“Coexist” at ArtistSpace in Ayala Museum features the organic craftsmanship of Milo Naval in wood, the sculptural precision of David Kaufman in stone, and the whimsical steelwork of Patrick Naval.
On their own, the works of Milo Naval, David Kaufman and Patrick Naval differ vastly in material and method. But together, they form a quietly powerful meditation on sustainability, memory, and what it means to truly coexist—with one another, with nature, and with the past.
Their individual voices are linked by a shared commitment to sustainability and a desire to spark greater environmental and cultural consciousness among Filipinos. This was evident at the artist reception on July 25, their works coming to life through sculpture, painting, and material storytelling.
“Coexist to me is collaboration,” said Milo Naval, the award-winning furniture designer known for blending indigenous materials with contemporary design. “All of us in this show adopted the idea of upcycling and circular design. If we overuse everything, we might not have anything in the future.”
One of Milo’s standout pieces, Mataas na Kahoy, interprets a massive oak branch preserved using a Japanese wood-charring technique—no paint, just rich natural tones drawn from fire. Another, Anino, was assembled using dado joinery, a nail-less woodworking method he picked up from years of hands-on experience in his factory. Both pieces echo his ethos of giving discarded materials new life and dignity.
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Across the space, David Kaufman repurposes marble and stone scraps from his own company, Kaufman Inc., into striking sculptures. In 2025 Natural Stone and Steel, he unites materials sourced from Europe and Africa into one fluid statement. His accompanying paintings, by contrast, reveal a more expressionist edge. Drawing inspiration from 19th-century Filipino masters like Juan Luna, Hidalgo, and Amorsolo, David layers historic imagery with personal interpretation.
“These are faces you know,” he said. “But it’s like Filipino artistry meets expressionism—my ode to our painters, but also my way of exploring who we are now.”
Artist Patrick Naval, Milo’s nephew, creates steel sculptures that gleam with joy and quiet urgency. His fish-themed works, inspired by his hometown of Navotas, playfully reference marine life—but their message is serious.
“Not everybody knows there are still living reefs in Manila Bay,” he explained. “But there are. Only a few spots remain. I want people to be aware that it’s possible to revive it.”
Indeed, reefs in Manila Bay still exist—though barely. A 2024 study found only about 1,000 hectares of mangroves remain from the 75,000 that once flourished in the 1900s. Patrick’s commitment to sustainability shows not only in his message but in his materials: the wood is reclaimed, and the metal is scrap from his food cart business.
“Metal is stiff,” Patrick said. “But with my fish, you see fluidity. You can go with the flow and still be bold. You don’t have to be ordinary.”
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A window to memory
The exhibit is deeply personal, too. Tucked in a corner of the room is my favorite piece, Milo’s Bintana sa Hardin. Made with his signature craftsmanship in wood, it resembles a lattice-like pattern of a window set against a green backdrop. Depending on your vantage point, the sculpture creates an illusion akin to a glare in direct sunlight or when the blue light haze of a cellphone screen flashes in your peripheral vision.
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Milo explained that this work is his ode to the memory of his grandfather, and the time he used to visit his lolo’s house when Milo was a child. It stirred something in me too. I remembered summers spent in my grandfather’s house in La Union, playing in the garden with cousins too many to count, and the dizzying loop of laughter, running, breathing the same sunlit air.
Bintana sa Hardin wasn’t just a sculpture. It was a portal.
That memory brought up something else—an aching realization that I haven’t spoken to my grandfather for far too long. Life, as it often does, moves on but Milo’s art reminded me that coexistence isn’t only about space and resources—it’s also about our stories, the ones we forget until someone else reminds us they matter. Memories that would’ve slumbered had they not been prompted and evoked by Bintana sa Hardin.
Although my grandfather recently moved out of the house that has seen decades of weathering and depreciation, and moved in with relatives still in La Union, I am urgently reminded of my lapses in failing to check in with him.
Through wood, stone, and steel, Coexist asks us to live with more care. To design not just for function, but for feeling. It reminds us of what coexistence really demands from all of us: the preservation of our physical spaces, the invisible ones we carry, and the stories that are all part of who we are.
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