Racso Jugarap
Welcome to the Jaw-Dropping View.
10 questions. 10 answers.
A Loewe Foundation Craft Prize Finalist in 2024, Filipino artist Racso Jugarap tells us about the challenges and joy of being self-taught, his fire dancing days and his upcoming book The Wire between Worlds.
What does the word jaw-dropping mean to you?
For me, jaw-dropping is when the world hits pause for a second and you feel something bigger than yourself. It is that feeling when something small or unexpected just makes you stop and feel wonder. It does not have to be anything huge. Even the way the light catches a wire while I am working can make me stop and just stare for a moment.
What was the last jaw-dropping thing you saw/heard/experienced?
Honestly? Seeing my name next to some of the worlds most respected craft artists when I was a finalist for the Loewe Foundation Craft Prize. It was surreal. I grew up far from that world so standing in that room knowing I carried the Philippines with me was more than a moment. As a self-taught artist, it was a deep breath I did not know I needed.
What gives you goose bumps?
Watching someone completely lost in their craft. Whether it is a dancer, a cook, or a street musician, I feel something stir in me when I see someone disappear into what they love. I can relate and feel connected to them. Also, sunsets. They always stop me in my tracks.
Who is your hero?
My father. He was a jewellery designer, and even though we didn’t always understand each other, I grew up watching his hands shape things from nothing. That kind of patience and quiet devotion to a craft I carry that with me every day.
Any words of advice (either told or read) that changed your life?
A mentor once told me – you don’t need to wait for permission to be an artist. That hit me hard. As someone who’s self-taught and came from a different path, I needed to hear that. It freed me.
What do you see when you look in the mirror?
I see a work in progress. I am still learning and unlearning, trying to understand myself better every day. There is also a bit of the kid in me who used to get lost in my dad’s workshop, and I like to think he is still in there somewhere.
What part-time jobs did you have growing up?
I worked in kitchens. Cooking was my first path. I left the Philippines at 17 to become a chef. It taught me discipline, intuition, and how to transform raw things into something nourishing. That experience still influences how I approach sculpture layering, timing, flow. But before I became a chef, I was a fire dancer and an event organiser. Those early jobs were about performance, movement, and creating an atmosphere. In a way, that energy is still there in what I do today.
Who was the last person you received flowers from, or sent to, and why?
The last person I sent flowers to was a neighbour and an artist friend for her show opening. I might always be in black – it also reflects my furniture choice at home, but I always make sure there is a vase of flowers on my dining table. Flowers tend to give me this burst of energy, a little compensation for my monotone color palette. So I buy myself flowers too.
What would be the title of your memoir?
The Wire Between Worlds. It’s actually the working title of a book I’m writing – a blend of memoir, photographs, and letters to fellow self-taught artists. It's about bridging gaps between places, between past and future, between survival and creation.
You’re given a time machine, where do you go and why?
I would go back to the early 2000s in my hometown. I would find myself under that big balete tree (Fig Tree) near our house and tell that younger me that it is okay to be different, that he will find his way in his own time. It is a message I wish I could have heard back then. And I would add, one day, you will be doing some crazy creative shit you never even imagined!