SPOTLIGHT: Servil Tan

The Chatter That Breaks The Shutter
(A posthumous tribute to a good friend)

By Romeo Morales

If there is a photographer who is trigger-happy, there is also a photographer who can be a trigger-talker too. A camera operated by a trigger-happy photographer can shoot at a speed of ten frames per second, the same way that a trigger-talker photographer can talk as much as he shoots photographs.

In fact, the only person who possessed both qualities was none other than Servillano Tan. Few may recognize the name Servillano Tan, but Servil or Servil Tan is a name anyone involved in photography in Manila may easily recall. People knew him as the photographer who talks a lot, literally.

Photo above: a self-portrait of Servil Tan as it appeared on i-mag photography magazine

Servil took photos as fast as he talked. That’s why people loved him, especially his legions of customers. There were no dull moments. Every single moment was bubbling with life. One cannot afford to fall asleep as he talks, because if you do, he will surely wake you up.

Servil and I got to know each other at Zone V Camera Club during the early days of the club. We graduated from a photography crash course taught by Vic Valenciano, the late father of the Total Entertainer Gary V. Angie Amistoso can probably give us an exact date of our membership as Servil may have been ahead of me by a month or so.

Meeting him for the first time in the club, it was as if we had known each other for a very long time. He was friendly, very welcoming, and, of course, a talker. He never ran out of something to talk about. He just kept on talking like an energizer battery.

And we became close friends easily, I would say; it sealed our friendship from then on.

Above photo: The author (left) and Servil Tan (right) during their early days as ZVCC members

Whenever we met, be it at his studio along Rizal Avenue or in my office at the Philippine General Hospital, which was across from his; or during the club’s outing; or whenever we would spend time together, either having a bottle of beer or a cup of coffee, or watching girly shows in bars or clubs, he dominated the conversation most of the time, always taking the center stage, talking for hours without letup; and when my eyelids started closing down, he would wake me up, saying: “Don’t sleep on me, I’m still talking to you!”

In the course of our friendship, I would learn that he was a salesperson before he became a photographer. He told me he sells ballpoint pens, any kind of writing pen, and he said he was good at it because that was how he provided for his growing family.

Like most of us in the club, he got interested in photography while he was doing his regular job. Soon, he was now doing both: selling ballpoint pens and pursuing photography as a hobby. When he started reaping awards one after another, the idea of making money in photography popped up.

Until one day, he changed course, but not exactly 180 degrees; he didn’t forego the art of selling. He just changed his product. He started selling photography services. And he thrived, simply because he was a sales agent, and selling photography services became like eating peanuts to him.

Servil was a consummate photographer and a brilliant conversationalist. He photographed almost all kinds of people—from people on the street to the most influential people in society. He had a glib tongue that made him close deals easily and made his countless clients sit for hours on portraits or wedding photography and cooperate with him during photo sessions. And the people loved him for what he did.

Photos above are sample signature portraiture shots of Servil Tan

Being a good talker, no one could match him. You have to stop him to regain your space.

He came to America in 2020, thanks to a petition from his daughter. We could have met, but because of the threat of COVID, I delayed seeing him until it was safe to travel. We communicated through Facebook Messenger, but his messages were mostly one or two words only, sometimes it was just an emoji sign. I guess he was trying to catch up with technology. The bravado of his being a conversationalist had been lost with the fewer words he texted, or none; sometimes it was a thumbs-up sign that grew bigger like a blob.

What was unfortunate was that he came to California when the COVID infection was so alarmingly high. And of all the people to get infected, he was one of them. I could only surmise he got infected because, as a friendly guy and a talker, he probably talked to all the people he met along the way, and that could have spelled his untimely demise.

He had stayed for 19 days in the hospital, and, like many others before him, he became another statistic. He succumbed to COVID a few days before New Year’s Day.

His death, as a dear friend and a colleague in photography, saddened me. I felt terribly helpless that I had failed to see him when he was already in Los Angeles. We were already so close to each other and still failed miserably to touch base. If we had met, I would have heard him entertain me with his never-ending conversations, which I knew would most likely put me to sleep. There’s no denying it. And yet, seriously, I miss it, for he was the only guy who could do it to me.

I feel so sad, so sad that I can only remember the laughter and friendship we shared during those years. We were always with our cameras, clicking, rolling the shutter, and/or downing bottles of beer while listening to him chatter, of course, most of the time.

He was truly a Zone Fiver—friendly, a nice fellow, and a good friend. I won’t ever forget him.

Servil, I miss you.