If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

It is a philosophical cliché, sure, but it is a worthy thought experiment, especially when taking a literal instead of metaphorical interpretation of the passage. The Philippines has endured more than its fair share of environmental concerns in 2024 alone: territorial disputes on the West Philippine Sea and Bugsuk Island, rising heat indices that have caused water crises and deaths nationwide, and the continued killing of environmental defenders, to name a few. These are issues that the media has picked up on, but there is a multitude that have fallen with no one to hear it.

This is where If the Walls Can Talk steps in. The exhibit, which ran from December 12 to 31, 2024 at the First United Building in Escolta, Manila, amplifies the unacknowledged narratives through the works of Eunice Sanchez, Kookoo Ramos-Cruda, and Resty Flores. Drawing from investigative reports funded by the Pulitzer Center’s Rainforest Reporting Grant, each piece transforms environmental data into a sensory experience, ensuring that the Philippines’ environmental cries are recognized, felt, and understood.

Tip of the iceberg: How environmental reportage can go beyond words

If art has recognized in its nature the need for reinvention, journalism must follow suit. The sociopolitical landscape is a portrait of a myriad colors that many, should they not be courageous enough, wish not to touch. Investigative journalist and University of the Philippines Diliman educator Karol Ilagan, in her lecture Beyond words and websites for the exhibit on December 14, highlighted a concerning trend: declining public interest in journalism. According to Reuters’ annual Digital News Report, only 46% of Filipinos consider themselves highly interested in news, a drop from 52% the previous year.

The interest for journalism has not declined for a lack of trying. For instance, Ilagan is part of the Pulitzer foundation’s Artificial Intelligence (AI) Accountability network, one she admits to be daunting and unfamiliar at first, but has slowly seen it as an emergent branch of journalism. Studying the AI supply chain and observing its effects in real-time, especially that of ride-hailing apps, was her Eureka moment. “Ang role ng tao ay kitang-kita (The role of humans is very clear),” she expressed, citing that the human is always either the instigator or the affected of every AI process, thus making it an ultimately human endeavor.

Journalism, as long as stories exist, will not vanish. Yet, its purpose — to inform, enlighten, and empower — teeters on desolation. Is the existence of the form necessary if its relevance only caters to those who scorn the current generation, mourn the state of society, or have the financial means to sustain various publications?

The audience, conforming into a silent anti-intellectualist movement or distracted by trivialities, is often blamed. However, Ilagan argues that the onus lies with journalists themselves, who often fall short of making news compelling.

She outlines an engagement curve that journalists could implement: igniting curiosity, following it with education, providing context and awareness to the public, then sensitizing them to the situation. This is followed by a call to action which hopefully turns the public into agents of transformation. Yet, this process, Ilagan observes, frequently halts at providing context and awareness. Thus, that’s only the start of the journey. The critical steps — evoking resonance, inspiring action, and fostering agents of transformation — are often neglected.

Here, art becomes indispensable.

We are but trees: Where art saves

Typically in a realm such as art, objectivity ceases to exist. As stated in Wilde’s preface to Dorian Gray, all art is rather useless.

Nonetheless, the selection of pieces in the exhibit serve as powerful antitheses to these statements.

Art delivers the emotional bridge that journalism frequently lacks. Where journalism presents facts, art adds depth, evoking empathy and making the most daunting issues relatable. Consider how visual art can animate data, music can underscore urgency, or theater can humanize complex narratives. By integrating art, journalists can sensitize their stories, enabling audiences to see themselves within them and engage on a visceral level.

In their little less than useless scales, truth cannot resist surfacing through these works.

Ramos-Cruda’s Anino ng Kasagsagan most interestingly sembles truth not only in its greyscale images but also in its very medium. The canvas for Ramos-Cruda is an alien landscape — fumes of spray paint tainting concrete being the much more comfortable ecosystem of her artistic life. With the arrival of her child forcing her to seek safer, more painterly, traditional mediums, this acrylic approach does away with the grit and bluntness signature of murals. Instead, it is now replaced with an overwhelming sense of awareness and purpose. Colors are muted, but its textures are earthy.

Kasagsagan’s presentation is two-fold: its original canvas lying by the First United Building is bleak and grey, while two prints drape downwards the venue’s spiral staircase decorated with domesticated flora. This juxtaposition builds a theme of rebirth: a utilization of what once was, and, in the same manner Ramos-Cruda has, openly embracing change.

However, change is not the only theme meditated upon, as any Escolta-wanderer knows too well that walls talk with a past, and change runs a risk of overriding tradition.

Such meditations encapsulate Flores’ wood carvings and print. Again is a duality in contexts: construction boards and tarp prints bear the same images. The artist’s pieces provide distinct commentaries on cultural memory. Rooted plays on irony, wherein the familial image is flattened and desaturated; the family is displaced and commodified, displayed out in Escolta’s open air, right next to “lot of sale” advertisements. On the other hand, Taruk is a dynamic commemoration of land through cultural dance: A solitary female figure suspended in ritual. Both her and the roots intermingle in their own silent dance. Indescribable where one begins and ends, Taruk embodies the layered relationship the indigenous people have with their environment. It calls for a radical paganism; in all of us: landscapes.

This is Flores’ primary theme. The ongoing deforestation efforts are not a mere effacement of a landscape but also a forgetting: of a heritage that has long inhabited it.

Most elusive of these pieces is Di Kalaunan by Sanchez. Its resin-based cyanotype printing of a tree has become temporal: visible from a bird’s eye view from the fourth floor. What was a tree has deconstructed itself, quickly being warped by heat and collecting dust. Thus, what was previously unclear now makes its point clear: to echo pretension.

This temporality persists throughout the exhibit: these walls will crumble if we do not act now. In making it real, these artists make them present. Calling back to Ilagan’s engagement curve, the pieces then are self-agents of transformation, and the artists are not afraid to witness the decay of their pieces. Succinctly put by Flores during the artist’s discussion: “Okay lang”.

Art ultimately is for the community. It is a rare sight to see such selfless art, reflecting not the artist themselves but the contexts beyond their canvases. In this case, the goal to “get stories from the Pulitzer and make it big” comes at the expense of its beauties.

Through the grapevine: Art and journalism advancing environmental dialogue

If the Walls Can Talk celebrates art, but ultimately is not about it. Instead, it is a testament to artistic and journalistic integrity, centered on seeing the humanity behind blunt truths. It is not enough to be telling the right stories: We must make them real for action to follow.

Art and journalism share the goal of amplifying voices, and this exhibit displays that overlap perfected. Where journalism strives to inform, art moves to inspire, and their union creates a dynamic force capable of overcoming disengagement. Together, they can reignite the public’s connection to news, transforming passive readers into active participants in the stories that shape their world.

Past the exhibit’s run, the fact — the lucid, unspoken fact of this exhibit — is that we run closer to losing the world around these artworks over the artworks themselves.

Gabriel Fernandez is sometimes an essayist, having been published under Inquirer. A lover of everything art, he mainly dabbles in mixed media filmmaking. You can find him under a few trees reading Rilke, Didion, or simply being.

Aidan Bernales is a Cebuano poet, fictionist, journalist, and musician studying Communication at the Ateneo de Manila University. His works have been published in Rappler, Inquirer, Climate Tracker Asia, Transit, engendered lit, Sinuman Magazine, The Guidon, and Heights. If you want to listen to his music, it’s on Spotify under his name. His first poetry collection is published by 8Letters.