Jose Mari Picornell- My Final Farewell to a Master
Every city has a soul, but only a few chosen individuals possess the vision to capture it before it slips away into the modern landscape. For Cebu, that visionary was Jose Mari Picornell. Often hailed as the "Van Gogh of Cebu," Picornell did not just paint landscapes; he immortalized the fading pulse of old streets, ancestral corners, and vanishing scenes. To the art world, he was a master of color and texture. To me, he was a friend whose humility, vulnerability, and brilliant creative spirit left an indelible mark on my life.
Our story began with a chance encounter that felt entirely dictated by fate. I bumped into him at Ayala Mall, where he was carrying a few of his paintings. He cut a slightly dejected figure; he was supposed to meet a buyer but had just been stood up. Seeing the master standing there with his life's work in his hands, I introduced myself and asked if I could see the pieces. Right then and there, amidst the bustling mall crowd, I acquired his painting of J. Leyson Street. It was a piece that beautifully captured his signature ability to find poetry in ordinary Cebuano roads.
That initial meeting opened the door to a deeper glimpse into his world. Following an art exhibit at the old Abuhan Restaurant, Picornell warmly invited us to visit his home near the Sacred Heart Church. Accompanied by my friends, Mike and Michelle Cotia, we set out on foot. We walked from Abuhan toward a small, unnamed road just beside Manros Plaza that led directly to his house. For local history enthusiasts, this was no ordinary path—this very road was known as "The Trail 2," an unnamed historic passage connecting General Maxilom Avenue and Singson St. ( This should be named JM Picornell trail) featured in the book Bantugang Sugbuanon. Walking it felt like stepping backward through time, a fitting prelude to entering the home of Cebu’s greatest preservationist painter.
Inside his house, we were surrounded by his creative energy. Mike, Michelle, and I spent hours admiring the vibrant, heavily textured canvases that lined his walls. Yet, amidst his usual explosion of color, one particular piece arrested my attention. It was the only painting of his that I know, that is executed entirely in black and white—a poignant, melancholic depiction of a sad girl seated by a fence. It stood out as a rare window into the artist’s quieter, deeper vulnerabilities. I treasured it as a unique piece of his artistic soul.
The final chapter of our friendship came during his last show at Galerie Raphael. Even as his health failed him, his generosity as an artist never wavered. As we talked, he took out his charcoal and with quivering hands sketched a portrait of my wife. But beneath the familiar scratch of the sketchpad lay a heavy, heartbreaking truth. Leaning in, he looked at me and said softly, "I'm very sick, Doc. Please pray for me." It was a moment of profound vulnerability from a man who had given so much beauty to the world while quietly carrying his own cross.
Jose Mari Picornell has now laid down his brushes. Cebu is a little dimmer without his presence, but his legacy remains alive on the canvases of the streets he saved from oblivion. He painted against time, ensuring that even as old Cebu disappears under high-rises and concrete, its memory will endure forever. Farewell, my friend. Your art remains, and your soul is finally at peace.
