Situated along Chino Roces lies La Fuerza Compound, a district that houses several galleries; seemingly placid throughout the day, the area is known to come alive come dusk upon nights of the monthly art opening. A mixer marks the beginning of an art show, but rarely will you find curious strangers throwing themselves into the blend for a night of cocktails and appreciation—that is unless you can brave its daunting clique of usuals: friends of the exhibiting artist, patrons, collectors, and gallerists fill the white cube with an air too thick for most nonexperts to breathe in.
But one improper Saturday, things were painted different.
Enter the compound and take a turn to the left—on the farthest end lies a cluster of galleries, only one out of four making noise last December 1st. Here was Vinyl on Vinyl, working its space on a long weekend. At an initial glance, it seemed like you’ve just stepped foot into a college party: judging on DJ’s, burgers, beer, and streetwear, one might be quick to assume, but attempt to inch your way past the facade, and another story unfolds.
On the outside, SYF comes across as just another emerging brand out to ride the trend of athleisure, but beneath impressions lies its impudent blueprint—one composed of studied lines hardly traceable, smoothed out in a well-thought of blurring. So subtly done was the way they re-created a space that evolved ambiguous. With references to POP ART, you could barely tell between intentions: whether the POP UP merely posed as an exhibit, functioning as a hyper-attractive product display aiming to consume you with its merchandise, or whether the brand meant to challenge conventions itself.
The violation of conduct as art: spilling into a perfectly respectable gallery that dealt with fine art pieces was *gasp*—a commercial line of clothes—an unspoken crime in the eyes of a discriminating art world. Invading the venerated space were salespeople assisting guests and consumers alike, while further adding insult to injury was the dressing room—a makeshift setup occupying the smallest partitioned area, originally reserved for paintings and sculptures.
Was SYF paying tribute to the likes of Warhol who profaned the art object in jest? Similarly entitled like valued pieces were manufactured goods: graphic t-shirts, hoodies, and products of the like hanging alongside paintings. On the other side of the gallery stood an installation: plopped on a shelf were originally packaged bottles of SYF’s custom-crafted beer labeled “Dominate,” literal references to the ‘readymade’—a term used by French artist Marcel Duchamp to describe the works of art he made from manufactured objects; in this case, an object made and ready to be experienced by an unsuspecting crowd out to support their friends and guzzle beer—nothing pretentious. While most saw but a fun party with background noise, there was SYF appropriating some of the most influential artists’ work, merging art history with youth and pop culture, seamlessly.
Alluding to another fusion was a triptych featuring iconic athletes juxtaposed against famous works of art: Ronaldo on Munch, Ali on Botticelli, Jordan on Matisse—masters on masters softening the harsh borders that delineate two distinct fields of PLAY. To see athletes attending openings is a rare sight, but SYF is clearly erasing boundaries with a scarcely disobedient streak. In another corner hangs artwork by internationally-recognized, local pop painter Kobusher, not entirely distant from a pedestal highlighting accessories like socks, beanies, and stickers—a clash of values, lowering and heightening the neighboring display’s sense of worth simultaneously.
Co-owners Ralph and Randell Cruz bring to the canvas a muted sense of mischief. As “Support Your Friends” sets out to try things, rules are inevitably broken while the doors swing open for the rest of the curious. EVERYONE IS INVITED after all: both the kids and little rascals inside all of us.
Like the artist and athlete who isn’t afraid to get dirty in the name of play, SYF is about not taking things too seriously.