Being Filipino This Side of Town

AUG

Is There Such a Thing as Filipino Architecture?

(Being Filipino means being sponge-like and revision-happy when it comes to architecture and design.)

It’s easy to think of Filipino architecture as being non-existent, given our towns’ and cities’ typical
nondescript skyline. One newspaper lifestyle reporter went so far as to make a bold proclamation:
"There's no Filipino architecture apart from the bahay kubo." Ouch.

Clinton Palanca, reviewing the coffeetable book Philippine Style: Architecture and Design, was even
more incredulous. He scoffed, tongue-in-cheek, I suppose, "Whenever I think of 'Philippine style,' I think
of sofas wrapped in plastic."

Of course such statements are exaggerated, and there’s an overwhelming evidence to refute their
claims. Francisco Mañosa's "neo-vernacular architecture" aside, there is such a thing, for example, as the
monolithic Ivatan house, the curious one-room affair called Ifugao house, the different versions of other
Igorot houses, the Samal long-houses, the Maranao torogan, and the Badjao house-on-stilts.

The lifestyle reporter's rash statement, in particular, was a loaded statement. It meant that the Vigan
accessoria composed of two-story bahay na bato, for example, isn’t Filipino as are the many Catholic
churches constructed in the style of Philippine baroque (Tumauini, Isabela), fortress/earthquake baroque
(Miag-ao, Iloilo), Romanesque and neoclassical (Manila Cathedral), neo-Gothic (Jaro, Iloilo), and Mexican
baroque (Morong, Rizal) as well as American-era 'Gabaldon' public school buildings, American-era
municipal halls, and last but not the least, Muslim mosques, which are of course also considered foreign
because Arabic in origin.

The claim may be true to a certain extent -- check out Lima, Peru or Valparaiso, Chile and you'll see
roughly the same and even more intricate voladas and accessorias, or other former American colonies
and you'll most likely see faithful copies of Hill Stations as those found in Camp John Hay and the rest of
Baguio City. But the truth is only partial, for a careful study will show a subtle yet surprising fusion of
elements not found in their original counterparts and fellow colonial versions.

One lazy afternoon, clicking aimlessly on the TV remote like a good couch potato brought me to a show
hosted by Susan Calo-Medina, the mere sight of whom brought me pining for her old magazine show,
Travel Time. She seems to be confined these days to a Filipino cultural show, titled Tipong Pinoy, on
Channel 13, with singer Wency Cornejo co-hosting, where, in the episode I was lucky enough to watch,
the varieties of Philippine indigenous houses are described in brief.

There's a second show on the same channel titled Bahay, Tirahan, Kanlungan which discusses indigenous
architecture and Filipino architecture in general at greater length. Produced by the National Commission
on Culture and the Arts and written by Rene Villanueva, the segment I caught offered a wealth of new
knowledge that is, of course, much appreciated. Eye-opening is the word.

I was glad that, unlike other observers, this latter show did not exclude the bahay na bato from
discussing Philippine architecture. (The more accurate term should be bahay na bato at kahoy, the Old
Manila Nostalgia blogger pointed out.) At present, or so I learned, these houses are all but gone or at
least they are species that are highly endangered. They are being built less and less, and the few
authentic artifacts remaining are vanishing one by one, with the master builders getting older and older
and not being replaced by new blood as fast as we wish they would be. What's even worse, the
replacements -- galvanized iron-roofed bungalows -- have the charm of a generic drug of questionable
provenance.

It is a shame that we have no museums or theme parks featuring these indigenous varieties of house
architecture. This omission is telling. Happily, some private commercial establishments such as resorts
and spas have long latched on to the idea that going native can be an excellent concept.

Of course, as an assiduous Google scholar, I can’t help but dig further into more research materials
available online, and this has led me to Filipino National Artist Bienvenido Lumbera's scholarly
architectural descriptions of indigenous architectural types.

He starts by mentioning the lean-to built by ancient nomads such as the Aetas. He next discusses the
Mangyan house, which is of two types: single-family and communal. He moves on to the three types of
treehouses built by the Ilongot, Tingguian, Gaddang, Mandaya, Manobo, Tiruray, and Bukidnon.
His commentaries on Cordillera architecture prove to be remarkably lapidary. For the Ifugao house called
fale or bale, he cautions the reader not to be deceived by the "one-room pyramidal structure resting on
four posts," for the architectural and artistic details of this house are astoundingly rich! On the side, he
mentions ulog as the Ifugao communal dormitories for singles and a-lang as the Ifugao granary that's a
Mini-Me version of the fale. He calls the Mayoyao house a simplified fale, while noting that the fay-u or
Bontoc house departs from the fale by adding a lower wall. Other Bontoc dwellings noted by Lumbera
are the fawi, olag, and katyufong (widow's house).

The Sagada house is described to be a "fully covered" version of the Bontoc house, while the Binangiyan
(Kankanai/Kankanay/Kankana-ey) house is "another variation of the fale," as is the Ibaloi house. The
binaryon, finaryon, or binayon (Kalinga house) is described as an octagonal house on four posts, while
the binuron (Isneg/Itneg house) is a boat-inspired house.

(Let's not forget, however, that the rice terraces is part of the Cordillera peoples' architectural heritage.
Even though the engineering technology is not unique to them (rice terraces can be found in China, Laos,
and other places), the extensiveness of the ones in Ifugao amounts to high cultural/architectural
achievement, making up for the absence of gargantuan architectural project in the Philippine landscape.)

Moving on to the Lumads of Mindanao, Lumbera maintains the same observant streak. He calls the
T'boli house a "large one-room house on stilts," while the bay sinug (Tausog/Tausug house) a "land-
based sea people house...distinguished by an elaborately carved wooden finial called tajuk pasung." The
Samal house (called "longhouse" elsewhere) he calls a "house on stilts... connected by bridges and
catwalks," while the Badjao landhouse a "stand-alone" house on water.

While the Muslim Lumad mosque, he says, "follows traditional onion-shaped dome design with minarets
plus indigenous elements," he notes that the torogan (Maranao house) or "the Muslim chief's [official]
residence" is a "stately, salakot-shaped" affair with okir design and "protruding beam ends" called
panolong.

Lumbera, interestingly, has not included the langgal hut, the traditional house of worship in Tabawan,
South Ubian, Sulu, which is showcased on the back of the P1,000 peso bill. Though it is used by local
Moros as a small mosque, it is, history professor Xiao Chua notes, more of a large bahay kubo, an
Austronesian hut, instead of an Arabic onion-domed mosque.
Maybe due to the inaccessibility of Batanes during his time of research, Lumbera also fails to mention
the equally remarkable Ivatan house, which is, to quote a travel blogger, a “storm-ready house of thick
stone-and-mortar walls and a meter-thick grass roof, and a house of two types,” namely, the maytuab,
which has "a four-sloped roof and walls of stone and limestone,” and sinadumparan, which has a "sturdy
two-sloped roof of cogon." The Ivatan house reportedly has three sections: “the rakuh or main room
(living room and bedroom), the kusina or kitchen, and the rahawung or storage shed.” The ancient
Ivatans are also known to build the stone fortress called idjang, which is carved out of a hilltop and most
probably used as a fort and settlement area.

When Lumbera gets down to the bahay kubo or nipa hut of Luzon and Visayas, his description is even
more colorful. He aptly refers to the "prototypical Philippine house" of "bamboo and thatch" as a
structure that is "woven, fitted, or tied together"..."like a basket."

Lumbera’s list, which was no doubt meant to be limited to the indigenous house, effectively rules out the
bahay na bato as being outside the Filipino architectural idiom, but we argue for inclusion, although
under the heading "Non-indigenous architecture." Being a culture that is fond of making fusions, we just
can't help but belabor the point that the Spanish stone house has been indigenized and converted into
something new.

Although non-indigenous and thus non-exotic, the bahay na bato has become "authentic Filipino," to go
by Fernando Nakpil-Zialcita's argument, because the original Spanish architectural design has been
repurposed to suit the native climate using the native architectural idiom – in particular, construction
ideas from the bahay kubo. Design-wise, it is no longer purely Spanish baroque, but instead it is now
Filipino, with Chinese, Japanese and other foreign influences. The Old Manila Nostalgia blogger
observantly takes pains to note the following ingenious adjustments:

- making the structure more earthquake-proof

- allowing more light into the house

- allowing more air

- shielding the house from the rain and heat of the sun

- raising the floor as a precaution against flooding

One can't help but think that the bahay na bato should be a source of identity and pride as well among
Filipinos, and yet the realities on the ground contradict this assumption, a reflection, notes Nakpil-
Zialcita, of the average Filipino’s conflicted regard of his/her Spanish heritage. Instead of continuing with
the construction of our houses in this tradition, which is perfectly suited to the tropics, we now mostly
prefer the "modern Asian" (actually modernized Japanese) style. What we do with the fine cultural
fusion that is the bahay na bato is consign it to the status of a museum artifact, to be visited and relished
only as an afterthought or object of nostalgia. Apart from this, we obliterate it for commercial purposes,
if not leave to self-destruction.

We could say the turn-of-the-century bahay na bato or "stone house" is practically extinct. Except for Las
Casas de Acuzar, which dismantles bahay na bato from their original context and reconstructs them in a
resort near the shore of Bagac, Bataan (a highly controversial idea), no one builds them anymore either,
the way the various indigenous huts are no longer being built.

Why has the bahay na bato fallen into disrepair and disfavor? As already mentioned, one obvious reason
is the mainstream idea that it is not ours, but maybe the ultimate reason is as uncomplicated as
economics: It's simply too expensive now to build a bahay na bato that is faithful to the original style
using authentic materials.

Could it also be that its death is also a reflection of the death of the feudalistic structure of Philippine
society? Let's not forget that, in its heyday, the bahay na bato was a status symbol, and because of that,
the Filipino masses could only associate it with a social status and way of life beyond their means. But do
the Filipino masses today regard the bahay na bato with hate, resentment, or disdain? Maybe some
would, but I have yet to actually meet such a resentful bunch among fellow ordinary Filipinos that I meet
from day to day.

Note that, just like everything else in Filipino culture, the bahay na bato also has several variations along
ethnic lines, or so Imelda Marcos' Nayong Pilipino educated us long ago. The bahay na bato in Cebu, for
example, has differences from the one in, say, Samar. Augusto Villalon, in support of this observation, has
an interesting compare-and-contrast essay on the Vigan (Ilocos Sur) bahay na bato versus the Taal
(Batangas) bahay na bato. As I recall, he noted how those in Taal are more airy and porous and thus
more welcoming, as opposed to the more secretive Ilocano house, and so on.

With the bahay na bato vanishing from our culture, except as museum artifacts and themed-resort
structures, a host of architectural and interior design terms has practically vanished along with it. With
such massive loss of knowledge and practices, part of our own identity gets lost as well. Nonetheless,
this point should be made clear: what we did with the typical turn-of-the-century Spanish house – or our
own version of it – should be inescapably part of what we now call Filipino architecture.

Even more insightful observers point out another distinguishing feature of the bahay na bato that makes
it undoubtedly Filipino: the unprecedented mixing and matching of imported architectural styles and
design elements. This is apparently an act of deliberate picking out (or cherry-picking) otherwise
unrelated choices that result in houses having neo-Gothic features here and neo-Mudejar (neo-Moorish)
details there, for example, or a Chinese feng shui element here and a window resembling a Japanese
paper door there, all in roughly the same corner – that is, on top of the Antillean architecture of the
shell, which itself may be of particular style, e.g. the florid variety (Flowers in Trellis) or the spare-by-
comparison Viennese Secessionist style. Instead of creating a Frankenstein of unrelated members, the
result is often an assembly of elements that surprisingly complement one another. These quaint mixes
make the bahay na bato an architectural fusion cuisine (some would use halo-halo or chop suey as
metaphor) that is neither East nor West, but both, and one that is done in endless variations.

The same observation holds true for the colonial Spanish churches, which may have seemingly random,
diverse foreign elements all joined together -- solomonic columns here and Moorish main door carvings
there (Islamic), pagoda-shaped bell tower (Chinese) here, and fu dogs (Chinese) there, etc. -- then
indigenized with surprising elements such as pineapple finials (San Agustin church), bas reliefs of other
local flora (Miag-ao church), and if we extend the observation to the accompanying statuary, black Christ
(Quiapo church), black Madonna (Antipolo church), and chinito saints (antique santos). Let's not forget
how Ilocos and Iloilo have even developed the so-called "earthquake baroque" church architecture,
characterized by horizontal bulk coupled with massive vertical reinforcements, of which the Paoay
church is a prime example, notably for its Borobudur-like silhouette and other 'exotic' Asian motifs (e.g.,
suns with faces as decor).

Lest we forget, the jeepney is also a product of the same tendency toward indigenization of design and
architecture: the American surplus vehicle post-World War II being equipped with the odds and ends of
Filipino life: calesa horse, trumpets, Day Glo paintings of pastoral scenes, and other loud accouterments.

If we think about it, on a macro scale, Metro Manila looks exactly like this, a giant amalgamation of
deliberately chosen styles. Though the agglomeration is in a discrete way, the bird's eye view of the city's
'style,' remains a marvel for architectural and design students everywhere, if only they will take time to
observe with care. Indeed, a defining characteristic of the 'Manila look,' if there must be one, lies in its
architectural plurality and unlikely side by side coexistence of clashing styles. Name an era in our
national history and you’ll find a few standing marks of it, architecturally speaking:

- Antillean or European/Spanish-influenced Mexican/Central American baroque (Quiapo Church, Malate

Church)

- French Renaissance (Luneta Hotel - unfortunately the only one of its kind that survived the war)

- Italian Renaissance (Gota de Leche)

- Beaux Arts (Calvo Bldg., Escolta; Chamber of Commerce of the Philippines Bldg., Manila; Regina Bldg.,
Escolta)

- neo-Gothic (the all-steel San Sebastian Church)

- neo-Mudejar/Moorish (The La Insular Cigar and Cigarette Factory beside the Binondo Church used to
be a prime example; there are only a precious few survivors, as in the case of a former cinema turned
into an ukay-ukay shop and that of Casa Bizantina, which has Byzantine ornamentations too, in Binondo.)

- neo-Romanesque, Modern Romanesque (St. Scholastica's College, Baclaran Redemptorist Church)

- neoclassical (Manila City Hall, National Museum, Post Office, Malacañang Palace)

- Art Nouveau (Uy-Chaco Building, Plaza Cervantes; the many features of a grandiose bahay na bato)

- Art Deco (Manila Metropolitan Theater, Capitol Theater, Quezon Bridge, Far Eastern University complex,
Miramar Hotel)

- Streamline Moderne, an Art Deco subcategory (the demolished Jai Alai Building)

- Renaissance Revival (University of Santo Tomas, Malacañang Palace's Kalayaan Hall)

- California Mission (Forbes Park parish church)

- Spanish Moderne (Sto. Domingo Church in Quezon City)

- Mid-century Bungalow (a typical sight in the 'burbs)

- Bauhaus/International Style (almost every corner)

- Brutalist (the Marcos-era/New Society-commissioned ‘building sculptures’ such as the Cultural Center
of the Philippines, which take inspiration from the nipa hut, like the bahay na bato does)

- Filipino neo-Gothic (Iglesia ni Kristo churches)

- other Modernist/contemporary edifices (Saint Andrew Church in Makati and other churches in various
suburban villages), including castle-fortress structures (Bureau of Corrections, Christ the King Seminary
in E. Rodriguez -- yes, crenellations and all)

- Asian minimalist/modern Japanese (the latest homes in subdivisions)

There is also at least one eye-catching Muslim mosque (a.k.a. the Golden Mosque) along Globo de Oro in
Quiapo and at least one old Chinese pagoda that looks like a castle at the same time, the Ocampo
Pagoda in Bilibid Viejo St., also in Quiapo, further adding interest to the mix.

By extension, other Philippine cities and towns share this wild embrace of foreign idioms lying cheek by
jowl with one another. Beyond the preponderance of the Bauhaus style is hidden a wild assortment of
styles and elements:

- American Colonial (Aguinaldo Shrine in Kawit)

- Palladian (Taal Basilica Minore)

- 'Gabaldon' (American-era school buildings all over the country)

- Mediterranean style (modern private residences in urban villages),

- 1920s palazzo (Cebu Capitol)

- Stick style (Silliman Hall)

- mock Tudor (American-era government cottages in Baguio)

- Victorian (Santos-Hizon House in San Fernando City, Pampanga; Don Catalino Sevilla mansion in San
Miguel de Mayumo, Bulacan; another ancestral house in Marawi City)

- Byzantine features (Carcar church)

- rococo (late baroque) renderings (retablo ornament in Bacolor and Betis churches)

- Churrigueresque sub-style of baroque facade ornamentation (Tigbauan Church in southern Iloilo).

Incidentally, among the more unusual architectures – at least for municipal halls – are those of the
American-era St. John the Baptist Parish Church in Sigma, Capiz, which is in Art Deco style, along with the
Sariaya (Quezon) town hall, Jaro (Iloilo) police station, and Calumpit (Bulacan) town hall, all Art Deco
creations by Juan Arellano. One specially bizarre, and therefore very Filipino, structure is the Simala
Shrine in Sibonga, Cebu, which looks like a cross between a castle in Middle-Age Europe and a cathedral
in Gothic style, among other styles.

Today, many homes in the newest villages and other developments in the suburbs and even in the
countryside may have Tuscan, Venetian, and other surprising foreign influences.

A popular Facebook meme that did the rounds during the successful Department of Tourism campaign
titled “It’s More Fun in the Philippines" was built around this message: Name a popular city in the world
– Washington, Venice, Jerusalem, New York, San Francisco, Shanghai, etc. – and we have structures that
resemble these places’ iconic structures. To be honest, the claim was quite a stretch, but it is not totally
pointless, for there are indeed bits and pieces of our built landscape that resemble the aura of a given
city abroad.

As we all know, that’s what Filipino culture is all about as it evolved through the centuries – seemingly an
all-or-nothing thing, or something-and-everything, until one takes a second look and notice the patterns
emerging from the seeming chaos. Why should it be any different in the case of Philippine architecture,
which apparently exists beyond the bahay kubo, but only so far as it is at once sponge-like (or highly
absorbent) and revision-happy?

Critics of this idea might ask: Could it be that, if Filipino architecture seems to be a nonexistent entity, it
is because it is still evolving, it is because it has yet to evolve a truly unique look, evolve into a distinctive
movement? Maybe. But if there are two things the foregoing clearly shows, it is that: (1) there has long
been a wealth of original, if not highly unique, native architectures; and (2) their fusion with foreign
idioms, both Asian and European – syncretism, if you will – have naturally resulted in the seeming
mishmash that we see today, an aesthetic phenomenon I prefer to call eclecticism. ...I say seeming
because the 'mishmash' is actually more a blend -- whose final product creates something new. In this
sense, yes, Filipino architecture exists.

------------------

Acknowledgment: Members of the Churches, Basilicas, and Cathedrals in the Philippines Facebook page
and Ancestral Houses of the Philippines Facebook page
See: [Link]

Posted 9th August 2014 by R.O.

3 View comments

[Link] 12, 2015 at 4:31 AM

According to NCCA anthropologist Dr. Jesus Peralta's count, there are 57 types of house architecture in
the Philippines:

[Link]

Reply

[Link] 26, 2015 at 12:31 AM

[Link]
Insights into Badjao "architecture of fragility"

Reply

[Link] 17, 2017 at 11:41 PM

History of Philippine Architecture

Reply

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