“Anik-anik” and “abubot” have become trending terms in the mainstream, brought by the rise in collecting trinkets, notably Sonny Angels, Smiskis, POP MART IP’s, along other figurines and keychains. But if you ask any Filipino, it is likely that they have grown up surrounded by similar items of novelty in the form of walls filled with family portraits, shelves cluttered with various miscellaneous decorations, or even a drawer filled with tickets, receipts, and souvenirs dating back to years ago. Looking through these keepsakes is akin to browsing somebody’s personal art exhibit, they awaken a strong sense of sentimentality. 

Objectively, the scattered and crowded assortment of these items would be visually unappealing and impractical, however, these anik-aniks are not considered mere “clutter”. The impulse to fill any empty space with various knick-knacks and ornaments is the heart and soul of maximalism. These things not only invoke sentimentality, but a sense of identity and security that quells any intention of disposing them. In this spirit, it is not the act of collecting that defines Filipinos, but the practice of keeping joy and preserving sentiments, something that goes beyond perceived aesthetic or function. 

Maximalism is commonly understood as the “opposite of minimalism”, but Department of Literature Professional Lecturer Germilina Santos of De La Salle University expounds the definition: “It’s about layering—patterns, shapes, colors, design, and other highly intensified matter [in art].” This makes sense when you take Western influence, specifically Spanish colonialism, in account of the origins of maximalism in the Philippines. The concept of spaces meant to foster closeness, signalling wealth and extravagance, and elements of forms and color all contributed to the common “fear of empty spaces”, which continues to prompt Filipinos to convert their spaces into personal art galleries of sentimentality, social status, and self-expression.