Balandra´s own surname makes it clear: Filipino for "expose," that is exactly what the exhibition does. But the clarity of the fact that he´s exposing something has an inverse relationship w/ the clarity of what exactly he´s exposing, paving way for ambiguity. Faux intellectuals-most of them verbal exhibitionists-eager to make public their hasty interpretations & hip Freudian pop know-how, will say Balandra is exposing his private, psychological demons, the title "Catharsis" an indication of the artist´s process of emotional purgation. Theory-savvy mavericks, on the other hand, w/ their love of lyrical flourishes & meta-discourses, deliberately provoke w/ a startling irony: What is exposed is not so much what Balandra himself wishes to express, but what as audiences we are scared of expressing or uncomfortable displaying in public-that in fact (alas!) it is our own morbid fear of the morbid that is, in the end, truly morbid.

But fuck irony. This isn´t a show about radical contrasts, this doesn´t exhibit death as a wild flower in full bloom, gleaming in the morning sun & adorned w/ dewdrops. (Let´s leave that to the theory-savvy mavericks who w/ their MAs expose their own armchair Marxisms, shall we?) Instead, it paints the portrait of a dead pig & calls it exactly that, deadpan in its honesty: "Dead Pig." Unlike most angst-filled young artists, Balandra isn´t out to shout "Fuck art!" Rather, it is art that fucks the audience that hunts for meaning beyond the work, as indicated by the painting "For the Love of Art." Notice that the hand giving you the finger is the hand of Art itself-& Balandra is the consummate artist in control of it.   Continued...