 Thank you all for coming. I'm Archie Fernandez. This is Tommy Afalia. I am a photographer, printer, and publisher of MAPPA books. And the mother of the crying boy that just left the room. I started MAPPA books in 2016. I've been working as a printer and working with photography in London for the last ten years. And I really wanted to do something, you know, I really wanted to publish Tommy's book. Tommy's was the first book that I thought of and it took me about three years to convince him, possibly more, to hand me over a third year's worth of images from the Cordillera. And we, as MAPPA books, we would like to carry on producing our more, more photography books from the Philippines and hopefully expanding to Southeast Asia. Tommy's Ely was our first book, so I'm really, really thrilled that he is here with us today. I'm Tommy Afalia, and sorry, this is my friends from the Academy. I will be talking a bit of the photograph through my experience in taking photos. He will allow me to share the little that I know, the little that I know about the Cordillera. And I'll be touching on a bit of the misrepresentation, I mean symbols and icons, the results of what I've learned through my involvement into the community. Let this be a very informal thing. Maybe you could ask questions in between, not really me talking, and after I talk, then you ask questions. You could interrupt me. I mean because I'm not in authority, I mean to be, the knowledge that I have about the Cordillera is so limited, maybe the scratch on the surface. And but if you allow me, I mean the things that I've learned in the Ely, they call it the Ely, where you belong. The Ely means where you belong, where you are, your attachment, your soul is in the Ely. Like the first image here, originally it's called the Hugo, but it is better known as the Buru. And as you know, it's a pair, and it's one of the most abused, misused icons in the Cordillera, if you agree. I mean like, since it doesn't represent a God, which is written like it's the rice cup, but from my fieldwork and my involvement with the community, I've learned that it is the highest form of hardship. It is part of healing. They perform, again, will be jumping from one, like the Imbaya Festival in Ifugao. The word Imbaya actually is part of healing in the term Ibayahon, meaning to say the bayah is rice beer, rice wine. They will make bayah for a healing ritual. And there, if you are atumana and you own a lot of, I mean, big, these of land, and you control the rituals. And of course Ifugao is the most complex ritual cycle from conception to birth, to death, and beyond. And along the way, I mean, you work the land, the field, your rice field, day in, day out, and eventually you get sick, you get weak from working the land, working the rice. That's the time that the tomona would be calling the assistance of the baki, and then it's a long process actually. And then they will perform the healing ritual. And then they will assign, as earlier Iken presented yesterday, about tagiling. Tagiling is an artisan of Bulul or Fuku. That's why the Bulul and Fuku are named after the artisan who did it. And then they will perform the healing sacrifice animal. And they always come in pair, a man and a woman. It can never stand alone. Representing the family of the tomona who's weak, getting weak. So they start the healing that they do sacrifice. And then after the ritual, the ritual actually they put, they transfer the negative things in this item, the sickness, the misfortune that you're having, you encountered into this. So it is just like a bin, a trash bin of negative. After the healing ritual is done, this icon next to nothing. Actually, you could use it for fire. But since a spirit was brought in, all the negative things, it becomes secondary that it will become a guardian of the Agamang or where they store the rice. So if you feel bad intentions of stealing someone else's harvest, you might as well move away from that because the sickness, the misfortune that was transferred in this icon would be transferred to you. And again, misrepresentation, they're using it on letterheads, trophies. And if you know how it's been used in Ifugao, why do they use this icon to represent Cordillera? Since all the things here are so negative. And the secondary function of it being a human scarecrow, that's why they put it in the price possession, which is their harvest, to guard it as a guardian. Tommy, can you tell us the story of when you took these photos and what was seen across from the room? The first image, it was in the same granary, rice granary. And the second one, it's just like an arm. So meaning to say, the Pomona, I mean through the years, been sick or encountered misfortune along the way when working the land. That's why you have several. Tommy, are they made specifically or they're kept as an heirloom and it's transferred continually? It is transferred continually. But they have more than one. Does this mean that at what time did they change them? They don't change them. Every time that you have, you would be feeling weak and then you would be asking again the backheat to perform. But when did you make the new one? Because it's more than two here. I had another one made. Do you know why? I don't know why, but according to Balboa, the owners of the Hugo, through the years of working the land, she's been sick for several, I mean, a second image. Do you want me to read the caption? I thought it would be interesting to read the caption in the book because it's such a detailed, an incredibly detailed manner of creating the Hugo or the Bulul. The Hugo or the Bulul is one of the most misrepresented figures of the Cordillera. It is commonly believed to be a rice god. In Ifuga, when a Tomona, as Tommy was saying, which the Tomona as owner of Bass Tracks or Rice Field, falls ill or has overcome with misfortune, he or she can call on the Mumbakis to perform a healing ritual. The Bakis will then visit the Muyo, a communal forest, to choose a hardwood tree, usually a nara, that will then be used to carve the Hugo. An artisan is given the task to create a pair of Hugo's that will represent the Tomona. The process of carving is a ritual itself for the duration of its creation. The artisan is not allowed to bathe, nor sleep with his wife. He is not allowed to wash his hand, save for three fingers he uses to eat. Once the Hugo's are complete, the Bakis will conduct a series of invocations to transfer the sickness and misfortunes of the Tomona to the wooden icons. The ritual includes an animal sacrifice. When the ritual is finished, the Hugo's may be discarded. However, most Tomonas keep them in the rice granaries to ward off thieves. They believe that if someone wants to seal from the granary, they will hesitate when they see a Hugo. They'll know that the owners have endured misfortune and that the icons now possess these elements. In essence, the Hugo's become scarecrow. Now the artisans made it, who went through those not sleeping with a wife and not taking a bath. They named this icon, like a tinagiling bulu, or a kinabiga, meaning to say a kinabiga made by a kabiga, who's an artisan. Gamal, who's another artisan. So they are not gods. They are the artisans. It's named after the artisans. We actually have a photograph of Kabigat from 1984. I think he was doing a ritual. The ritual is abogua, the second burial. Next one we'll be talking about would be, yeah, sorry. Here, in the mountain province, this is Sagada. This is in the mountain. People notice on your right, their left, is a tinag tago. It's called a tinag tago and very similar to the bulu. But it doesn't, I mean, the function of that is not. Yeah, basically it's inside that. Maybe from Sagada here. They're all like preparing for the, they're preparing. They know the actually the tinag tago would be your first wedding present from your parents and from the community. But when you get married and you go on a separate house, they call it the Munpabbe, the first thing that they would give to you in your house is the tinag tago. It's your first wedding present to guard it. So again, it's a garjan actually. They put it beside the heart, which is the heart of the house near that very wildly visible. Again, with the lalo here on his right, you will see a tinag tago. Very similar. The icon is very similar. So if you have bad intentions of entering somebody's house because before, you don't have keys. But when you see, when you glimpse, oh, someone's there. So better not. I mean, better not enter. The next thing he makes is, there we go. Oh, okay. Here we go. There's no generic. Anybody, anybody familiar here with the wishing, the Ling Ling Oh, the lubei, or that denoumo. I will talk about that later after. It's written in books that it's a fertility ring. But the way I went, it is more of an ability symbol. Yeah, June Pearl Brett says the first time it was used is she's traced it back to antique dealer in the 1960s in Marbet who used it as a way of selling. And as everyone knows, lowlanders and foreigners want fertility symbols from primitive people. And she said it was about mid-60s, the first time she ever heard anyone call it that. So June, it's traced the origin of that idea. And who would have known the anatomy of a woman two, three hundred years ago to practice and putting it together like the womb of a woman being. But men and women wear it. In Ifugao, they call it the Ling Ling Oh. In the mountain privates in Sagada, they call it the wishing. In Upper Bontok, they call it the Sing Sing. And going towards the eastern part, they call it the denoumo. And in Kalinga, they call it the lubei. For me, it is more of sharing. And if you notice behind Handaan Udan among Baki, the nose part of the butchered sacrifice. So meaning to say that if you butcher, you did rituals, you can consume the whole carabao. You share it with people. So it's more of a sharing rather than a fertility. In a sense, the word fertility, maybe he has fertile land, fertile livestock that he shared to the community. So it is more when you see someone wearing a lot of the meaning to say unknown. Because he shared what he had. It's a society in which status is conferred by what you give away and not by what you accumulate. This photograph was taken in 1984 and not taken in Kiraking. As you could see, there are several. And if you look at it a little bit further, the chicken hoops, this photograph was taken in the late afternoon because they'll keep the chicken. Why do they keep the chickens hanging? Of course. In Ifogal, that's why you have the libon. The libon and the protected. Attack from rats. Because rats cannot go east-faced or north-faced to climb up. To protect them. Any more questions as far as I can answer, maybe you have some questions? Yes, ma'am. As your projecting is, there's bad stuff out there that you need to be protecting. So the whole society is of theological implication. There is a lot of bad stuff out there. That's why you need all of these objects so that they don't harm you. To appease them. To appease. To protect. When you start talking about that, the assumption is there's something bad or wrong out there that you have to stop them from harming you. The unseen. That's the unseen. I mean like the annito. The word annito again is not very Cordillera. But annito is from the lowland. The term annito is not from Cordillera. How about the bulls that are holding bulls? Do they have a different function or why are they holding bulls? It is a design, I mean more contemporary. That's why I had a talk with Constance Mombreson, the curator, and she was boasting with this item that she acquired for the museum and said it is a more contemporary design. I mean rather than, I mean it was used again. Yes, Anna? I have a question more about your photographic practice. As I understand it, you are a part of the community and so you go back there and you go back there not just to take photos but to bring photos to the people who use photographs. And I'm wondering how this ties into the concept of the Ili. Maybe you could talk a little bit about why you do this because I mean there are not a lot of photographers who do that effort to come back and to bring these photos back. Actually it's the way I started into photography. I went into the Ili, different Ili's without any camera hanging on my neck, a fancy necklace hanging on my neck. But mostly to establish a rapport with the people with having this in mind that eventually the practices, the rituals in the Cordillera would be thinning away and I give them an introduction that I'm documenting this for this practices that's daily life for the next generation to come. For them to know, I mean maybe I could contribute visually. I mean that this is a very rich culture and this is part of our being Iguro or being a Kalinga or an Ifua. Yes. Have you ever been influenced by other photographers? Like, you would say, much better. Since the resources when I was starting into, started quite late in photography after I took aircraft maintenance, engineering, and vanilla, they didn't know anything about the arts. But when I went home eventually I was invited to Montpoulos and since I don't know how to write for paint at that, I thought of photography being a medium to express. So then I started from landscapes to why not the people and then there. But I did a different approach of going into communities without nothing and just telling them my purpose, I mean like my maybe my contribution later for the coming generation so they may see part of their better rich culture. And then there again as the, hmm. Well I think Tommy, because we did the same thing. We always, we took photos and gave photos. We used to send them down to Senior Mastery to have them developed and send them back up on the bus. He lived in Montpoulos then. People what they remarked immediately to us is most people come here and take the picture. You come here and give the picture because they were used to people coming to photograph the exotic and take them away. So their immediate response to us was wow you're different and I, it's also the appreciation I, because you don't know because behind your back I know what people say and they say he's like that. He comes and gives something and shares it because most people just want to take the picture and take it away. Yeah and that reinforces again your involvement with the community when you go back how this is what I took of you. And you keep the bond I mean like if you reinforce it. But again they're so, sometimes they're so, they put up a wall that when you take a photo meaning to say that you're taking the soul with them because a lot of photographers did promise to go back and give them photos but they never, they never went back. And anyway I'll be showing a short film in just 11 minutes. The one I took in 1988 it's called The Dante. Where is it? On the left side no. No we opened it earlier didn't we? Did we take it down? Is there history? Where's the, I opened it online. No it's not there. I'll open it online. Oh yeah that's what we did. Yeah okay sorry. We opened it online but we lost it. Yeah sorry apologies. I had it ready and then a... Well anyway while she's fixing the thing, The Dante is done. I mean like it's in Sagada. They do it every after 10 years and they re-established the boundaries of Sagada and actually and aside from that it is a call from the people who left Sagada went to what they called Balasiu Tao across the sea to come back and pay a visit. It always worked. I mean like the two Dante that I was part, every time because the Dante is a total of a 90-day ritual and after the ritual people from the US, from the UK would start coming home to pay a visit in Sagada. So I haven't used the Windows computer and sorry I wasn't prepared to not have it here. Do you ever get to make the late Guadalajara? No you didn't put it here. Yeah later in the 1984 Mr. Eduardo Masferi was supposed to do an exhibit at the Smithsonian but it didn't push through. But before that I was working with this cinematographer friend, Boy Negen, doing a film on the Ifugao and we delivered from the Good Institute, from Germany. We delivered photo paper for Mr. Masferi in 1984 and that's the first time that I met him. Are we on? No? No? Sagada is home to one of some of our national minorities in the northern part of the area. At the point of the century, individuals from South Angeles would link Sagada for other opportunities in the big world outside. But home always beckons. Once in another decade, the elders of Sagada community would announce through a ritual the call to come home. The following morning in late for 1988, the community's chief turned over to his wife, Tobuaya, or a necklace made of corpaband and one Doris T. She was going to be officer for that day only after that I, the community's center of decision making. Remember the community's group of elders, the men were going to do the dumper. The ritual would be through the call to come home. At the same time, they were going to visit and renew the boundaries of Sagada. There was going to be more to be done during the day. On this day, the men should be dragged in ruins or G streets and no footwear. Special for the ritual, the elders also wear a headgear of rooster feathers. The men also take turns in tearing in 83, essential to the ritual. Inside their bamboo and ribbon backpacks is cooked rice. In a bamboo pitcher is southern, a fermented drink. They go on a leeway or a fast-paced trek in rhythmic cabins with a beating of their shields. On reaching the base, the group's first thought, the elder thought supporting of the pig's ear. He puts it on a stake and issues a call for the woman. The rest of the men move to the next station. So there are your friends, and then clear the fans with their spears. The elders take turns in performing the same ceremony as in the first stop. Asgada help is on Luka, the final station. The other men, now weary from blazing the trails, meet the chief for the final ritual. The chief inspects the sacrificial pig's liver. The internal parts of the pig, specifically the liver and the bile, are vases for the chief forecast, which he proclaims. Using the language often only understood by the elder, Anupathadam says asus ua, a form of prayers, warriors now form a wall made of their spears and shields, enclosing the area of the ceremony. It is now late in the afternoon, then the men move back to the Dadafai. The call to come home, or the Dadafai, has already been done. That reverberates through the majestic quadrillers, inviting those who consider their own, the Dadafai.