When Paranoia and Wilderness opened at Orange Project, Bacolod, it did not ask viewers to escape fear—but to listen to it. Running from 8 November 2025 to 7 January 2026, the exhibition unfolded paranoia not as pathology, but as a deeply learned form of attention: a survival intelligence shaped by jungle, memory, myth, illness, love, and the fragile architectures of everyday life. In Hiligaynon, there are many words for unease —kulba (nervousness), kakugmat (dread), kibang (discomfort), mariit (a paranoia tied to the unknown wilderness). These are not abstract states but lived conditions, born from growing up in landscapes where the world feels alive, sentient, and at times, threatening. As the exhibition proposes, when we move deeper into that wilderness—whether forest, hospital, institution, or psyche—we do not simply shed fear. We learn to navigate it. Across painting, drawing, weaving, thread, and gesture, the artists in Paranoia and Wilderness act as explorers of this terrain, transforming dread into form. Among them, Edric S. L. Chen, Guenivere Decena, and Karina Broce-Gonzaga each approach paranoia not as something to overcome, but as a place to work from.

Edric S. L. Chen: Drawing the Loop Between Calm and Catastrophe
For Chen, paranoia and peace are intimately linked. “Sometimes, I feel like being at peace has a similarity to being distraught with fear,” he reflects. “Both states occupy two sides of the same coin.”
His work Tranquilo emerged from this tension. What began as a meditative abstraction of an ouroboros—an endless loop of ovals drawn and redrawn—slowly collapsed into something more volatile. “I realized halfway that there may be no end to the ovals,” Chen says, “and so I frantically came up with a scene of violence.”

That collapse mirrors how paranoia itself operates: repetition tipping into rupture. Working intuitively across wax crayons, acrylic, and paper, Chen treats drawing as a way of thinking. “Drawing is my way of thinking through problems or even generating new ideas,” he says. His practice preserves fleeting internal states as visual memory—records of the mind as it circles, resists, and finally breaks open.

Guenivere Decena: Grief, the Body, and the Sacredness of Survival
Where Chen charts paranoia as an internal loop, Guenivere Decena approaches it as a cosmic and bodily condition—woven through illness, ancestry, and interdependence. Her monumental painting Sacred Weaver draws from science and spirituality alike, imagining all human mothers—past and present—forming a single, unbroken line back to the origins of life. “I try to honour and embody the sacredness of this role by looking back where I should,” she says. “Life never fails to be beautiful. Wonderful. Sacred.”

Alongside it, The Weight of a Brush, 1 & 2 are quiet, devastating self-portraits made during chemotherapy. “When I fell ill, I avoided seeing my reflection, but I couldn’t stray from seeing my hands,” Decena writes. “They remind me I am sick, but the way they move, and struggle reminds me I am still alive.”
Her work refuses to separate fragility from strength. In her words: “There is no correctness in perceiving my work. I just offer a pocket of reflection… May we be literate beyond the workings of the mind, and be literate, too, in the workings of our hearts.”

Karina Broce-Gonzaga: Weaving Uncertainty into Form
For Karina Broce-Gonzaga, paranoia is not something to solve—it is something to stay with. “My work came from an interest in the in between, the space where you are navigating uncertainty rather than trying to solve it,” she explains. “Allowing that uncertainty to exist without urgency—even being at ease with it.”
In Paranoia and Wilderness, she worked with cut fabric and weaving—materials that carry both rupture and repair. “Cutting carries disruption and fragmentation, while weaving asks for patience, repetition, and restraint,” she says. “Bringing the two together allowed me to sit with opposing energies without resolving them.”

A storm during installation damaged one of her pieces, forcing her to rework it. Instead of resisting the intervention, she embraced it. “Many things are beyond our control,” she reflects. “Even within fragility, unexpected events can alter a process in significant ways.” Her practice mirrors her lived identity as a woman, mother, and artist navigating multiple roles. “Womanhood has never felt fixed to me,” she says. “It moves through different stages, each with its own questions, tensions, and forms of strength.”

Paranoia as a Shared Language
Together, Chen, Decena, and Broce-Gonzaga transform paranoia from a private affliction into a shared terrain—one shaped by memory, illness, place, and care. In their hands, the unknown becomes something we can touch, weave, draw, and sit with. As Decena puts it, perhaps most simply:
“We are each other’s miracle, every day.”
In a world that often demands certainty, Paranoia and Wilderness offers something rarer: the courage to remain inside the question—and to find, there, a different kind of home.

CNTRFLD. Your Work in the Show:
Can you walk us through your work in Paranoia and Wilderness? What drew you to this theme, and how does your work explore the tension between the unknown and the familiar?

ESLC. Sometimes, I feel like being at peace has a similarity to being distraught with fear. Both states occupy two sides of the same coin. My work, Tranquilo, is an interplay between knowing and not knowing. The oval shapes that can be seen in the drawings that surround the painting were the base of the final image. I started out with the idea of painting an abstraction of the ouroboros to signify
the endless loop in the feeling of paranoia and at the same time, to demonstrate that the meditative act of painting the same shape over and over again can be an escape. I realized halfway that there may be no end to the ovals and so I frantically came up with a scene of violence.

GD. I submitted three paintings and assembled a site-specific thread installation around them.
The big piece titled Sacred Weaver (acrylic on canvas, 3ft x 5ft), and two framed paper works-
Weight of a Brush, 1 & 2. On “The Sacred Weaver” During a lecture, the evolutionary biologist and science communicator Richard Dawkins imagined all the human mothers alive and passed, forming a single line. This line, he said, will eventually lead back to the first mother ancestor, which is an extremely simple microscopic body. The origin of life is different when you are talking with an Astrophysicist. They will take you even further back to the event of the Big Bang, some 13.8 billion years ago. I merged these data into imagining myself as part of this infinitesimal line of mothers. I try to honor and embody the sacredness of this role by looking back where I should.

I find that looking back is only a burden if we only look back in the lens of our personal story. But looking further back, where it truly matters, life never fails to be beautiful. Wonderful. Sacred.
On “The Weight of a Brush, 1 & 2” These are self-portraits, really. When I fell ill, I avoided seeing my reflection, but I couldn’t stray from seeing my hands. I see them blacken, quiver and struggle. I see them as I work in the studio. And although they remind me I am sick, the way they move, and struggle reminds me I am still alive.

KBC. My work in Paranoia and Wilderness came from an interest in the in between, the space where you are navigating uncertainty rather than trying to solve it or arrive at an answer and allowing that uncertainty to exist without urgency - even being at ease with it. I often reflect on how I experience the outside world and how that is processed internally, and why certain ideas or materials appear at particular moments. This exhibition felt like an opportunity to sit with that tension and give it a tactile, visible presence. Instead of aiming for clarity or resolution, I let the work unfold through intuition with close attention to the process. It was important for me to listen and respond rather than force an outcome, while also trusting when the work felt complete. The work reflects that push and pull between what feels familiar and what feels unknown. For me, it was about allowing a way of creating where uncertainty is not something to fix, but something to stay with, trusting that the process can lead the work somewhere meaningful.

CNTRFLD. A Personal Spark:
Is there a specific memory, moment, or feeling from your life that inspired this work or shaped how you approached it?

ESLC. The feeling that the most effective solution to frustration usually involves a
revolutionary act against my own biases.

GD. I was recently diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. I spent a lot of my time in the chemotherapy infusion room. Here is a diary entry I made during of those days:
” There are three empty beds Infront of me in the infusion room today. I wonder if they're done with their cycles, or maybe they're late...What I really wonder about is, if they are alright. Beside me is an old man with a newspaper. When the doctor came to check his vitals, he refused to put down the newspaper, and instead kept it folded in his left hand until the doctor is done. Beside this old man is an even older man. His veins have become so small that three nurses had to take turns putting an IV on him. They tried more than five times. I'm sure he was in pain. But not a word came out of him. Not a twitch in the face. He was just sitting there, taking it all as it is. I have an impression that this happens to him often. He is not necessarily numb to it, he just expects nothing else, perhaps. At the farther walls are beds with toddlers on them, and older children with the same predicament as the rest of us. I dare wonder what "God" or whatever force of the spiritual realm or universe is at work for these things to happen to them.
The young one cry for their moms. I turn up the volume of my earphones but to no avail.

The mommy-chemicals in my brain are pushing me to anxiety and helplessness. The older kids seem to handle it well, looking almost cool, lost in their games, holding gadgets u bothered by all the needles and tubes. Their headphones with noise cancelation are burned in my iris. Now I have to buy one. As I await my turn to be poked by needles. I realize I am not like the old men in my row. This is all new to me. The pain is a stranger, becoming familiar more and more each day. I realize I am not like the toddlers, comforted by elders while they cry full volume and an audacious demand to be comforted. I realize I am not like the cool teenager who gets by with the gadgets and games. I realize, too, that I am connected to all of them. I am a string attached to the old generation, because I still have a deep love for newspapers, the ink and smell of actual paper...I am like the teenager, I have a relationship with technology and how it multiplies my senses to hundreds from merely 5...And I am like the toddlers, i cry, but more deeply, in silence, in my soul. And I also want it all. To stop.”

KBC. There was no single moment that inspired the work, but rather an accumulation of thoughts and experiences over time, and in many ways, across my life as an artist. This time in particular, I felt a strong pull to return to a more instinctive way of making, similar to how I made art as a child, but with greater awareness and intention. This is also an evolution of imagery that I have been pursuing, while returning to a grounded way, if that makes sense. The theme and title express primal thoughts and emotions through paranoia, and wilderness spoke to me as a state of navigation, not one of being lost but rather a state of trying to figure things out, while being okay with not having any clear answers yet. The journey is as important as the destination. An unexpected moment that shaped the final outcome was the storm, Tino.

The pieces were exposed to strong wind and rain that morning, and one of them was significantly damaged. Instead of discarding it, I gathered the cut fabric and reworked parts of the weaving, which led to the development of a third element in the installation. I welcomed that intervention in the work, while staying aware of the larger reality of the storm. Tino caused real devastation and loss in nearby communities, and that context mattered deeply. My reflection here is not meant to diminish that experience, but to speak honestly about how that moment affected the work in front of me. It became a quiet reminder that many things are beyond our control, and that even within fragility, unexpected events can alter a process in significant ways.

CNTRFLD. Roots and Heritage:
How has your upbringing or cultural background influenced your journey as an artist? Are there childhood experiences or local traditions that continue to resonate in your work?

ESLC. I have mostly been an outcast growing up. It may have led me to always be seeking out for new approaches. I am ethnically Chinese but the reason I’m an artist today is a result of a thirst for exploring creativity from all the years of being told to stick to tradition. However, I still see great value in tradition and find ways to engage with it.

GD. My parents are musicians. They travelled a lot for our survival. Consequently, leaving me as a three-month-old baby. I can say the only time we really lived together as a complete unit was when we were in Beijing, China, where they worked as the hotel musicians for Shangri-La. As an eight-year-old kid and onwards ‘til I was about 14, Beijing was a museum to my curious mind. I witnessed how people would clash due to their differences but somehow get together through music. This would later resonate whenever I would have residencies outside of my country (Kuala Lumpur, Jogjakarta, India, Germany, Switzerland). I would repeatedly witness art pull people closer instead of repelling them apart. This is what makes art important to me. I do not wish to put any other agenda in my artmaking except making humanity see how beautiful and wonderful they can be.

KBC. I grew up in a household where creativity, sports, and music were part of everyday life. My parents recognized my interest in the arts early on and supported it, which gave me the freedom to explore many forms of expression, from dance and music to writing, painting, sewing, embroidery, and sculpture (even baking and cooking!). These did not feel like separate disciplines, but natural ways of expressing myself. Sports played a major role in my upbringing. My father was a professional football player and later became a national team coach for the Philippines. Many of my brothers, cousins, and uncles were athletes, so movement training, and play were constant parts of home life.

Watching my father commit himself to the sport with focus, care, and generosity shaped how I understand practice. For a short period, he also became my coach, and I learned from him physically, mentally, and emotionally., Music was equally present. My brothers and relatives played in bands, and their taste in music influenced how I listened and paid attention. At home, my parents played classical and instrumental music, as well as the Beatles, and introduced me to old films and books. On my mother’s side, there are many artists across different disciplines, many of them women, who became early examples of what was possible for me. All these influences continue to surface quietly in my work through rhythm, material choices, and a deep respect for both intuition and commitment to prepetition, meaning, process.

CNTRFLD. Identity in Motion:
In what ways does your identity—whether personal, gendered, cultural, or otherwise—shape your artistic voice and the ideas you choose to explore?

ESLC. I am not sure. My most prized memories revolve around long distances travelled. I have moved houses very often growing up and each space represents a different era of my life. My family history is also interesting because we have fallen down and risen up the socio-economic ladder quite often in just a handful of generations. These kinds of metaphorical distances travelled when internalized creates a very dynamic sense of being. Most of the ideas I explore are quite personal. I find that my life is rich enough to draw from.

GD. To be myself in the “me”-est way possible has always been my mantra. If that is art, okay. If that is not art, then so be it. It is still okay with me.

KBC. My identity shapes my work in very direct ways. I became a mother at a young age, and that experience influenced how I understood responsibility, growth, and time. In many ways, parts of myself felt delayed, which later created a strong desire to explore who I was beyond the roles I stepped into early. Womanhood has never felt fixed to me. It moves through different stages, each with its own questions, tensions, and forms of strength. I am interested in those transitions, especially how a woman continues to evolve while carrying multiple roles and challenges, many times all at once. I was raised within a traditional environment but with the freedom to question and think independently. That contrast continues to shape my artistic voice. My work often sits where structure and curiosity meet, allowing identity to remain lived, shifting, and continually unfolding.

CNTRFLD. The Place You Call Home:
Where you live and work often shapes how you see the world. How has your environment influenced your creative process, and why is this place meaningful to you?

ESLC. My studios at home are usually filled with daylight and are white all over. I would say that the combination makes me more open. However, I find that I am able to transplant this feeling to other spaces as well.

GD. I am a third world single mother, artist and art instructor diagnosed with a terminal disease. This context cannot be scavenged from reading a book. It is a very intense point of view. Having said that, to remain positive, full of love, and embrace gratefulness is not just virtue… It is the only thing I am holding on to. It is my personal revolution against a world cooked by environmental degradation, corrupt politicians, global wars, and a traumatized society. The cultural workers in my community are all heroes. We are each other’s miracle, every day.

KBC. The places where I live and work have shaped my perspective in quiet but lasting ways. Growing up in San Carlos gave me a strong sense of closeness and community as a child. Living in a smaller city made me more aware of how identity is formed within limited spaces, and how creativity often emerges from a resistance to conform. Living within a family compound made me acutely aware of how to stand my ground while retaining relationships, learning to navigate closeness, conflict, and the quiet work of choosing what, and who, I carry forward. Over time, I have also come to call Bacolod home, especially after marrying my husband, who is from there.

The creative community in Bacolod, particularly within the Art District, and mainly the Orange Project, played an important role in helping me trust my artistic voice. Being surrounded by artists and spaces that valued sincerity and experimentation gave me the confidence to stand more firmly in my practice. Just as important was the freedom I was given to explore and express myself. I learned early on to resist being placed into a single box, whether in how I dressed, how I moved through different roles, or how I made work. These places remain meaningful because they offer both familiarity and challenge, grounding me while continually asking me to adapt, see differently, and grow.

CNTRFLD. Choosing Materials and Mediums:
Your work spans different materials and approaches. How do you decide what medium best expresses your ideas, and did preparing for this show inspire you to experiment differently?

ESLC. I work very intuitively but time and space are a factor when deciding on which mediums to use. I have a go-to list of materials that are portable which I bring anytime I travel. I did combine wax crayons and acrylic paint this time around for some paper works. Drawing is my way of thinking through problems or even generating new ideas.

GD. The take-off point for my creations isn’t really “what” I will do or “how” but on “why.” Trying to simplify art into the object itself comes naturally once I know myself on a day-to-day basis. No matter how impressive the concept I come up with, if it doesn’t resonate with me emotionally, spiritually… I cannot ever force myself to do it.

KBC. My relationship with materials is guided by curiosity and by listening to what feels necessary at a given moment. For this exhibition, I was drawn to combining cut fabric collage and weaving as a way to hold tension within stillness. Cutting carries disruption and fragmentation, while weaving asks for patience, repetition, and restraint. Bringing the two together allowed me to sit with opposing energies without resolving them. Fabric has become an important material in my practice in recent years. This began during the lockdown period in 2020, when I found myself surrounded by clothing with nowhere to go. I started working with garments I could not give away, transforming them into reworked pieces for a curated exhibition. The material carried personal memory for me, tied to dressing up in my mother’s and grandmother’s clothes, and opened a way to explore memory, time, and reuse. My choices are intuitive, but they come from close attention to process rather than forcing an outcome.

I step toward a material when it feels alive, and I step away when it no longer serves the work. There was also a long period when I stepped away from oil painting due to a severe allergy caused by prolonged exposure to solvents. That pause taught me to respect limits and to trust that materials, like artists, return when the timing is right. I only came back to oil late last year through a collaborative work with my husband for Art Fair Philippines 2025, which reminded me that experimentation does not always mean something new, but sometimes means returning differently.

CNTRFLD. Engaging the Viewer:
When people encounter your work in this exhibition, what do you hope they feel, notice, or take away?

ESLC. Consistency is key. I can be portrayed as an emerging talent but if I don't put it the work, there really isn't much to show. I hope the viewer can see past the digital facade on social media and understand the raw visual language that I use.

GD. There is no correctness in perceiving my work. I just offer a pocket of reflection for others. I have faith that as long as I do not sprinkle pretence in my process, people will sense it. I hope that grief, melancholy and the regular stings of life, will also be seen as an important part of societal growth. May we be literate beyond the workings of the mind, and be literate, too, in the workings of our hearts. This, most of all, is the core of art in whatever form they carry.

KBC. At this point, I do not want to dictate how people should perceive my work. I value allowing space for individual experience and interpretation. At the core of my practice, I make art because I genuinely enjoy the physical act of working with my hands, sensing the materials, and following where the process leads. That said, I hope viewers sense a commitment to honesty and care in the work. In Paranoia and Wilderness, there is a visible tension created through monochrome reds and woven structures, reflecting the forces that pull us in different directions in contemporary life. The work also carries my own negotiation between holding onto values and remaining open to change. I am grounded in ideas of family, integrity, and care for others, while continuing to explore how my capacities shift over time within the roles I hold as a woman, mother, wife, sister, friend, and daughter. If anything, I hope the work invites viewers to pause and reflect on their own experiences of balance, tension, navigating, and becoming.

CNTRFLD. Current Adventures and Future Horizons:
Are there any projects, collaborations, or experiments—big or small—that you’re excited about right now? How do these connect to where your practice is headed next?

ESLC. I am the founder of Triangulum, an artist-run initiative, that seeks to build bridges overseas. Resisting insularity because of the archipelagic nature of the Philippines is an outlook that excites me. The upcoming Art Fair Philippines in 2026 will be my biggest project yet for the initiative. I do hope it goes well because there's a lot of moving parts, but I am confident with the people that I'm collaborating with. Aside from exhibiting local Philippine artists, we are presenting performances and video works from an international cast of artists who are ethnically Asian. I have appointed Vanini Belarmino as the curator for that portion of the programme. I am always a sponge for ideas and new projects always spark my imagination.

GD. I am currently recovering. I wish to put my family first, moving forward. I wish to give back to all my friends for all their love during my challenging days. I am just grateful to still be alive. I didn’t expect to still be standing today. I will be representing Orange Project for Art Fair Philippines, this February 2026. It is a huge task, and hopefully, the universe will make my works worthy of this opportunity.

KBC. I have several projects I am looking forward to. One ongoing and almost coming to completion is being involved (in the background) in my husband’s solo exhibition at Orange Project in January 2026, where we work closely on conceptual development and overall presentation. Often, we discuss the production, concepts, and various components repeatedly and thoroughly. I am also returning to Art Fair Philippines in 2026 as part of FreAK, the ongoing collaborative persona I share with my husband (since 2016) under the artist collective Triangulum. We will be presenting a new work that continues our FreAKtures series. With Triangulum, we have a few things planned in the coming months.

The value of this collective is that we have clear goals and desires to work collaboratively, learning from one another, supporting and pushing each other to deliver good work. Alongside my own practice, I continue to support B17 Art Space in Bacolod City (within the Art District), which my husband and I co-founded and have been running for eight years. While I have stepped back from daily management due to full-time work, I remain involved in planning, exhibition layout, writing, and communications when needed. The space operates with minimal resources, but despite that, we have a strong commitment to providing a platform for emerging and selected established artists. We love this space because it allows us to work with creatives, collaborate with them, and learn from one another. Art is so fascinating that there is always something to learn - varying philosophies, methods, ways of thinking and doing.

CNTRFLD. Words for Emerging Artists:
Looking back, what advice would you give to someone beginning their own creative journey, especially when exploring personal or socially charged themes?

ESLC. Don’t decide too soon on something or ever at all. In the words of the late Bruce Lee, "Using no way as a way; having no limitation as limitation.”

GD. I think advice can sometimes backfire. A very curious and explorative young artist can turn into an ordinary craftsman with default output, all because they listened to some advice. If there is some advice I will give, it is to remain curious. To be so in love with your field, art or not, that the hard work you put in is overwhelmed with enjoyment and honor, rather than confusion and stress.

KBC. I have a deep affection for young artists. They are often brave and honest about what they see and feel in the world around them. There is magic there. The early years are a valuable time to explore what draws you in, although I believe that exploration should never stop at any age. My advice is to keep experimenting. Learn as much as you can, have conversations, ask questions, stay curious, and listen. Most of all, make the work that feels true to what is in your mind and heart. Art becomes a language that is deeply personal to the artist, yet somehow understood by many, moving beyond words, culture, and time.

CNTRFLD. Your Artistic Journey in Reflection:
Thinking about your path so far, are there moments, challenges, or lessons that have been especially formative in shaping how you approach art today?

ESLC. Resistance from the world is a sign of a lack of skill or a lack of preparation. I have failed many times in my creative journey and each time, I do my best to reflect on what I did wrong. Radical personal accountability is the bedrock of my approach to life.

GD. I am learning how to slow down. To ease into my world. It may seem counterintuitive… But slowing down to savor the depth of life can actually make the journey richer. Also, to not dwell on worrying. Psychologists say worrying is actually “negative imagining.” I guess now, I understand why a lot of us in the art world tend to worry a lot. Our imagination must be at a different calibre. I offer this humble insight, at least; “that when I worry, I am just really rocking my imagination muscle. And whenever I go back to breathing in and out, and slowing myself down, I retrieve my power.”

KBC. Many moments throughout my life continue to shape how I approach art today, and I acknowledge the people who have contributed to those moments, including my parents, my brothers, my husband, and my children. One of the earliest was attending a summer workshop in San Carlos when I was twelve, under Eric Cabales. We explored materials, studied shapes and structures, and learned to observe light closely. That experience taught me that art could grow from curiosity and attention.

Another lasting memory comes from my teenage years in Iligan during the summer break when I was fourteen. I saw a photograph of my mom’s cousin Julie standing on a ladder beside a large sculpture she was building. She was visiting my grandparents’ house with her daughter, Aba. Year later, while completing my solo exhibition at Orange Project in 2016, I found myself standing on a ladder used to construct my installation. It sounds silly to re-enact that and actually had my photo taken, but that moment felt affirming and reminded me that I could create work in many ways, as long as it stayed honest to who I was.

I was also shaped by people who believed in me when I doubted myself. Intel Japitana Lastierre encouraged me to hold my first solo exhibition in 2015 in the House of Frida, at a time when life felt heavy, and my father had begun to get sick. That experience taught me that art can hold what cannot always be spoken. I am deeply grateful to Charlie Co for fostering a strong art community in
Negros and the Visayas, making it possible for artists like me to grow within a supportive ecosystem. Within that community of artists in Bacolod, there are so many, including musicians, filmmakers, tattoo artists, and more - their creativity inspires me. These experiences taught me that my practice does not move in a straight line. It is shaped by relationships, questions, return, and trust. Today, I approach art with greater confidence in my voice and with a grounded understanding that making work is as much about listening and staying present and respecting the process as it is about producing an outcome.

About the artists.

E.S.L. Chen
Chen (b. 1987) is a self-taught photographer and artist who focused on editorialwork and portraiture in his earlier years. He took up Applied Economics at De LaSalle University Manila. His first experiences with photography were during the advent of ubiquitous digital imaging. Over time, he discovered printing and has kept on experimenting with the medium. His primary interest lies in the interface of the old and the new, i.e. how analogue and digital processes meld with each other. Chen's work is an amalgamation of paradox, time and impulse. The focus of his work is preserving personal experiences as visual memories.

He has recently rediscovered his childhood love of drawing and painting and has continued to integrate them in his artistic practice. These interests were first rekindled after a sabbatical in Europe where he was exposed to many large-scale paintings. His residency at the Orange Project earlier in late 2022 gave him the push to play across mediums. He is the founder of Triangulum, an artist-run initiative based in Quezon City focused on fostering international cultural exchange and bringing Philippine-based Filipino artists overseas.

Guenivere Decena
Guenivere Decena (b.1986) is a multidisciplinary artist whose practice explores the poetry and science of interconnection. Moving fluidly between visual arts and music, she approaches artmaking as respiration—a cathartic exploration of the inner self and a meditation on being and becoming.

Her works dwell on the delicate balance between fragility and strength, self and environment. A former Fine Arts lecturer at La Consolacion College, Bacolod (2022-2025), Decena now works full-time as an artist engaged in community-based projects in Negros Occidental. She has exhibited widely across the Philippines, Switzerland, and Malaysia, including Take Cover (2018) and Fragile (2014).

Karina Broce-Gonzaga
Karina Broce-Gonzaga (b. 1980) is a multimedia visual artist based in San Carlos City and Bacolod City, Negros Occidental, Philippines. Her practice moves fluidly across materials and approaches, forming a long and evolving arc that reflects the different stages of womanhood. Although her mediums shift, her work remains rooted in a consistent exploration of women’s roles, memory, healing, and personal transformation. Karina draws from lived experience as a form of study, allowing her art to mirror the evolving states she inhabits as a woman, mother, and daughter, continually learning, unlearning, and rediscovering.

For her, the creative process holds as much meaning as the finished piece, and each material offers a distinct language for expression. She has exhibited across the Philippines and internationally in South Korea, Thailand, Malaysia, and Italy, with highlights including a 2017 artist residency in Gwangju, South Korea. Karina co-manages B17 Art Space in Bacolod City with her husband, fellow artist Frelan Gonzaga. She is part of Triangulum, an artist collective, and continues to develop collaborative works with her husband under their alter ego, FreAK.

With thanks to Candy Nagrampa and Orange Project for facilitating these conversations.

Karina Broce-Gonzaga