Jose Moreno’s art collection in full circle
In the open living room, the part of the house most guests see, a video work by Jan Balquin runs across a blank stretch of wall. Towering underneath it is a totem assemblage by Jose John Santos III, packed with objects cast in resin and even window blinds peeking out from one corner. Many of the artworks on the wall are monochromatic, from Nicole Coson’s imprints to a rare neutral-colored thread work by Raffy Napay. And resting atop a pile of books is a miniature, discreet sculpture by National Artist Arturo Luz.
To the side of the living room is a drawing room, with a tender rendition of a child’s dress by Marina Cruz. Her husband, Rodel Tapaya’s sought-after early works are lined up further in. Nearby is Moreno’s office, where a painting by Annie Cabigting hangs, showing a meta image of a woman gazing at an abstraction by Max Ernst.
But it’s in Moreno’s self-named “man cave” in the attic where things come alive, and where the full circle of his arc as a collector becomes clear.
An evolution in collecting
Moreno’s entry into art collecting started in 2005, when his wife, Tin, first brought him to galleries. “She was the one who got me into collecting,” he recalls. In those early days, he gravitated toward figurative pieces, which felt more accessible and easier to understand.
But comfort only carried him so far. As time passed, his eye sharpened and his courage grew. He began to seek out darker works, but eventually drifted away from this style. And recently, he has been exploring more conceptual artwork.
As an investor, often taking risks with several startups, his style of collecting reflects his curiosity and a willingness to bet on what excites him, even if it isn’t the obvious or easy choice. “The evolution from there to now has changed,” he reflects. “But then it evolved. Now it’s a whole story.”
When they first moved into this house, Moreno worked with curator Sidd Perez, who was formerly with The Drawing Room gallery and is now with the Singapore Art Museum. But for his man cave, he enlisted the esteemed curator Nilo Ilarde, who is known for his distinct way with conceptual art.
“I told Nilo I want my man cave to have all the figurative works. If you notice, downstairs, there’s very little figurative work now,” Moreno explains. “Here upstairs in my man cave, I can do more of whatever I want.”
Conversations through spaces
Moreno points to a mangy taxidermied fox, its eye bulging from its socket, hair thinning in tufts. This is one of Kawayan de Guia’s pieces. Framed nearby is another of de Guia’s mixed media collaged works. At the center of the room is a smaller, rarer version of his “Bomba” series, its disco ball skin rotating, scattering afternoon light across the room.
Near de Guia’s work hangs a swampy figure by Louie Cordero and a figurative work of a woman by Yasmin Sison, positioned above a thrifted Chesterfield sofa that Moreno calls “one of his most comfortable pieces of furniture.” Its worn leather certainly suggests as much. And close by are works by MM Yu.
“When I curate, it has to have a conversation between the artworks,” Moreno explains. “All of these guys are barkada, so Louie Cordero, Yasmin Sison, MM Yu, [and] Kawayan de Guia, they’re all the same group of Baguio artists. And then you have Manuel Ocampo and Pow Martinez. They’re all barkada, so they have a conversation with each other.”
Birds of a feather, after all. And it makes sense as artists move in their overlapping circles, sharing references, resources, books, music, and time, which reflect in their work.
On the coffee table sit pieces by Pope Bacay and Johanna Helmuth, who are also a couple. Fittingly behind the bar are raucous paintings by close friends Pow Martinez and Manuel Ocampo. There are quite a few Jigger Cruz pieces, another from that friend group, around the house as well.
On the landing floor between his man cave and living room works by JC Jacinto and Zean Cabangis hang close together. He mentions the two of them often, as some of his first art friends he has hung out with, from Los Baños to Calatagan.
For Moreno, this friendship seems to be as central as the art itself. “‘My relationship with my artist friends is more about their personality than their work,” he says. “People sometimes think I have an ulterior motive, but I don’t. I never want them to feel I’m making them my friend because I want their work. For seven years now, I’ve just enjoyed building these friendships. Along the way, some have become very close.”
And it makes sense as we move around the room, as the art starts conversation after conversation, much like friends gathering in a room. It’s clear that these friendships have deepened the meaning of the art for Moreno, too.
Histories in the room
Taking us through every corner, Moreno shows off medals from both marathons and triathlons around the world, from London to Berlin. He is excited to show his newest work by Pam Yan Santos, an installation of hollow red apples, meant to represent candles, inspired by her pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela.
“They’re inspired by the saying ‘an apple a day.’ The stems are nails, symbolizing hardship, and the work is interactive. Each time you have an intention, you can write it on a slip of paper, tuck it into the slot beneath, and light the candle. At the end of the year, Pam collects all the intentions and turns them into another artwork.” Moreno acquired the September version, in time for his son’s birthday.
“What I love about Pam is how smart and deeply personal her practice is. Her works often speak of family and motherhood, always filled with passion and meaning. This piece feels especially alive at night,” he gushes, “when the candles inside the apples glow.”
Across the room from Santos’ work is a neon light installation by Yeo Kaa, which bounces off a reflective silver sphere hanging from the ceiling. The work was never intended for sale, Moreno shares. The piece was signage outside her exhibit, which she had made after a breakup. It glows with the words, “Let’s party ‘cause I ain’t sad no mo’.”
At the table, a stuffed Kaws Snoopy toy sits in front of a Fatboy lamp. We are surrounded by chairs, oh, so many chairs. Moreno has about a dozen in his man cave, enough to fit a crowd, each one collected from a different time and place.
“These chairs have been in maybe three or four people’s homes around California,” he says about one set. “These guys have seen different owners, different stories. I can count on one hand the new pieces of furniture that I have. Everything else is old. It tells a story on its own.”
Some chairs show their age: torn club chairs that Moreno got for $15 precisely because of their imperfections (“If you buy this now, it’s probably 150,000 pesos,” he says). Another bears coffee stains. “That’s the character,” he proudly says.
Then there’s an old Wassily chair he was gifted from his time in San Francisco, and another Saarinen chair from a friend, too.
“My love for mid-century furniture came before the whole craze,” he states. “We like to buy unique pieces, so a lot of the furniture we got was really a journey in itself.”
Pulling up with a U-Haul, his collecting expeditions have taken him to the Alameda and Pasadena flea markets, Clignancourt in Paris, where he also found rugs and lamps, as well as a flea market in Milan.
Full circle
In a moment that blurred the boundary between collector and creator, Moreno once became an artist himself. In Calatagan, surrounded by friends Indy Paredes and Melai Matias, they decided to curate a group show surrounding what Moreno calls this “sacred tree” at their beach house. He produced a body of work under the pseudonym Paco Rizal and showed at Gravity Art Space. His two works sold out.
“The feeling of selling a work—it was awesome,” he laughs. “It gave me a better understanding of what artists go through: the deadlines, the expense of materials, even the pressure.”
Two decades after his first gallery visit, Moreno has come full circle. From a beginner buying art when the art market was almost nonexistent, to a seasoned collector curating dialogues between works, and even briefly experiencing life as an artist, Moreno’s journey as a collector is written across the walls of his and his family’s home.
His advice to younger collectors is simple: “Your taste will change. That’s part of the journey. Trust your eyes, your aesthetic. Don’t listen too much to others about investment or popularity. When you fill your home, it should tell your story.”
And for him, collecting always comes back to authenticity. “Here, everything reflects Tin and me. It may not be your taste, but it’s ours. That’s the point.”
At present, Moreno’s collection is not yet finished, and maybe it never will be. Like the marathons still ahead and the man cave humming with voices of artist friends, his collector’s journey runs like a circle.
And it will keep turning, without an end.
