26/09/2025
𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍̃𝐀𝐍
Born: September 25, 1858
Died: January 7, 1939
𝗔 𝗦𝗖𝗨𝗟𝗣𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗪𝗛𝗢𝗠 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗗
by Eliseo Madriñan Quesada
Manila Tribune Magazine
Nov. 15, 1936.
“Mariano Madriñan’s Sculptural Interpretation of 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒂 won him a Medal and a Diploma from King Alfonso XII of Spain”
The saddest episode in a man’s life probably comes when in his senility, he gropes for the comfort and love of a younger generation whose forbears had almost “spoiled” him with their rigmaroles of adulation. This vain quest for a vanished halo, a sad plight to which many a grand sire has been consigned, adds a grimmer hew to the rather eerie and forbidding aspect that we have already learned of old age. Of this forlorn “regiment” of forgotten men, Mariano Madriñan, erstwhile Paete’s premier sculptor and wood carver, is now a languishing member. During the late 80’s and 90’s and for the first quarter of the 20th century, his fame as an artist had a wide recognition even embracing the shores of the Old World.
It was he who put a vital meaning to the name given to his town. It was he who flashed a refulgent scintillation for her and awakened the eyes and ears of the country to the fact that Paete, Laguna could not be ignored. But now, he is a “forgotten man.” To a number of Paete’s young men his glorious past is nil. To them no memories about him seem to be worth recalling as when they poked fun at him in his hoary age.
Tandang Ano, as he is popularly dubbed, is not very old. As a matter of fact, he is not even an octogenarian. He could live to a ripe ninety or even exceed the century mark, with such a vigor and effervescence as he usually possessed, where it not for an ill-starred event that had wrought a vast change in the remaining years of his long life – an automobile accident. He survived the lingering travail of that mishap, but has lived to suffer when a catastrophe worse than death – the badinage of young men, whose very grandfathers would, perchance, disown them for their exceeding meanness.
Mariano Madriñan was born and reared in poverty. He was a poor man despite the fame that brought him into prominence later; and in poverty, perhaps, does he expect to bid adieu to all earthly cares and troubles. At a very tender age of ten, when he should be romping with other boys and girls, he was bereft of his hard-working parents and was, therefore, left alone to look after his three younger brothers. The serious lad faced the affliction with patience and forbearance and endeavored to pull through by availing himself more of what gift God had endowed him than whatever art instruction his first teacher had imparted to him
As a budding wood-carver devoid of any previous glow, during a period when all were higgling with an acute financial depression, young Mariano was willing to work for anyone, under any decent terms. There was even a time that a penny- pinching employer engaged him at niggardly sum, as a maker of statuettes. And of course, under such uncontrollable circumstances, he failed to obtain even a modicum of the three R’s. How often do we have to forget ourselves that others may be served?
Genius may not be unfolded in the crib, but before long it finds its way in to a chosen child, and it is when these signs are thus perceived that the entire family “goes a-Maying.” Just as Mariano was beginning to put on his knee breeches, he was exhibiting a rare artistic precocity. While the child molded figurines of clay for bigger playmates, who were denied a gift so lavishly showered on him, his modest parents secretly sang paeans of joy, knowing what future was in store for him. They did not know, however, what misfortune was to crown the last years of his life.
At eight he was formally inducted in to the ABC’s of the art that was to give him distinction. Finding out how mediocre was his first teacher, he courteously dropped out of his shop and never came back to him for any further instructions. About that time his loved parents died almost simultaneously. For some time he earned his way without any teacher to guide him, until Manuel Zapanta, an aged sculptor of note, came to Paete and attracted his attention. In a few years young Mariano was ready to face the world. To Walter Pitkin, “life begins at forty,” but, to him, it had begun at fifteen or thereabouts.
The march of time was constantly putting more grace to his chisel, more finesse to his touch, more beauty to his products and drawing more enthusiasm to the profession to which he had dedicated himself. The efforts that he exerted and the ardor that he showed were not without results. The young sculptor commanded a large following of men, young and old – some, too young to understand the subtle ramifications of the art; others, crabbed with age, who never went farther than following his dictates; and still others, entirely devoid of any talent, whose only asset was a raving passion to learn. While some really threatened to shake Mariano’s “throne,” all of them conceded his decided superiority, especially when Virgin Mary was the object of their interpretation. At no other period and under no under sculptor’s guidance did Paete rivet the attention of the local artistic world.
No less was the youthful sculptor’s reward. He was lionized by art lovers from the nearby provinces, most of his patrons, being priests, for most of his works were icons for the churches. In his middle age, he won the undying esteem and friendship of some great and notable men that lived then. Foremost among them were Don Francisco de Yriarte, alcalde mayor for Laguna from 1875 to 1878 and an opulent art connoisseur; Don Higino Benitez, father of the distinguished educator; Don Bonifacio Arevalo, a wealthy Manilan and father of Capitan Seching, also a famed sculptor; Don Pedro A. Paterno of the Biac-na-Bato fame; and the late Justice Cayetano Arellano. For them and for others whose name the old man’s shattered brain can no longer remember, he exhausted his genius; from them he drew a warm and imperishable encomium.
Long before Spain relinquished the Philippines, Mariano Madriñan’s sculptural interpretation of Mater Dolorosa was entered in an International Exposition held at Amsterdam, Holland through the initiative and enthusiasm of his alcalde friend, Don Francisco de Yriarte. Not long afterwards, when he did not expect it, he was to receive a medal of honor and a diploma of award from King Alfonso XII of Spain in recognition of his genius and appreciation for his merited work of art.
Unfortunately, however, the capitan, then, who was to transmit to him the king’s warmest congratulations, did not as he was directed and kept the medal for himself, averring that because Tandang Ano had not even been a cabeza, he should not be qualified to wear it. Thus, was our modest sculptor cheated of a well-earned credit. He should fight for his rights, but could he? Not, when any barking at the local authorities, then, meant sedition.
The writer asked him whether he still treasures the valuable diploma and to the query he calmly replied, “It used to be on that frame,” pointing to an old but beautifully embellished frame, now occupied by the wedding picture of his only son. “But it is no more. I have destroyed it. You know how it feels to be doubted and ridiculed especially at my age. They (referring to the rogues who make fun of him) always dared me to produce the accompanying medal, which only God knows where it is now. The capitan who cheated me has died long ago and all my friends are dead. Besides, preserving that scrap of paper will only serve to remind me of a poor man’s impotence before the local authorities during the Spanish regime. If God knows I have tried to serve Him with what gift He has given me, what does it matter if the whole world thinks otherwise.”
Just like most notable artists of history, Mariano Madriñan is a religious man. He is a Roman Catholic. Until now, a day is never a perfect one unless he piously prostrates himself in the local church about half of whose images owe their existence to the magic spell of his chisel. His extreme piety reminds us of Murillo, the greatest Spanish painter whose eyes always welled up in tears, whenever he would paint The Crucifixion. On the other hand, our modest sculptor would not undertake to execute any image of Christ or His Mater Dolorosa in wood or in marble, without having the manangs to assist him, with a novenario. His piety probably explains the power of his chisel. Was it not the versatile Michael Angelo himself who said, “The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection”? Did not the immortal Goethe observe that “Art is based on strong sentiment of religion, - on a profound and mighty earnestness; hence it is so prone to cooperate with religion”?
The writer also asked him whether he has heard of Guillermo Tolentino, the famed Filipino sculptor. At the mention of the name he beamed with eagerness and said, “Yes, that was about five years ago. A couple of years ago had passed since I was almost killed in an automobile accident. I was then occupied with my last work, Flagellation, when he was introduced to me. I say ‘last’ because after that automobile accident, my eyes began to fail me. I am very glad that we met. I only wish we had known each other earlier.”
It is rather a sad thing that such a man with a past anyone can be proud of is now forgotten. The condemnation may properly belong to trusted men gone wrong, but certainly not to a once – glorified man whose only cause for present impotence goes back to a calamity he never willed. But, it is a sadder predicament that many a young rouge of the town picks on the poor old man for his shop-talk and ridicule.
When asked what thing he desires most in life, he gave quite a q***r answer. That q***rness – that rather morbidly philosophic view which he takes on life after that almost fatal automobile accident, perhaps accounts for many a young man’s making fun of him. He said, “To die where I was born. To have my bones buried in eternal repose in a church where dwell, a few objects of my veneration – this is my greatest wish. I could wish for nothing more. Wealth? I am too old to wish for that and I have been used to poverty. Moreover, my children, my children’s children, my grateful pupils, my ‘saints’, and God – these I know, shall never forsake me.”
