilings, linear details and the aforementioned scenic windows. “We really wanted a more American and modern style when it came to the architecture,” James explains. He adds that the high ceilings were particularly important to allow better ventilation and take advantage of the cool ocean breeze. “Most days, I don’t even have to turn the air conditioning on,” he says.

A feeling of spaciousness is certainly felt upon entering the house—the two-storey foyer feels even larger with sparse furnishings, a large staircase, vertical window detailing, and drop pendant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A small indoor garden is tucked beneath the stairs, while across it a wide white wall is punctuated with a large Sio Montera painting and a Barcelona chair sitting beneath it.

Sliding glass doors lead to the den which holds a sitting area and entertainment center, and offers a view of Amara’s sprawling grounds and the sea beyond. Further into the house is the open floorplan of the living, dining and kitchen areas, each tucked into their own nooks.

With its sleek gray counters and modern appliances (“I know—so American!” James laughs when I point to the dishwasher), the kitchen gets a visual boost with the patterned backsplash. “Those tiles were made for us in Morocco, and had to be shipped to New York and then shipped here in balikbayan boxes,” James relates with a laugh.

A similar challenge came when they had the Mies van der Rohe daybed shipped from Hong Kong, along with the Barcelona chair. “There was some delay in customs,” James shrugs. The rest of the furnishings were locally sourced, with James and Don working closely with Murillo for many of the pieces. “Their pieces are so good.”

Finding that balance of modern design and traditional Filipino elements was important to the couple in conceptualizing their home’s interiors, which James and Don had put together themselves. The dining table, for example, is made from one piece of Ironwood, shipped all the way from Surigao. “It’s Don’s hometown,” he adds.

The traditional design technique continues at the roof deck, whose walls are lined with woven panels. “These guys came in with all the materials, and they just wove it right here on the spot,” he relates. “I really liked the pattern, I felt it was very native.”

The roof deck is one of James’ favorite areas of the house. The third floor sanctuary that looks out to the lighthouse and its grounds features vertical gardens, and has a bar and dining area. I tell him it’s all very New York, and he laughs. “It’s so rare for people to have roof decks here,” James states. With a view like this, it seems all too appropriate.

In my opinion, though, the best room to admire the view is the master suite. Occupying the southeast corner of the house, the bedroom offers 180-degree views of the Mactan Channel and the lighthouse. The bed faces east, allowing its occupants to enjoy the early morning sun. “At around 5 or 6 in the morning, the view from here is just beautiful,” James shares.

Through a walk-in closet is the master bathroom, which certainly feels like the best corner to relax in. A window runs along the length of an entire wall, while sitting next to it is a marble bathtub. “It’s from China, and it’s carved from a single block of Carrara marble,” James shares. The slate gray walls are decorated with capiz-framed mirrors and a ceiling lamp from Murillo.

James’ enthusiasm as he shows us around the house is palpable, and who could blame him? The home that he and Don have built for themselves is chic and comfortable, bringing together remarkable design elements while maximizing some of the best views in the area. “I hardly go into the city,” James admits, adding that he flies back and forth between New York City and Cebu. “I fly there usually about twice a year, maybe in the summer, but probably eight months of the year, I’ll be here.”

“It’s all very functional,” James continues to describe the house. “We wanted rooms that we would really use.” Perhaps that’s really what gives this house its appeal—although the details and fixings are thoughtful and luxurious, it still feels lived in and relaxed. Nothing in the space is there simply for show, and its habitability is something that will continue to draw guests and its residents—Atlas included—in.

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Arts & Culture

Kundiman–A Collaboration Between Charles Lahti and Francis Dravigny at the Qube Gallery

by Oj Hofer

“Collaboration is like carbonation for fresh ideas “-Anonymous

Kundiman—drawn from the Filipino tradition of lyrical love songs marked by longing, devotion, and emotional depth—unfolded not merely as an exhibition but as a dialogue between two artists whose practices, though formally distinct, share a common goal: that creation is never singular, never complete, and never entirely one’s own. The word itself carries weight. In the Philippine cultural imagination, kundiman is not passive sentiment but a mode of endurance—a way of loving what one cannot fully possess, of honoring what exceeds one’s grasp—and to name an exhibition after it is to make a claim about the nature of making itself: that art, like the song, is an act of devotion directed toward something larger than the maker’s intention. It is a form that does not declare but lingers; not spectacle, but the quieter and more demanding thing called intimacy.

The collaboration between Charles Lahti and Francis Dravigny operates at what might be called the threshold of language—the place where gesture becomes structure and structure, over time, turns into meaning. Their working relationship is less a merger of two styles than a negotiation between two modes of listening: one drawn to the decisive mark, the other to the patient accumulation of woven form. Lahti’s mark-making is grounded, deliberate, and unambiguous in its commitment to presence; his lines carry the quality of breath, each stroke an event rather than a flourish. Observers familiar with East Asian ink traditions will recognize this sensibility immediately, for in Zen ink practice and Japanese calligraphy, the practitioner does not decide what to draw so much as prepare the conditions under which something may reveal itself—the mark that emerges from this discipline is not decorative but testimonial, evidence of a moment of full attention. Lahti’s work operates within this logic even when the cultural references are Western, and what anchors it is not style but stance: an ethical relation to the act of making that distinguishes genuine presence from the mere performance of spontaneity, a distinction far rarer in contemporary visual art than it ought to be.

“The line is not drawn but revealed—through stillness, breath, and a quality of awareness that the discipline of reduction alone makes possible.”

Dravigny’s woven interventions introduce a different, though deeply complementary, temporality. Where Lahti works in the decisive instant, Dravigny works in accumulation—the slow building-up of material over time—and his use of abacá, a fiber indigenous to the Philippine archipelago, is not incidental. Abacá carries its own history: long harvested by hand, traded across colonial networks, woven into ropes and sails, and more recently reclaimed as a medium of cultural expression, so that to bring it into an art context is to activate this history without necessarily declaring it. In Dravigny’s hands, textile transcends its usual function as background or support and becomes instead an act of preservation—a material archive that holds within its weave the gestures of another artist. This concept, which the exhibition implicitly explores, speaks to something the atelier tradition has long understood: that a work of art may pass through multiple bodies and multiple intentions and still emerge with coherence, provided each maker brings to the passage not assertion but responsiveness, the capacity to receive another’s action and carry it forward without erasing it. Dravigny’s woven interventions propose a similar ethic, made visible rather than concealed.

What Kundiman ultimately stages is not the product of collaboration but its conditions: the particular quality of attention required when one artist’s gesture enters the field of another’s practice, and the willingness to wait that such attention demands. The Japanese aesthetic tradition names this interval ma—the generative pause, the charged space in which meaning gathers before it resolves into form—and the exhibition’s restraint is precisely its argument. There is no excess, no spectacle, no rhetorical gesture toward significance, only a sustained attentiveness to process that runs counter to the dominant logic of contemporary exhibition-making, in which legibility is prized and impact must be immediate. Kundiman refuses this, trusting the viewer to do the work of attending, and in this refusal it finds its deepest kinship with Zen aesthetics: the discipline of reduction, the clarity of intention, the respect for what is essential over what is merely present.

“What Kundiman proposes is more radical than most exhibitions dare: that the self, in the act of making, becomes temporarily permeable—open to the gesture, the material logic, the devotion of another.”

The concept of interbeing—rooted in Buddhist philosophy and carrying the understanding that nothing arises independently, that every form is the result of conditions and every maker is in part made by what they make—finds in this exhibition its material proof. What was created here does not belong to one hand alone. It emerges in the space between, where gesture is received, transformed, and returned; where material listens and form responds and meaning unfolds not as conclusion but as continuation. The exhibition ends. The dialogue does not. This is the space between hands: where making becomes meeting, and where interbeing quietly, insistently gives rise to form.

Charles Lahti with his latest works—layering print with bandana textiles to create tactile, hybrid surfaces where image, pattern, and material converge.

Francis Dravigny in his Cebu studio—transforming abacá and found materials into layered, sculptural weavings.

A wall of interbeing—where weave, gesture, and form dissolve into quiet harmony and non-duality.

A flat surface transformed into a quiet weave—drawing the eye inward, where structure softens into stillness and resonates with Zen practice.

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Arts & Culture

Kundiman After Dark: Traditional 19th Century Filipino Musical Genre Continues to Inspire

by Kingsley Medalla

The Kundiman is a traditional 19th-century Tagalog musical genre that served as a profound source of inspiration for many sophisticated, classically trained artists. The name is derived from the Tagalog phrase “kung hindi man,” literally translating to “if it were not so.” These musical pieces were often performed as poignant love songs characterized by smooth, flowing melodies containing emotional depth. Originating as a serenade in poetic Tagalog lyrics, it features a minor-to-major key progression expressing longing, devotion, patriotism, and a yearning for freedom.

Sine Pop, a boutique theater in a 1948 post-war heritage house located in Cubao, Quezon City, serves as a charming venue for cultural events and intimate performances with a small ensemble. Recently hosting Kundiman After Dark, a recital honoring the legacy of Nicanor Abelardo (1893–1934), a highly esteemed Filipino composer and pianist hailed as the “father of the sonata form in the Philippines” and a master of the art of the Kundiman. Carlson Chan, founder of Sine Pop, clarifies their unique model: the performances are open to the public and are, as such, complimentary, as its primary focus is to promote the performing artists per se.

The performances featured beloved Kundiman classics including Mutya ng Pasig (1926), Naku… Kenkoy (1930), and a personal favorite, Bituing Marikit (1926). These musical pieces were brought to life through the solo acts and live vocals of tenor Erwin Lumauag, Japanese violinist Shiho Takashima (who has since made the Philippines her permanent residence), and the renowned composer, pedagogue, and pianist Augusto Espino.

“Nasaan Ka Irog,” written in 1923, drew inspiration from a romantic tale shared by Nicanor Abelardo’s friend, who went overseas leaving behind his beloved in the Philippines. Years after, this man eventually became a doctor and, upon his return, discovered that the love of his life had been married to someone else. He also learned that the letters he had sent were never delivered to her, as they were kept by the doctor’s family, secretly away from her. A classic case of unrequited love. Kundiman serves as the heart and soul and the pinnacle of Filipino musical artistry.

Violinist Shiho Takashima and pianist Augusto Espino

Tenor Erwin Lumauag

Art patrons; Pacita Agoncillo Sode, Marilou Khan Magsaysay, Patricia Cepeda-Sison and this writer Kingsley Medalle

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Arts & Culture

Art Beat: Scenes From the Manila Art Fair 2026

photography by Doro Barandino

“Art is unpredictable and goes in different directions. I have no idea. I would rather live the present moment.” —Bencab, National artist of the Philippines.

Vinta by Protegeri, collaboration art piece by Leeroy New, Solenn Heuseff and Vito Selma

Q&A with interior decorator and jewellery designer Doro Barandino

Which of the participating art galleries had the most unified and exciting theme?
Leon Gallery had the most amazingly put-together collection. Though the gallery engaged various artists, the overall visual effect felt like one unified theme. Leon Gallery used a sack-like cloth (most likely raw linen) as the background for the booth, and it brought the collection together. It had an old-world feel in a chaotic setting.

Who were the artists that were the most visually engaging?
The works of Carlo Tanseco were definitely my favorite. The artist used an eye chart (Snellen chart) as the background for the image of Dr. Jose Rizal giving us the middle finger—such an “in your face” message. The concept of our national hero as a modern-day provocateur was a wake-up call to everyone. Very subversive and underground material. I was also attracted to the works of Japanese artist Tadashi Kogure; they’re very architectural.

Was the choice of venue and its layout helpful in engaging the whole art vibe?
What I noticed was that the masters like Juan Luna, Fernando Amorsolo, and Fernando Zóbel still attracted the most viewers at the art fair. People are naturally drawn to their masterful strokes and historical significance, or perhaps these artworks are not readily accessible for public viewing. Or maybe those booths that carried the masters’ works were strategically positioned right after the registrar.

The choice of venue at Center One was a good move—it created a total art vibe. Manila Art Fair remains the premier art fair in the country today, showcasing the finest modern and contemporary art while offering curated projects and immersive installations.

The Standard by Thai artist Pitchapa at the Triangular durational, performance art.

Bato Bato sa Langit by Filipino artist Carlo Tanseco

Stocking Proportions Menumpuk Proporsi by Indonesian artist Labadiou Piko

Untitled by Indonesian artist Yunizar

Filipiny, wool tapestry by national artist of the Philippines,Federico Aguilar Alcuaz.

Untitled by German artist Valentin Elias Renner

Interior decorator and jewellery designer Doro Barandino is also a regular contributor for zee.ph

 

 

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