The Deep Roots of Wisdom

Hello everyone,

This is a commitment from the curious, not the critics.

I've been thinking about roots lately—not the shallow ones that barely hold a plant upright in the first strong wind, but the deep tap roots that reach down through layers of earth, drawing nourishment from sources that have sustained life for generations. These are the roots I'm talking about when I speak of wisdom transfer, the kind that flows from elder to child like water through living vessels.

Curiosity was once mixed with criticism from the public at large, which once made it hard for first, second, and even third generation Filipino American families to distinguish friends from foes. This confusion set us up to withhold our culture, language, and history—to assimilate instead of being humiliated, to go along to get along. We stifled and suppressed, and while we gained success, we lost our heritage and severed the lines of wisdom transfer from our elders.

Instead, we embraced fast food, fast fashion, and fast relationships that dulled our abilities to see clearly the boundaries and knowledge that our ancestors sang in songs and told in oral histories. Those stories held warnings, reasonings, and the subtleties that scream red flags. They contained our sixth sense that kept us strong, vigilant, and prepared to recognize the character and personalities that would draw us closer to accepting breadcrumbs—and those that would hold our dignity in high regard with protection and respect. Those who saw the gold within and were sources to draw it outward.

My work as an artist, storyteller, and cultural preservationist exists at the sacred intersection where ancestral wisdom meets contemporary expression—where the profound Filipino concept of kapamilya (family spirit) flows through modern American motherhood, creating something entirely new yet deeply rooted. But increasingly, I find myself painting portraits not just of faces, but of vanishing worlds.

This lack of wisdom transfer isn't just about losing tiny surface roots that sip water for immediate thirst. We're talking about the deep tap roots that draw from the experiences of our ancestors—roots that have become lost, broken, severed, and abandoned.

But here's what I know about brokenness in living vessels: repair is possible. Living things want to survive, and given the right nutrients and environment, they can thrive. This has been my obsession for my entire life, and now my hands are able to manifest this in tangible ways your family can glean from.

In our world of artificial intelligence and digital connection, what we desperately need is human touch, family consciousness, and the adventure of a lifetime—something rare and invaluable. We need wisdom transfers. We need art that changes our perception and perspective. We need stories that ground us with history, commitment, dedication, and integrity.

I'm painting a picture of possibility here—one where the golden threads of our heritage aren't lost but rewoven into the fabric of who we're becoming. Where the songs our grandparents hummed while cooking carry forward the medicine we need for today's challenges. Where the way our elders read people's character becomes the compass our children use to navigate relationships.

This is where you come in, dear community. I'm looking for the keepers of our stories—the elders, the go-to people in our families and communities who carry these precious threads of wisdom. The ones who still remember the old ways, who can spot trouble from across a room, who know which plants heal and which songs soothe. The ones who understand that respect isn't just politeness but a way of seeing the sacred in each person.

If you are that person, or if you know someone who is—the grandmother who still speaks in proverbs that cut straight to the heart of things, the uncle who can read the weather in people's faces, the family friend who became everyone's confidant because of their gift for seeing clearly—I want to hear from you.

I'm gathering these voices, these living libraries, to create something beautiful and lasting. Not to put them on pedestals, but to let their wisdom flow like water through the roots of our community once again. To bridge the gap between what was lost and what can be found, between the hunger of our curiosity and the feast of our heritage.

Because this is a commitment from the curious, not the critics. And curiosity, paired with wisdom, becomes the force that transforms not just individuals but entire generations.

Thank you for being here with me today, and I'll see you next time.

Yet across the globe, artists, storytellers, and cultural keepers are fighting back against this great flattening. In my studio, every portrait I create becomes an act of what I call "spiritual archaeology"—unearthing the beauty in mixed heritage and presenting it as a source of strength rather than confusion.

Through museum-quality techniques passed down through centuries of artistic tradition, I capture not just likeness but legacy—not just faces but the stories they carry, not just individuals but the metaphysical energy that transcends tangible materials. My canvases tell stories of cultural confluence, where gold leaf meets oil paint to honor the kapamilya spirit that binds Filipino families across generations.

The spiritual dimension of my artistic practice draws deeply from Filipino cultural values that serve as antidotes to homogenization. Utang na loob teaches us that we are connected across time to those who came before us. Pakikipagkapwa reminds us that true identity is relational, communal, and sacred. Bayanihan shows us that the most beautiful creations emerge when communities work together in harmony with natural systems.