THE ART'S IN THE HEART

 

Waving an old art into daily life, one night at a time                    

An invitation to a traditional East Javanese village wedding concert sounds special.  It was, but needed commitment and stamina.  It also revealed the tangled cultural diversity of a nation of 270 million isn’t easily unravelled or explained, as Duncan Graham discovered:

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Any link with Jakarta is purely coincidental.  The capital is far, far away, physically and culturally.  The 760 kilometres mapped by geographers might just as well be years – and then some. 

The evening started with the dahlang giving a triple twirl of a gunungan. A deep gong beat quivered through the pillars propping a ceiling of sagging pink and blue drapes under a metal roof.  The mud-floor auditorium was open on two sides and collecting puddles; houses flanked the others, doors and windows open.  

The launch of a wayang kulit (shadow puppet) show in the remote hamlet of Krisik satisfied the nit-picking traditionalists in the audience paying the tab, while not offending the less whiskery hoping to see and hear something hotter and more 21^st century.

They’d already been ignited with ‘semi-dangdut’ – a milder version of the raucous mix of Indian, Arabic and local folk music that’s knock-out popular across Java. This has to be amplified to the max.  The invitation should have added earplugs to the batik dress code.

Another sign of slight cultural shifts: The inclusion of a keyboard, synthesizer, trombone and trumpet among the metallophones in the orchestra pit.  Indigenous music-making in Java is moving, not fast but steadily.

Dahlang Rudi Gareng (right) described his style as “contemporary wayang”.   

“I want to preserve the old arts but I know they can’t stay stationary.  We need the younger generation to get enthusiastic, to keep our inheritance alive. There’s so much competition for teenagers’ attention. Western music can pull them away from their culture.  My job is to keep them here by making wayang relevant.”

He seems to have struck the right chord because he’s booked up weeks in advance

Dahlang means puppet master though in reality Gareng is more conductor, composer, singer, tale-teller, showman and businessman.

Now he’s guide to the spectral world that runs alongside and tonight merges.

Only polymaths gifted with a touch of mystique get to the peak of their craft.  Despite his relative youth Gareng, 43, is already there in a profession usually dominated by the wrinkled and toothless, their rheumy eyes peering into a past invisible to amateurs.

Dahlangs are the intermediaries between reality and the spirit world. They are popularly supposed to meditate, even slip into a trance before squatting in front of the screen, presenting their backs to the watchers.  Some seem to pray before jerking the two-dimensional puppets into well-rounded characters.

Putri Santono -Rudi

Gareng's wife

Gareng is relaxed and casual, though this may be veneer.  His family says he sleeps for hours before changing from T shirt to black jacket and sarong with a holstered kris (wavy blade dagger) thrust into his waistband. He lights up and smokes through the hours as do most of the male musicians.  Some of the fags are kretek, with clove leaves in the tobacco.  Even the zero-tolerance quitters reluctantly find the scent agreeable.

The pear-shaped gunungan Gareng presented to get the gig going is something like a map of life starting with steps to a gateway.  However this is no sacred parchment fixed for eternity. There are variations and sizes according to the regions where they originated, and the creativity of the maker.  Everything’s as flexible as the buffalo skins used to make the contorted thin-limbed puppets, distinctively Javanese.

Likewise with the story he’s about to tell in front of a stretched white sheet serving as a screen, the shadow images projected using a high-watt lamp.  In the old days it would have been a kerosene lantern, the flickering flame adding to the spooky atmosphere.

The tale is of sharp-nosed Petruk and his successful pursuit of Dewi Ambarawati after defeating other swains in combat.  The theme is universal, as old as humanity: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds girl after many adventures and heroic actions.  Then they settle down together.  Happy ever after.

Petruk is one of the four Punokawan brothers, Gareng, Bagong and the leader Semar with a big belly and fat backside designed for many jokes about digestion and breaking wind. In some versions he seems to be suffering from hemorrhoids, hinting that constipation is a common complaint.

Indonesia is full of contradictions; in this prim and proper Republic politicians think they’ll get electoral credit by proposing laws to regulate bedroom behaviors. The government has teams of censors puffing clouds over the slightest décolletage on imported TV films and trumpeting that hundreds of thousands of porn sites have been shut down. 

Instead of protesting the kids just yawn, then use their fingers to bypass the prudes and access their perversions through virtual private networks overseas.  The Javanese prefer to adapt rather than confront.

Smut and double entendres remain well-embedded in the wayang tradition, secure by being indigenous and not from dirty-minded Hollywood.

The low-level crudity leads some to assume the Punokawan are simple knockabouts playing much the same role as clowns in European pantomimes.  That’s a mistake for all have a serious side, a little like the fools in Shakespearean drama and jesters in regal courts.  These characters were licensed to tell monarchs truths that courtesans feared to speak. 

Don’t give Semar the flick.  According to the late American cultural anthropologist Clifford Geertz, Semar is wise and divine, the guardian spirit of Java.  His name is linked to the Javanese word samara which translates as ‘mysterious’.

Gareng learned his skills and the stories from his late father.  If he needs reinforcement and more ideas he has only to visit his heritage by driving 30 minutes to the Siva Penataran Temple complex.  This is about 12 kilometers outside Blitar and the largest Hindu relic in East Java.

It’s not as well preserved or as old as the 9^th century Prambanan Temple near Yogyakarta, and not as famous as the Mahayana Buddhist temple Borobudur which draws pilgrims and tourists from around the world.

However 12^th century Penataran has something special – a vast number of carvings illustrating daily life.  So we have clear images of people living in houses with tiled roofs and riding in large-wheeled carts pulled by horses.  These wear harnesses much like those used today.  There are buffaloes, coconut trees, many monkeys and laborers turning the soil with hoes – as they do now.

There are also fables, like the buffalo and crocodile which appear on the terraced monuments and a bathing pool so clear the fish scales wink in the sunbeams. The croc gets stranded away from water so hitches a lift on the bull’s back.  Once safe the reptile attacks its savior who is rescued by other animals.

The supernatural stuff includes winged lions and snakes, and the forbidding dwarapala, squatting stone giants armed with maces and usually found by portals.  They’re not exclusively Indonesian but guard gateways in Thailand, Myanmar, Vietnam and China though with different names.

Mixed among all the domesticity and kiddies’ tales is the Ramayana story, described by historians as ‘one of the largest ancient epics in world literature with almost 24,000 verses’.   The Sanskrit original may be 2,700 years old.  It tells of Prince Rama’s 14-year exile after being rejected by his step-mother, eventually helped to his rightful regal place by the flying monkey king Hanuman and his warriors.

It’s clearly more than an adventure story of dashing deeds by handsome heroes and coy maidens.  Watchers can extract what they like whether its moral messages, style guides for the proper life which may eventually be rewarded, or just a good night out revisiting a familiar yarn.

The carvings at Penataran don’t follow the Indian original but a local version and source of Gareng’s tales. The Punokawan are not found elsewhere so thought to be a Javanese addition.  There’s another account exclusive to Bali. The first known image of Semar is on a temple carving dated 1358.

American scholar Ann Kinney is the lead author in Worshiping Siva and Buddha, a major account of temple art in East Java.  She writes of Penataran that ‘the presentation of the Ramayana, with its deeply carved frontal figures and the complete elimination of empty spaces in the panel of reliefs is an excellent example of the wayang style developed during the Majapahit period.’ (This ran from about 1293 to 1527). 

In Krisik and surrounding towns the first language is Javanese.  Although all schoolchildren are taught the national tongue, Indonesian is reserved for formal and official interactions. Javanese has at least three styles, labeled ‘registers’ by linguists.  These are chosen according to the ranks of the users and whether they’re speaking up to superiors and the elderly, or down to peasants and kids.  

No need to list the chances of making gaffes, so best stick to egalitarian Indonesian.
Gareng interprets Petruk’s quest in a local dialect that flummoxes city folk.  That puts them in the same basket as non-Indonesians, making the storyline a tad difficult to follow.  

Comprehension comes from closely watching the puppets’ body language.  They put their hands on their hips, wag fingers, wave hands, point decisively, stalk off stage or rush on – in short much the same as actors.  It doesn’t take long to figure out the personalities.

The music helps.  When armies clash so do the gongs, when romance looms the flutes take over.  The demons are so grotesque it’s difficult discovering their benign side, though Javanese lore teaches that none are wholly bad.

Fortunately for foreigners there’s nothing rigid or solemn about the art and its rituals.  Apart from being barefoot on stage the protocols are minimal.  The 100 puppets get a mighty thrashing in their adventures and battles between good and evil so repairs are often necessary. Gareng designs his own and has staff patiently perforating and coloring the leather.

The characters are multi-dimensional and so complex philistines would be tempted to glance and depart.  They’d miss the spectacle and the revelation that the location, the wedding, the environment, the music, the play, the assaults on all senses are scrambled with no chance of separating the yokes and whites, then scooping them back into the smashed shell.

For some the gunungan represents a mountain as the first six letters of the word mean ‘mount’ as in Mount Kawi, with Krisik on its Western slope.  It’s a dead volcano (2,551 meters) and an important spiritual site mainly for ethnic Chinese seeking business breaks, but also pribumi (native born) who follow the Kebatinan beliefs of old Java and add a shake of nationalism. 

Among Kawi’s attractions are the graves supposedly encasing the remains of Mbah (leader) Imam Sujono who died in 1876 and his colleague Mbah Djoego, also known as Kiai Zakaria, who died five years earlier.

The spelling of the names often differs.  In keeping with the rest of this feature so do the stories. The principal theory is that both men were supporters or relatives of the high-born Diponegoro who led a rebellion against the Dutch.

The prince was caught in 1830 at Magelang, Central Java, and exiled to Makassar, South Sulawesi, where he died 25 years later. His colleagues fled to Kawi where they helped restore religiosity and improve cropping techniques.

Visiting the graves is supposed to bring good fortune.

Does it work? The best known case, real or imagined, is that of Ong Hok Liong who established the Bentoel tobacco company after meditating on the mountain.

For years he'd unsuccessfully sought the right name for his cigarettes. Then the sight (or dream) of a hawker selling edible bamboo roots known as bentoel set the heavy smoker and drinker on the road to creating what became the nation's second biggest tobacco company, though now owned by a multinational, and an early death from liver disease.

At least he didn't have to sit for hours or longer under the sacred dewandaru (Eugenia uniflora) waiting to catch a falling leaf, another alleged path to prosperity. The tree has outgrown the original railings so a bigger fence has been built to stop the impatient giving the branches a shake to rain down wealth.

If the classification is correct, the tree is a recent import from South America where it's known as the Surinam cherry.

This slice of science prunes the myth that the shrub was cursed to stay small by a holy man because it snagged his clothes. The sage was trekking through the area to divide the territories of King Airlangga. That was in the 11^th century. On Gunung Kawi fiction trumps facts.

By now you’ll realize that the lush wilds of East Java aren’t just the rich deposits of volcanic eruptions making the island the world’s most fertile, but layers of mythology, history (plain and embellished), ancient values and modern mysteries.  These bubble to the surface like air trapped in hot mud, ignoring the top coverings of the monotheistic religions which all Indonesians are supposed to follow.

Overseas visitors to Kawi are welcome, though tend to find the beliefs confusing and contradictory; this is the wrong place to apply Western reasoning. 

Although Krisik is about 1,000 meters from the summit, when the three-day ceremonies involving the marriage of groom Setiono and his bride Cicik Erfita were underway the peak was obscured by low clouds and heavy rain.

It’s hard to find Krisik on maps but this is spirit central.  It isn’t just saturated by the heavens it’s also deep in traditions and superstitions, ideal for Gareng to pay homage through his performance.

No-one seems to know when the village was established. The nearby Rambut Monte (Monte’s hair) temple and lake is a Hindu worship area so possibly a Majapahit settlement.  Swimming is prohibited to pacify a ‘God Fish’ so local authorities have built a pool alongside hoping this might lure tourists.  It might – if the roads were repaired.

For others the gunungan suggests a place of worship – a position strengthened by including a pop-eyed, multi-fanged kala atop the image of stairs, trees, tigers and buffalo symmetrically facing each other.  On the reverse another kala with claws and surrounded by tongues of fire.  This links the wayang to the culture, so some background should help fit things together.

The kala is the sculpted visage found above gateways of Majapahit temples like Penataran.  The East Java kingdom, based around an inland port on the Brantas River, controlled or traded with much of Southeast Asia. 

Nationalists reckon this was Java’s golden time with the navy defeating a Mongolian Yuan army invasion and forcing the fleet to flee back to China.   The hero of the era was the ‘prime minister’ Gajah Mada, a figure still revered.  The main public university in Yogyakarta (Central Java) carries his name.

When the empire collapsed in the 16^th century either through volcanic eruptions, in-fighting among the royals over succession, or the arrival of Islam ousting the existing hierarchal faith, is still debated by historians.  Maybe all three combined to send the regal families and followers east.

Most eventually settled in Bali which is why the island is predominantly Hindu.  There are also breakaway pockets of Hindus in East Java around the hilltown of Malang, the port of Banyuwangi facing Bali and in mountain villages like Krisik.

Upscale hotels in Yogyakarta and Ubud in Bali often promote wayang. These cut-down tourist-specials usually last less than an hour to match the attention spans of outsiders unfamiliar with the art, for the real McCoy only stops come sunrise.

Which is the case in Krisik where the families of the newly-wed couple have found Rp 35 million (US $2,600) to hire Gareng’s Cakra Budaya (Chakra culture) group to entertain guests and villagers.  For this they got 44 performers and a ten-hour concert.

Among the artists seven pesinden, women singers in elaborate make-up which they apply while sitting on the floor in a house lounge, doors flung wide.  They’re watched by several little girls learning to be women and the odd bloke who tries to look as though he’s mislaid something though secretly seeking the thrill of seeing the transformation of plain Sri to Princess Srikandi. 

The singers seem unconcerned; they’ve added their eyelashes, painted their lips and powdered their cheeks in villages so many times voyeurs no longer annoy.  They’ve also mistressed the art of changing from dowdy street wear to sparkling gowns without revealing bare flesh.

 Burly blokes drove three trucks two hours from their base near Blitar to Krisik.  One carried a 50 kVA generator; the production sucks so much power it could blow fuses using the State system.  It took four hours for six stage hands to set the scene.  They reckon it will take three to demolish and repack.

Crew boss Sadik Kalish, 48, said it’s tough to find men to do the job because they have to spend much time away from their families.  “On one tour we never took a break for 113 days,” he said.  “We just sleep in the cabs.”

The work isn’t arduous, though lifting heavy boxes bigger than coffins of wayang kulit characters needs muscle.  Much time is spent arranging the puppets in the right order and waiting for the show to start and end.

In the play’s second hour there were about 500 in the audience scattered around all sides. Men and women, boys and girls sat together.  Headscarves were rare.

People came and went.  Some watched and focused, others chatted. Inattention didn’t seem to bother the musicians.  The respect given by sober-faced audiences to players in Western symphony orchestras was absent.   Kids ran around with balloons daubed with Disney cartoon images.  Fortunately popping deflated the alien intrusion.

Those who drifted away bought snacks from hawkers who’d driven up the mountain to cook, sell and tease. The bored chanced their luck on kletek, a crude board game involving balls rolling down a slope and into numbered slots.  Gambling is illegal in Indonesia but that didn’t seem to be a problem for the dozens of men clustered round the croupier.

While playing they could follow the plot broadcast through giant speakers. Any who wanted more checked a live video feed, though the connection was weak. 

Much stronger was the smell of cattle for Krisik’s 350 families make their money by selling raw milk to the Nestle multinational’s processing plant at Pasuruan on the north coast. Tankers collect daily. The animals are hand-fed in byres alongside homes, the cattlemen cutting and carting loads of grass on motorbikes.

Among this collision of real and imagined, old and new there are flies and mud, crumbling cobbled roads and plunging hillsides, lowing bovines and rattling motorbikes. The nearest basic hotel is 40 minutes distant, so accepting a wedding invite in this region is not for those who put comfort first.

But for the curious wanting to experience an ancient but still throbbing culture in the raw, and a glimpse into Java’s secret worlds – seek now.

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First published in Strategic Review, July 2020: http://sr.sgpp.ac.id/post/waving-an-old-art-into-daily-life

PLASTIC PUPPETS ARE RUBBISH

Staging a trash show     

                                                 

Most of the props look familiar:  A white sheet, a sun gun and a jaunty tale-teller whose sage features set the mood for an authentic shadowplay. 

Although the characters that jerk and spin their way across the screen resemble traditional wayang characters there are notable differences. The flat features and curly coiffures prompt recognition, though not the colors.

They are too gaudy; they lack finesse. Which suits the message and messenger just fine.  For there’s not a lot of understatement in Jumaali’s Trash Theater starring the All New Plastic Puppets of Marvellous Malang, though he prefers to call his knockabout show Dharmakandha. 

The ancient Hindu word has so many literal and metaphorical senses that scholars wrestle with the subtleties. Jumaali is more pragmatic; he translates it as ‘good news’.

Ki (the title is a respectful recognition of knowledge) Jumaali, 49, (above with son Damar) looks the part with white turban and black gear.  He graduated from Yogyakarta’s prestigious Institut Seni Indonesia (Indonesian Arts Institute) after studying theater.

He started experimenting with puppets more than 20 years ago using the standards – cowhide, goatskin and buffalo leather.  All have to be well cured and flexible enough to be cut, shaped, perforated, trimmed, colored and finished with a character.

“I live near a trash dump so there’s no shortage of raw materials,” he said.  (The latest published estimates claim Indonesians consume 15.7 billion liters of bottled water a year and sends millions of empties to landfill.)

 “The best animal skins needed for wayang kulit are getting expensive and hard to source.

“I got the idea for using plastics when thinking about the way we are treating the environment and wondered if we could use some of the throwaways differently.

“It took a lot of experiments before I learned how to squash the water bottles and keep them flat.  I stamped on them, sat on them and hammered them. Now I use a steam electric clothes iron protected from the plastic by paper to smooth them into shape. 

“I can make about 50 puppets from a kilo of discards. I then apply a semi transparent paint to add color.”

There’s nothing arty-crafty about his puppets which are known as bolak balik, meaning they can be shown on both sides – but also implying different interpretations. They still look like wrinkled plastic, moving parts hinged with rivets, the lot tarted up to fit a tradition. 

The music comes from a tambourine.  Dalang (puppet masters) have to be multi-talented – flicking and flying the marionettes, telling the story with verve, sometimes singing and enhancing the mood with sound effects.

When he’s not behind the screen he’s in front declaiming verse in the bluster style now favored in cafes where poets cluster.

Jumaali’s stories include anecdotes about caring for nature and puzzling over lifestyles and religion.  He wonders why God didn’t instruct animals to fast like human beings.  In one scene the white sheet is filled by an image of a multi-hued blossomy tree, a delight to the eye. 

Enter an axeman.  The tree falls and vanishes. The feller flees. The screen is empty.   No doctorate in conservation required to get the point.

“I give performances everywhere, from foreign embassies in Jakarta to poor schools in the country,” he said. “I think what I do is unique.

“My tales are about our responsibility to nature and maintaining cleanliness, to cooperate and communicates, to be polite and helpful.  I hand out the puppets and let the kids play with them.  They are not precious and almost sacred objects like traditional leather puppets so can take rough treatment.

“With students I get them to name characters, develop stories and make their own wayang kulit, to develop their imagination.  I want to keep art accessible to grassroots people. 

“Wayang kulit performances in Yogyakarta are getting elitist, almost feudal. I can’t draw so I had to look for other ways to express myself.”

Jumaali was raised in Malang where his father and other relatives were involved in teaching silat and believes his move into theater was a reaction against the martial arts, though he stresses he was never hurt when his Dad practised.

Jumaali has a crafty family.  His teenage son Damar tags along to events involving children and is now playing with characters made from cardboard.  His wife Ariyani Pratiwi makes handicrafts from trash.

“We are now in an era where brands are almost sacred and halal (checked for religious purity). Names have become more important than the product and the purpose for which it was designed,” he said.

“That’s something I don’t like so I want to help them expand their creativity.  I don’t want to be a lecturer. I say: ‘Please be happy with what you have and not be greedy. Make your own entertainment.’”

 (Breakout)

Out of the shadows

Wayang probably came from India with Hinduism 19 centuries ago, but developed its own style and character, adding new figures and stories.

Originally performed in the royal courts of Java and Bali the puppets soon clambered over palace walls and into the lives of ordinary folk as a popular pastime.  Other islands in the archipelago found wayang appealing so picked up the skills and added new versions.

Jumaali’s puppets may be dismissed by purists but his innovations are faithful to a tradition of adaptation; had the art remained statistic it would not have survived.

In the days before radio and TV wayang performances were a popular means of spreading news and criticising authority in an oblique way to avoid censorship.  The shows often lasted all night – they now run for an hour or less depending on the audience.

In 2008 UNESCO added wayang kulit to the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, putting the onus on the Indonesian government to ensure the art survives.

(First published in The Jakarta Post 14 July 2017)

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