Oil & Watercolor on Paper
“A painter. A critic. A poet. A Philosopher. Sillada believes that what he has is a gift, this innate talent which consumes his whole existence. “It is part of my passion to create: whether I am inspired or not, whether I am in joy or in sorrow or depressed, whether frustrated or broken-hearted,” he says, “that is the nature of artist…to create.””
~ Jacquiline L. Ong, journalist
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“Danny Sillada; a Passion to Create,” What’s On & Expat 14-20 May 2006.
~ Jacquiline L. Ong, journalist
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“Danny Sillada; a Passion to Create,” What’s On & Expat 14-20 May 2006.
Our Dreams Stood in Silence
(For Jon Jaylo. This poem is based on his painting of the same title)
“There is not so agonizing a feeling in the whole catalogue of human suffering as the first conviction that the heart of the being whom we most tenderly love is estranged from us.”
~William Henry Lytton Earle Bulwer, Sir Henry Bulwer
Our world is migrating away,
creating a hollow space between our souls.
The song of life that we used to sing
has turned into a sad cacophony.
Somewhere in-between lays
a condescending void, transmogrifying
our passion into a muffled encounter
of ambiguity, cold and aloof.
Even sadness has its own repose,
darkness recedes at daybreak,
yet here we are, divided by our skin,
can hardly feel each other’s heat.
I want to be soaked again,
to touch my fingers onto the rippling clouds,
swim into the depths of your soul, and fly
through the sublime stasis of our dreams.
~ Danny Castillones Sillada
(For Jon Jaylo. This poem is based on his painting of the same title)
“There is not so agonizing a feeling in the whole catalogue of human suffering as the first conviction that the heart of the being whom we most tenderly love is estranged from us.”
~William Henry Lytton Earle Bulwer, Sir Henry Bulwer
Our world is migrating away,
creating a hollow space between our souls.
The song of life that we used to sing
has turned into a sad cacophony.
Somewhere in-between lays
a condescending void, transmogrifying
our passion into a muffled encounter
of ambiguity, cold and aloof.
Even sadness has its own repose,
darkness recedes at daybreak,
yet here we are, divided by our skin,
can hardly feel each other’s heat.
I want to be soaked again,
to touch my fingers onto the rippling clouds,
swim into the depths of your soul, and fly
through the sublime stasis of our dreams.
~ Danny Castillones Sillada