Reb Belleza’s Two Fathers explores identity, loss, and lineage through a diptych of layered text, bold colors, and fragmented forms. The work reflects his ties to two father figures — his biological father, Bernard Belleza, and his godfather, Fernando Poe Jr.
Inspired by Pietà Antithesis, an ekphrastic poem reinterpreting Michelangelo’s Pietà, Two Fathers shifts from maternal mourning to a broader reckoning with absence and belonging. The poem’s pleas for recognition and guilt echo in Belleza’s textured composition. Phrases like “Murderous hands have plundered your womb,” “Talk to me, Mother,” and “Why have you been silent?” appear across the painting—some legible, others buried beneath layers of paint.
Bernard Belleza, a rising action star in the 1960s, was shot and killed in 1970, leaving his son to navigate life without him. That absence was partly filled by Poe Jr., a National Artist and a towering figure in Philippine cinema. More than a godfather, Poe Jr. provided paternal guidance and supported Belleza’s fine arts studies at the University of the Philippines Diliman and later in California. Two Fathers presents these relationships as interwoven forces shaping the artist’s sense of self.
Now part of a private collection, the diptych invites shifting perspectives. Overlapping words and colliding brushstrokes create a restless surface. The left panel, dominated by red, suggests urgency—perhaps tied to Bernard Belleza’s abrupt loss. The right panel, in subdued blue and gold, evokes something more distant, possibly Poe Jr.’s lasting presence. The contrast mirrors the tension between inherited identity and chosen influence. Yet Two Fathers resists being fixed. Its orientation can be rotated, shifting its meaning entirely.
When inverted, the painting moves from fatherhood to the presence of the mother. Lines from Pietà Antithesis gain weight: “Talk to me, Mother,” “Murderous hands have plundered your womb,” “Mother, forgive me, what have I done?” The Pietà is reversed—not a mother cradling her son, but a child seeking acknowledgment. The rupture, whether literal or symbolic, forces reflection on loss, erasure, and reconciliation.
Belleza’s use of text recalls the graffiti-like approach of Jean-Michel Basquiat, where words function as both message and visual element. Some lines are scratched in, others painted over, further obscuring meaning. The thick texture adds weight, making reading an effort—just as grappling with memory and loss often is.
While deeply personal, Two Fathers moves beyond biography. Its themes—loss, influence, and identity—are universal. The diptych avoids closure, inviting contemplation rather than conclusions.
Art, like memory, remains in flux. Two Fathers does not dictate meaning but offers space for reflection, shifting in interpretation as much as in form.
