Jigger Cruz is among the country’s 30-something superstars but can he live up to the hype?

Jigger Cruz, the latest darling of Philippine painting, owes his success to several factors. Foremost is his ability to carve a distinctive middle ground in contemporary painting, balancing conservative and avant-garde ambitions. His works, while appearing untamed and fresh, also possess a polished versatility that makes them equally suited to the avant-garde gallery or the living room—a quality that resonated with the power players who propelled him to prominence.

It has been two years since I first encountered Jigger Cruz’s paintings, and his potential still feels untapped. Conversations buzz with mentions of upcoming milestones: more exhibitions in Europe, a feature in the renowned Louvre (directly selected by its curator), a solo spotlight at the Armory Show, and representation by a major U.S. gallery before the year’s end. It’s a remarkable journey for the wunderkind from Malabon. If these plans materialize, Cruz could very well become the most prominent name in Philippine art.

Amid all the expectations and debates surrounding contemporary art, Jigger Cruz built his success by working with what was already available, much like many successful painters before him. Emerging from a fractured art community with a peculiar artistic tradition, he redefined the practice of painting by embracing chaos. His works, marked by their unformed, unstable nature and a sense of violence, transformed this disorder into a compelling narrative—a formula that has positioned him as a rising star with the promise of greatness.

Like many painters, Jigger Cruz started out in the underground art scene. Born and raised near the Rufina Patis factory—a detail he often jokes about—and educated at Far Eastern University, Cruz moved between inexpensive studios before eventually apprenticing with Manuel Ocampo at the now-defunct Department of Avant-Garde Clichés and completing a residency at Light and Space Contemporary. Before these opportunities, he shared an apartment with fellow painter Jason Montinola, not just living the archetypal struggles of a starving artist but fully embodying them. On difficult days, they survived on a single viand of steamed kangkong or okra—food Cruz initially disliked but came to tolerate. As Montinola put it, “Walang choice! You eat that or you go hungry!” The experience left a lasting impression on Cruz; even after his paintings began selling, he continued to prefer simple meals of steamed vegetables—a quiet homage to his humble beginnings.

To friends and new acquaintances, Jigger Cruz remains the same, but his works have evolved significantly. Since those days he took each painting more ambitiously so that without the monetary value pinned on them, it would’ve taken us so many years to come to terms with his vast but essentially very simple artistic practice.

The shock value of Jigger Cruz’s practice, however, feels at least a century late. The issues he tackles in his paintings are the same ones that gave rise to modern art. Yet it is in his stark juxtaposition of figure and abstraction—or, more pointedly, the classical and conservative against the modern and revolutionary—within a single work that his distinctiveness emerges. Coming from a generation (my generation) deeply tied to figurative painting, his work felt inevitable. His paintings serve as a platform to revisit the persistent, albeit farcical, tensions between opposing aesthetics in contemporary art.

Jigger’s early ventures into painting were met with success, earning him recognition in small school art contests—moments he recalls with a sense of nostalgia. Back then, he understood the kind of paintings that would win but remained uncertain about pursuing a career as an exhibiting artist. After graduating from FEU, he enrolled in a Multimedia Arts program at the College of St. Benilde in La Salle. However, his love for painting ultimately overshadowed this choice. “I couldn’t last doing things on a computer,” he once said. Even during this time, he kept returning to painting, entering art contests, and participating in group exhibitions.

An unusual incident occurred last year when one of Jigger’s entries to an art contest surfaced on the black market. Allegedly, a professor had sold a painting he had donated to the university. Rather than leave its fate uncertain, Jigger gave his approval to a collector to purchase the piece, saying, “Baka kung saan pa mapunta” (Who knows where it might end up).

This incident highlights both Jigger’s growing prominence as a painter and the unscrupulous behaviors of certain players in the art market. I first met Jigger Cruz at the UP College of Fine Arts, where he was visiting an ex-girlfriend—a striking freshman. I had heard of him before and assumed he must be smug. With a name like “Jigger,” how could he not be? Yet, to my surprise, he turned out to be a humble, congenial guy with excellent taste in music and art.

I eventually got to know him better while working as a curator at the now-defunct City School, where we staged its final exhibition, Impending Doom. Out of 20 works on display, only Jigger’s sold—a collage featuring oil paint, a torn canvas, and potato chips. My girlfriend at the time absolutely hated it. It was one of his first abstractions, and while no one recognized its significance then, it sold for a fraction of what it would be worth today.

The contradictions in Jigger Cruz’s work arise from an audience either with unrefined tastes or one captivated by the esoteric—prioritizing mystery over technique. These viewers are bound by rigid notions of what contemporary painting should embody and the attitudes it should project, rather than engaging in a meaningful dialogue with tradition. Within this context, Cruz’s works limit their meaning to the immediate and precise allure of their vibrant surfaces.

Let’s backtrack to Jigger Cruz’s exhibition at West Gallery in September 2011—the first time his works were presented in a cohesive show. What struck me most about the paintings was how they felt like something I had imagined before. For me, this quality defines a good painting: it invites the viewer to empathize with the work so deeply that they feel as though they could have created it themselves.

Just a few months earlier, a collector had declined a Jigger Cruz painting offered at the West Gallery booth during Manila Art 2012, saying he had already “bought something else.” By contrast, at Cruz’s Blanc exhibition in 2014, collectors were placing reserves on his paintings before even seeing them.

My conclusion is that few truly considered what there was to like about Jigger Cruz’s work—beyond the fact that the art market’s momentum had swept it into prominence like a storm surge. No one knew what it was like until it happened.

Jigger did not break a tradition of painting, in fact he signaled the successful return of painting in the mainstream. It turned out, the painting was only dead…in the Philippines. Those who came before him, Rodel Tapaya, Ronald Ventura, and John Santos were just heralding the return as spin-offs of the 80s social realist painters, when the medium thrived in the hands of first and second quarter storm painters.

In the waning years of Chabet-era conceptualism and the subsequent, albeit misguided return to figurative painting ushered in by poor mentorship in our art academies, along came Jigger Cruz, who braved the murky history of painting, the loaded instruments of oil painting and the weight of all the wrongs done in the name of art. His entrance is the prophecy and the mocking to the generations of painters before him.

Jigger once told me his least favorite works are those that are framed because he only made them to destroy the very identity of the painting as painting and in effect to demolish the very definition of what a painting ought to look like and how it should be treated (not your grandmother’s heirloom).

The unmixed chemical color sometimes squeezed straight out of a tube or through an icing pipe entails the process of freely, joyously, and bravely painting works that give flavor of life, as one would have on a piece of cake. The play is on the opposition of such colors (greens vs. reds, reds vs. oranges greens vs. yellows, etc.) He draws from modernist techniques, including but not limited to those used by artists of L’ art brut, Arte Povera, German Neo-expressionism, the Spatialism, and combines them.

The motivation

Jigger Cruz works without a fixed discipline, though he is constantly hard at work. Rather than adhering to a system, he actively works against one. He lacks the hidden geometries of minimalists or exclusive techniques that cannot be learned. Even when engaging with pieces inspired by old masters, he often expresses disregard for them, at times hiring assistants or reworking their efforts if unsatisfied. While formally trained in fine arts and having apprenticed under senior artists, Cruz has never sought to replicate the marks of older painters on his canvas. Whatever he has created has been entirely his own discovery.

Recently, however, Jigger has faced the pressures of rising auction prices and international recognition, and with these, doubts, gripes, and hesitations have crept into his practice. His later works, displayed at the ARNDT Berlin booth during the Singapore Art Stage, left many of his followers disappointed. To me, they felt fragmented and directionless. Gone was the raw enthusiasm of his West Gallery exhibitions, replaced by what seemed like the fatigue of an artist grappling with the weight of *“I-can-never-go-wrong-because-I’m-young.” These shows bore the hallmarks of early burnout, the kind that threatens an artist’s very survival in a demanding industry.

For a time, I believed his paintings had lost the genius and spark that once defined them. That was until I visited his studio and saw a piece he had painted over—a 1943 original by a student of Amorsolo. Created only for display in his own home, it was stunning, and it reignited my faith in his abilities. Yet it also reinforced a troubling conclusion: commerce could ultimately derail him, shifting his work away from its intent to be provocative, even unpalatable, to those who claim to “understand” it.

I remember when Jigger would laugh every time someone apologized for smudging still-wet paint or accidentally damaging one of his frames. These incidents were never mishaps to him; they were integral to the essence of his work. His art rejects the pretensions of pristine display and preservation, instead emphasizing the transient, collapsible, and ephemeral act of channeling soul and spirit onto the canvas. These imperfections are not flaws but deliberate reflections of the humanity embedded in his creations.

How Jigger got his international break

I recall a story about how Jigger Cruz got his break. Interior decorator and art manager Miguel Rosales had planned a show in Italy for Pow Martinez. Due to scheduling or contractual conflicts, Martinez informed Rosales that he couldn’t participate. While visiting Martinez’s studio, Rosales came across Jigger’s works stored downstairs and decided to offer the show to him instead.

However, the Italy show neither confirmed Cruz’s standing as an artist nor reinforced his reputation. At best, it hinted that the strength of his work extended beyond the Manila art scene. A few months later, he exhibited internationally again, this time with a solo feature at Primo Noctis in Lugano, Switzerland, a subsidiary of Primo Marella in Milan. Yet even the reach of the Milan-based gallery couldn’t contain him. Within a year, Berlin-based Matthias Arndt signed Cruz, following earlier agreements with Rodel Tapaya and Geraldine Javier. The difference? Unlike Tapaya or Javier, Jigger—just 28 at the time—had no museum shows, no CCP 13 Artists Award, and no Ateneo Art Award nominations. His rise in the art scene defied the gatekeeping institutions that claim to legitimize which art deserves to be seen.

Some sources dispute this narrative, but my favorite story about Jigger involves his repeated rejections when submitting portfolios to galleries along Pasong Tamo. After his international debut, these same galleries offered him solo exhibitions. Instead, he showcased his work at Light and Space, an obscure gallery based in Fairview at the time, where I was assisting curator Jason Tecson. That show featured 22 works on paper and three oil canvases, all sold out on the first day of installation—Light and Space’s first sold-out exhibition.

Around this time, the art market was undergoing a dramatic shift. Ronald Ventura’s work went unsold at a Christie’s auction, and rumors of activities by the so-called “art mafia” began circulating. Contracts suddenly became standard among galleries eager to retain their most valuable artists. For example, Rodel Tapaya left the Drawing Room Gallery after a major show at the Vargas Museum. New, aggressive spaces began emerging, culminating in the explosive debut of Art Fair Philippines in February 2013. It was clear something extraordinary was happening—a supernova was forming, and Jigger Cruz stood at its center.

How did the art market single out one young painter so decisively? My explanation is sentimental. Over the years I’ve worked with Jigger Cruz as a writer and curator, I’ve always responded to his creations in the same way. Anyone who has ever been young, idealistic, and passionately in love with art can’t help but connect with Jigger’s fearless expression of freedom and recklessness. He possesses a natural painter’s gift, but more importantly, he brings an extraordinary vitality and glamour to the act of artmaking itself.

This is not without precedent. Many of the most daring postwar Filipino painters built their careers on establishing art traditions by translating styles from elsewhere. Fernando Zóbel shifted abruptly to abstraction after encountering Mark Rothko as a student in Rhode Island. Lee Aguinaldo developed his abstractions after studying the painters of East 10th Street in New York. Napoleon Abueva and Jose Joya returned from U.S. art schools in the 1950s with modernist sensibilities, shedding their traditional influences and reforming the UP Fine Arts curriculum to reflect contemporary practices. Rod Paras-Perez, a Harvard-educated critic, shaped the local art scene’s aesthetic preferences in tune with Western modernism. Filipino artists, while undeniably talented, have historically grown their craft by grafting from global developments—a trend that continues today.

Jigger Cruz belongs to this lineage, alongside other senior painters. Immersed in the sensibilities of Western contemporary art, he has honed a remarkable visual control. One can’t help but marvel at his ability to coax long, deliberate, graceful strokes, each executed squeeze by squeeze, as his abstract paintings emerge to replace the meticulously painted figures beneath. His work doesn’t merely replicate or borrow—it transforms, standing as a testament to his unique voice in the evolving narrative of Philippine art.

The importance of criticism

Jigger Cruz has suffered a fate worse than being unjustly overlooked by criticism: he has been unjustly praised in all the wrong places.

Without serious, thoughtful analysis, his paintings risk becoming, at best, moot experiments. Most audiences, searching in his life for the revolutionary painter his devotees claim to have found, are bound to be disappointed. Despite his works gracing the pages of glossy magazines, little of substance has been written about him in the press. Opinions by fashion-oriented commentators, while offering momentary allure, are unlikely to hold long-term weight.

Even write-ups by international galleries that represent him fail to clearly articulate his motivations for painting or explain the broader significance of his work in today’s art world. This lack of critical depth leaves much of his potential unrealized.

Jigger is one of the rare painters working with an eye toward the future, and as a result, we in the art world are only beginning to appreciate his significance. Yet his rapid rise casts a long, uncertain shadow. The question looms: will his work endure, or will it fade?

One cannot help but recall the socialite painter Oscar Zalameda, who was once the most expensive Filipino artist. Today, his works languish, unsold, on platforms like eBay.

Admittedly, my assessment of Jigger’s career is biased. As his friend, I have a stake in his success and sincerely wish him well. That said, I believe his trajectory must be understood through the lens of what I call the “permanent now,” a concept borrowed from music history. This idea reflects how the information revolution and increased access to independent research have eliminated our sense of distinct artistic eras. Viewed this way, Jigger Cruz stands as one of the first artists to work free from the confines of any particular clique, movement, or school. He has established his style almost entirely on his own. Whether he is remembered as a genius or dismissed as a fluke will depend not on the efforts of his agents or the number of paintings he sells in his lifetime but on the influence he exerts over those who come after him.

In comparison to the meteoric rise of superstars elsewhere, Jigger Cruz arrived in the Philippine art world like a time bomb—both opportune and revelatory. His emergence is the culmination of decades of struggle in painting, but it also marks the beginning of an exploration of infinite possibilities in artmaking, free from the weight of historical baggage.

How could we consider Amorsolo, Luna, Zóbel, or Aguinaldo without Jigger Cruz in mind? He is the offspring of a long period of wandering—an artist emerging from the desert in search of the promised land of a truly national art form. In this artistic Exodus, Cruz’s works demand recognition as an anchor of possibility. They have proven what is achievable for a Filipino painter working locally yet capable of reaching the farthest horizons of the international art scene.

Errata

An earlier version of this article included a paragraph regarding the sale of a painting by Jigger Cruz, allegedly stolen and sold via auction by Salcedo Auctions.

The original paragraph read:

“Two years ago, Salcedo Auctions sold another stolen painting of JC against his advice. It was a painting he initially submitted for a book that never materialized. When JC met up with the collector who consigned the work, she said it was part of the things she inherited when her father died, and it was sold to them unaware that it was a stolen piece.”

This paragraph has been removed for the following reasons:

1. The information provided could be considered potentially libelous.
2. The writer failed to consult Salcedo Auctions regarding the events and agreements that transpired, meaning the information stated in the previous article cannot be corroborated or verified.
3. The phrasing of the paragraph could be misinterpreted as a critique or accusation against the auction house’s business practices. The intention of the article is not to critique the auction house or the art market but to illustrate the trajectory of Jigger Cruz’s career.

This writer apologized to Salcedo Auctions and Ms. Karen Lerma for these lapses and any unintended implications. I have negotiated with the auction house to repost this article under the condition that this clarification replaces the earlier statement.