A place to admire,
not pity
Kasihan! It’s a
common expression of consolation. Some
hardship befell, a loss perhaps, an accident, a mishap. Oh, what a pity!
It’s also a hamlet in Bantul Regency, just outside Yogyakarta, low lying, more forest than field, well
watered, known as a lush den of imagination and inventiveness. Six of the village’s nationally most noted 14
daughters and sons are involved in the arts.
No surprise because the nearby spring Sendang Pengasihan (Be
Merciful) is reputed to have curative and mystical powers, once drawing local
royalty to meditate. Now it seduces creatives.
Most famous of the artists who live here is Djoko Pekik, 83
who’s built a striking studio in the bush as a workplace and gallery to preserve
his huge crowdscapes. More of his story
later.
One of Pekik’s admirers is Giring Prihatyasono, 39. He’s a graduate of Yogyakarta’s
prestigious Arts Institute and also a social commentator, though in a formal,
controlled style while his guru is free and forceful.
The younger man explores different materials, particularly aluminum. It’s a costly metal though one which yields
beguiling and ambiguous results when etched.
His work is subtle and pensive, often including a rent or
scar as though it’s been accidentally snagged. This is deliberate, part of his
philosophy: “We strive for perfection,
but it’s impossible to achieve. So after
trying to make my work as good as possible I add a flaw.
“In my early days I tried producing paintings the shops like
to sell to tourists, smiley girls in rice paddy, but that didn’t satisfy. I’m also fascinated by language and how
various lettering systems have evolved around the world.
“Now I work to express myself. Artists should be honest and let their creations
find the buyer.”
His determination has found enough collectors to keep the
family in better straits than if he’d followed his father into a sugar factory
– a rejection that led to meal-time silence for a year. They’re now back on speaking terms.
The multiple award winner hides his messages. A large disc (right) which at first looks to be an
official government emblem is circled with the faint words: Sebagai Abdi Negara saya malu dan tidak akan
melakukan korupsi. (As a servant of the nation I am ashamed and will not
participate in corruption).
A five-minute walk from his hideaway through the tangled
undergrowth, then across a narrow bridge above Khonteng stream. Damp tracks wend past the houses of other
painters, and eventually to the studio of the artist emeritus.
Prihatyasono feels for his country but hasn’t suffered for
his art like Pekik, once a member of Bumi Tarung (Fight for the Land), a
gathering of creatives during the era of Soekarno. It was savagely persecuted by his military
successor Soeharto because most artists leaned left.
They were intellectuals, not
bombers. The weapons they wielded were ideas,
pens and brushes. They were treated like
terrorists.
After seven years of brutality and
deprivation Pekik (left) was released from jail with TP stamped on his ID card, meaning
he was a former Tahanan Politik, a political
prisoner. This labeled him almost unemployable
and unacceptable to society. For several
years he cleaned sewers to support his eight children.
His revenge was splendid. In 1999, a year after his persecutor Soeharto
was dethroned, Pekik became nationally famous as Indonesia’s first one billion
rupiah (then about US $120,000) painter when he sold Berburu Celeng (the Boar Hunt), now an
icon of the nation’s contemporary art.
Most assumed the fat pig being carried upside-down on a yoke
between hunters was the Republic’s second president. He also seems to be the ringmaster in Sirkus September, a reference to the
1965 coup that felled Soekarno. In the
foreground two big black rhinos clash their horns, urged on by clowns.
Pekik, like a novelist advised by a lawyer, denied any
resemblance to persons living or dead.
As a social realist he’s blunt on the canvas but equivocal in
conversation.
“You see what you want to see,” he told The Jakarta Post while sitting before a motorized easel moving his
work up and down. “You’re the viewer.”
His nationalism is stark and xenophobic: If he doesn’t like a foreigner he orders them
off his property even if they’ve come to buy. “The colonialists were bad, but not
as bad as the Japanese.”
So to smother, though not forget the cruelty and horrors, he
leans on nicotine and paint. He’s
outlived his persecutors, retaining his dignity and independence.
Pekik may now be rich but he still rails against the
oligarchy and big business, always siding with the wee folk. Sometimes they
brandish spears. The angry confronters
are dramatic in their intensity, though often flanked by powerless onlookers.
He admits his 2014 canvas Go to hell, crocodile is a commentary on the Freeport mine in Papua; crowds face a giant
scaly reptile lapping blood from a swirling void. Some have linked the painting to Soekarno’s
1964 outburst against the US:
Go to hell with your aid!
Pekik’s figures are seldom static; dancers swish, black
smoke chokes the crowds. These are not images to soothe. The colors are usually subdued, though his
clown faces are gaudy. “That’s to show
happiness,” he said, though unconvincingly.
“Who cares how it all ends?
As long as I can keep painting my thoughts and visions then everything’s
fine”. Kasihan? “No”.
UPDATE: Djoko Pekik died in Yogya in mid-August. He was 86. https://seleb.tempo.co/read/1758959/djoko-pekik-meninggal-anak-ungkap-penyakit-yang-dideritanya-selama-10-tahun-terakhir
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