Color has always been our instinct, from canvases to clothes, fiestas and full plates. To be Filipino is to fill the world around us, not out of excess, but out of memory, care and joy.

The sun is a rich orange yolk in Pacita Abad&rsquo;s &ldquo;<a href="https://pacitaabad.com/artworks/74-early-works-batanes-1976/">Batanes</a>.&rdquo; In her early 1976 work, the mountains are pink and orange; their shadows, a deep navy blue. Down the fields, silhouettes of farm folk go about their day on swathes of grassy fields beside a multi-colored beach that meets a turquoise sea.
Abad was a prolific artist who joined more than 200 exhibitions over the course of her highly-respected career. But in the &rsquo;70s, she was just beginning to study as a painter. Many years before her techniques were sharpened, her fondness for color shone through. When she was asked in 1977 why her paintings used so much color, she was believed to have reasoned that these were simply the palettes she grew up with. &ldquo;I come from a sunny country,&rdquo; she <a href="https://www.tatlerasia.com/lifestyle/arts/pacita-abad-exhibit-the-metropolitan-museum-of-manila">replied</a>.
It seems like everyone from this sunny country is drawn to the colorful. From the way we dress to the way we eat and decorate our homes today, we have a preference for vibrant, expressive and bold things. Many would describe our design philosophy as maximalist, but deep down, the single word feels incomplete in encompassing our inherent love for more.

&ldquo;To even use the term maximalist feels like it means there&rsquo;s a quota or, [pwede mapuno],&rdquo; designer and vintage collector Jodinand Aguillon says. &ldquo;But I question the limit &mdash; not to challenge it but more [to ask], is there a tipping point?&rdquo;
Glorious Dias, his retail space at the First United Building in Escolta, is a perfect example of &ldquo;maximalist&rdquo; design that Filipinos are drawn to. Every square inch &mdash; from floor to ceiling &mdash; holds thrifted bags, reworked clothes, vintage Filipino ephemera and even a full-length mirror decked out in stickers from local artists.
Aguillon mentions the term &ldquo;cluttercore" (or &ldquo;immigrant cluttercore,&rdquo; he particularly mentions) as a trend that gives a modern name to this design philosophy we resonate with. As <a href="https://www.lofficielibiza.com/design/cluttercore-gen-z-decor-trend">magazines</a> described in 2022, cluttercore is the chaotic, yet organized and sentimental way that this generation decorates their homes. It may be messy to outsiders, but owners know for sure where everything is. Filipino &ldquo;clutter&rdquo; is intentionally built on the sentimental connection and memories we have attached to it, and so, it doesn&rsquo;t hinder the way we live. Rather, it enriches it.

&ldquo;Collecting, to me as a Filipino, is like piecing parts of my identity together. It&rsquo;s being able to tangibly hold on to something and using that lighthouse or beacon as an identifier for others.&rdquo; &mdash;Jodinand Aguillon

Our nation as a people is expressive and emotional, so restraint isn&rsquo;t our intention for design. Instead, the joy and flair tie us all together. When Aguillon describes his own style, he says it stems from his own experiences as a folk-dance performer growing up watching Janet Jackson&rsquo;s back-up dancers on TV, and also as a child exposed to &rsquo;90s Filipino imagery. While he lived away from the Philippines for a significant part of his life, he always found his Filipino background and exposure to different forms of pop culture as a touchpoint of connection with others.
&ldquo;Collecting, to me as a Filipino, is like piecing parts of my identity together. It&rsquo;s being able to tangibly hold on to something and using that lighthouse or beacon as an identifier for others,&rdquo; he says. Aside from the sentimental value, he collects these objects because they help shape who he is to others, too.

Another word used when talking about Filipino &ldquo;maximalism&rdquo; is the Latin term &ldquo;horror vacui&rdquo;, meaning the &ldquo;fear of empty spaces&rdquo;. It&rsquo;s associated with this tendency of ours to overwhelm blank spaces with as much detail as possible.
Beyond our homes, we see this aversion to empty spaces during fiestas, where parties spill out from the streets and into neighbors&rsquo; homes. Banderitas fly in the air, brass and percussion bands play music, while altars or religious floats are gilded with flowers or painted in gold. At the dinner table, a patchwork of food items run through boodle fight arrangements, where sauces from meats like the lechon and menudo mingle with white rice and other fare.
Scholars suggest that this tendency stems from a historical trauma of scarcity from World War II and a desire to make the most of limited resources. Empty spaces especially remind older Filipino generations of food insecurity &mdash; it makes sense why they may instinctively fill it up as if to literally cover up those memories of the past.

&ldquo;There's an abundance of supply because it's not just one person [cooking], but the whole community actually contributes.&rdquo; &mdash;Ige Ramos

Food historian Ige Ramos has studied how they manifest in the food culture of Pampanga, the culinary capital of the Philippines. This led him to the word makurilyo &mdash; the fear of running out of food, in simple terms. &ldquo;With the concept of makurilyo, nandoon din yung yabang na hindi mauubos ang pagkain kahit isang buong bayan pumunta sa bahay mo,&rdquo; he says. There&rsquo;s also the arrogance that the food will not run out even if the entire town comes to your house. &ldquo;It also happens in Mindanao, during Eid al-Fitr, the celebration of the end of Ramadan. There's an abundance of supply because it's not just one person [cooking], but the whole community actually contributes.&rdquo;
While there are many ways to describe it, at the core of Filipino &ldquo;maximalism&rdquo;, &ldquo;horror vacui&rdquo; or &ldquo;cluttercore&rdquo; is a care for others and the world around us which we often express through anything but words.
Words are not as grand as the gesture of hosting a feast or using up all the colors in your palette to paint a picture of home. As we&rsquo;ve seen from Filipino artists and even from our preferences deep down, being a Filipino maximalist is to live in this sunny country and cherish the memory of it through color, clothing, meals and our homes.

Why Is Filipino Culture Inherently Maximalist?

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