Seated at his easel in a simple white shirt and sarong, Jaime de Guzman meets the viewer head-on. The rustic studio with open timber, tropical foliage, and warm umber light reads like an annex of Mt. Banahaw, the “mystical” mountain that has long anchored his imagination. A leading figure of Philippine modernism and a CCP Thirteen Artists awardee (1970), de Guzman first “burst” onto the scene with flayed, expressionist bodies and history-charged murals (Metamorphosis, Gomburza). In this late self-portrait the temperature cools: distortion gives way to clarity, agitation to vigil. The image doubles as credo. The easel and brush declare a life’s vocation; the ascetic dress and unadorned setting signal the turn from public struggle to interior journey. De Guzman’s long braid of influences — European expressionism, Mexican muralism, folk spirituality — settles into a spare register where presence itself is the subject. Flesh is softly modeled, edges breathe; nothing is theatrical, yet the stare is exacting. The work compresses the arc of a career: from apocalyptic disruption to contemplative resolve. It is both likeness and allegory, an artist reconciled with his myths, painting in the light that leaks through wood and leaves.