In his latest body of work, Rekweba, Filipino artist Joey Cobcobo invites us to contemplate creation. Or more precisely, re-creation. The title itself is a word he coined, drawn from kweba, the Tagalog word for “cave.” But rekweba is not simply a return to the cave. It is an act of re-caving. The cave represents both recreation and refuge for Cobcobo, and, ultimately, release.
As recreation, Rekweba turns inward to explore the very nature of artistry and creativity, confronting the humbling realization that nothing may truly be our own. Meaning that originality, if we truly think about it, is no more than an illusion. This thought finds resonance in Joyce Kilmer’s poem Trees, an inspiration for Cobcobo. “Anong sabi nga ni Joyce Kilmer,” he recalls, “‘Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.’” It is saying that to create is not to originate but to participate in the reworking of divine material. “He is the Creator,” Cobcobo explains. “We are just the re-creators or inventors of His workmanship. That’s why He created man last.”
As refuge, Rekweba reveals a subtle theological dimension that is embedded in Cobcobo’s work. The cave, after all, holds deep biblical resonance placing it as a comforting refuge. “It also signifies your comfort zone,” Cobcobo says. “For example, David, the champion of faith, rested there or hid while King Saul pursued him, but God protected him. There was a chance Saul could have killed him, yet he did not. David only cut a small piece of Saul’s robe, and later he became king. As for Elijah, God did not let him go hungry and sent him food from heaven and even through the ravens.” Cobcobo sees himself in these stories, not as a hero but as a seeker. The cave, like the studio, becomes a space for examination, humility, and communion with the divine. “Kweba is a hideout,” he says, “where you examine yourself and approve unto God, and to whatever you believe.”
As release, however, Rekweba is not merely about redoing the past. It is about letting go. “There’s something in my past that needs to be corrected,” he admits. “But if it can’t, I let go.” He recalls one moment that still lives in memory: “I had a show entitled Woodblock in 2006. That was supposedly my first solo show, but because there was a grant I wanted to get, I asked the Avellana Gallery owner to postpone it. That, for me, was my great and powerful show. Something I could never repeat. The gallery allowed it, but in the end, I didn’t get the grant. What a waste, right?”
That decision to delay, to chase validation, and to lose something irreplaceable became a quiet lesson on the flaws of control, and the beauty of surrender. All of this is present through Rekweba, where Cobcobo reflects on the compulsion to remake, to correct, to return to what once was. “You really want to rekweba the past,” he laughs. “To do it again, to remake it, to do a ‘take two,’ to re-create, and so on.” What he describes is not nostalgia but revelation—the sacred rhythm of making and unmaking that is central to both art and faith.
His chosen medium, woodblock printing, perfectly embodies this philosophy of repetition and revelation. The process itself — carving an image into wood, inking it, pressing it onto paper — is an act of transfer, of giving form to what already exists. Each print is both copy and original, bearing the traces of its making: the pressure of hands, the texture of wood, the unpredictability of ink. For Cobcobo, the medium mirrors the spiritual act of creation. “The process and the experience itself in making it is really worthy for my final output,” he says. “They become one.”
Each piece in Rekweba is a meditation on the patterns of nature and, perhaps, of life itself. The material, the process, all remind us that creation is never linear, never first degree. Meaning circles back, folds inward, and renews itself. The material becomes a metaphor: to revisit old thoughts, to reprint old feelings, to carve again what the heart already knows. In these works, especially, to retreat into the depths of reflection where craft, care, and even echoes of Catholicism converge.
Is Rekweba a church, a chamber, divine echoes of creation? Perhaps it’s a reminder that every act of making is also an act of remembering. To create is to listen; to re-create is to respond. At its core, it is a spiritual act, a dialogue between maker and Maker.
Liz Bautista
