Photos from the book’ Iskulumbing: Reading Delfin Tolentino Jr.’
Delfin Tolentino Jr. was the closest thing to a Renaissance man I knew, while he was still capable of walking the uneven grounds of Baguio. He couldn’t just be pigeonholed into teaching comparative literature, his major as an undergrad and graduate student at the University of the Philippines (UP) and the Ateneo, respectively. He was called on by UP Baguio to also handle courses on Rizal, Cordillera studies, even cinematic arts.
The home that he built and decorated on Mirador Hill housed priceless bulul and other traditional indigenous peoples’ artifacts, alongside contemporary art by Leonard Aguinaldo, John Frank Sabado, Darnay Demetillo, Roberto Acosta, Santiago Bose, among many. It was a magnet for the country’s intellectuals, artists, bohemians and ruffians who partook of the host’s impeccable feasts, generous liquor, and witty banter. Del was anything but dull.
When my family moved to Baguio in 1992, it was to him that two other common friends, Bobi Valenzuela and Manny Chaves, entrusted us with this assurance: “Remember that when you’re with Del, it’s like you’re with us, too.” It was to him that book and author exchanges were made possible; he introduced me to mystery writer Amanda Cross (pseudonym of the feminist writer Carolyn Heilbrun, whose books he also lent).
He pointed out to me the voice and music of Michael Feinstein, the guy who almost singlehandedly revived the American Songbook. To this day, Del’s partner and UPB colleague Ben Tapang and I nurse a dream of bringing Feinstein someday to Baguio to sing live such beloved standards as Isn’t It Romantic, Our Love Is Here to Stay, I’ll Be Seeing You, and so on. If that had happened while Del was still in this world, Ben, the former choirmaster, would’ve sung along unabashedly while his house partner wore a smirk and smiled until his chinito eyes disappeared.
When I learned during the post-COVID years that Del was suffering from the effects of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and needed to have an oxygenator whenever he was hard of breathing, I had an inkling it might just be a matter of time. So in the same way I resolved to visit the journalist Rusty Otico in his Cavite abode whenever I could, since he also had the same condition, the first person I looked in on after the pandemic restrictions were lifted was Del.
Christmas at Del’s with Joy and Grace Subido, Katti Sta. Ana, Bob Acosta, Rey Rimando, the author, among others
I noticed that taking a few steps from his room to the dining area would cause him to pant, and his shoulders to move up and down as he fought for oxygen. As usual, he had a book ready to bequeath to me—To Be a Man, a collection of short fiction by Nicole Krauss.
There would be other occasions for long chats, despite the panting and his recourse to be oxygenized in both nostrils, when our common friend, Ogot Sumulong, a retired bank employee and collage artist based in Chicago, came for visits.
Del Tolentino and Rolly Fernandez in an intense conversation
Del and Ogot could talk a mean streak about art and travel as ways of expanding and enriching their lives. When online bookings were still not in vogue, Del was already fixing our flights, accommodations, and itinerary in Hanoi and Siem Reap in what I believe was the hottest summers in 2005. These trips to Asia would enrich Del’s art collection, especially his masks. My husband Rolly said his friend wasn’t much of an outdoors guy, which accounted for our many trips to museums, artists’ villages, Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum and the like. Scenic Halong Bay wasn’t on the list.
But he could dance and partner ladies on the dancefloor smoothly. He told about his family’s European sojourn, and how the matrons in the group loved him as a dance partner on musical evenings.
Iskulumbing, a memory book dedicated to Del
Of his many material legacies, I would say his redefinition of the book, his transformation of it into book art, is among his most important contributions to the visual arts lexicology. At the launching of the memory book, Iskulumbing, at the UPB Museo Kordilyera café, on exhibit was a huge accordion-type book of collages called Victorian Anthropology. Del asked provocative questions like, “When we come to consider the case of the colonizer, what do we see in his fully evolved brain?” or “What is reason? What does it mean to be civilized? Who must be educated?” He mixed Victorian pictures with images of indigenous artifacts (masks, spears, etc.).
In Iskulumbing, Del’s friends and family put together “a book of everlasting things” (Victoria Rico-Costina’s appropriate words). The collages from past solo shows and the posthumous one are included in full color.
Lolo Del and his cats painted by Ja Amores
Upon closing the last page, the reader concludes that his was a beautiful life, unmatched by anyone.
Iskulumbing, published by Del’s family and friends, is not for sale. Instead, a minimum donation of P500 is accepted. This will go to the Iskulumbing Fund to support the collection, preservation and maintenance of Del’s primary source materials, his manuscripts, letters, photographs, and other unpublished documents. The fund will later publish his collected manuscripts and artworks as monographs, books, and other forms of publication.
Iskulumbing was the gmail address of Del. It was the term of endearment for him, given by his older brother Nilo when they were children.
