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Neurodivergent artist brings fresh perspective on world
gallery
Shedding new light on Indonesia’s war of independence
An exhibition at Amsterdam’s Rijkmuseum uses posters, personal belongings and other objects exhibited for the first time to put a human face on Indonesia’s war of independence against the Dutch which lasted from 1945 to 1949.
The three young women walked down a street in Yogyakarta, the provisional capital of Indonesia during the country’s revolutionary war of independence against the Dutch. Dutch photographer Hugo Wilmar took a picture of the trio, who were members of the Service of Indonesian People from Sulawesi (KRIS) militia during the height of the conflict in December 1947, which he titled Three Young Indonesians on the Streets in Yogyakarta. The trio’s stride reflected their confidence, while their carbines epitomized their determination to keep the country’s former colonial overlords from making a comeback.
Putting a human face to the conflict
The photo is one of many taken of the conflict by photographers from around the world, among them legendary French photojournalist Henri Cartier-Bresson. “Often [the photographers] were thoroughly infatuated with the looks and swagger of the young Indonesian revolutionaries,” observed Amsterdam Rijksmuseum history curator Harm Stevens. “In their photos we see how an [extremely photogenic] Indonesian revolutionary self-image developed.”
The photo, which belongs to the Spaarnestad Collection of the National Archives of the Netherlands, is one of 230 objects shown at the Revolusi!: Indonesia Independent exhibition at Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum until June 5. The event “explores subjects such as nationalism, youth, anti-colonialism, art, war and diplomacy, propaganda, renewal, the information war and refugees,” said the museum’s press release.
Curated by experts such as Indonesian historians Bonnie Triyana and Amir Sidharta, as well as their Dutch counterparts Harm Stevens and Marion Anker, Revolusi! started with Indonesian photojournalist Soemarto Frans Mendur’s Sukarno Reading the Text of the Proclamation, which depicted the Indonesian founding father and first president Sukarno declaring the country’s independence on August 17, 1945 in Jakarta. The exhibition ended with Cartier-Bresson’s photographs depicting Sukarno’s triumphant entry to the capital in 1949.
While Revolusi! touched on important events such as the Battle of Surabaya in November 1945 and the General Offensive on Yogyakarta in March 1949, the exhibition also highlighted other aspects of the struggle, such as the artistic renaissance inspired by the conflict. This surge in the arts ranged from painter Henk Ngantung’s firsthand observations of the Linggadjati Agreement to S. Sudjojono’s eclectic portrayal of Indonesian independence fighters. Most of all, the exhibition’s draw lies in personal objects of those caught up in the conflict.
“[Revolusi!] centers on the people in the revolusi: fighters, artists, diplomats, children, politicians, journalists and others […] via objects and eyewitness reports,” said Rijksmuseum general director Taco Dibbits of the event, which is the first of its kind in Europe. “The process of listening beyond the walls of the Rijksmuseum – the conversations with descendants of the people who went through the Indonesian revolution, and with historians and researchers in the Netherlands and Indonesia – brings the various points of view together.”
Fighting for the new nation
The role of the Indonesian Military (TNI) in securing Indonesia’s independence is seared in the collective memory of generations of Indonesians since 1945, not least through annual remembrances dating to that year such as Indonesia’s Independence Day on August 17 and Heroes Day on Nov. 10, which marks the Battle of Surabaya. The hagiography of these events tends to obscure the role of servicemen such as Sutarso Nasrudin, a soldier who served with the TNI’s Siliwangi Division. He would have remained anonymous if not for a photo album captured by his Dutch foes. The black and white photos of himself, his comrades and their loved ones seemed to chronicle a young man growing up and making his way in a turbulent world. But a closer look dispelled that illusion.
“Nasrudin seems to have been conscious of the risk that the book and the identity of his friends might fall into the hands of the enemy, for the word pembakaran [burn] is written on the last pages,” Stevens said. “Whether this […] led to the arrest of the comrades of Nasrudin gathered in the book is unknown, but the possibility cannot be excluded.” He left no doubts about Nasrudin’s fate. “The book’s cover bears a sticker, probably added years later, with the words “owner executed”. Some words in pencil are still just visible under the sticker: “S. Nasrudin, executed by Capt. Janssen v E […]”
While Indonesian history texts might highlight the sacrifices of pribumi (indigenous people), such as unknown soldiers like Nasrudin, Indonesia’s first vice president and preeminent negotiator Mohammad Hatta and TNI commander General Sudirman, they overlooked the contributions of foreigners who embraced the nationalist cause. They include pioneering Indonesian diplomat and feminist icon Tanya Dezentje. Born into a family of Dutch and Indonesian descent, Dezentje broadcast radio messages advocating Indonesian independence to the outside world, before taking up the cause on the diplomatic front.
Unsurprisingly, the Dutch authorities did not think well of Dezentje. The Netherlands Forces Intelligence Service (NEFIS) described her as a “spy, collaborator, exotic figure […] belonging to the category of dangerous women.”
On the other hand, Indonesian painter Sudarso’s portrait of Dezentje in military uniform showed her respected status among Indonesian revolutionaries. Painted in 1947, the work reflected her standing as a prominent figure in Indonesia’s Foreign Ministry and the country’s branch of the Red Cross. Dezentje’s life reflected the divided loyalties among Eurasians and other minorities, which contrasted her experiences with compatriot Jeanne van Leur de Loos and Letty Kwee.
Chronicles of displacement
While the Indonesian National Revolution symbolized a new era for Indonesians yearning for independence, the upheaval meant displacement for hundreds of thousands of Dutch nationals, Eurasians and members of Indonesian ethnic minorities deemed to collaborate with the Dutch. They include Jeanne “Peu” van Leur de Loos, who settled in Indonesia for years and was interned for more than three years by the Japanese after their takeover in 1942.
Like her compatriots and others fleeing the conflict, Peu returned to a land she barely knew with a few possessions, among them a handsewn house dress. Made from silk issued to British Royal Air Force crewmen, the outfit looks like an item sold by Banana Republic. But the dress perhaps chronicles her chaotic last days in Indonesia.
“Peu’s gown was composed of maps of […] ’Burma’, ‘French IndoChina’, ‘Siam’ […] The escape map may have found, their way, probably via British soldiers, to one of the many passars [sic] [traditional markets] in Jakarta,” noted Stevens and Marion Anker. “Peu, possibly with the help of a middleman, must have bought a stack of [the maps in markets] […] Westerners have not been welcomed in tokos [stores] and passars for some time.” Peu fled to the Netherlands during the Bersiap (be ready) phase of the conflict that lasted from October 1945 to early 1946. The period was marked by the killing of Dutch citizens, Eurasians and minorities who did not flee their colonial home in time. Another refugee fleeing from the strife surrounding the Bersiap period of Indonesia’s war of independence was Laetitia “Letty” Kwee, who fled from Jakarta with her family in 1946. A member of a Chinese mercantile family with close ties to the Dutch colonial administration, Letty’s experience was similar to Chinese Indonesians who experienced the May 1998 riots more than 50 years later.
“The [Bersiap] violence was visible in broad daylight […] as shown by footage of the Molenvliet canal […] not far from the Kwee family home,” Stevens noted. “A man’s corpse floats by, carried by the canal’s slow current. The camera then swings upward towards the quay, where passersby […] observe the gruesome scene.” Stevens estimated that over 10,000 Chinese-Indonesians were killed by both sides during the war. Leyden University academic Remco Raben estimated that the “number of victims in the Dutch and Eurasian population [during Bersiap] is unknown, but a realistic estimate would be around 5,500,” he observed. “Other groups associated with the colonial regime were also among the victims, such as the Chinese, the Ambonese and the former governing aristocracy.” This phase of the Indonesian war of independence continues to strike a raw nerve with some in the Dutch public, as an organization called the Federation of Dutch Indonesians took legal action against the organizers of the Revolusi! exhibition for their views on the Bersiap period. Nonetheless, the Dutch Justice Ministry chose not to proceed with the case.
Dibbits hoped to “build on the good international working relationships” between Indonesian and Dutch experts who worked on the Revolusi!: Indonesia Independent exhibition, which runs until June 5. Whether his vision will come about or not remains to be seen. Until then, drop by to get these personal glimpses of the Indonesian war of independence that is not found in Dutch or Indonesian history books.
Originally published in The Jakarta Post on March 20, 2022
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About time: Indonesia rediscovers an overlooked renaissance man
Farmers in conical hats evoke idyllic Indonesian rural life as they reap their rice paddies. Nearby, a group of village women carry their wares to the market past grazing water buffaloes. These scenes come from the “Sarinah Relief”, a 12-by-3 meter relief uncovered at Jakarta’s Sarinah department store in October 2020. Workers found the stone and cement structure in the shopping center’s warehouse after it closed for renovations in June of last year. President Sukarno is thought to have commissioned the relief, along with mosaics and other art, before Sarinah opened for business in 1966. The structure combined serene yet vibrant vignettes characteristic of Borobudur temple with the heroic social realist style of the Selamat Datang (Welcome) and West Irian Liberation monuments in Jakarta, which were created by Indonesian sculptor Edhi Sunarso on Sukarno’s commission in 1959 and 1964, respectively.
The “Sarinah Relief” is one of the 29 works of art featured in Poros (Axis) No. 3, an Indonesian National Gallery exhibition of public art in the early years of the country’s independence. The event marks a number of firsts. It is the gallery’s first entirely online, 24 hour exhibition, and the works, which are being restored by the National Gallery, are not located at its premises in Jakarta. Some of the pieces, such as the “Sarinah Relief”, have only recently been uncovered, along with a large-scale mural found in the Jakarta History Museum. National Gallery experts believe that the now little-known Indonesian artist Harijadi Sumadijaja, a leading practitioner of social realist art following Indonesia’s independence, along with his contemporaries Edhi Sunarso and S. Sudjojono, contributed to the work. The exhibition explores their work and their standing as contemporaries.
Finding Harijadi Sumadidjaja
“[The National Gallery’s art restoration team] is still carrying out research on who might have created the ‘Sarinah Relief’, though sculptor Edhi Sunarso claimed the Sanggar Pelukis Rakyat [People’s Painting Studio], led by Harijadi Sumadidjaja and his fellow artist Saptoto, created the relief,” the museum wrote in exhibition material. Born in Kutoarjo, Central Java, on July 25, 1919, Harijadi was a self-taught renaissance man who fought in World War II and Indonesia’s War of Independence against the Dutch. His experiences earned him Sukarno’s favor, and the Indonesian leader sent Harijadi to Mexico to study museum organization and the creation of murals. This experience resulted in “Kehidupan di Batavia” (Life in Batavia), a mural Harijadi created in 1974 at the Jakarta History Museum. Then-Jakarta Governor Ali Sadikin commissioned the work as part of a plan to bolster tourism in the capital by restoring the buildings of the Kota Tua district and adorning them with art.
“Ali Sadikin summoned Harijadi Sumadidjaja, S. Sudjojono and other artists to create art that would turn [the Dutch-era] City Hall into the Fatahillah Jakarta History Museum,” noted the National Gallery. “He was supposed to paint [‘Kehidupan di Batavia’] on a 20 square meter canvas in one of the museum’s chambers. However, he created the work as a mural on a 200 sq m wall.” “[The mural] portrays Batavia, or modern-day Jakarta, from 1880 to the 1920s. […] The people in the mural come from all walks of life, including East Indies [colonial] officials, Europeans, Chinese and Arabs, as well as Javanese and Malay people.” The mural might appear to portray a halcyon time when Jakarta was a sleepy colonial capital instead of today’s bustling metropolis. However, the colonial officials rubbing shoulders with local business and political players show that, then and now, power and resources are concentrated in Jakarta.
Harijadi left the work unfinished at the time of his death in 1997. While the mural is epic in scale, it languished in obscurity behind locked doors for 36 years, until it was rediscovered by British and Indonesian scholars in 2010.
Commercial work
Harijadi’s ability to evoke Indonesia’s heritage with social realist art is further reflected in “Kehidupan Masyarakat Bali” (Balinese Life) and “Untung Rugi di Lereng Merapi” (The Ups and Downs of Life on the Slopes of Mount Merapi). The former, a 24 by 3 meter andesite relief at Hotel Indonesia, Jakarta’s first five-star hotel, showed Harijadi’s aptitude for large-scale public art. “[‘Kehidupan Masyarakat Bali’] was created [by Harijadi] and 27 artists from the Yogyakarta-based Selabinangun Art Studio between Dec. 20, 1961, and April 20, 1964, to Sukarno’s specifications,” noted the National Gallery. “The artists worked on the relief around the same time period as Hotel Indonesia’s opening on July 5, 1962.” The relief juxtaposed traditional Balinese scenes of agriculture and religious ceremonies with the modern world, symbolized by a man carrying a bicycle. The figure’s closeness with a girl in traditional Balinese dress seems to symbolize the island’s tourism industry, which uses age-old traditions to draw tourists from all over the world.
‘Untung Rugi di Lereng Merapi’ pays homage to the volcano’s influence on Java’s culture and psyche. Created in the lobby of the Ambarrukmo Palace Hotel (today’s Hotel Royal Ambarrukmo) by Harijadi and the Selabinangun Art Studio over a six month period in 1964 and 1965, the work celebrates the traditional life of everyday people in the province.
“In [‘Untung Rugi di Lereng Merapi’], Mount Merapi towers over farmers, metalworkers and artisans such as traditional batik makers,” the National Gallery wrote of the relief, which was built on Sukarno’s orders as well as those of late Yogyakarta sultan Hamengku Buwono IX, who was then the Coordinating Economic, Finance and Industry Minister.” The relief alluded to Sukarno’s revolutionary nationalist fervor in the country, which had gained its independence less than 20 years prior.
Gaining wider public attention
Harijadi and his work became increasingly obscure in the years leading up to his death at the age of 77 in 1997, as his continued loyalty to Sukarno in defiance of his successor Soeharto deprived the artist of opportunities and recognition. The National Gallery is aiming to change this by taking an interactive approach in the Poros No. 3 exhibition.
“We encourage Indonesian art lovers to share their knowledge of public art so as to help in finding artwork and conserving it,” wrote the gallery. “This is furthered by encouraging the public to upload photos and videos of the works they wish to see. This is further enabled by making the exhibition available 24 hours [a day] online.” Whether the National Gallery will succeed in its aim to raise public awareness about Harijadi and his fellow artists to help conserve their art remains to be seen. But what is certain is that highlighting their work will help chronicle art in Indonesia’s early years and its role in forming the country’s identity.
Originally published in The Jakarta Post on September 27, 2021
Flores Wraps Show Intricacy Behind Jakarta Exhibition
Wraps from Flores (Photo courtesy of Tunggul Wirajuda)
The traditional cloth draped on the triangle boasts patterns as intricate as any woven by human hands. Known as Hinggi Kihil, the rectangular wrap from the eastern part of Sumba island is made up of a melange of materials including commercial thread, chemical dyes, warp ikat and plain weave as well as kabakil terminals.
The result of the design features a gradation of colors from dark and red to sky blue and white that are as seamless as they are harmonious. The age old motifs are also a study in contrasts, as their patterns prove to be as vigorous and lively on the cloths, made relatively recently in the 1970s and 1980s.
The Hinggi and others like it are among the dozen of cloths featured in the “Weavings of Southeastern Indonesia: From Bali to Timor” exhibition, which is currently being held at the Bentara Budaya cultural center in Jakarta.
Stylized horses on the lighter blue side combine well with the coat of arms with lions rampant. The latter design, inspired by the coat of arms from coins brought by the Dutch in the 19th century, highlights the artisans’ eye for detail and their sensitive observations of the world around them.
“The weavings of the southeastern quarter of Indonesia are noted for their diversity, attractive character and continuing production. Not only do their immense variety representative of Indonesia’s national diversity, they are eye catching and still of excellent quality” curator Judi Achjadi said in the exhibition’s catalogue.
“Thanks to continuing ritual and ceremonial needs and the demands of the tourist and art market, [the woven cloth of the region] are among the lively traditional arts and crafts still practiced today.”
The region’s socioeconomic structure is also touched on in a Hanggi rectangular wrap from West Sumba. The 2.79 by 1.15 meter work, whose exquisite make entails an organic process of handspun cotton, organic dye and treebark twine, portrays a horse.
While the seemingly naive depiction of the horse makes it seem like a rocking or toy horse, it belies its importance in the island’s society as a token of wealth. The symbolism is added by a figure of one of its two riders, which is shown carrying a gold rod symbolizing the family’s wealth. The horse’s importance extends to the spiritual sphere, as its shown to have both male and female organs.
“The symbolism [of the horse] is powerful but unknown at this stage, aside from prosperity and fertility” Judi said. Regardless of its meaning, the work’s motif is a powerful affirmation of the area’s cultural identity.
The tubular wraps from Flores’ Manggarai district is a study in contrasts inside and out. Every corner of the wrap comes as a surprise.
The ornate left side contrasts with a more sparsely decorated, but no less intricate, right half. The triangles that make up the bottom and upper halves reflect the differing ways to make the cloth, namely the supplementary weft and tapestry weaving.
On the other hand, the lawo butu woman’s tubular from the Ngada district used brightly colored beads to make exquisite decorations of human figures, birds, and geometric motifs. The patterns strikingly stood out from the dark cloth, as does the warp ikat figures of horses, diamonds and various geometric figures.
On its part, the Beti rectangular wrap of North Central Timor district of Miomafo features geometric patterns similar to Middle Eastern carpets and ponchos from Mexico and the Southwestern United States.
The Tais Feto tubular wrap from Timor’s Malaka district also explored the motif. Using the three paneled motif renowned from the area, the cloth saw the removal of its supplementary weave, done without damaging its basic weave. The process is testament to the quality of the craftmanship and skill of the weavers.
Bali also did its take on the weft ikat technique which was known as Endek in the Balinese language, as well as its wastra songket brocade.
However, the pattern’s more structured use of tirtanadi or zigzag rows have much in common with batik and other Javanese cloths. The similarity highlights Bali’s standing as a island serving as a transition between western and eastern Indonesia.
At first glance, the wastra songket looks like it has much in common with Javanese batik due to its use of gold cloth to make geometric, regulated patterns. But a closer look indicates that the wastra songket have more in common with their more abstract counterparts from Eastern Indonesia.
Originally published in The Jakarta Globe on December 15, 2013
Eddi Prabandono: Inspired By Transportation and Change
Eddi Prabandono with “After Party #3: Living the High Life” (Photo courtesy of Tunggul Wirajuda)
The sight of a Vespa motor scooter towering overhead seems improbable, even when witnessed firsthand. The bike’s running board, elongated into a series of loops running from the handlebar and front wheel to the scooter’s trademark rear-based engine and seat, are a surrealist flight of fancy worthy of Salvador Dali and the melted clocks of the Surrealist great’s masterpiece “The Persistence of Memory.”
Titled “After Party #3: Living the High Life,” the installation piece is the brainchild of Indonesian artist Eddi Prabandono, one of the country’s leading practitioners of this art genre.
“‘Living the High Life’ is inspired by motion and the sense of drive behind it. While this goes specifically to the scooter as a vehicle, it also particularly describes the perennial sense of movement that comes with life,” Eddi said of the piece, which is currently on display at the South East Asia Plus (SEA+) Triennale exhibition at Jakarta’s National Gallery.
“When we live life, we constantly have to be on the move, as things can change day by day, hour after hour, and even every second. If we just stop and stay still, life will overrun us.”
The work’s dynamism is best suggested by its wide interpretation.
“Some viewers have come up to me and suggested that the loops indicate the ups and downs of youthful love, while others pointed out that the swirls of ‘Living In the High Life’ allude to the fluctuations of the European economy today,” said the 49-year-old, referring to Vespa’s homeland of Italy, and the effect the European Union’s economic doldrums have had on the country.
“Perhaps the twisting, seemingly never-ending loops could also symbolize Jakarta’s traffic and the way vehicles weave around it, as well as the increasing dependence that many people here have on it. Maybe it’s some or all of those things simultaneously.”
Using art to let the self go
“After Party #3: Living the High Life” and its whimsical, twisting lines reflect the simple, yet unique philosophy behind Eddi’s work.
“I want my art to be a spectacle for the viewer. It should be funny, entertaining and even stupid to those who see it. Those elements are much more effective in today’s day and age,” he said.
“Like every other artist during the Suharto era, my art then was highlighted by elements of terror, violence and militarism. But we lived under those pressures and circumstances for over 30 years, so it’s time to leave all that in the past and start afresh on a positive note.”
Eddi practiced what he preached to start off his artistic career, a path that saw him make a name for himself in Indonesia, Japan and other countries.
“I enrolled at the Indonesian Arts Institute in Yogyakarta with a major in print-making in 1992. It’s not too much to say that I was determined to follow a career in the arts,” said Eddi, who graduated from the 17 August 1945 University in his hometown of Semarang with a degree in architecture.
“I took a chance to start all over again instead of going into the family business of architecture. My family does have a creative tradition, but none of us ever went into the arts, so it was a kind of like a shot in the dark,” he added.
Since then, he has specialized in installation art, a quirky medium that proved to be versatile artistically and logistically.
“After Party #3: Living the High Life” is made of plates that were adjusted to the Vespa’s contours and dimensions.
“It took about a month to assemble and is well put together, despite some parts that needed extra adjustments,” Eddi said of the 6.4-by-3.4-meter piece.
“Most importantly, it can be disassembled and put together like a good piece of installation art should. It is these elements that made it possible for me to show it at the Art Stage in Singapore last January.”
While Eddi’s Vespa special might seem to be the highlight of his craft, it is by no means the only thing up his sleeve. His art often highlights extremes and contradictions, two elements that he brought up in such works as “Revolocean.” The work, which was displayed at a previous exhibition in Jakarta in 2011, featured an upside-down Volkswagen Beetle with the outboard motor from a speedboat.
“[Revolocean] highlights Indonesia’s slowness in developing its merchant marine or naval fleets. Other nations, like Japan and the Netherlands, have bigger fleets than Indonesia’s,” he said.
“So I figured, since we’re not going to go into the sea, might as well wait for the sea to come to us. Who knows, maybe [Revolocean] will come in handy once the floods come and inundate Jakarta again during the rainy season at the end of the year,” he added with a laugh.
Vehicles, which are so integral to Eddi’s notion of movement in art, are also used to address ecological issues. Eddi took on this theme with “Green, Green, Green, GoAhead, Tree,” an installation featuring a bonsai tree on a construction cart. The structure takes a naive and playful swipe at the marketing claims of so-called eco-friendly cars.
Finding inspiration
While Eddi has often shown his knack for reconciling extremes and contradictions, the heart and soul of his art is very much human, in contrast to the mechanical contraptions and vehicles that form much of his work.
“My family remains my biggest artistic inspiration. They always encouraged me to excel in my work and kept me going through their motivation and wisdom,” Eddi said of his Japanese-born wife Nana Miyagi Prabandono and daughter Luz.
“This is particularly hard, as we have to spend much of our time apart. They have to remain at our home in Okinawa while I had to make my art and go on the exhibition circuit in Indonesia and other countries. ”
Eight-year-old Luz is his particular muse, immortalized in a sequence of sculptures called “Luz Series” 1 through 6, designed to be displayed outdoors. Made in a variety of materials ranging from clay to aluminum, the sculptures comprise giant four-by-four-meter studies of her head as a sleeping baby.
“The ‘Luz Series’ is particularly dear to me, as they portray her when she was a baby. Sometimes when I see the sculptures they make me sad in a sentimental way, as I realize she isn’t a baby any more,” Eddi said of the works, which made an immediate impact when first displayed at the 2011 Jog Art exhibition in Yogyakarta. “The effect is enhanced by the statues’ weather-beaten look, which symbolizes how experienced we get as we get older. The heads are also laid on the ground to symbolize the old proverb of ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
Eddi said that the “Luz Series” also symbolizes the burdens that we leave to succeeding generations, such as conflict, global warming and other disasters of the man-made kind.
Currently, Eddi is out to dazzle art buffs around the world, with displays of his work in New York, Milan and other cities beginning March 2014. Art lovers in Jakarta also have much to look forward to, as he’s set to hold a solo exhibition at the capital’s Rachel Gallery at an undetermined time next year. Regardless of where you opt to see Eddi’s work, you are guaranteed to be in for a thrilling ride.
Originally published in The Jakarta Globe on December 9, 2013
Artists Are Putting A New Twist On Some Old Things
“Hello” by Bagus Pandega, and “Hit It” by Stolen Wood (Photo courtesy of Tunggul Wirajuda)
The set of old-fashioned chairs around the small round table, which seemed to be transplanted from a 19th century cottage, epitomized controlled chaos. Suspended in midair, the chairs seemed to defy gravity as well as time and space. Titled “Hit It,” the installation piece by the German artistic duo of Kai Linke and Leslie “Lee” Hildebrandt — or Stolen Wood — fits the bill for its emphasis on adding a new twist to old things.
“Hit It” is part of “New Olds: Design Between Tradition and Innovation,” an exhibition of 60 works at Jakarta’s Art One Gallery featuring the works of designers from Germany and other European countries, as well as Indonesia and the United States. Held by the Goethe-Institut and Institut fur Auslandsbeziehungen or IFA, the exhibit set out to turn notions of designs around its head. “[New Olds: Design Between Tradition and Innovation] set out to explore the relationship between tradition and innovation in contemporary design,” the exhibition’s catalogue announced. “The variety of the many approaches are bundled around the theme’s material, construction, configuration, production, and traditional use.”
The exhibition’s curator, professor Volker Albus, reiterated the statement.
“The exhibition sought to see which old elements can be used to make contemporary designs. The question is, what [old designs] can we take and how can we take it, and how can we transform them into new, contemporary and local items,” he said. “We also encourage local artists to look [for inspiration] at their culture instead of foreign, particularly Western models.”
One Indonesian artist, Bagus Pandega, got the message through his work “Hello.” At first glance, the Bandung Institute of Technology Fine Arts alumnus seemed to pay homage to the turntable. But as his choice of materials indicates, there is much more than meets the eye. “Hello” uses acrylic for the turntable instead of vinyl, as the former has a more futuristic look. The turntable itself is a running text playing the Beatles classic song “Hello Goodbye,” as in “hello to the new, goodbye to the old,” Bagus said.
Fellow Indonesian artist Patricia Untario also touched on the same issue with her work “Rangka”or “Frame.”
“I found this Art Nouveau lamp at the Astana Anyar flea market in Bandung. When I found it, the lamp was so rusty and dirty it didn’t take long to realize that there’s a history behind it,” she said. “When one thinks of chandeliers, they think ornate lamps, so people have no idea I got the lamp in a rundown condition once they see its restored state. I guess ‘Rangka’ is a good metaphor for the wonders that we tend to overlook in daily life, until we stop to take a closer look at it.”
On the other hand, Dila and Otong’s piece “The Javanese Queen” pays tribute to their cultural heritage.
“Javanese traditions are very robust. We are also rooted in Java and it is difficult to separate us from her,” they said of the bust, whose refined wayang features are counterpointed by the ornate, carnival like decoration. “If we had to describe Java as a queen, we would see her mysterious side and the elegance of traditions in the place where we grew up.”
Other collections in the exhibition, such as Studio Nils and Sven’s “1000 Chairs,” also approach the theme with a knack for the unexpected and a quirky eye. Designed by Niels Kerkkamp and Sven Lamme from five strips of plywood measuring five centimeters, the chair seemed more geared for decoration. But the chair was surprisingly ergonomic, as it featured good weight distribution and balance.
Others, such as Soner Ozenc’s “El Sajjadah” and Wendy Plomp’s “Message in a Box” series touched on the place of faith, in this sense Islam, in the modern world. The stark white, computerized design of a prayer mat seem to touch on religion’s relevance in the modern world, making it contemporary yet timeless. But Plomp’s “Message in a Box” is no less poignant. Made of cardboard with the decorations typical of a prayer rug, the work’s sparse, no-nonsense simplicity seems to take faith to its simplest, most elemental characters.
Albus’ own work “Pixelperser” also has the same take. The carpet drew attention to the similarities between the pixels of modern computers and the intricate weaving process of Persian carpets, proving that the newest innovations have much in common with age old, hand made items than was previously thought.
“Moose, Roeder, Deer” by Big Game
Other works, like Big Game’s “Moose, Roeder, Deer” updated the age-old tradition of hanging hunting trophy heads on the wall for their wooden substitutes. Made with more ecological concerns in mind as well as an aversion to taking life, the work gave the tradition a new lease on life by its distinct aesthetic. Nina Kappenstein did the same with porcelain on her “dTales” pieces. Superficially resembling 18th-century scenes of pastoral life portrayed by Meissen porcelain from Germany, Kappenstein subtly slipped in symbols of consumer products such as McDonald’s and Coca Cola as well as planes flying overhead, to show how the world has changed since.
Originally published in The Jakarta Globe on December 4, 2013
Interpreting Asian Identity
Mahendra Yasa, “7 Magnificent Masterpieces #1” and “7 Magnificent Masterpieces #2” (Photos courtesy of Tunggul Wirajuda)
The looming figure inexorably commanded one’s attention, not least because of the shiny metallic head capping it off. Titled “Archeomoto,” this aluminum and fiber glass resin sculpture by Indonesian sculptor Nus Salomo portraying a cuttlefish or giant squid making its way out of the deep would fill fishermen and sightseers with dread.
The effect is enhanced by the grotesque ends of a pair of tentacles, which seem poised to catch and crush anyone unfortunate enough to get too close. But their humanoid, larger than life and alien appearance might also come from the depths of the College Art Center of Design alumnus’ subconscious, in which case they have much in common with the nightmare creatures of horror and fantasy master HP Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos series.
On the other hand, Eldwin Pradipta’s “Portray Jelekong” turned the notion of landscape painting on its head. Featuring a classic Indonesian landscape of paddy fields with a volcano in the distance, “Portray Jelekong” gave viewers more than they bargained for.
Not too many paintings show smoke and lava on the volcano, while cascades of water swept over the landscape and surged down the walls off the canvas. The effect was only made possible by the video artist’s use of video projection on a white frame.
Nus’ unwieldy, static yet striking structure as well as Eldwin’s video painting are among the number of avant garde artworks exhibited in the first ever Southeast Asian Triennale.
Held at Jakarta’s National Gallery, the event showcased the works of 69 artists from Indonesia, Vietnam, Myanmar, the Philippines and other Southeast Asian countries.
They are by no means the only countries represented in the Triennale, as contemporary art from China, Pakistan. Japan and Australia is also exhibited. The exhibition’s curators, among them Jim Supangkat, Suwarno Wisetrotomo and Asikin Hasan, said the event chronicles the influence of globalization on contemporary art.
The theme of conflict as an integral part of the human experience is an element examined at the exhibition, a striking example being Pakistani contemporary artist Jamil Baloch’s stark “Mega Project II.”
The shadow of a fighter plane on the tile is a powerful reminder of the constant armed conflicts which shaped his country’s history, as well as the preeminent role of the military there. But the most telling element in the mixed media piece are its cracked tiles reflecting Pakistan’s tenuous unity which is perennially threatened by sectarian and civil conflicts.
Indonesian artist Arief Hidayat also explored this theme in his sketch series “Last Men (Forced Disappearance Tragedy).”
The work, which can be seen as a modern day retelling of “The Miseries of War,” a series of etchings by 17th century French draughtsman Jacques Callot depicting the horrors of the Thirty Years’ War, shows the suffering of victims of the 1965 purge of suspected communists.
It is similar to its predecessor through its use of black and white lines to convey a sense of desperation and terror. The imagery of forced disappearance, interrogations and mass executions is by no means confined to the conflict, it also be interpreted as the suffering wreaked by insurgencies in parts of Indonesia like Aceh and Papua, as well as the Iraq war and Syrian civil war.
The pull of age old art forms is by no means confined to conflicts, as Chinese artist Bu Hua used the medium of stained glass painting to see his hometown Beijing in a new light through his works “Water Is Deep Here in Beijing IX” and “Water Is Deep Here in Beijing II.” Painted in a style reminiscent of the Grateful Dead’s album covers, Bu’s use of the LED box to portray bright images of playgrounds, brights skies and Art Nouveau houses in the Chinese capital hint at the subconscious and psychedelic.
But the skeleton in “Water Is Deep Here in Beijing II” seemed to indicate tensions that’s never far from around the corner, despite the sunny outlook brought about by China’s surging economy that’s seen all around.
The hordes of motorcycles that take up Jakarta’s roads and give their share of traffic griefs for one another and other motorists is an apt metaphor for social mobility in the capital.
Their sheer number and diverse backgrounds literally and figuratively reflect the dynamic social changes in Jakarta and the rest of Indonesia, a fact explored by Indonesian artist MG Pringgotono in his work “Little World Dialogue.”
The State University of Jakarta Visual Arts alumnus used ten seemingly random helmets with a name and a locale in the Greater Jakarta areas like Cikini, Tanjung Priok and Condet to give an identity to the frequently anonymous motorcyclists.
However, painter Mahendra Yasa’s “7 Magnificent Masterpieces #1” and “7 Magnificent Masterpieces #2” attempted to convey the Indonesian psyche as only a painting can.
Juxtaposing artists like Diego Velazquez or Paul Cezanne in his canvas, along with events like the Dutch arrival in Indonesia, “7 Magnificent Masterpieces #2” seem to convey the package in bright colors to make it more inclusive and accessible, in line with the ideals of globalization.
In contrast, “7 Magnificent Masterpieces #1” is painted in a more subdued, muted traditional Javanese style, as if to convey the deep seated roots that the country’s traditions and culture has on its people.
Originally published in The Jakarta Globe on November 24, 2013
Interpreting Society Through Sculpture
“Rekonstruksi” by Hari Susanto (Photo courtesy of Tunggul Wirajuda)
The likeness of Jakarta Governor Joko Widodo still makes an indelible impression, even when set in stone, or to be more exact, fiberglass and electroplating.
Even perched on a pedestal, one can almost expect Joko to set off on one of his popular visits around the capital. The lines on his forehead seem to hint at his thoughts, while his expression portrays his readiness to utter yet another sardonic remark.
Such is the figure of Joko, as captured by sculptor Beby Charles in his work “Wi&Wikojo,” an anagram of Joko’s nickname “Jokowi.”
Joko’s disproportionately large head is a medium made all too familiar through the satirical cartoons featured in Indonesian newspapers such as Kompas and Suara Pembaruan.
While Beby’s take on Joko can be viewed as jaded satire, its just as feasible to see it as a metaphor for his larger-than-life stature for millions of Indonesians. The effect is reinforced by the laurel wreath on Joko’s head. The golden snail on wheels seems to convey the public’s hopes for better times in the future under him, while the heavy metal salute in his left hand symbolizes his love of the music genre as well as his populist appeal.
However, the small size of his angel wings might be a warning against putting too much hope on him. But for the Indonesian Institute of the Arts alumni, the work reflects his artistic vision.
“[Wi&Wikojo] reflects how contemporary sculpture transcends cultural differences between East and West,” Beby said.
“The symbols of East and West are universal, as they touch on values and feelings like longing, sadness, or gratitude. I try to be as consistent as possible to convey dynamism, illusions and tragedy in the work.”
Beby is one of 40 sculptors from the Bandung, Jakarta and Yogyakarta branches of the Indonesian Association of Sculptors, or API, to show their art in “Trax 13,” an exhibition at the Taman Ismail Marzuki cultural center.
Taman Ismail Marzuki director Bambang Subekti said the exhibition, which is the second of its kind, touches on the sculptors’ intent to affirm their artistic stance, consistency and determination to rise to any challenges.
Sculptor Agus Widodo got the message with his work “Balada Setompret KPK.” The fiber sculpture is, in Agus’ words, his attempt “to respond to sociopolitical trends in society, to find a balance in life.”
Like Beby’s take on Joko Widodo, the wings on the figure might indicate how the public pin their hopes and dreams on the KPK, while the flute signifies its efforts to disseminate its anti-corruption agenda.
The ball and chain on the sculpture’s leg symbolizes the political constraints faced by the KPK, the menacing dinosaur figures reflects the threat the commission faces and the rolls of rupiah and US dollar bills indicate the temptations that KPK investigators face.
Fellow sculptor Hari Susanto took on a different angle with his installation art “Rekonstruksi.” The work is as much about rebirth as it is reconstruction, seen in the alternating circle between normal faces and those of skeletons.
Jakarta Arts Institute Sculpture alumni Yani M. Sastranegara also tackles the subject of rebirth and growth in her work “Bertumbuh Dalam Berkah” (“Graceful Growth”). Featuring a tree that outgrew the frame its placed in, the sculpture reflects Yani’s notion of “growth and expansion as a gift and a blessing.”
The piece is an apt metaphor for individuals who continue to expand beyond their comfort zone and get past the limitations that society might impose on them.
Originally published in The Jakarta Globe on November 11, 2013
Keeping the Spirit of Wayang Relevant
Agus Nuryanto, “Di Bawah Payung Cinta” (Photo courtesy of Tunggul Wirajuda)
Despite dating back to around 900 CE, wayang puppets continue to be a wildly popular and respected art form throughout Indonesia.
For wayang painter Agus Nuryanto, his work including “Di Bawah Payung Cinta” (“Sheltered by Love”), and other motifs touching on life and spirituality, are examples of the art form’s relevance today.
“The works here are my way of sharing my love of wayang and their role in forming my outlook on life. They are also my way of spreading awareness about this iconic Indonesian art form to the Indonesian public, particularly young people,” he said.
“Di Bawah Payung Cinta” is part of “Spirit of Wayang,” one of 148 works by Agus currently showing at Jakarta’s Taman Ismail Marzuki cultural center.
While paintings like “Di Bawah Payung Cinta” and “Cinta Kasih” (“Love and Care”) explore the various forms of wayang, starting with the most common style of wayang kulit (leather wayang)known as wayang purwa , others highlight puppet types that are more obscure to the casual observer.
“Many of the wayang here are of the wayang beber and wayang klitik or wood wayang type. The former is an ideal bridge between wayang and paintings because they are painted in a scroll-like manner,” Agus said.
Wayang klitik are named for the clattering sound the figures make when worked by the puppeteer.
While Agus nods to wayang conventions by taking scenes from the classics including “Ramayana” and “Mahabharata,” he also uses them as allegories for current issues.
This is particularly the case in his “Dasa Muka,” which portrays the antagonists from the Mahabharata.
“Like the many faces of the painting, there’s more than one way to interpret ‘Dasa Muka.’ On one hand, it can be seen as a symbol of flexibility and adaptability,” Agus said. “On the other hand, it’s also a metaphor for opportunism and lack of principle.”
Agus referred to a similar theme in the work “Wakil Rakyat” (“The People’s Representatives”). Made in the wayang beber style, the painting evokes similarities to George Orwell’s sinister classic on a totalitarian future “Animal Farm,” at least on the surface.
“As the name implies, ‘Wakil Rakyat’ shows parliament to be little better than a zoo. After all, the legislators seem to forfeit their humanity as they give in to their greed and jostle for gain as well as power,” he said.
This motif of greed is also explored in “Tetap Semangat” (“Keep Your Spirits Up”). Depicting a wayang figure clutching a football, the painting could be seen as a commentary on the infighting that has long paralyzed Indonesian soccer.
Made during the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, the work jibes on the mismanagement of then Indonesian Football Association (PSSI) head Nurdin Halid and his associates. The figure’s greed and venality is all too obvious with his paunch and unfeeling stare, while the World Cup on his nose seems to take on the PSSI’s delusions of grandeur.
On the other hand, Agus also seeks to show the wayang’s resilience and adaptability in Indonesian culture through works like “4 Bulan” (“4 Months”) and “Restu Ibu” (“Mother’s Blessing”).
Meanwhile the wayang klitik-themed paintings depict guardian angels in the style of traditional Islamic art, as if to affirm the religion’s place in Indonesia.
“Kemakmuran Telah Tiba” (“Prosperity Has Arrived”) depicts the eruptions of Mount Merapi in recent years. “While volcanic eruptions are rightly seen as disasters on one hand, they are also blessings in disguise as the lava fertilizes the soil,” Agus said. The work and its theme is not unlike a phoenix, as seen in the figure emerging from the volcano and lava.
Agus closes out his collection with several wayang beber motifs including “Cheng Ho’s Return,” which touches on the Chinese explorer’s stopover to Indonesia during his voyage around the world in the 16th century, and “Pasti Jaya” or “Bound for Greatness.”
“‘Cheng Ho’s Return’ takes on Indonesia’s rapid development, as seen by the skyscrapers on the horizon,” Agus said.
“On the other hand, ‘Pasti Jaya’ indicates what Indonesia can achieve if the country follows the precepts of Pancasila. But since the country hasn’t done so, promise and potential is all we ever have.”
Agus said he wanted to spread the word about wayang, particularly to young people, whose have low awareness about the art form. Whether he will make headway in his cause remains to be seen. What is for certain is that his vision of wayang in contemporary Indonesia is worth checking out.
Originally published in The Jakarta Globe on October 11, 2013
Spearheading Avant Garde Art
Mahardika Yuda, “The Face of the Black River” (Photo courtesy of Mahardika Yuda)
Art lovers flocking to Singapore this October will get more than they bargain for, as the fourth Singapore Biennale kicks off with its share of avant garde art and more.
Featuring 82 artists from around the world, the works are set to surprise, fascinate and even unnerve viewers, as they blur the wall between art and audience, with Singapore’s urban landscape as the canvas.
Themed “If the World Changed,” the Singapore Biennale will present contemporary art’s propositions for our changing worlds, organizer Linette Tan said.
“[The event] also looks at how artists and the audience explore the type of world they want to live in.”
Indonesia is set to leave its mark on the Biennale by sending ten artists to the event, among them Mahardika Yudha, Irwan Ahmett and Tita Salina. The three artists recently shared insights into their work with the Jakarta Globe, including the inspiration behind their art and what they will highlight at the upcoming event.
Mahardika Yudha: Pushing the boundaries of Indonesian video art
The sight of the Angke River’s broad, black waters going past squalid slums is perhaps a fitting metaphor for a hell caused by the excesses of urbanization and industrialization. It’s hard to imagine that the river’s sluggish black colors which could well be mistaken for an oil spill, was one of the most vibrant Indonesian bodies of water.
“Angke means red. The name holds a traumatic memory of the massacre of over 10 thousand ethnic Chinese by the VOC [Dutch East India Company] in 1740, which turned the river red with blood,” curator Mia Maria said.
Video artist Mahardika Yudha has been shedding new light on the river, including its changing hues, through his work “The Face of the Black River.”
“The Angke River no longer lives up to its name as Red River. Now its pitch black as its delta in North Jakarta due to contamination from mercury, cadmium and other heavy metals. You can see your own reflection in the water,” Mia said.
“The dynamic reflection of the black river is a reminder of the dark history, the present environmental inadequacy, and the ironic situation of the people living in the northern region of the capital city.”
While it would have made sense for Mahardika to focus on the river’s black waters as a literal and figurative heart of darkness, he chose instead to focus on the drama surrounding the lives of those who live on its shores.
“One can literally trace the passage of urbanization as one goes down the river. Upstream near the Angke’s source in West Java, the locals can still fish or even hunt for monitor lizards. But those who live downstream in North Jakarta — where the Angke flows out into the Java Sea — make a living by selling scrap metal or machinery that can be found in its waters,” the artist said. The transition from living off nature’s offerings to making money from inanimate things is an apt metaphor for the change from rural life to urbanization, he explained.
“The changes in the locals’ lifestyle upstream also reflects the encroaching forces of urbanization,” Mahardika said. “On one hand they would hunt wild animals, but on the other hand they are technology savvy enough to use smartphones.”
For Mahardika however, the locals are more than just down on their luck, opportunistic inhabitants scrounging a living off the Angke.
“The resourcefulness of the people along the Angke is astounding, despite the squalor of their living conditions. For instance, they can make antennas or even Wi-Fi for the internet with pots and pans,” he said. “This is just a small example of how common people throughout Indonesia can withstand any crisis, economic or otherwise.”
Mahardika also found that this focus on the here and now extended to the locals’ stance on the river’s bloody past.
“The 1740 massacre is largely forgotten in the inhabitant’s collective memory, as many of those who live on Angke’s shores years after the incident until today are newcomers preoccupied with getting the most out of the Angke’s resources,” he said. “But their collective amnesia didn’t come from a wish to forget, but rather from their hard lives.”
A self-taught video artist who has been making video art since 2003, Mahardika explained that “The Face of the Black River” reflects his philosophy of video art as a collage and an ongoing process, unlike documentaries or films that are visual narratives.
“I’ve been filming ‘The Face of the Black River’ since 2011. Like my other pieces, it is a work in progress, with no beginning and no end,” he said.
Mahardika, who is also a member of the Ruangrupa artist collective, is set to have a number of surprises up his sleeve, among them by curating and showing his video art at the OK. Video festival in Jakarta this September. Aside from the Singapore Biennale, he will also show his work at the Brazil Biennale later this year.
10 Years From Now, by Irwan Ahmet and Tita Salina
Irwan Ahmett and Tita Salina: At play in the chaos of the city
A burst of color unexpectedly fell on Jakarta’s traditional Kramat Market, at least from above, as a couple coordinated simultaneous twirling of colorfully striped umbrellas covering the vendors’ wares. The riot of colors orchestrated by them, which are as figurative as they are literal, doesn’t end there.
The two went on to cross the street on the back seats of motorcycles surrounding a zebra crossing. This modern day urban retelling of the Indonesian folk tale of the kancil or mouse deer’s efforts to cross the river on the back of crocodiles, strikes a chord with the millions of people trying to get by in Jakarta’s equally merciless urban jungle.
The situational works, entitled “Dancing Umbrellas” and “Kancil Menyebrang Jalan” [Mouse-deers Crossing the Road], is but a day in the life of husband and wife incidental artists Irwan Ahmett and Tita Salina. Event curator Mia explained that there is a method behind the couple’s ongoing art project titled “Urban Play.”
“Urban Play is a series of ‘public space interventions’ by Irwan and Tita in response to the problems of the city they were working in,” Mia said of the project, which began in 2010.
“Urban Play is comprised of interactive artworks that spontaneously grow along with the process of the project. The aim of the project is to get the audiences’ critical perspective to the [urban] space and their behavior towards it by using ‘play’ as their platform. Urban Play also aims to make necessary changes to the audience’s perspective and behavior towards their cities”
Urban Play has already been performed in cities around the world including Istanbul, Berlin, and Greensboro in North Carolina.
“For us, the whole city is the gallery [for Urban Plan]. It’s not confined to limited spaces like galleries, nor is it encumbered by logistics to transport pieces like paintings and sculptures,” Irwan said. “It also provides us with a chance to be innovative and self-expressive.”
The couple, who are both alumni of the Jakarta Arts Institute or IKJ, derived their inspiration from the heady days of the Sukarno era.
“Art was an integral part of the Sukarno administration, as artists like Affandi and Basuki Abdullah helped him convey his nationalistic vision throughout the country. Unfortunately, the government’s notion of art is still in its traditional forms, whereas avant garde art is marginalized,” Irwan said.
True to their calling as avant garde artists, the couple explained that their work touches on issues such as individual freedom.
“One of the things that we touched on is the prevalence of CCTV cameras throughout some cities around the world. Their presence hampers individual freedoms and constantly reminds individuals of the pervasive presence of the state,” Tita explained.
Mia said Irwan and Tita will make at least four projects for the upcoming Singapore Biennale, including “Ten Years From Now.”
“[‘Ten Years From Now’] tests the audience’s ability to hold onto their hopes and dreams, by having them fill those aspirations on a questionnaire, where they’ll be stored for the next decade,” said Irwan, who hails from Ciamis, West Java.
Though Irwan and Tita’s work took them around the world, they still look to Jakarta for their main source of inspiration.
Originally published in The Jakarta Globe on September 2, 2013
Artful Wonders 