An Accidental Artist’s Manifesto

Alright, pull up a chair and keep scrolling. Ever wonder what happens when a kid is marinated in 80s Manila underground punk scene, fed a lifelong diet of “rabbit food” (as the judgy aunties and bewildered “experts” so charmingly put it), and then let loose on a kitchen, a film set, and eventually the wild glitchy frontiers of cyberspace? Well, you’re about to get a taste. And trust me, it’s anything but bland.

Picture this: Manila, the 80s. Big hair, even bigger shoulder pads, a soundtrack of synth-pop mixed with the distant rumble of political unease, and me — the kid who politely declined the fiesta lechon and birthday party hotdogs. Being lacto-vegetarian since the umbilical cord was snipped wasn’t exactly a popular life choice back then. It was more like a perplexing, slightly concerning hobby my parents had inflicted upon me.

The reactions were a masterclass in Filipino politeness mixed with utter bafflement. “But… why?” followed by concerned head-tilts. “Where will she get her protein? Will she… shrink?” Then came the unsolicited “expert” advice from folks whose primary vegetable interaction was the pickle slice accompanying their burger. School lunches were an adventure in creative negotiation, and social gatherings often involved me philosophically contemplating a plate of plain white rice while the aroma of a thousand forbidden barbecues wafted by. But hey, it built character. And a deep appreciation for a well-stocked home pantry.

The “Why” Behind the Weirdness: A Little Slice of Badass Philosophy

So why all this veggie devotion, you ask, amidst the coming-of-age chaos and the burgeoning art scenes? My folks bless their gloriously stubborn, principled hearts, had this beautifully simple, yet fiercely radical idea: live in a way that actively reminds you daily not to cause unnecessary pain or violence to other living beings. No preachy dogma, no judgmental vibes, just a daily practice served up with our (delicious, I swear!) meals. Heavy stuff for a kid? Maybe. But it was also my first lesson in looking at the world differently, questioning the “main course” everyone else was devouring, and finding an ethical backbone I didn’t know I was growing.

And this wasn’t just some abstract philosophical ideal floating around our dinner table. For our family, it felt like it became a lifeline, a quiet miracle woven into the fabric of our lives. My own mother has been an insulin-dependent diabetic since she was just sixteen. Now, in her mid-sixties, she’s active and vibrant. Doctors often marvel at how the usual severe complications of that lifelong condition seem to have been significantly slowed in her. This becomes even more poignant when we remember her six siblings, all of whom we sadly lost before they even reached their forties or fifties, many to health issues that mirrored the challenges diabetes can bring. There are no guarantees in life, of course, but it’s hard not to believe — and even her doctors have suggested — that this steadfast commitment to a vegetarian lifestyle has played a crucial role in her enduring health. A quiet testament to the power of conscious eating. So, for us, “do no harm” wasn’t just about other beings. It was about nurturing and fiercely protecting the precious life within our own home. This quiet philosophy was about to find some very loud, very cool companions in the art world.

The Real Art School: Punk Rock, Junk Art, and Lacto-Veg Visionaries

Our family home, you see wasn’t just a haven for “alternative eating”. It became a vibrant, slightly chaotic hub for figures from Manila’s 80s underground art and music scene. My father championed these independent spirits, and our lives were often gloriously soundtracked by their defiant energy. This wasn’t your polite, gallery-opening art scene. This was raw, resourceful, and wonderfully unapologetic.

It was an environment where the air buzzed with the screech and clang of experimental sounds and the glint of found-object art. I’d witness creative forces like Lirio Salvador conjure these incredible sound-making sculptures, his “sandata,” from literal scrap — bicycle parts, kitchen utensils, industrial cast-offs — a powerful testament that art isn’t about fancy, inaccessible materials but about fierce ingenuity and seeing the extraordinary in the discarded. It was about alchemy, transforming junk into functional, mind-bending instruments that pulsed with a kind of techno-tribal energy.

Then there was the raw, electrifying honesty of punk rock. Hearing Bob Balingit and The Wuds rip through a set was an education in itself. Their music wasn’t just noise. It was a Molotov cocktail of social critique, righteous anger, and surprisingly deep soul-searching, often railing against materialism and hypocrisy. They proved, night after night, that you didn’t need mainstream approval or a corporate label to have a thunderous voice and a message that resonated.

Their independence was a masterclass. In an era where the “art establishment” might have barely acknowledged their existence, they just did their own damn thing. They built their instruments, created their own venues in spirit, wrote their own rules, and often shared our family’s lacto-vegetarian meals, a quiet common thread in that rebellious tapestry. For me, a wide-eyed kid soaking it all in, it was less about understanding every lyric or art piece intellectually, and more about absorbing the ethos by osmosis: the courage to be different, the resourcefulness to create from nothing, the power of an authentic voice, and the beauty of art that lives and breathes outside conventional boxes. That was my real art school — loud, unapologetic, and surprisingly well-nourished on principles and plant-based fuel.

Culinary Alchemy: My Kitchen as a Rebel Art Studio

So, it probably makes sense that when it came time for me to find my own primary artistic voice, the kitchen became my first true studio. That DIY spirit, that love for transformation I’d seen in junk art and heard in the punk anthems, it all found an outlet there. I’d never tasted the meat in a “real” Filipino dish like Sisig or Kare-Kare, but the challenge? Oh, that was an invitation to create, to rebel, to reinvent. I became a culinary detective, a flavor alchemist, researching forgotten techniques, interrogating traditional recipes like a friendly inquisitor, and conjuring up lacto-vegetarian versions of these meaty legends that could make a seasoned foodie question their life choices (in a good way, I promise!). My Coconut Pineapple Oatmeal Wheatgerm Pie wasn’t just food. It was a statement — a delicious, edible piece of art born from constraint, creativity, and a hell of a lot of experimentation. It was about deconstruction and delicious reconstruction, proving that “different” could be extraordinary.

From Kitchen Lab to Digital Canvas And a Detour Through Celluloid City

My kitchen alchemy, that dance of deconstruction and delicious reconstruction, wasn’t my only creative forge. For over a decade, starting around 2004, I was plunged deep into the wonderfully chaotic world of film and television. I was a professional video editor, an assistant director, navigating everything from indie passion projects to mainstream TV gigs and glossy commercials. It was another kind of intense “cooking” — shaping narratives from hours of raw footage, finding the rhythm in a scene, layering sound and image to create emotion. It taught me about the power of the frame, the poetry of the cut, and the art of telling a story that could grab you by the eyeballs and maybe even your heart.

So, when I eventually found my way into the digital art space — the realm of glitch, pixels, and the strange new worlds of crypto art — it didn’t feel like a complete left turn. It felt more like… evolution. Or maybe I just like taking things apart and putting them back together in surprising ways, whether it’s a traditional recipe, a film sequence, or a chunk of code. That thrill of transformation, of taking raw ingredients — be it a humble squash, a forgotten film clip, or a corrupted JPEG and coaxing out its hidden beauty, its unexpected story, its “delicious glitch”? That’s the thread that ties it all together. My culinary experiments were my analog training for the digital playground. The principles are the same: layering, texture, a balance of chaos and control, and always, always, a healthy dose of “what if”?

A Taste of My Philosophy — Hold the Sanctimony, Add Some Serious Spice

Now, all this talk of ethical eating, artistic integrity, and transforming ingredients might make me sound like some serene, herb-gathering earth mother. Let’s be clear: I can be, when the mood strikes and the lighting is good. But generally? My approach to food, and life, comes with a generous side of sass and a refusal to be boring.

Yes, I was raised to know which roots can soothe your soul and which spices can kickstart your engine. I appreciate the ancient wisdom that food is medicine, that flavors have energy, that what we consume shapes us. But let’s not get it twisted. I’m not just cooking for your chakras, darling. Good food, truly good food, should be a full-body experience. It should make your taste buds sing, your eyes widen, and maybe even make you utter a few delighted, slightly inappropriate noises. It’s about holistic hedonism — pleasure that nourishes, indulgence that elevates. It’s about food that makes you feel gloriously, complicatedly, deliciously human. And if it happens to be good for you too? Well, that’s just a damn tasty bonus.

Closing Thoughts: Food for Thought and Maybe Some Delicious Trouble

So, there you have it — a little peek into the simmering pot of my world. From a veggie kid navigating a punk rock, art-infused Manila childhood, to a culinary alchemist, a film wrangler, and now a digital explorer, it’s been a journey of finding art in the unexpected and flavor in the unconventional.

Maybe it’s a reminder that our deepest passions often come from the most surprising ingredients, that our limitations can become our greatest creative catalysts, and that art, in whatever form, is just a way of digesting the wild, messy, beautiful world and serving it back with your own unique, unapologetic flavor.

What “weird” ingredients make up your own unique recipe for life? Go on, don’t be shy. Get in your kitchen, your studio, your whatever-space, and cook up some delicious trouble. The world could always use another interesting dish.

Stay hungry, stay curious, stay beautifully glitched, love is the glitch,
Mohini

Your Resident Glitch-Witch, Veggie Alchemist & Occasional Bringer of Delicious Trouble