In a world where national artistic recognition resembles a popularity contest more than a celebration of genuine talent and cultural contribution, the true essence of being a “national artist” seems lost in a cacophony of commercialized jingles and catchy monikers. 

Merely churning out a perennial Christmas earworm (Jose Mari Chan) or boasting concocted titles like “Asia’s Songbird” (Regine Velasquez) or “Star for All Seasons” (Vilma Santos) does not an artistic legacy make.

Yet, amidst the clamor for chart-topping hits and box office or concert successes, the subtlety of true artistic mastery is often drowned out.  It’s like Taylor Swift being awarded a Pulitzer Prize.

Should we then bestow the esteemed title of national artist upon those who merely excel in slapstick films or command large fan bases? By that logic, we might as well nominate Vice Ganda or the comedic trio Tito, Vic, and Joey for this prestigious honor.

In this age of superficial acclaim, let us not confuse fleeting fame with enduring artistic brilliance, lest we risk reducing the title of national artist to nothing more than a hollow accolade.