Thinking of Francis

While working on a four-panel mural for the lobby of a beach resort and afterward the improvement of a deer statue in front of one of the cottages, I was assisted by five apprentices who lived in Olongapo and took the ferry to the resort whenever I went there. One of them was a young man named Francis. I cannot recall his surname, only that he was one of the best apprentices I ever had, he followed instructions to the letter, and he made me feel like the successful operator of a Renaissance atelier. Like all of the other apprentices Francis was poor, if not dirt poor, and subsisted only on charcoal portrait commissions from friends and acquaintances. One afternoon while we were scouring the shore for shells and bits of coral, he came upon a broken Barbie doll in a trash pile, picked it up, washed it lovingly, and stored it safely among his belongings. I asked him if the doll were for his daughter, but he explained that he intended to use it as an ecorche, "for anatomical reference".

If Francis had no family of his own I would have offered him a home with S. on the ground floor of our house, teach him more about materials and techniques, and help him generate his own art for sale. He would only have been lonely in Cubao, however, and would have longed to be with his wife and children as often as he could.