But may we mourn? is an account of Santos processing life “after” COVID and the 2022 Philippine elections, two life-altering events that backdrops a lot of personal firsts. She campaigned for the leading opposition candidate, spurred on by a spark of hope. This hope was underscored by dread when, looking at the campaign materials, she was already bracing herself for a different, less favourable result. She feared the way she would handle such a monumental loss. But may we mourn? Are we allowed to?

Active campaigning with physical, visual material leading up to elections is such a strong part of our recent history, where visibility is often what will put one candidate ahead of another. It becomes a large part of our physical landscape during the campaign period that they become one with the background — just another face in the crowd — where presence takes the shape of invisibility. We see them too much that we become desensitized. We see them too much that we ignore them. Now, in the face of this loss, many of them serve as reminders of what could have been but isn’t. “Shall I look back at you with fondness?” she asks them. “Sayang naman,” she can’t help but think.

Santos believes that this period of her life has become a core memory. “There are moments in your life that will completely change you, and this was one of them.” The present is a rolling sea of confusion that compels Santos not only to ask for permission to move forward, but also to ask how to get to the next point. After all of that, what does she do? And what do the rest of us, those unhappy with our lot, do?

But may we mourn? is ultimately an expression of anxieties and fears, dealing with the aftermath of what appears to be the collapse of such a tangible presence of hope. The paintings are layers and layers of the things she soaked up during the period leading up to the elections; how many of the marks on the canvas are attempts at covering up the traces of this period, though never completely.

Santos feels some level of fear, with her association with a movement that defiantly opposed the future we are facing. Each layer of her paintings stands for a feeling at each different stage of life after this pivotal moment. The act of covering up, in soft and partial layers, is a recognition of these feelings. We go on, with an acknowledgement of how these feelings and moments can work together to make a complete picture. It is not a moving on, but a moving forward, as her titles betray her desire to conceal this period, referencing an insistence on the uncertainty of the future, especially one that appears to be fraught with danger and on the brink of disintegration: “Are the People Rejoicing?”, “Shall I Look at You with Fondness?”, “Until It is Safe”.

-Carina Santos