Recognition often marks a milestone, but for Kathleen Liechtenstein, it also signals a renewed responsibility. Recently named among the Most Influential Filipina Women in the World  by the Filipina Women's Network, the president of Ballet Philippines views the honor not as a personal accolade, but as affirmation of a larger mission: using the arts to uplift communities, open doors, and redefine who ballet is for. For Liechtenstein, the recognition carries deep meaning. On a personal level, she describes it as a celebration of resilience, passion, and the enduring belief that leadership should always be tied to service. Professionally, it reinforces her commitment to expanding the reach of ballet across the country. Under her leadership, Ballet Philippines continues to pursue initiatives that bring dance beyond the traditional theater stage and into communities that rarely have access to the arts. Among the programs closest to her heart is Ballet Brigade , the company’s outreach initiative that introduces ballet to indigenous communities across the Philippines. Through this program, Ballet Philippines has worked with communities such as the Kalinga in Tabuk, the Aeta in Zambales, the Ivatan in Batanes, and the T’boli in Lake Sebu, among many others. The program offers young people an opportunity to experience ballet while encouraging them to embrace their own cultural heritage. Rather than replacing tradition, the goal is to expand it. For Liechtenstein, ballet becomes a bridge—an art form that can coexist with indigenous storytelling and movement. Each visit, each workshop, and each performance becomes a moment of exchange where culture, creativity, and curiosity meet. “It reminds us of the true essence of dance,” she shares. “Not just as an art form, but as a means of learning, self-empowerment, and bringing people together.” Another initiative, Men in Uniform , highlights ballet’s ability to reach audiences outside the usual arts circles. Through special performances and collaborations, Ballet Philippines has shared the beauty of dance with members of the Armed Forces of the Philippines and the Philippine Navy, offering moments of joy and reflection through movement and music. As president of Ballet Philippines, Liechtenstein approaches leadership with a dual focus: protecting the discipline’s classical roots while pushing the boundaries of what ballet can be in a modern Filipino context. She acknowledges that ballet has long carried the perception of being an elite art form. Changing that perception, she believes, requires both innovation and accessibility. This means bringing ballet into schools, underserved communities, and spaces where the arts have traditionally been absent. At the same time, the company continues to produce world-class performances that celebrate classical technique while incorporating contemporary Filipino narratives, choreography, and design. The balance between tradition and modernity is intentional. For Liechtenstein, honoring ballet’s classical heritage does not mean remaining static. Instead, it means allowing the form to evolve alongside the culture that surrounds it. Women’s leadership in the arts has also been central to her work. While progress has been made, she recognizes that barriers still exist, particularly in fields historically dominated by male leadership. Coming from a background in business and design, stepping into a leadership role within a traditional ballet company meant earning credibility in a space where artistic authority often comes from within the dance world itself. Rather than viewing this as a limitation, Liechtenstein leaned into what she could bring: strategic thinking, innovation, and a deep respect for the art form. The result has been a leadership style that blends creative vision with long-term planning—one that prioritizes sustainability for both artists and institutions. Empowering young women remains a central focus. Through Ballet Brigade and other outreach efforts, Ballet Philippines provides opportunities for young girls who may never have imagined themselves inside a theater or dance studio. For Liechtenstein, seeing a child experience ballet for the first time—whether watching a performance or taking their first tentative steps in class—captures the true value of the work. Dance, she believes, can also play a meaningful role in larger conversations around gender equality. Ballet Philippines has explored this through productions such as Limang Daan  and Ang Panaginip , works that celebrate Filipina strength, resilience, and collective dreams. Premiering these productions during International Women’s Month underscores the company’s commitment to highlighting women’s stories on stage. Behind Liechtenstein’s passion for the arts are personal influences that shaped her early imagination. Her grandmother first introduced her to the world of music and opera, often humming melodies from Lucia di Lammermoor around the house. Years later, hearing the opera performed live at Teatro alla Scala felt like a full-circle moment, connecting childhood memories to the grandeur of the stage. Her mother nurtured that creativity in other ways—bringing home illustrated classics that sparked a lifelong love for storytelling, books, and aesthetics. These early influences continue to shape the way Liechtenstein approaches art today: as something both deeply personal and widely shared. Looking ahead, her vision for Ballet Philippines is ambitious. She hopes to expand Ballet Brigade further, reaching more communities and inspiring a new generation of Filipino dancers. At the same time, she wants the company to elevate its technical training and artistic education, ensuring dancers develop not only physical mastery but also a deep understanding of music, history, design, and performance. The long-term goal is clear: for Ballet Philippines to become a defining voice for ballet in Southeast Asia. But beyond institutional success, Liechtenstein’s vision also includes strengthening the role of artists—particularly women—in shaping cultural policy and representation. She believes that more artists should eventually step into positions where they can influence legislation and advocate for the creative sector. When artists have a voice in policymaking, she says, the arts gain the protection, understanding, and support they deserve. For young women hoping to lead in the arts, her advice is simple but powerful: pursue passion with courage and purpose. Because when leadership is guided by purpose, the impact reaches far beyond the stage.

In Pangasinan, where the land itself tells stories through salt, life moves to a rhythm shaped by sun, wind, and patience. For Roda Ignacio, that rhythm began early. The salt farms were not just part of her surroundings, they were her first understanding of the world. As a child, she watched hands carve livelihood out of seawater, learning that behind something as ordinary as salt is a life built on sacrifice, discipline, and care. “To many, salt is just a seasoning,” she shares. “For us, it’s life itself.” That life is deeply personal. Each grain carries the memory of her father’s labor, the risks he took to secure land for their family, and the quiet determination that sustained them. What she inherited is more than responsibility. It is a legacy she now carries forward, rooted in both gratitude and pride. Pangasinan, whose name literally means “where salt is made,” is not just a place Roda calls home. It is part of her identity. It shaped her understanding of culture, resilience, and belonging. “This is where I was formed,” she says. “Not just by the work, but by the values that came with it.” For her, the story of salt farming is also a story of people who remain unseen, despite sustaining entire communities. There is a tendency to romanticize rural life, to reduce it to quiet landscapes and simplicity. But Roda knows better. Life in the asinan demands patience that cannot be rushed. Salt forms only when nature allows it. Some days, the rain erases hours of labor, and the only choice is to begin again. It is here that she learned resilience, not as a concept, but as a way of life. “Simplicity does not mean ease,” she says. “It means showing up every day, no matter what.” Of all the roles she carries today, it is motherhood that feels most instinctive. She speaks of it with the same reverence she gives the land. Like tending a salt farm, it requires attention, endurance, and an understanding that the most important work often goes unseen. It has shifted her perspective, deepening her sense of patience and reshaping what truly matters. But Roda’s story does not end in the fields. Before returning to the farm, she found another kind of stage. As a theater actress, she discovered a different way of telling stories, one that allowed her to translate lived experience into movement, voice, and emotion. Acting was never just a passion. It became a language. “It was how I expressed not just stories, but parts of myself,” she reflects. Theater also taught her something that stayed long after the curtain fell: connection. On stage, no one stands alone. Every performance depends on trust, awareness, and shared energy. Offstage, that truth shaped how she understands womanhood. Strength, she believes, is not in standing apart, but in lifting others alongside you. There was a time when her days were defined by movement. Living in Baguio, she balanced teaching, theater, and preparation for board exams, traveling back and forth to Alaminos City with a singular goal: to bring theater back to her hometown. It was a period marked by exhaustion, but also by purpose. “Ambition and sacrifice make sense when they come from passion,” she says. Even showing up felt like a contribution. One role remains close to her heart: her performance in Alamat ng Sandaang Pulo , where she played both narrator and the older version of the main character. It was her first major role, taken on during one of the most demanding periods of her life. The pressure was overwhelming. There were moments she wanted to give up. But one line stayed with her: The show must go on.  And it did. Today, that stage feels distant, but not lost. After giving birth, Roda stepped away from acting, entering a different kind of performance, one without scripts or rehearsals. Motherhood reshaped her relationship with her craft, deepening her emotional awareness and grounding her in a new kind of presence. “I value every moment differently now,” she says. “Time feels more meaningful.” This pause, often misunderstood, is something she has come to define on her own terms. Progress, for her, is no longer measured by movement forward in a career, but by presence. By choosing to be where she is needed most. By helping sustain her family’s livelihood. By honoring where she comes from. “Career can wait,” she says simply. “But being a mother can’t.” And still, the artist in her remains. Walking through the salt beds under the heat of the sun, she sometimes feels the echo of stage lights. The rhythm is familiar. The focus, the intention, the awareness that every action matters. Only now, the audience has changed. It is her family, her community, the people whose lives are touched by the work she helps continue. The sun becomes her spotlight. The wind, her orchestra. Each harvest, a quiet performance shaped by care and patience. Creativity, she has learned, does not disappear when the stage is gone. It simply finds new forms. In daily routines, in the movement of people, in the stillness of early mornings and the glow of sunset, she continues to imagine, to feel, to create. Even social media becomes an extension of that expression, a way to share the life she now lives, simple but deeply meaningful. In the context of Women’s Month, Roda’s definition of empowerment feels grounded and clear. It is not about recognition or applause. It is about fully inhabiting every role she carries, with humility and pride. It is in the act of nurturing, teaching, continuing, and remembering. “Real stories are not only performed,” she says. “They are lived.” She is also aware of the stories that remain untold. Rural women, she points out, are often missing from conversations about modern womanhood. Yet their lives are filled with strength, skill, and quiet endurance. They rise early, work under unforgiving conditions, care for their families, and preserve traditions that sustain entire communities. “These stories deserve to be seen,” she says. For Roda, strength is not loud. It is steady. It is found in repetition, in sacrifice, in showing up day after day. It is the kind of strength that builds lives, even when no one is watching. If she were to return to the stage now, she knows exactly what role she would choose. Not a character imagined, but a life already lived. A mother, a daughter, a teacher, a woman shaped by land and legacy. A story made of small sacrifices and quiet moments, told with honesty. She would call it Tasik . In salt farming, tasik  is the delicate process of letting seawater flow into the beds after each harvest, preparing for what comes next. Too little, and the work suffers. Too much, and the yield is lost. It is a balance that requires attention, patience, and understanding. For Roda Ignacio, tasik  is more than a method. It is a way of living. A reminder that life, like the land, asks for balance. That every season prepares you for the next. And that even in stillness, something is always taking shape.

Photography by: Aileen Wang

In a digital world that often pushes creators toward trends and quick visibility, Cheska Torres Ibasan chooses a quieter path—one rooted in reflection, cultural memory, and the layered realities of Filipino identity. Her work moves through the spaces in between: between softness and strength, heritage and reinvention, solitude and community. Rather than trying to define what it means to be Filipino in a single frame, she leans into the complexity of it, allowing contradiction, tenderness, and truth to exist side by side. Through storytelling, design, and her fashion line KADIWA The Label , Ibasan explores how culture lives in everyday gestures, inherited values, and the subtle moments that often go unnoticed. Her perspective is shaped by lived experience—from navigating identity within the diaspora to reexamining faith, belonging, and the quiet power of collective care. In this conversation with BLNC Magazine , she reflects on the roots that ground her work, the communities that shaped her voice, and why embracing ambiguity may be the most honest way to understand Filipino identity today. Your content feels deeply rooted in Filipino identity. What parts of who you are show up most naturally when you create? I come from a place where survival and imagination lived side by side, so what shows up most naturally in my work is truth. Being Filipino means holding joy and struggle at the same time, and I think that duality shapes my voice. I’m drawn to nuance, to honoring softness and strength together, and to creating space for stories that don’t always get centered. I also gravitate towards complexity: the quiet moments, the contradictions, the tenderness that exist alongside ambition or pressure. I bring a lot of emotional intuition into my work, and I think that comes from listening—listening to the women in my life, to inherited stories, to what it means to belong and still feel like you’re defining yourself. So when I create, I’m not trying to represent everything about being Filipino perfectly; I’m just trying to be truthful. And I believe that honesty is what allows cultural identity—any cultural identity—to shine through naturally. Growing up Filipino shapes the way we move through the world. What values or experiences from your upbringing continue to guide you today? For a long time, I took pride in not asking for help—being self-sufficient, keeping things moving on my own, proving that I could carry the weight without leaning on anyone else. It felt like strength. But over time, I began to understand that what I’d grown up around was something deeper: bayanihan . Not independence at all costs, but collective care. Learning to accept help taught me humility and trust. It reminded me that resilience doesn’t always look like doing everything alone; sometimes it looks like letting yourself be held by a community that genuinely wants to see you win. That value stays with me now. It shapes how I show up for others, how I ask for support when I need it, and how I measure success—not by how much I can endure alone, but by how well we move forward together. A lot of your work highlights quiet, everyday moments. Why are these small details important to you when telling Filipino stories? These organic, quiet, everyday moments matter deeply in Filipino storytelling because so much of Filipino life exists in the in-between—the pauses, the routines, the things that don’t announce themselves as dramatic but carry vastness. Quietness doesn’t mean silence; it’s a kind of stillness, a way of  just being . You can’t think of Southeast Asia without the Philippines coming to mind, and yet for many in the diaspora, we’re often told we’re not Southeast Asian enough, not even Asian enough. Those small, intimate moments become a way of asserting presence—of saying we are here , even when our identities are questioned or overlooked. When I created my fashion line — KADIWA The Label — the brand wasn’t immediately legible as “Filipino.” People only recognized it through the product descriptions and infographics I created for each piece. That experience reminded me that so much of who we are exist in nature, in practices, and in the industrialized objects we encounter every day. Often, the response was, “I didn’t know this was Filipino,”  or “We have that in our culture too.” While I believe we are unique in our own way, there is something powerful about that shared recognition. Our stillness—our quiet presence—is not absence. It’s continuity. In a digital space that often favors global trends, how do you stay grounded in your own cultural perspective? Cultures have always driven trends—even when they aren’t credited for it. So much of what’s considered “global” today is rooted in specific communities, from music shaped by Black cultures to clothing and silhouettes woven through different Black and brown cultural histories. Remembering that helps me stay grounded.  In a digital space that moves quickly and often flattens context, I try to stay connected to that origin point. I don’t feel pressure to chase what’s popular because I know that cultural specificity is what gives trends their longevity in the first place. By honouring where ideas come from—especially my own—I’m not stepping outside the conversation. I’m participating in it honestly. What does Filipino identity mean to you now, compared to how you understood it when you were younger? When I was younger, Filipino identity felt like a list I had to memorize and perform correctly. It was manners, gestures of respect, accents softened or sharpened depending on who was listening. It was something inherited but also something fragile—easy to “lose” if you strayed too far, spoke the wrong way, wanted the wrong things. I understood it as obligation more than choice. Now it feels less like a checklist and more like a conversation I’m still navigating. Filipino identity has become expansive and unfinished. It lives in contradiction: pride and grief, humor and rage, intimacy and distance. I see it not just in traditions preserved, but in the ways we adapt, survive, and rediscover. It’s in migration and longing, in the ache of loving a country that has failed you and still shapes you. I no longer think of it as something I owe purity to, but something I’m in relationship with—something that changes as I do. If younger me wanted certainty about being Filipino the right way, current me is more comfortable with ambiguity. Being Filipino now means holding history without being trapped by it, honoring inheritance while interrogating it, and allowing softness where I was once taught endurance was the only virtue. Has there been a moment when you felt especially proud to be Filipino, either through your work or a personal experience? I first felt proud to be Filipino in a way that was both fragile and fierce during my undergraduate years at UC Berkeley, where I was part of only 3.4% of students who identified as Filipino. Being in that small number made me notice how often our stories were overlooked, and how Filipino experiences don’t fit neatly into the “model minority” narrative applied to other Asian groups.  Back then, pride came quietly, in simply existing fully, even when no one expected us to be visible. Today, that quiet pride has a new shape through KADIWA The Label. Bringing Filipino fashion onto a global stage is both humbling and exhilarating—it’s a way of making our creativity, our heritage, and our stories felt beyond the communities that know them best. I hope that in sharing this work, others—especially Black and brown women—can see themselves reflected, empowered, and reminded that claiming space is a beautiful radical act. For me, moving forward, pride is no longer just about surviving visibility; it’s about insisting on presence, honoring ancestry, and showing that Filipino identity, in all its nuance, has a place in the world. How do family, community, and faith influence the way you see the world and express yourself? Family, community, and faith are not separate threads for me—they’re braided, and faith in particular is the one I’ve had to slowly, deliberately unlearn and re-learn. Growing up Filipino and Christian, faith was inseparable from family loyalty and communal belonging. God was introduced to me through hierarchy: elders, priests, and authority. Love was often framed as sacrifice without consent, and holiness as silence. For a long time, that shaped how I saw the world—I learned to endure before I learned to discern, to spiritualize suffering instead of naming injustice. Decolonizing my faith has been integral to my journey because Christianity, as I received it, was never neutral. It arrived wrapped in colonial power and moral control, even as it taught me language for hope, compassion, and transcendence. To remain Christian without interrogation would have meant accepting Jesus as someone who looked too much like an empire that demanded my compliance more than my wholeness. Decolonization, for me, is not abandoning faith but rescuing it—returning to Jesus who stands with the oppressed rather than sanctifying their pain, and reclaiming spirituality as relational, embodied, and liberatory. This reimagined faith changes how I move through the world. It makes me attentive to power, suspicious of narratives that glorify suffering, and committed to joy as a form of resistance. As a Filipino and a Christian, I now see my expression—my questions, my tenderness, my refusal to shrink—as sacred. Faith no longer disciplines me into obedience; it invites me into responsibility: to my people, to my history, and to a God who is not threatened by my yearning for more or my intellect. Building something like KADIWA came from a personal place. What did creating it teach you about yourself beyond business or creativity? Creating KADIWA The Label taught me that my impulse to build has always been about repair. Long before it was a brand or a concept, it was a response to fracture—to the feeling that so much of what I loved about being Filipino existed in fragments: memory without infrastructure, care without visibility, talent without protection. I learned that I don’t create because I’m confident; I create because I’m yearning for coherence. Building became a way of asking, what would it look like to belong on our own terms? Beyond business or creativity, KADIWA The Label revealed how deeply relational fashion is to me. I’m not motivated by scale as much as I am by intimacy—by trust, by shared language, by the quiet recognition of seeing yourself reflected in something made with care. It taught me that leadership is less about direction and more about stewardship: holding space, translating between worlds, protecting softness in systems that reward extraction.  KADIWA The Label taught me that I carry both the ache of inheritance and the courage to reimagine it—that I am shaped by histories of survival, but not limited to them. In building it, I learned that fashion is an extension of my values, and that my truest measure of success is not growth or recognition, but whether what I build feels honest, communal, and alive. Who or what shaped your understanding of heritage and belonging while growing up? My mom shaped my understanding of heritage and belonging in ways both quiet and profound. She was the living archive of our family’s stories, rituals, and resilience—each meal she cooked, each lullaby she hummed, each memory she recalled became a thread connecting me to a lineage I could touch and taste. Through her, I learned that heritage isn’t just history or tradition—it’s a language of persistence that must be spoken, or it risks disappearing. She also taught me that the harsh truth of belonging is that it is not automatic, but a challenge. Even in her imperfections, she embodied the tension of belonging: how to honor the past while claiming agency over the present. I learned to carry this lesson with me everywhere—from navigating corporate tech, where I present myself professionally without erasing my identity, to moving through social spaces with grace while fully embodying all my identities. In essence, my mom didn’t just give me heritage—she gave me a template for inhabiting it fully, thoughtfully, and with a love that is both anchored and expansive. When people engage with your content, what do you hope they feel or recognize about Filipino life and identity? When people engage with my content, I hope they feel the fullness and expansiveness of Filipino life and identity—not as something exclusive, but as something that resonates across communities. Filipino identity, for me, is rooted in radical joy, togetherness, creativity, and I want those values to be visible in ways that others can recognize and connect with. Seeing KADIWA The Label take up space in fashion, for example, can be empowering not just for Filipinos but for many women of color who are navigating spaces that haven’t always recognized them. I want people to feel that presence matters—that culture, heritage, and identity are powerful when expressed unapologetically, and that claiming space is itself an act of visibility and affirmation. Ultimately, I hope people recognize that what is distinctly Filipino can also be universally resonant: it can inspire pride, spark curiosity, and create connections across lines of difference.

Women are often described as the “light of the home”—a phrase meant to embody the nurturing qualities of a mother. But beyond the domestic sphere, women also illuminate communities, spaces, and creative ecosystems that they inhabit. They not only keep things together; they initiate, build, and transform. Maryrose Gisbert My Love 16x25in Soft Pastel on Paper 202 Lumière, derived from the French word for “light,” expands this understanding. The exhibition positions women not as symbolic sources of warmth alone, but as active forces whose expression shapes cultural direction. Light is an element that reveals what is sometimes overlooked, illuminating crevices that would not have been seen  without it. True enough, in many creative communities, women function as anchors and accelerators, organizing initiatives, sustaining collaborations, mentoring peers, and producing work that reframes inherited narratives—just like light illuminating a  dark room. Their labor, both seen and unseen, contributes to the vitality of the whole creative sphere. Their impact is not peripheral. It is structural. Nanette Villanueva Held, Not Still 18x25in Charcoal and Graphite on Paper 2026  Nanette Villanueva Weight of Listening 16x20in Charcoal and Graphite on Paper 2026  Across different media and visual languages, the exhibition affirms that women illuminate more than intimate spaces—They illuminate public discourse, creative risk, and different possibilities. Their work does not simply occupy walls—it sparks dialogue in each glance made towards the walls that hold these canvases. Nova Lucernas Depleted I 36x24in Mixed Medium Lucernas Depleted II 36x24in Mixed Medium 2026 Patricio Moment of Stillness 18x24in Acrylic and Ink on Satin 2025 Domiel Mercado 2026 Chai Soo The Last Autumn Waltz 3x2ft Acrylic on Canvas 2026 Jikka Defino Forgive Them For They Do Not Know What They Are Doing 18x24in Mixed Media (Wood and Repurposed Frame) 2026 Mounted during Women’s Month, Lumière recognizes that while women have long been acknowledged as foundational within the home, they are equally foundational within artistic and cultural life. The light they carry extends outward—into studios, galleries, collectives, and communities—where it continues to shape how contemporary Philippine art is imagined and sustained. Asha Velasco Nowhere and Everywhere 18x24in Mixed Media Collage 2026 Lumière gathers twelve women whose varied practices reflect this generative force:  Lyn Patricio  Domiel Mercado  Nanette Villanueva  Rara Carrillo  Rax Bautista  Chai Soo  Nova Lucernas  Tammy de Roca  Nida Hemedes Cranbourne Maryrose Gisbert  Jikka Defiño  Asha Velasco  The exhibition opens on March 11, 2026, at Kapitolyo Art Space and will remain on view until March 24, 2026.

For photographer Gail Geriane, stepping behind the camera to photograph Shaira Luna was more than a professional opportunity. It was a moment that quietly carried years of inspiration, admiration, and personal history. Shaira’s presence in the industry has long been felt, especially among women photographers who saw in her a kind of confidence that made the creative world feel a little more accessible. For Gail, that influence was deeply personal. Coming from the province and growing up with dreams that sometimes felt bigger than the environment she came from, seeing someone like Shaira take up space in the industry changed the way she imagined her own path. “Shaira has inspired not just me, but so many photographers, especially women,” Gail shares. “She’s opened doors and created space in an industry that hasn’t always made it easy for us.” Yet when the time came to photograph her, Gail didn’t approach the shoot with the pressure of doing something radically different. Instead, she focused on something simpler and more honest: capturing Shaira the way she saw her. Bright. Generous with her light. Strong in a way that feels both soft and certain. That honesty sits at the heart of Gail’s approach to photography, particularly when photographing women. She recalls a line once shared by her friend Marilou Morales that has stayed with her over the years: “For who understands the plight of women but women themselves.” For Gail, that thought continues to guide the way she works. The camera becomes a tool not just for documentation, but for reflection. Through it, she captures fragments of what she sees so others may see them too. The beauty, the complexity, and the quiet struggles that shape women’s lives often go beyond appearances. “Who else is going to tell the story of our experience but us?” she asks. That shared understanding naturally shifts the dynamic behind the lens. When women photograph women, there is often an instinctive sensitivity that emerges. It’s not always visible in dramatic gestures. Instead, it appears in small decisions. In patience. In the willingness to wait for the in-between expressions rather than forcing a moment. Women, Gail explains, carry a lived awareness of what it means to be seen. They know what it feels like to be admired, underestimated, celebrated, objectified, or misunderstood. That awareness informs how the camera is held. “It creates a sensitivity that’s quiet but intentional,” she says. “There’s often an instinct to protect while revealing, to empower rather than extract.” During the shoot, that sensitivity quickly found its rhythm. There was a moment where the energy shifted, when both photographer and subject seemed to meet each other halfway — not just as collaborators, but as women navigating the same creative space. “Once that clicked,” Gail recalls, “everything that followed felt lighter, more honest.” Trust played a central role in allowing that moment to happen. For Gail, one of the most meaningful aspects of the experience was the freedom Shaira gave her throughout the shoot. There was no micromanaging, no over-explaining, and no second-guessing of creative choices. “She just trusted me to see her the way I see her,” Gail says. “And for someone who’s shaped so much of the industry herself, that kind of trust feels big. To the point na nakaka-pressure na! Haha!” Still, that trust also created the space for Gail to express her own voice as an artist. For someone who once felt far removed from the creative circles she now works within, the moment felt unexpectedly full circle. “As a probinsyana who once thought this industry was so far away, having the chance to photograph someone like her already felt complete,” she reflects. Much of Gail’s perspective on collaboration and mentorship has also been shaped by her own journey through the industry. Having experienced moments where beginners are dismissed or underestimated, she now sees mentorship less as a hierarchy and more as a shared process. “Mentorship isn’t about standing above someone,” she explains. “It’s about standing beside them and saying, ‘I’ve been there. Let’s figure this out together.’” That spirit of support has been present in her own life from the very beginning. Gail speaks with gratitude about the women who have been part of her journey, particularly her close group of friends from high school. Among them is her best friend, Betita Sarmiento, who has been there through nearly every chapter. They were the first to believe in her work long before it reached wider audiences. They became her first models, her first supporters, and her earliest audience. “They cheered me on even when there wasn’t much to celebrate,” she says. “From my worst shots to my first magazine covers, they’ve been by my side.” It’s that kind of unwavering belief that continues to anchor her, especially in an industry that often moves quickly and demands constant visibility. Staying grounded, she admits, isn’t always easy. The creative world can push artists to produce more, be seen more, and keep up with the relentless pace of change. Gail has experienced the burnout and self-doubt that can come with that pressure. But she returns to the same reminder: to stay aligned with her intentions. “I remind myself that I am replaceable, and that the world doesn’t revolve around my worries,” she says. “There’s a bigger picture beyond deadlines, likes, or trends.” Returning to her province also offers a kind of reset. Being surrounded by nature helps her reconnect with a sense of perspective — a reminder of how small each individual moment is within the vastness of the world. In that quiet space, the pressure fades. Since she first picked up a camera in 2008, Gail has witnessed meaningful changes in the creative industry. More women now occupy roles that were once harder to access — photographers, directors, and creatives telling their own stories in their own voices. But she’s quick to point out that progress doesn’t mean the work is finished. “Women are still pressured to constantly prove themselves,” she says. “We’re often devalued, underpaid, and judged as less capable simply because we are women.” Even so, the growing number of voices entering the field gives her hope. What excites her most about the next generation of women photographers is the diversity of perspectives they bring. Each new photographer, she believes, adds another layer to the collective narrative — expanding how women’s lives, experiences, and complexities are represented. “The narrative is becoming fuller, bolder, and more honest,” she says. Looking ahead, Gail hopes women in the creative industry continue building a culture that uplifts one another rather than competing for limited space. A space where collaboration thrives. Where perspectives are celebrated. And where more women feel empowered to create freely, without restriction. If this cover could leave a message for women in the industry, Gail hopes it would be a simple one. “Strength doesn’t always mean being tough,” she says. “There’s power in softness, in vulnerability, and in embracing femininity on your own terms.” For Gail, beginning the year with a story centered on women supporting women carries a meaning that feels deeply personal. It represents not only where she is today, but also the journey that brought her here. As someone who once saw this dream from a distance, standing behind the camera for this moment feels like a quiet affirmation that she belongs. “Representation and women’s empowerment have always been the driving forces behind my work,” she says. “And to be given a platform to share that passion truly means a lot.” Then she adds, with warmth and sincerity: “Dako gud nga salamat.” Produced by BLNC Mag Photo: Gaile Geriane Make-up: Cats del Rosario  Hair: Phray Payek Production Assistant: Elcan Romaguerra @linawframe_ Art Direction: JM Jusay Studio Location: Espacio Creativo Escolta

There’s something quietly disarming about seeing Shaira Luna on the other side of the lens. For someone whose work has long defined how others are seen, this cover shifts the gaze. Shot by emerging photographer Gail Geriane, it isn’t about reinvention. It’s about reflection, trust, and a kind of creative exchange that feels both natural and necessary. For Shaira, being photographed is never something she fully settles into. “The awkwardness and excitement never really go away,” she admits, laughing. There’s a sense of irony in it. The person who spends her career holding up a mirror to others now finds herself navigating that same vulnerability. But this time, it felt different. Being seen through another woman’s lens brought a layer of familiarity and ease, even in the unfamiliar. It was their first time working together, yet there was already a quiet understanding in place. That ease is at the heart of this story. When women photograph women, the shift isn’t loud or obvious. It lives in the small things . The pauses. The glances. The unspoken permission to soften. Shaira describes it as a shared sensitivity that reveals itself through observation and openness rather than direction. There’s warmth in it, but also playfulness. “I’m always more kilig and giggly when shooting women,” she says, and you can almost feel that energy translate into the images themselves. It didn’t take long for that connection to settle in during the shoot. The first few frames, often a warm-up, quickly turned into something more fluid. Both Shaira and Gail approached the session without pressure, allowing space for instinct to lead. That openness created a rhythm where nothing felt forced. Just two creatives meeting each other where they are. Trust, in this case, wasn’t something declared. It showed up in the way Gail allowed Shaira to move as she pleased, even when it meant covering her face, a habit she admits she leans on when she feels self-conscious. Instead of pushing against it, Gail worked with it. She noticed the in-between moments, the gestures that felt most natural, and built from there. It became less about directing and more about paying attention. Saying yes to the project came easily for Shaira, and not for complicated reasons. At its core, it was simple. It felt like something she would have wanted when she was starting out. She recalls photographing women she admired early in her career, feeling the same mix of nerves and excitement Gail might have felt stepping into this shoot. Those moments stayed with her. Not because they were grand, but because they were generous. Welcoming. Human. This cover, in many ways, continues that cycle. There’s also a shift in how she views the industry now, especially for young women finding their footing. The idea of following a fixed path no longer holds the same weight. What matters more is individuality. “You can do it in the cutest footwear you own,” she says, half playful, half serious. It’s her way of saying that there’s no single mold to fit into anymore. The quirks, the uncertainties, even the discomfort, all of it has a place. Growth doesn’t always come easy, but it leaves a mark, and sometimes that’s exactly the point. Power, as she defines it today, is far from loud. It doesn’t need to announce itself. It builds quietly through experience, curiosity, and the willingness to keep learning. It’s also deeply collaborative. The confidence she carries isn’t hers alone. It’s shaped by the people she’s worked with, the exchanges that happen behind the scenes, the constant movement between observing and being observed. And while the industry continues to push for more visibility, more output, more noise, Shaira doesn’t see that as something to constantly chase. Staying grounded, for her, comes down to the basics. Showing up. Doing the work. Communicating clearly. Making decisions while staying open to possibility. There’s a balance to be found between presence and restraint, between being seen and knowing when to step back. What makes this cover resonate isn’t just the images themselves, but the spirit behind them. It’s in the way both women met each other without pretense. In the small, almost humorous details, like realizing they both say “cute” just as often while shooting. These are the things that don’t make it into the final frame, but somehow shape everything about it. If there’s a message that lingers, it’s a simple one. Not loud, not overstated. Just a reminder that in this industry, and in moments like this, there is still room for joy. For wonder. For women to not only see each other, but to support, create, and grow alongside one another. And maybe that’s the point. Not just to celebrate women, but to continue the work with intention. Quietly, confidently, and together. Produced by BLNC Mag Photo: Gaile Geriane Make-up: Cats del Rosario Hair: Phray Payek Production Assistant: Elcan Romaguerra @linawframe_ Art Direction: JM Jusay Studio Location: Espacio Creativo Escolta

There’s a quiet kind of discipline behind every great bartender—the kind shaped not just by skill, but by patience, setbacks, and an unwavering sense of purpose. For Ralph Allen Santos , the journey into bartending wasn’t something he mapped out from the start. It began unexpectedly, built through observation, persistence, and a willingness to learn the craft the hard way. Today, he stands at the forefront of Manila’s cocktail scene, fresh from being named Diageo World Class PhilippinesBartender of the Year 2025 —a milestone that reflects years of quiet resilience and growth. But beyond the accolades, what defines Santos is his ability to translate culture into something tangible, turning each drink into a story rooted in Filipino identity, community, and shared experience. What first drew you to bartending, and how did your early experiences shape the way you approach the craft today? I never planned to be a bartender back then; it was a funny story how I became one. I started as a busboy in a diner restaurant. My manager recommended I work at the bar instead because I was a bit tall for the floor and moved quickly. I actually learned it the hard way because back then there was no internet or accessible sources to learn bartending. But that molded my attitude, showing me I have to pursue my dreams no matter how hard it is. I'm grateful to all the people I've been with, and for learning through observation and asking questions. You’ve been part of Manila’s bar scene for some time now, and you recently won the 2025 Diageo World Class Philippines Bartender of the Year title. What was going through your mind when you heard your name called?  I joined Diageo World Class four times before I won the championship. This competition really pushed me to be the best version of myself. When I heard them call my name as the winner, it was an achieving moment of my life. In past competitions, you’ve come close before, including being a runner-up in 2021. How did those earlier experiences influence how you prepared this time?  It was really tough; I was almost about to give up. The key thing that helped me win was being consistent in what I do, and I listened to all the criticism and feedback I received. I never looked at it negatively, but instead, I continued what I loved to do. Craft and Creativity Your winning cocktail, Kapwa, honors Filipino culture and communal spirit. What was your creative process in developing that concept?  My creative process began with looking at Filipino culture through the lens of art and symbolism. Carlos “Botong” Francisco’s Bayanihan shows people carrying a bahay kubo together—a powerful image of unity and shared purpose. Then I thought of Johnnie Walker’s Striding Man, a symbol of progress and moving forward. Two very different artworks, but both telling the same story: that progress is not a solitary journey, it’s something we achieve together.   From there, I wanted to translate that spirit into a cocktail. I called it Kapwa, a Filipino word meaning “shared self.” The ingredients all come from the salo-salo, our communal feast: lambanog for our native spirit, mango for our national fruit, rice coffee for warmth and depth, and bamboo tea to symbolize resilience. Fresh lemon juice ties it together with balance. Each element carries its own story, but when combined, they become something greater—just like people coming together in bayanihan.   So the creative process was really about storytelling: honoring our traditions, connecting them with Johnnie Walker’s message of progress, and creating a drink that celebrates both culture and community. Kapwa is not just a cocktail—it’s an invitation to move forward together.   How do you balance technique and emotion when you’re designing a new drink? I see technique as the foundation and emotion as the soul. Technique ensures balance, structure, and precision—so the drink works on a professional level. Emotion gives meaning, drawing from culture, stories, and symbols that connect with people. When I design a cocktail, I let the story guide the feeling, and then use technique to translate that emotion into flavor. That way, every drink isn’t just well-made—it’s memorable, because it carries both craft and heart.   Is there a part of cocktail creation you find most rewarding or most challenging? The most rewarding part of cocktail creation is when a concept truly speaks to culture and identity. With Three Stars and a Sun, I was able to weave together land, sea, and sky—Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao—into one drink that tells the Filipino story. Even the ingredients are sourced from across the islands, from mango and pandan in Luzon, to asin tibuok and seafood notes in Visayas, to cacao, coffee, and bugnay wine in Mindanao. Built by one spirit, Johnnie Walker Black Label, it becomes three cocktails in one, each representing a facet of our heritage yet united in harmony. It was also my very first challenge in World Class, in Toronto, Canada—making it even more meaningful. The challenge is always balancing technique with emotion, but when both come together, the cocktail becomes more than a drink—it becomes a symbol of who we are.   Philosophy and Influence You’re known as the “Dean of Spiritual Arts” at The Spirits Library. How does that title reflect your philosophy behind bartending?  The title ‘Dean of Spiritual Arts’ is a playful nod to the idea of a library—it’s essentially the equivalent of a general manager. I was given it because I run the cocktail program, curating and overseeing everything with the same care and creativity you’d expect from a dean guiding their faculty Who have been the mentors or peers that have shaped your approach, and what’s one lesson from them you still carry with you? My biggest mentor has been Lee Watson, the owner and head master of The Spirits Library. Working with him shaped me into a more professional and disciplined person—I was nobody back then, but I took the challenge. I also learn a lot by observing: whenever I travel or do guest shifts, I make sure to bring something back to share and apply. And of course, the peers I’ve worked alongside have all left their mark—too many to mention, but each one has taught me something valuable. How does the culture of the Philippines influence your style behind the bar? Filipino culture is at the heart of how I work behind the bar. Just as chefs showcase our heritage through food, bartenders can do the same with cocktails. I love drawing from our traditions, flavors, and stories to create drinks that feel authentic and proudly Filipino—something guests can experience and connect with on a deeper level Growth and Community The bar world can be very competitive, but also collaborative. How do you see community and mentorship playing a role in your own growth? For me, it starts with my own team at The Spirits Library. I want them to become even more successful than me, because mentorship works like a domino effect—when you teach someone, they’ll pass that knowledge forward. I also do consulting, which gives me the chance to guide others in smaller, more personal settings. I’m not the type to speak on big stages; I prefer working closely with people, one-on-one or in small groups, where growth feels more genuine and lasting. What’s one piece of advice you wish you had when you first started bartending? When you’re starting out, you’re eager to become someone in this craft and willing to do anything for everything. But the best advice I can give is—don’t rush. Savor the process, embrace the challenges, and let each step shape you. Growth in bartending isn’t about speed; it’s about discipline, consistency, and enjoying the journey as much as the destination. Looking Ahead You’re now preparing for the global finals in Toronto this September. What are your goals going into that competition, and what would success there mean for you personally? Unfortunately, this was done last October. The global finals in Toronto were truly life-changing. I gained lifelong friends, learned so much, and felt the honor of standing on a stage with bartenders from 60 different countries. Experiencing that level of competition showed me how prestigious and powerful our craft can be—and it inspired me to push myself even further. For me, success wasn’t just about winning; it was about realizing the endless possibilities when you embrace the journey and keep striving for more. Beyond competitions, what are some goals you have for your work at The Spirits Library and in the broader cocktail scene? The Spirits Library is actually the workplace that I love the most. It was the most challenging workplace, but it was the one that gave me every opportunity I have. The greatest achievement I'm proud of is that even my colleagues became champions in their own right. Not just in competition, but seeing them become successful in their lives. That's the goal that I always wished for and wanted for the people I worked with. So it will not only be me continuing and sharing my passion; it is multiplied, and I believe that they will do the same for others. If you could bring one message about Philippine bartending to the world, what would it be? I'm always proud to be a Filipino bartender, and every Filipino should be. I think we are the best in the industry because we are nice people, and hospitality is something we organically learn from home. Filipinos excel in every part of the world. We should continue this, and I know the time will come when it will be rewarding for everyone. Personal Touch Outside of the bar, what are the passions or routines that keep you grounded? Outside the bar, photography keeps me grounded. I love capturing portraits of cocktails, the atmosphere of bar establishments, and street scenes. It’s a way to slow down, savor the details, and see beauty in everyday moments. Just like bartending, it’s about storytelling—freezing a memory, a feeling, or a culture in a single frame. What’s one drink you love to make just for yourself at the end of a long day? At the end of a long day, I keep it simple—I love making myself a Highball or just bitters and soda. It’s refreshing, light, and exactly the kind of drink that helps me unwind.

Before the global campaigns and agency rosters, before her name carried weight across Asia, Jiratchaya Kedkong was simply stepping into the unknown. This 2018 cover story captures her at a pivotal moment, fresh from her win on Asia’s Next Top Model, standing at the edge of everything she had yet to become. There’s a rawness to this chapter. A sense of discovery. Tawan, as she’s known, wasn’t just entering the industry, she was still learning herself in the process. Every casting, every city, every first became part of a larger question she carried quietly: what does it really mean to succeed? Looking back, this feature isn’t just a portrait of a rising model. It’s a snapshot of transition, where ambition meets uncertainty, and where the smallest wins begin to shape something much bigger. There’s a certain kind of beauty that doesn’t ask for attention, it earns it. In this cover, framed against the bold geometry of Bangkok’s temples and the intensity of red, Jiratchaya Kedkong, known to many as Tawan, holds that exact tension. Controlled. Grounded. Unshaken. But beyond the image is a story shaped not by glamour, but by choice. Before the campaigns, before the international agencies, before the recognition across Asia, there was simply a girl from Lopburi, Thailand, navigating what felt like impossible decisions. Raised in a modest environment, Tawan’s early life was far from the polished world she would later enter. She once dreamed of becoming a teacher or a doctor, a future that felt more stable, more expected. But life had other plans. Financial struggles meant letting go of university, a turning point that would quietly redirect everything.  What followed wasn’t a straight path, but a leap. The Risk of Becoming Modeling wasn’t just a dream. It was a question. “Is this right for me or not?” That uncertainty still lives in her story. It’s what makes her journey feel human. Encouraged by friends who saw something in her before she did, Tawan entered the competitive world of modeling in Thailand, eventually stepping into the spotlight of Asia's Next Top Model. She wasn’t the obvious frontrunner. In many ways, she was the underdog. Quiet, reserved, still figuring herself out in real time. But there’s something powerful about someone who grows in front of you. Week by week, frame by frame, she transformed, not just in skill, but in self-belief. And then, she won. At just 20 years old, Tawan became the face of a new kind of Asian model, one that didn’t fit into a single mold. More Than the Win Winning changes things. But it doesn’t define everything. Post-show, her career unfolded quickly. International editorials. Global campaigns. A contract with London-based agency Storm Model Management. The industry opened up, and so did her world.  Yet, in her own words, success isn’t measured in scale. It’s in the small things. Trying food she’s never tasted. Traveling to places she’s never seen. Taking on work she’s never done. These moments, often overlooked, are where she finds meaning. There’s a quiet discipline in how she approaches life, rooted in routine and self-awareness. Sleep well. Stay healthy. Think positively. Stay grounded. It sounds simple. But it’s not. Because beneath that simplicity is a deeper understanding: that beauty is not just visual. It’s internal, built over time, shaped by how you treat yourself and others. Holding On, Moving Forward For all the movement her career demands, there’s something she never lets go of, home. Her younger sister remains a constant in her story. Phone calls, small updates, moments of connection that cut through distance. It’s in these details where Tawan feels most human, not as a model, but as a daughter, a sister, someone still deeply tied to where she began. And maybe that’s the point. In an industry that often asks people to become something else, Tawan’s strength lies in staying close to who she already is. The BLNC Perspective This cover isn’t just about fashion. It’s about evolution. About choosing uncertainty over comfort. About redefining success beyond visibility. About understanding that becoming someone isn’t a single moment, it’s a series of small, quiet decisions made over time. Tawan doesn’t perform success. She lives it, in ways that are subtle, personal, and deeply real. And maybe that’s why this image stays with you. Because it’s not trying to be loud. It’s simply sure of itself. BLNC Magazine "Tawan" Cover 2018 Arun [Dawn] Photographer : Jiraphong Bank Srijunyanont @JIRA @jiraxgascyl Model : Jiratchaya Kedkong @tawanjiratchaya Stylist : Nat Chitdanai @nat_chitdanai Stylist Assist. Panupong Sookrojnirun @panupong_s Make up and Hair Irina Mysova @irinamake1 Asst.Photographer : Tawatchai Bie Khemsook @bienobita Location : Riva Arun @rivaarunbangkok

Welcome to “Alternations,” an exhibition that brings together different artistic voices into one shared space. The works in this show come from artists with varied backgrounds, practices, and visual approaches—each distinct, yet connected through a collective intention to express, respond, and engage through art.  Rather than aiming for uniformity, the exhibition allows these differences to exist side by side. Each artwork holds its own position, yet gains meaning through proximity to others. As styles, materials, and perspectives alternate, connections begin to surface—less through similarity, and more through dialogue and response. In celebration of Art Month, Kapitolyo Art Space, in partnership with First Oceanic Property Management, Inc. (FOPM) and MREIT Inc., presents this exhibition at One Le Grand Tower, McKinley West, with selected works also installed across neighboring FOPM-managed properties. Conceived as an Art Trail, the exhibition extends beyond a single venue. It invites viewers to encounter art as part of their everyday movement through the city, symbolizing how art is ingrained in our daily lives, be it simply walking on sidewalks or drinking our everyday coffee—we just have to look beneath the surface and smell the flowers, too. By bringing artworks into shared public spaces, Alternations aims to create moments of pause, reflection, and connection. It is a way of making art accessible, present, and lived with—integrated into the spaces people pass through daily, rather than set apart from them. Alternations invites viewers to consider how difference does not divide but can instead create rhythm, dialogue, and unity—especially when we allow space for multiple voices to coexist.  Participating artists include: Chrisanto Aquino, Eric Young, Christian Regis, Ritche Yee, Caresty, Aaron Bautista, Joseph Domasian, Meh Villegas, Valen Valero, Micheal Pastorizo, Nicole Asares, Marlon Magbanua, Chai Soo, Rafa, Wynona Capistrano, Franxyz Paulo, Nanette Villanueva, Kerow, Julmard Vicente, Mark Tuason, Bea De Los Reyes, Valerie Teng, Hermisanto, Chris Sipat, Darwin Japat Guevarra, Cesar Arro, Nova Lucernas, JAOP, Jobvezh, Sonyboy Layba, Pauline Mar, Fheixz Orosco, Eghai Roxas Kapitolyo Art Space   23 West Capitol Drive, Kapitolyo, Pasig City   Facebook: Kapitolyo Art Space   Instagram: @kapitolyoartspace

Denial   A temporary shock absorber, often expressed as "This isn't happening to me". Anger  Frustration and rage directed towards the situation, asking "Why me?" or "Who's to blame?". Bargaining   Making deals with a higher power, hoping to reverse or delay the loss, like "If only I had... I would... ". Depression Overwhelming sadness, feeling the reality of the loss, leading to withdrawal and helplessness. Acceptance  Coming to terms with the new reality, not necessarily meaning happiness, but finding a way to live with the loss. Photography and Creative Direction : Jobo Nacpil (@jobonacpil) Grooming : Myckee Arcano (@myckeearcano) Model : Elijah Payumo of Muse Men Philippines (@musemenphilippines) (@musemnla) Shot at Zoomburst Studios (@zoomburst)

Come and see a showcase of the rich cultural landscape of Pasig City!  Kapitolyo Art Space proudly shares "Kalinangan: Preserving our Culture and Heritage Through Art", an exhibition that delves into the heart of Filipina identity through our shared heritage. "Kalinangan" is more than just culture and heritage, and more than just structures; it is the refinement of our collective spirit, shaped by the land, the sea, and centuries of history. It is a tribute to Pasig's rich cultural landscape, both tangible and intangible, showcasing our diverse expressions of ingenuity and resilience found in everyday traditions and way of life. It is a testament to the power of culture & heritage that shape our identity. This collection brings together works of Pasig Art Club members and guest artists with diverse styles who draw inspiration from traditional forms to contemporary voices, creating evocative artworks that are uplifting, enigmatic, dynamic, and symbolic—contemplative expressions that connect the past to modern complexities. It is a celebration of identity and the Pasigueños' capacity to reinvent, adapt, and flourish in a globalized world. Culture is not a static relic but a moving, breathing process. As we navigate the 21st century, these exceptional artworks serve as a "gabay", reminding us that our growth is deeply rooted in movement, intention, and preservation. By bridging the gap between historical narratives and modern aesthetics, Kalinangan fosters a deeper understanding and appreciation for the diverse perspectives that inspire who we are today. "Kalinangan" invites you to reconnect with the roots that ground us and the stories that define our community and our nationhood! Exhibit is open until February 6, 2026. 23 West Capitol Drive, Kapitolyo, Pasig  29kapitolyoart@gmail.com | 0917 815 7370  FB and IG: Kapitolyo Art Space