Lourdes in East Java © Duncan Graham 2007
Last July a mob of Muslim radicals reportedly forced the cancellation of an international religious gathering at the Karmel Valley Catholic retreat in West Java.
There’s a similar retreat in East Java based in a Muslim area. But in this case inter-faith relationships are said to be good. Duncan Graham reports:
…………….
There are about 6,000 households in the village of Puhsarang on the slopes of Mount Klotak. Around 20 per cent are Catholic and another five per cent Protestant. That's a significant number because nationally Muslims are supposed to form almost 90 per cent of the population.
Worshipers who go to the monthly midnight services held on the eve of hari jumat legi (Friday in the Javanese calendar), certainly aren’t short of prayer room, though hundreds of outsiders normally pour into the area. At Easter 17,000 people turned up – many staying overnight in the hotels and guesthouses that cater for the influx. There's also a camping ground.
For Puhsarang is a Catholic sacred place with 14 hectares of statuary, chapels, a grotto of Our Lady, graveyards, a cave, water gushing from a rock, a columbarium and a mausoleum - the only one in East Java.
Here the bones of bishops and many priests lie close to the ashes of people who have chosen to be cremated and remembered in this lovely place.
Sounds a bit like Lourdes, the town in the French Pyrenees where five million pilgrims come every year seeking cures? You're not wrong. Much has been done to replicate that famous attraction, including several sets of paintings donated by the French.
Puhsarang has yet to produce a Bernadette Soubirous. She was the teenager who claimed to have been visited by the Virgin Mary several times in the mid 19th century and turned Lourdes from a place of no importance to a center of faith and healing. (The sesquicentenary is next year.)
Puhsarang may not have a visionary, but it does have what the locals call ‘holy water’. Like Moses you can smite a rock wall alongside the grotto, and out it gushes.
The cautious and concerned who know that to keep your stomach intact you don't drink from taps or springs in Indonesia may be wary of sipping. Fear not – it's already been sterilized by ultra-violet light. Faith is fine, but in matters of hygiene even the devout trust in technology.
Local religious teacher Maria Magdalena Kasri Evayanti said the pilgrims came from many parts of the archipelago and were mainly ascetics seeking a spiritual experience.
"We follow the Javanese calendar because this fits in with the Catholic tradition," she said. "Though no miracles have been officially authenticated, many people say they've been cured of sickness after using the water."
Inevitably Puhsarang has become a tourist spot, and the deputy head of security Jacobus Sugeng knows immediately the religion of visitors without even asking – not that he makes such personal inquiries.
"Muslims come to picnic and enjoy the surroundings," he said. "They pay no attention to anything else. The Protestants look at some of the holy objects though not too seriously.
"Only Catholics show reverence, take bottles of water, pray in public and know which way to follow the Stations of the Cross."
These are 15 sets of gold-colored statues on a long walk through the landscaped gardens showing the traditional story of Jesus' progress from condemnation through crucifixion to ascension. Curiously it's the final empty cave with no statues that has most emotional impact, not the figures in frozen poses at the other 14 locations.
Each figure cost Rp 5 million (US $560) and the artists were all Muslim, according to Jacobus. Five of his 16 staff are Muslims and Muslims run many of the food and souvenir stalls that line the walkway into the complex.
So don't assume because someone is offering you a plaster saint or an illuminated missal he or she is an adherent to the Church of Rome.
There's been plenty of strife between Christians and Muslims in South Sulawesi, Ambon - and more recently in West Java. But Puhsarang has escaped sectarian violence – probably because it's open to all faiths and supports so many non-Catholic households.
Puhsarang is promoted by East Java tourist authorities who are particularly proud of what they call the antik church. Although this translates as antique it can also mean eccentric. This is more accurate because the building is only 70 years old and was extensively rebuilt in 1999 in a most curious and imaginative style.
If you're not a Catholic and find much religious art to be kitsch you may be put off from a visit to Puhsarang. That would be a mistake because the architecture and engineering of the church and adjacent buildings are well worth the trip.
For the huge roofs are unsupported by multiple uprights, beams, bearers or cross members. Instead at each corner are big steel pillars leaning back to take the weight of tonnes of terracotta tiles.
They do this through thin steel rods that replace wooden slats, the standard way to carry the weight of tiles – two to a kilogram. The design is known as wireframe, and it's impressive.
The rods sag between supports giving the roof a dished appearance, as though the whole structure is about to cave in. This is supposed to resemble the style of the Majapahit era, the Javanese kingdom that ruled this area 700 years earlier.
Some of the terracotta tiles have been replaced with glass in the shape of a cross, creating a powerful image using natural light. Elsewhere the walls and pathways have been made of river-rolled stones. A bit uncomfortable underfoot – so wear stout shoes.
(Puhsarang is about two and a half road-hours southwest of Surabaya. The route is far from the Lapindo mud volcano. To book accommodation e-mail
lkd-ris@indo.net.id)
(First published in The Jakarta Post 7 September 07)
##
FAITH IN INDONESIA
The shape of the world a generation from now will be influenced far more by how we communicate the values of our society to others than by military or diplomatic superiority. William Fulbright, 1964
Friday, September 07, 2007
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
INDONESIANS IN PERTH
GENERATION CARE – LONGING TO LEAVE? © 2007 Duncan Graham
If concern for the nation, a passion to right the wrongs and intelligence are all that’s needed to reform Indonesia, then the Republic can look ahead to a glorious future.
Though only if the young idealists erupting with enthusiasm to create what they call a ‘New Indonesia’ get the chance to apply their vision and realize their hopes. To do that they have to go home.
Returning is something a group of young Indonesians who are working and studying in Perth, Western Australia (WA) talk about a lot. There are the superficial longings – for a warmer climate and rice that tastes the way Mum cooked it – and the more emotional concerns of family reunion.
But overriding nostalgia is worthwhile, well-rewarded work in their chosen field that will provide long-term security. And that’s hard to find in Indonesia.
Badai Fatturrochman, 21, an accounting and finance student would love to return to professional soccer, but reckons he couldn’t score more than Rp 5 million (US $550) a month; he thinks four times that amount would be a fair wage, but knows he’s kicking uphill and against the wind.
James Martin, 26, who despite his name and appearance is an Indonesian Muslim with Arab and Jewish forebears, and his wife Nuraini Kusuma Wardani, 28, understandingly want their firstborn (currently domiciled in Nuraini’s womb), to have a decent chance in life.
So they’re hanging on in Australia hoping to get permanent resident (PR) status so their child will be able to have access to career, lifestyle and other opportunities beyond the archipelago. Nuraini, who has studied hospitality, works as a chef.
Not that James has lacked chances. He got a scholarship to study in Australia, has been in the country six years and will stay till maybe the end of the decade. Although he’s studied economics he works as a waiter for AUD $13 (Rp 100,000) an hour, the sort of money he can’t imagine getting in Jakarta, even as a hot number-cruncher wearing a tie.
“I’d love to go home, but my parents want me to stay,” he said. His military father was determined his son would get a good education – and the insurance of PR should chaos erupt again and the firebrands take to the streets. Perth, a calm and wealthy city is little more than three hours flying time from Denpasar and a popular bolthole.
“I want to help my country,” James said. “I want to know why we have been left behind by countries like Malaysia and Singapore. Why can’t we get ahead? We have the natural resources and the people.
“We need to create better infrastructure, to clean up the country, the get rid of corruption. And we need Australian investment.”
And to this end he and other young Indonesians in Perth are working to help make their country’s presence at the Perth Royal Show in September a stand-out success.
This year the annual week-long showcase of farming and industry, a major event in the WA capital, has invited Indonesia to be the guest nation. Rommy Begenk, who produces a high-quality Indonesian-language giveaway tabloid for the 8,000 Indonesians in Perth and their Aussie friends called Voice of Indonesia, has designed the poster.
Other promotions are being planned to show that the tropical archipelago is really a welcoming wonderland of diversity and charm, not terror central.
In June they ran a concert called Care for Indonesia in the Perth Concert Hall starring, among other pop idols, Glenn Fredly and Dewi Sandra. This was to “create awareness of Indonesia” and raise funds for a mobile library for the poor.
Rommy also says he wants to rush back to the Big Durian and build his design business, but first needs to amass some hard cash. Like others he denied having been seduced by the Australian lifestyle – but having an Australian girlfriend is another reason not to jump the next Boeing heading north.
Jessisca, 19, from Papua is unusual and not because she comes from an outlying province. She’s studying maths and science at the University of WA; business, accountancy and economics are the favored faculties for Indonesians abroad.
She went to school in Singapore and has ambitions of working in New York. But she’s also much taken with Australia because she likes the way that people are treated with respect, “even taxi drivers, bus drivers and teachers.” The downside for this young Christian is the amount of swearing she hears.
“The critical question for all of us is this: How do we survive,” she said. “It’s the financial situation. In Indonesia the chance of getting a good job is remote unless you have the right contacts. But here there are so many opportunities.”
Indeed. WA is leading the Australian mining boom and the only thing in short supply is labor. In Indonesia you scrabble for work; in WA bosses scrabble for workers.
Accountancy graduate Anwar Helmy, 28, can’t get a job in sensitive areas of the Australian economy where citizenship is required, so is working as a book-keeper. Unlike his friends he’s not so upbeat about the future of his country.
His wife Fency Sjafei, 25, who has an Australian master’s degree in information technology, works with the national telco Telstra on data processing. She also spends time as a volunteer on a local Indonesian language radio program.
“If the right conditions existed we’d really go back,” said Fency. “We feel so emotionally attached to our homeland.” But when will those conditions become apparent?
“That’s the really tough question,” said Anwar. “Our friends in Jakarta say the job situation doesn’t look good, even for people like us. We’re not alone with overseas qualifications; there are thousands more coming in all the time from Britain and the US.”
So here’s another dilemma for these golden lads and lasses; they want Indonesia to introduce transparency and fairness in government and business, but know the best way to get a job is through nepotism.
Fency is also expecting and discussing what language they should use at the home they’re buying when their bi-cultural bub is born. At the moment it’s Indonesian inside the house, English outside – though ready to seep in under the eaves like dust and smother the mother tongue.
Complaints? Nothing worth writing home about. They mix with Aussies, but tend to stick together “because that’s out culture of togetherness.” They hear of racism but say they’ve had no personal encounters, though are distressed at perceived growing public hostility to Islam. They say they haven’t encountered the evil and debauched West of popular mythology.
Any other messages for the folks back home, particularly the old fellows who run the show? “Give the young generation a chance to build our country,” said the effervescent James who doesn’t blush when his wife says that he’d really like to be a future president. “Give us the space, give us the respect. We can do it.”
So while they wait for the economy to bloom back home – and without their help - the roots sink deeper, anchoring them to the ochre-rocks Down Under: Jobs, money and possessions, proper salaries and decent working conditions, cars, Aussie-born babes, friends, romance - even mortgages.
How long before gum trees smell sweeter than mangoes and the dreams of helping the homeland frizzle in the Antipodean sun?
##
(First published in The Weekender (JP) September 2007)
If concern for the nation, a passion to right the wrongs and intelligence are all that’s needed to reform Indonesia, then the Republic can look ahead to a glorious future.
Though only if the young idealists erupting with enthusiasm to create what they call a ‘New Indonesia’ get the chance to apply their vision and realize their hopes. To do that they have to go home.
Returning is something a group of young Indonesians who are working and studying in Perth, Western Australia (WA) talk about a lot. There are the superficial longings – for a warmer climate and rice that tastes the way Mum cooked it – and the more emotional concerns of family reunion.
But overriding nostalgia is worthwhile, well-rewarded work in their chosen field that will provide long-term security. And that’s hard to find in Indonesia.
Badai Fatturrochman, 21, an accounting and finance student would love to return to professional soccer, but reckons he couldn’t score more than Rp 5 million (US $550) a month; he thinks four times that amount would be a fair wage, but knows he’s kicking uphill and against the wind.
James Martin, 26, who despite his name and appearance is an Indonesian Muslim with Arab and Jewish forebears, and his wife Nuraini Kusuma Wardani, 28, understandingly want their firstborn (currently domiciled in Nuraini’s womb), to have a decent chance in life.
So they’re hanging on in Australia hoping to get permanent resident (PR) status so their child will be able to have access to career, lifestyle and other opportunities beyond the archipelago. Nuraini, who has studied hospitality, works as a chef.
Not that James has lacked chances. He got a scholarship to study in Australia, has been in the country six years and will stay till maybe the end of the decade. Although he’s studied economics he works as a waiter for AUD $13 (Rp 100,000) an hour, the sort of money he can’t imagine getting in Jakarta, even as a hot number-cruncher wearing a tie.
“I’d love to go home, but my parents want me to stay,” he said. His military father was determined his son would get a good education – and the insurance of PR should chaos erupt again and the firebrands take to the streets. Perth, a calm and wealthy city is little more than three hours flying time from Denpasar and a popular bolthole.
“I want to help my country,” James said. “I want to know why we have been left behind by countries like Malaysia and Singapore. Why can’t we get ahead? We have the natural resources and the people.
“We need to create better infrastructure, to clean up the country, the get rid of corruption. And we need Australian investment.”
And to this end he and other young Indonesians in Perth are working to help make their country’s presence at the Perth Royal Show in September a stand-out success.
This year the annual week-long showcase of farming and industry, a major event in the WA capital, has invited Indonesia to be the guest nation. Rommy Begenk, who produces a high-quality Indonesian-language giveaway tabloid for the 8,000 Indonesians in Perth and their Aussie friends called Voice of Indonesia, has designed the poster.
Other promotions are being planned to show that the tropical archipelago is really a welcoming wonderland of diversity and charm, not terror central.
In June they ran a concert called Care for Indonesia in the Perth Concert Hall starring, among other pop idols, Glenn Fredly and Dewi Sandra. This was to “create awareness of Indonesia” and raise funds for a mobile library for the poor.
Rommy also says he wants to rush back to the Big Durian and build his design business, but first needs to amass some hard cash. Like others he denied having been seduced by the Australian lifestyle – but having an Australian girlfriend is another reason not to jump the next Boeing heading north.
Jessisca, 19, from Papua is unusual and not because she comes from an outlying province. She’s studying maths and science at the University of WA; business, accountancy and economics are the favored faculties for Indonesians abroad.
She went to school in Singapore and has ambitions of working in New York. But she’s also much taken with Australia because she likes the way that people are treated with respect, “even taxi drivers, bus drivers and teachers.” The downside for this young Christian is the amount of swearing she hears.
“The critical question for all of us is this: How do we survive,” she said. “It’s the financial situation. In Indonesia the chance of getting a good job is remote unless you have the right contacts. But here there are so many opportunities.”
Indeed. WA is leading the Australian mining boom and the only thing in short supply is labor. In Indonesia you scrabble for work; in WA bosses scrabble for workers.
Accountancy graduate Anwar Helmy, 28, can’t get a job in sensitive areas of the Australian economy where citizenship is required, so is working as a book-keeper. Unlike his friends he’s not so upbeat about the future of his country.
His wife Fency Sjafei, 25, who has an Australian master’s degree in information technology, works with the national telco Telstra on data processing. She also spends time as a volunteer on a local Indonesian language radio program.
“If the right conditions existed we’d really go back,” said Fency. “We feel so emotionally attached to our homeland.” But when will those conditions become apparent?
“That’s the really tough question,” said Anwar. “Our friends in Jakarta say the job situation doesn’t look good, even for people like us. We’re not alone with overseas qualifications; there are thousands more coming in all the time from Britain and the US.”
So here’s another dilemma for these golden lads and lasses; they want Indonesia to introduce transparency and fairness in government and business, but know the best way to get a job is through nepotism.
Fency is also expecting and discussing what language they should use at the home they’re buying when their bi-cultural bub is born. At the moment it’s Indonesian inside the house, English outside – though ready to seep in under the eaves like dust and smother the mother tongue.
Complaints? Nothing worth writing home about. They mix with Aussies, but tend to stick together “because that’s out culture of togetherness.” They hear of racism but say they’ve had no personal encounters, though are distressed at perceived growing public hostility to Islam. They say they haven’t encountered the evil and debauched West of popular mythology.
Any other messages for the folks back home, particularly the old fellows who run the show? “Give the young generation a chance to build our country,” said the effervescent James who doesn’t blush when his wife says that he’d really like to be a future president. “Give us the space, give us the respect. We can do it.”
So while they wait for the economy to bloom back home – and without their help - the roots sink deeper, anchoring them to the ochre-rocks Down Under: Jobs, money and possessions, proper salaries and decent working conditions, cars, Aussie-born babes, friends, romance - even mortgages.
How long before gum trees smell sweeter than mangoes and the dreams of helping the homeland frizzle in the Antipodean sun?
##
(First published in The Weekender (JP) September 2007)
Monday, September 03, 2007
POT PROTEST IN EAST JAVA
REACHING FOR THE STARS WITH FEET OF CLAY © Duncan Graham 2007
Few who've climbed to the top of the pile remember their origins. Once fame and fortune arrive it's farewell to their lowly past, according to East Java potter Ponimin.
"The grassroots people get crushed by the political and social system," he said. "Most aren't smart enough. They get tricked by those who are more ambitious.
"The poor also want to succeed, to have materialist goods, but they get trampled. The few who do reach the summit discover it's an illusion and what they hoped to find isn't there. They like to claim they're clever and strong, but in fact they're just victims of the social environment."
But how to express such ideas? Ponimin is an easy-going man who laughs a lot and talks more, particularly about art. You won't find him wearing a headband and shouting into a megaphone at a street protest – though his passions may be just as strong.
He doesn't have a good way with words, – particularly when trying to reach foreigners as he's discovered when lecturing overseas. His skills are in his hands where the language of clay crosses all barriers.
He was chosen as the only Indonesian artist to be represented at the third Asna Clay Triennial held by the Arts Council of Pakistan late last year. His work – according to local press reports – 'mesmerized' visitors and was the center of attraction, competing with sculptures and artifacts from nine other countries.
Reach of No Hope is the artist's title for his work, a large installation that needs plenty of space. It shows dozens of small plump figures clawing their way up ropes and ladders on a pyramid made of sticks.
It's a work that's gone through several changes. Earlier versions shown in Surabaya were titled Climbing on Empty Expectation Stairs.
The structure can be seen in many ways. The symbol of the pyramid is widely used in graphic representations of society – a few at the top and many at the bottom.
It also looks like a scaffold, an instrument of torture.
Those who get to the top crawl like flies across the ceiling, unable to go further. Others tumble to the floor. Some are shattered. It's a metaphor that transcends cultures. The extra quality is the expression on the faces of the figurines.
For the little people are cherubic, jolly wee terracotta urchins, nothing like the grotesque and greedy caricatures normally used to represent the avaricious and ambitious. This is no allegorical work, so the observer is bemused.
"I think their behavior is funny, that's why I make them look happy," he said. "I'm disgusted by the actions of our politicians and leaders since Reformation – but what can we do? We're powerless. As Javanese we tend to accept the situation. So maybe it's better just to laugh."
Ponimin's work has already been shown in Bangladesh and Japan, supported by the Indonesian government through the department of tourism. He hopes that next year it will be displayed in India.
Being an artist with a message is difficult in Indonesia where there are few arts grants. Ponimin, 40, originally from Jombang in East Java, studied at the school of fine arts in Yogya where he worked in most media but eventually settled with clay.
A grandfather had been a potter making kitchenware, but the old man died before young Ponimin could learn the techniques, so he came late to clay.
Jombang is in the heart of terracotta country. The mighty Majapahit Empire flourished 700 years ago in the fertile lowlands fed by the Brantas River. The land was so rich that life wasn't one long struggle to survive.
There was time to develop culture, fight wars, expand trade and create art. The dark riverbank clays were so easy to handle that the people used them to make bricks, tiles, pottery and figurines. Surviving examples give the best clues to how the people of that era lived.
Ponimin loves the local clays' plasticity and the way they hold their shape. They contain little grit. He doesn't have a wheel, preferring the coil system where cords of rolled clay are built into shape using the fingers to smooth and pinch.
"This allows for more creativity," he said. "A wheel makes for uniformity."
Although his studio in the hillltown of Batu looks like a production line with scores of black figures drying in the sun and waiting to be fired in an open oven, every piece is individual.
This is the work he has to do to keep the rupiah flowing. "It's my industrial art," he explained. "Only when I've done enough can I get involved in my fine art. I want to extend the images and ideas that I've been showing overseas but there are no sponsors for this sort of work."
However there have been plenty willing to pay serious money to Ponimin provided he follows their designs, not his.
The clients are housing developers and recreation park investors whose ideas of art come not from the ancient culture that they've inherited and which surrounds them, but from European history books.
Ponimin has had to make statues of dinosaurs, Roman gladiators, Egyptian pharaohs, chariots, figures from Greek mythology, armless Venus de Milo look-alikes, unlimited galloping stallions and even the Sydney Opera House.
These are used to give 'quality' to the tropical urban landscape. Don't worry about the potholes and open drains; a fine figure in a toga nursing a cornucopia keeps the mind off the mundane.
Or maybe they're just a sly way to put statues of semi-clothed maidens around gateways and on median strips. If they featured bare-breasted Javanese virgins there might be an outcry from self-appointed moral guardians, while anything that looks Caucasian and classical is acceptable.
Ponimin is aware of the incongruities and tries to fight them. He teaches art at the Malang State University and pushes his students to look at the local culture and landscape for inspiration.
But they also know what sells. So in the shadow of Mount Kawi, a mountain rich in magic, they're busy molding sway-back Balinese beauties with mask faces, just big enough to fit into a traveler's bag.
"I never think about selling my fine art," Ponimin said. "This what I want to do to express myself. I plan a new installation that reverses the pyramid and has grains of rice trickling down to the people who suffer from all the weight above them."
No doubt they'll still look like happy hobgoblins rather than the gaunt downtrodden masses that normally feature in the art of social protest.
(First published in The Weekender magazine (JP), September 2007)
##
Few who've climbed to the top of the pile remember their origins. Once fame and fortune arrive it's farewell to their lowly past, according to East Java potter Ponimin.
"The grassroots people get crushed by the political and social system," he said. "Most aren't smart enough. They get tricked by those who are more ambitious.
"The poor also want to succeed, to have materialist goods, but they get trampled. The few who do reach the summit discover it's an illusion and what they hoped to find isn't there. They like to claim they're clever and strong, but in fact they're just victims of the social environment."
But how to express such ideas? Ponimin is an easy-going man who laughs a lot and talks more, particularly about art. You won't find him wearing a headband and shouting into a megaphone at a street protest – though his passions may be just as strong.
He doesn't have a good way with words, – particularly when trying to reach foreigners as he's discovered when lecturing overseas. His skills are in his hands where the language of clay crosses all barriers.
He was chosen as the only Indonesian artist to be represented at the third Asna Clay Triennial held by the Arts Council of Pakistan late last year. His work – according to local press reports – 'mesmerized' visitors and was the center of attraction, competing with sculptures and artifacts from nine other countries.
Reach of No Hope is the artist's title for his work, a large installation that needs plenty of space. It shows dozens of small plump figures clawing their way up ropes and ladders on a pyramid made of sticks.
It's a work that's gone through several changes. Earlier versions shown in Surabaya were titled Climbing on Empty Expectation Stairs.
The structure can be seen in many ways. The symbol of the pyramid is widely used in graphic representations of society – a few at the top and many at the bottom.
It also looks like a scaffold, an instrument of torture.
Those who get to the top crawl like flies across the ceiling, unable to go further. Others tumble to the floor. Some are shattered. It's a metaphor that transcends cultures. The extra quality is the expression on the faces of the figurines.
For the little people are cherubic, jolly wee terracotta urchins, nothing like the grotesque and greedy caricatures normally used to represent the avaricious and ambitious. This is no allegorical work, so the observer is bemused.
"I think their behavior is funny, that's why I make them look happy," he said. "I'm disgusted by the actions of our politicians and leaders since Reformation – but what can we do? We're powerless. As Javanese we tend to accept the situation. So maybe it's better just to laugh."
Ponimin's work has already been shown in Bangladesh and Japan, supported by the Indonesian government through the department of tourism. He hopes that next year it will be displayed in India.
Being an artist with a message is difficult in Indonesia where there are few arts grants. Ponimin, 40, originally from Jombang in East Java, studied at the school of fine arts in Yogya where he worked in most media but eventually settled with clay.
A grandfather had been a potter making kitchenware, but the old man died before young Ponimin could learn the techniques, so he came late to clay.
Jombang is in the heart of terracotta country. The mighty Majapahit Empire flourished 700 years ago in the fertile lowlands fed by the Brantas River. The land was so rich that life wasn't one long struggle to survive.
There was time to develop culture, fight wars, expand trade and create art. The dark riverbank clays were so easy to handle that the people used them to make bricks, tiles, pottery and figurines. Surviving examples give the best clues to how the people of that era lived.
Ponimin loves the local clays' plasticity and the way they hold their shape. They contain little grit. He doesn't have a wheel, preferring the coil system where cords of rolled clay are built into shape using the fingers to smooth and pinch.
"This allows for more creativity," he said. "A wheel makes for uniformity."
Although his studio in the hillltown of Batu looks like a production line with scores of black figures drying in the sun and waiting to be fired in an open oven, every piece is individual.
This is the work he has to do to keep the rupiah flowing. "It's my industrial art," he explained. "Only when I've done enough can I get involved in my fine art. I want to extend the images and ideas that I've been showing overseas but there are no sponsors for this sort of work."
However there have been plenty willing to pay serious money to Ponimin provided he follows their designs, not his.
The clients are housing developers and recreation park investors whose ideas of art come not from the ancient culture that they've inherited and which surrounds them, but from European history books.
Ponimin has had to make statues of dinosaurs, Roman gladiators, Egyptian pharaohs, chariots, figures from Greek mythology, armless Venus de Milo look-alikes, unlimited galloping stallions and even the Sydney Opera House.
These are used to give 'quality' to the tropical urban landscape. Don't worry about the potholes and open drains; a fine figure in a toga nursing a cornucopia keeps the mind off the mundane.
Or maybe they're just a sly way to put statues of semi-clothed maidens around gateways and on median strips. If they featured bare-breasted Javanese virgins there might be an outcry from self-appointed moral guardians, while anything that looks Caucasian and classical is acceptable.
Ponimin is aware of the incongruities and tries to fight them. He teaches art at the Malang State University and pushes his students to look at the local culture and landscape for inspiration.
But they also know what sells. So in the shadow of Mount Kawi, a mountain rich in magic, they're busy molding sway-back Balinese beauties with mask faces, just big enough to fit into a traveler's bag.
"I never think about selling my fine art," Ponimin said. "This what I want to do to express myself. I plan a new installation that reverses the pyramid and has grains of rice trickling down to the people who suffer from all the weight above them."
No doubt they'll still look like happy hobgoblins rather than the gaunt downtrodden masses that normally feature in the art of social protest.
(First published in The Weekender magazine (JP), September 2007)
##
PARAGLIDING IN EAST JAVA
ON A WING AND A PRAYER © 2007 Duncan Graham
For Malang lawyer Sunu Setyonugroho, who has a deep and irrational fear of heights, there’s only one cure. He goes halfway up Mount Banyak at Songgoriti, Batu, East Java. He stands 1,300 meters above sea level, quivering on the edge of a sheer drop, far above a lovely patchwork landscape of tilled fields and ochre-roofed hamlets.
Then he runs and jumps.
Don’t try this unless you’re attached to a filigree of hair-thin cables connected to an airfoil, a long billowing pillow of polyester called a wing. It’s also useful to have a good understanding of air currents, weather patterns, thermals and cold fronts.
Useful? Wrong word. Essential? Absolutely.
Then you can just sit back in your harness on Cloud Nine for an hour or more, salivate over the view and contemplate the majesty of the universe as you pity the ant-people busy hundreds of metres below. The only noise is the air slipping through the wing that you can steer with a gentle tug on the cables.
Eventually we all have to come down to earth. If you’re really skilled and don’t get caught by a sudden gust, you can glide precisely into the center of a ten-meter diameter circle at the landing field. If you’re not then you can vanish into a patch of high-stalk corn or tumble into an irrigation ditch.
Only a couple of contestants at the Batu Open Paragliding international event staged in late July came a cropper. These mishaps garnered giggles, though no one sought the farmers’ opinions.
Most pilots, like the Malaysian team of five – including two women for this is a unisex sport - managed to get impressively close to the target. They neatly dodged the onlookers who cluttered the field, indifferent to the possibility of getting a head kicking by a pilot coming in too fast.
Although the paragliders seem serious about safety, wearing all the right protective gear so they look like First World War bi-plane fighter pilots, it’s the adrenalin rush that keeps the contestants coming.
Retired Malaysian commando Basit Bin Abdul Rahman, 56, can no longer get his kicks from a Kalashnikov so he wanders the world looking for the best launch spots.
“Peninsular Malaysia is too flat and there are too many trees in Sarawak,” he said. “I’ve paraglided in South Korea and Taiwan and at Lake Toba in Sumatra, but this site in Batu is very good.
“If you’re not careful paragliding can be dangerous. But if you’re mentally and physically fit and know what you’re doing, then it gives great peace of mind. You can forget your problems up there.”
At 13 Nur S B Sahar seemed too young to have problems, but being a teenager has its own traumas. She also said paragliding helped her to get a better perspective on the world, both literally and metaphorically.
“I crashed once coming in to land and bruised my leg,” she said. “My parents support me, but worry and urge me to be careful. This is my third competition.”
Paragliding looks elite because you can spend around Rp 20 million (US $2,200) or more on the gear. Then come the training expenses, for this activity is well regulated; you can’t just fling yourself into the yonder unless you intend making an exit statement.
Radio contact with the support staff who control the field has to be maintained. It costs around Rp 200,000 (US $ 22) a session to fly tandem with an instructor. Allow ten days for training to a basic proficiency level.
In Batu the local government has been smart enough to realize the tourist potential of their topography. The 3,000 square meter landing field, the paved road to the jump site and a shelter have all been paid for by the city administration.
Like nature and vacuum, bureaucrats abhor silence. This led them to install a huge sound system at the event, blasting totally forgettable ‘music’ across the landscape. They couldn’t understand that paragliders are nature lovers seeking to be at one with the environment.
On the positive side, a dozen little lads had been trained to expertly fold the wings for Rp 1,000 (US $0.10) each, leaving contestants free to unzip, unwind and find their feet.
Although the winged ones from across the world who come to Mount Banyak are high fliers, that doesn’t mean they’re big spenders. At night they prefer to bunk-down in low budget hotels where they can swap yarns about up-draughts and down winds.
There’s a camaraderie about paragliding that brings disparate folk together. Like serious surfers they tend to be individualists, mostly professionals, in search of a special and exhilarating experience. They travel with a purpose and like to test themselves. When they’re really in their element, their souls also soar.
In the air they are all grace; on the ground with a 15-kilogram wing packed on their back they look like biped turtles. With a GPS (global positioning system) in their pocket they know where they are by latitude and longitude, rather than through political geography. Add a passport and credit card and the quest for freedom is underway.
Dwi Rubingi discovered paragliding in 1999 when he worked in New Zealand where extreme sports are popular. When he returned to East Java he had enough money to build a motel close to Mount Banyak, hoping paragliders will drop in.
“This is a great site because you can go out almost every day,” he said. “In NZ we could fly on only three months every year.
“Wind speeds are checked before taking off. If it gets stronger than 20 kilometers an hour you could find yourself going backwards.
“The best paragliders tend to be the French, though the Chinese are also very good. In places without high mountains paragliders add lightweight motor-driven propellers to their gear to the distress of the purists.
“The world record of covering 426 kilometers was achieved in South Africa. (The Indonesian straight distance record is 44.5 kilometers, set in Wonogiri, Central Java.) The sport is probably most developed in South Korea where much of the gear is now made using new high-tech materials.”
The 30-square meter crescent-shaped wings aren’t parachutes. On the leading edge is a honeycomb of cells that fill with air and provide the lift. Anything less than 20 kilometers an hour and you could stall, anything more than 60 and you’re really moving. The safest maximum height is 3,000 metres though going higher and faster is part of the game.
And finally, what about our vertigo-challenged lawyer who introduced this story? Sunu says he has no problems paragliding but still doesn’t like standing on the edge of high buildings. Well, not without his wing.
(For more information, including a club and site near you, check www.paragliding.web.id)
(First published in The SundayPost 2 Sepember 07)
For Malang lawyer Sunu Setyonugroho, who has a deep and irrational fear of heights, there’s only one cure. He goes halfway up Mount Banyak at Songgoriti, Batu, East Java. He stands 1,300 meters above sea level, quivering on the edge of a sheer drop, far above a lovely patchwork landscape of tilled fields and ochre-roofed hamlets.
Then he runs and jumps.
Don’t try this unless you’re attached to a filigree of hair-thin cables connected to an airfoil, a long billowing pillow of polyester called a wing. It’s also useful to have a good understanding of air currents, weather patterns, thermals and cold fronts.
Useful? Wrong word. Essential? Absolutely.
Then you can just sit back in your harness on Cloud Nine for an hour or more, salivate over the view and contemplate the majesty of the universe as you pity the ant-people busy hundreds of metres below. The only noise is the air slipping through the wing that you can steer with a gentle tug on the cables.
Eventually we all have to come down to earth. If you’re really skilled and don’t get caught by a sudden gust, you can glide precisely into the center of a ten-meter diameter circle at the landing field. If you’re not then you can vanish into a patch of high-stalk corn or tumble into an irrigation ditch.
Only a couple of contestants at the Batu Open Paragliding international event staged in late July came a cropper. These mishaps garnered giggles, though no one sought the farmers’ opinions.
Most pilots, like the Malaysian team of five – including two women for this is a unisex sport - managed to get impressively close to the target. They neatly dodged the onlookers who cluttered the field, indifferent to the possibility of getting a head kicking by a pilot coming in too fast.
Although the paragliders seem serious about safety, wearing all the right protective gear so they look like First World War bi-plane fighter pilots, it’s the adrenalin rush that keeps the contestants coming.
Retired Malaysian commando Basit Bin Abdul Rahman, 56, can no longer get his kicks from a Kalashnikov so he wanders the world looking for the best launch spots.
“Peninsular Malaysia is too flat and there are too many trees in Sarawak,” he said. “I’ve paraglided in South Korea and Taiwan and at Lake Toba in Sumatra, but this site in Batu is very good.
“If you’re not careful paragliding can be dangerous. But if you’re mentally and physically fit and know what you’re doing, then it gives great peace of mind. You can forget your problems up there.”
At 13 Nur S B Sahar seemed too young to have problems, but being a teenager has its own traumas. She also said paragliding helped her to get a better perspective on the world, both literally and metaphorically.
“I crashed once coming in to land and bruised my leg,” she said. “My parents support me, but worry and urge me to be careful. This is my third competition.”
Paragliding looks elite because you can spend around Rp 20 million (US $2,200) or more on the gear. Then come the training expenses, for this activity is well regulated; you can’t just fling yourself into the yonder unless you intend making an exit statement.
Radio contact with the support staff who control the field has to be maintained. It costs around Rp 200,000 (US $ 22) a session to fly tandem with an instructor. Allow ten days for training to a basic proficiency level.
In Batu the local government has been smart enough to realize the tourist potential of their topography. The 3,000 square meter landing field, the paved road to the jump site and a shelter have all been paid for by the city administration.
Like nature and vacuum, bureaucrats abhor silence. This led them to install a huge sound system at the event, blasting totally forgettable ‘music’ across the landscape. They couldn’t understand that paragliders are nature lovers seeking to be at one with the environment.
On the positive side, a dozen little lads had been trained to expertly fold the wings for Rp 1,000 (US $0.10) each, leaving contestants free to unzip, unwind and find their feet.
Although the winged ones from across the world who come to Mount Banyak are high fliers, that doesn’t mean they’re big spenders. At night they prefer to bunk-down in low budget hotels where they can swap yarns about up-draughts and down winds.
There’s a camaraderie about paragliding that brings disparate folk together. Like serious surfers they tend to be individualists, mostly professionals, in search of a special and exhilarating experience. They travel with a purpose and like to test themselves. When they’re really in their element, their souls also soar.
In the air they are all grace; on the ground with a 15-kilogram wing packed on their back they look like biped turtles. With a GPS (global positioning system) in their pocket they know where they are by latitude and longitude, rather than through political geography. Add a passport and credit card and the quest for freedom is underway.
Dwi Rubingi discovered paragliding in 1999 when he worked in New Zealand where extreme sports are popular. When he returned to East Java he had enough money to build a motel close to Mount Banyak, hoping paragliders will drop in.
“This is a great site because you can go out almost every day,” he said. “In NZ we could fly on only three months every year.
“Wind speeds are checked before taking off. If it gets stronger than 20 kilometers an hour you could find yourself going backwards.
“The best paragliders tend to be the French, though the Chinese are also very good. In places without high mountains paragliders add lightweight motor-driven propellers to their gear to the distress of the purists.
“The world record of covering 426 kilometers was achieved in South Africa. (The Indonesian straight distance record is 44.5 kilometers, set in Wonogiri, Central Java.) The sport is probably most developed in South Korea where much of the gear is now made using new high-tech materials.”
The 30-square meter crescent-shaped wings aren’t parachutes. On the leading edge is a honeycomb of cells that fill with air and provide the lift. Anything less than 20 kilometers an hour and you could stall, anything more than 60 and you’re really moving. The safest maximum height is 3,000 metres though going higher and faster is part of the game.
And finally, what about our vertigo-challenged lawyer who introduced this story? Sunu says he has no problems paragliding but still doesn’t like standing on the edge of high buildings. Well, not without his wing.
(For more information, including a club and site near you, check www.paragliding.web.id)
(First published in The SundayPost 2 Sepember 07)
FARMING FISH IN EAST JAVA
AQUACULTURE PROBLEMS AND POSSIBILITIES © Duncan Graham 2007
This is a cautionary tale about the dangers of literal translation and imposing Western cultural values on Indonesia. It's also a story about the hazards of aquaculture.
Almost a century ago administrators of the then Dutch East Indies established a complex of 44 big concrete tanks in the village of Punten (near the central East Java town of Batu), to be used for breeding fish.
The colonials chose the site well and built soundly because the hatchery is still operating, now under the control of the East Java provincial government. It's claimed to be the only government-run fish farm producing larvae and fingerlings for farmers in Indonesia
Thousands of big colorful fish splash through the constantly running water. They're ikan mas, said hatchery director Dewi Nur Setyorini. This translates as goldfish, and that sounded right, though many looked far too big to fit into a round bowl on the drawing room dresser.
These aren't just for decoration, they're also for eating, she explained.
Westerners with closed palates and minds find many kitchen practices in the archipelago strange, and some repulsive. The delight in dog-meat shown by people in North Sulawesi is particularly abhorrent for those who think eating man's best friend is on a par with cannibalism. (If you fancy some it's sold under the euphemism RW.)
Grilling the family goldfish is a mite less disgusting, though it ranks alongside barbecuing the budgie. Neither would make a decent meal.
Fortunately for the credibility of this story a check of the Latin name revealed that ikan mas translates more accurately as carp, a distant relative of the goldfish.
But we still weren't in clear water for in some Western countries carp have pest status. They're considered inedible because they're muddy-water feeders, have an unpleasant flavor (say the detractors) and their flesh is bony. They're also despised as a game fish.
That's the situation in Australia and parts of North America, but not Asia where carp is a much-favored dish. Which means that there's no accounting for taste, and that the Punten hatchery should never be short of local clients.
Provided it doesn't get contaminated.
A past record of business success is no guarantee of future prosperity. Dewi is well aware of the dangers because the hatchery doesn't control its own source of water and pressures from other users are increasing.
"When the hatchery was built in 1918 it was in an isolated area," she said. "Now we're surrounded by houses and farms. The river has to flow through 1,500 metres of other people's properties before it reaches us. The water is discolored, particularly after rain. Fortunately so far no problems."
Professor Rustidja who heads fisheries research at Malang's Brawijaya University and works with students at the hatchery agreed that the chances of disease or poisoning were significant.
Farmers upstream are supposed to notify the hatchery when they plan to use pesticides, but rivers in East Java are considered drains, the place where everything from human excrement to plastic bags can be dumped. Over-use of chemical fertilizers on riverside crops is raising nitrogen levels in many waterways.
"The hatchery was hit by a virus in 2001 that inevitably wiped out the whole stock," he said. When all tanks share the same water there's no escape.
"Sediment is already a problem and the tanks have to be regularly cleaned of sludge. We must be constantly alert to any changes."
At the hatchery the biggest and best carp are selected, three males to every female, and put in a breeding tank overnight. The females lay their eggs – 80,000 per fish - in a floating network of palm fronds.
These are then removed, the fertilized eggs are washed out and either sold or allowed to grow for sale as fingerlings. Another species produced is the gaping-mouth lele (freshwater catfish) that's as popular as chicken in roadside eateries throughout Java – and a lot cheaper.
The nursery runs workshops to help farmers understand the complexities of aquaculture and the opportunities for expansion. Although excavated ponds can be used these are prone to leakage and contamination. Concrete pools are more efficient and manageable, but the capital cost is high. Seacage aquaculture is reported to be getting more popular. (See Sidebar)
Where running water isn't available ponds must be regularly aerated using pumps and sprays, adding to the expense. The upside is that the market is huge and hungry, particularly as chicken prices rise. Fish provide the most important source of animal protein in the world.
The Punten hatchery, together with Brawijaya University is also experimenting with fresh water lobsters (also known as crayfish) as a possible commercial crop. These originally came from Australia, though two varieties found in Papua have also been used for research.
So far farmers who've tried growing the lobsters have not been impressed with results, reporting losses of up to 50 per cent.
"The potential is there because the lobsters fetch high prices," said Rustidja. "More research needs to be done on management. Other fish varieties, including seawater species like kerapu (groper) can also be farmed.
"The demand is certainly impressive. Unfortunately inquiries from up-market restaurants and exporters can't be met. That's because we can't yet guarantee consistent supplies of large quantities."
BIG SCALE INDUSTRY
According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organization, almost 90 per cent of the world's fish farm production takes place in the developing world, with Indonesia ranking number two in output.
The fresh and salt-water industry is scattered across the archipelago with most enterprises small scale. Seacage aquaculture tends to be run by villages.
The Australian Institute of Marine Science has been working with Indonesian scientists to check the impact of seacage aquaculture on the environment and develop management guidelines. Most research has been done in Europe and North America – little in the tropics
If the farms aren't run properly pollution and disease may affect fish in the wild.
This is a major concern in Australia where the industry is tightly regulated. In Indonesia there are reported to be few controls and the seacage business is expanding rapidly.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 31 August 07)
##
This is a cautionary tale about the dangers of literal translation and imposing Western cultural values on Indonesia. It's also a story about the hazards of aquaculture.
Almost a century ago administrators of the then Dutch East Indies established a complex of 44 big concrete tanks in the village of Punten (near the central East Java town of Batu), to be used for breeding fish.
The colonials chose the site well and built soundly because the hatchery is still operating, now under the control of the East Java provincial government. It's claimed to be the only government-run fish farm producing larvae and fingerlings for farmers in Indonesia
Thousands of big colorful fish splash through the constantly running water. They're ikan mas, said hatchery director Dewi Nur Setyorini. This translates as goldfish, and that sounded right, though many looked far too big to fit into a round bowl on the drawing room dresser.
These aren't just for decoration, they're also for eating, she explained.
Westerners with closed palates and minds find many kitchen practices in the archipelago strange, and some repulsive. The delight in dog-meat shown by people in North Sulawesi is particularly abhorrent for those who think eating man's best friend is on a par with cannibalism. (If you fancy some it's sold under the euphemism RW.)
Grilling the family goldfish is a mite less disgusting, though it ranks alongside barbecuing the budgie. Neither would make a decent meal.
Fortunately for the credibility of this story a check of the Latin name revealed that ikan mas translates more accurately as carp, a distant relative of the goldfish.
But we still weren't in clear water for in some Western countries carp have pest status. They're considered inedible because they're muddy-water feeders, have an unpleasant flavor (say the detractors) and their flesh is bony. They're also despised as a game fish.
That's the situation in Australia and parts of North America, but not Asia where carp is a much-favored dish. Which means that there's no accounting for taste, and that the Punten hatchery should never be short of local clients.
Provided it doesn't get contaminated.
A past record of business success is no guarantee of future prosperity. Dewi is well aware of the dangers because the hatchery doesn't control its own source of water and pressures from other users are increasing.
"When the hatchery was built in 1918 it was in an isolated area," she said. "Now we're surrounded by houses and farms. The river has to flow through 1,500 metres of other people's properties before it reaches us. The water is discolored, particularly after rain. Fortunately so far no problems."
Professor Rustidja who heads fisheries research at Malang's Brawijaya University and works with students at the hatchery agreed that the chances of disease or poisoning were significant.
Farmers upstream are supposed to notify the hatchery when they plan to use pesticides, but rivers in East Java are considered drains, the place where everything from human excrement to plastic bags can be dumped. Over-use of chemical fertilizers on riverside crops is raising nitrogen levels in many waterways.
"The hatchery was hit by a virus in 2001 that inevitably wiped out the whole stock," he said. When all tanks share the same water there's no escape.
"Sediment is already a problem and the tanks have to be regularly cleaned of sludge. We must be constantly alert to any changes."
At the hatchery the biggest and best carp are selected, three males to every female, and put in a breeding tank overnight. The females lay their eggs – 80,000 per fish - in a floating network of palm fronds.
These are then removed, the fertilized eggs are washed out and either sold or allowed to grow for sale as fingerlings. Another species produced is the gaping-mouth lele (freshwater catfish) that's as popular as chicken in roadside eateries throughout Java – and a lot cheaper.
The nursery runs workshops to help farmers understand the complexities of aquaculture and the opportunities for expansion. Although excavated ponds can be used these are prone to leakage and contamination. Concrete pools are more efficient and manageable, but the capital cost is high. Seacage aquaculture is reported to be getting more popular. (See Sidebar)
Where running water isn't available ponds must be regularly aerated using pumps and sprays, adding to the expense. The upside is that the market is huge and hungry, particularly as chicken prices rise. Fish provide the most important source of animal protein in the world.
The Punten hatchery, together with Brawijaya University is also experimenting with fresh water lobsters (also known as crayfish) as a possible commercial crop. These originally came from Australia, though two varieties found in Papua have also been used for research.
So far farmers who've tried growing the lobsters have not been impressed with results, reporting losses of up to 50 per cent.
"The potential is there because the lobsters fetch high prices," said Rustidja. "More research needs to be done on management. Other fish varieties, including seawater species like kerapu (groper) can also be farmed.
"The demand is certainly impressive. Unfortunately inquiries from up-market restaurants and exporters can't be met. That's because we can't yet guarantee consistent supplies of large quantities."
BIG SCALE INDUSTRY
According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organization, almost 90 per cent of the world's fish farm production takes place in the developing world, with Indonesia ranking number two in output.
The fresh and salt-water industry is scattered across the archipelago with most enterprises small scale. Seacage aquaculture tends to be run by villages.
The Australian Institute of Marine Science has been working with Indonesian scientists to check the impact of seacage aquaculture on the environment and develop management guidelines. Most research has been done in Europe and North America – little in the tropics
If the farms aren't run properly pollution and disease may affect fish in the wild.
This is a major concern in Australia where the industry is tightly regulated. In Indonesia there are reported to be few controls and the seacage business is expanding rapidly.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 31 August 07)
##
PANJI FESTIVAL IN EAST JAVA
RECALLING ANCIENT WISDOM FOR MODERN LAND CARE
© Duncan Graham 2007
It has to be one of East Java's most extraordinary sights; after hairpinning up and down serpentine laneways on the flanks of Mount Arjuno, through tiny villages and thick forest, to come across a 5,000 square-meter palatial Italian-style mansion.
Finding Villa Leduk is a bit tricky. This multi-columned celebration of the Renaissance, looking like the ultimate in standout opulence, is the rural estate of Jakarta architect and designer Bagoes Brotodiwirjo. But it's tucked away behind a conservation and education center that's also part of his grand design.
The Kaliandra Sejati Foundation that Bagoes chairs is a collection of Javanese bungalows set into the contours of the mountain slopes. Many have been built in the pre-European way – no mortar between the flat red bricks, shuttered windows, carved teak furniture and fittings, and terracotta tiles. Verdigris verandah posts; ochre walls and green swing doors; shade and cool breezes – it's a place for contemplation.
Although constructed only a decade ago the cottages look centuries old. The only giveaways are flush toilets and electric lights.
It would be difficult to find a starker contrast with the big Tuscany-in-the-Tropics palace next door.
Within the foundation's complex are restaurants, high-roofed meeting halls, richly manicured (but seldom geometric) gardens, riverlets and ponds. Gamelan music (there are three sets of instruments) slips through the drooping branches, the rain splashing in tune off the glossy leaves.
Kaliandra will be a principal location for the five-day Panji Festival scheduled for the first week in September, just before the start of the fasting month of Ramadan.
The Panji stories date back 700 years to the Majapahit era and have influenced many aspects of Javanese culture, including the way crops are grown and harvested, forests maintained, sickness cured and relationships organized. (See sidebar)
The Panji festival is an international initiative. It started in August 2004 with a meeting at the French Cultural Center in Surabaya. Present was East Java activist and educator Suryo Prawiroatmodjo and Javanese arts scholar Lydia Kieven. Originally from Germany she's currently in Australia studying for a doctorate.
Artist Suprapto Suryadarma was another key participant. He's a spiritual dancer and wayang choreographer from the Padepokan (art center) Lemah Putih in Solo, famous for having developed a Wayang Buddha performance.
Others at the original meeting included traditional and contemporary artists, farmers, doctors and educators. All agreed that Panji culture could help recover local identity and counter globalization.
The committee has now been joined by Agus Tinus, a lecturer in tourism at Surabaya's Petra University, and puppet master and choreographer M Soleh Adi Pramono. He's based at Tumpang, a village outside Malang.
With such a diverse and dispersed group it's no surprise that the ambition to stage a festival has taken longer to achieve than first expected. Sponsors have been found and the show will at last hit the road. Or in this case, the mountain.
Apart from theatre, the idea is to recall the Panji cultural practices in land husbandry, batik design, architecture, music, medicine (through the use of herbs) and food. Organizers hope the past can teach the present much about conservation and living in harmony with nature.
Another expectation is that the festival will boost pride in the history of Java before the 1945 proclamation of the Republic, the point where much official teaching starts.
Activities have expanded to include an international seminar on Local Wisdom from the Panji Era at Merdeka University in Malang (on 5 and 6 September), theatre at Soleh's Mangun Dharmo arts center and land care studies at Kaliandra.
The name refers to a clever American acacia-like tree (Caliandra calothyrsus); it's smart because it can fix nitrogen in the soil and – unlike many foreigners - is happy in humidity.
At 850 metres above sea level Kaliandra is a top location and not just because of the elevation. It can accommodate 120 people and is billed as a center for studying the environment, culture and community development. Last year 20,000 visited, mainly school and university students.
Because the area is so well watered the statuary and buildings have been draped in a patina that disguises age. Are the Majapahit images squatting in the foliage priceless relics from a millennium ago, or concrete copies from an antiques-while-you-wait workshop?
If the design is the same does it matter whether it has been chiseled by an iron adze or an electric-powered angle grinder?
"This is an ideal clean and relatively unspoilt location for festival participants to learn about our culture and study East Java flora and fauna," said Suryo. Seventeen years ago the former veterinary surgeon established Indonesia's first outdoor environmental education center at the nearby village of Seloliman.
"Panji isn't just about mask dancing. It represents a way of life that includes recognizing local wisdoms and respecting nature.
"In the past rural people understood the importance of working within the cycle of nature. Now clear felling of forests, locating noxious industries in farm areas, land and river pollution by chemicals and waste are upsetting the balance and killing the environment.
"Through this festival, and the young people who will participate, we'll be able to reinforce the need to care for our resources, reforest for the future and reconnect with nature. This is everyone's responsibility."
ONCE UPON A TIME …
The Indian epics the Mahabharata and Ramayana are reasonably familiar to literati in the West where they've been infrequently performed. The Panji legends, once well known throughout South-East Asia, are now foreign outside Java - and to much of the present generation of Indonesians who prefer TV to live theatre.
As in all good yarns that don't fade with fashion the tales are about love and adventure. It's the evergreen theme: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds girl again. He gets her and the throne and she gets him and the status.
The heroes in this home-grown saga are Prince Panji (who could also be the Hindu god Visnu), and Princess Candrakirana. The tales are set in the 11th century and became popular during the following 200 years of the Majapahit era, though some claim the Panji period spanned the 8th to the 15th centuries AD.
The Majapahit era was the golden age of Java when the Hindu-Buddhist kingdom is believed to have controlled much of lower South East Asia through trade and conquest. So revisiting the Panji stories is to celebrate pre-Islamic Javanese triumphs and values.
(For more information see postings on: http://blogs.usyd.edu.au/vicindonblog/ For details of the academic program contact Dr Gunawan Wibisono guna_269@yahoo.com )
(First published in The Sunday Post 2 September 07.)
##
© Duncan Graham 2007
It has to be one of East Java's most extraordinary sights; after hairpinning up and down serpentine laneways on the flanks of Mount Arjuno, through tiny villages and thick forest, to come across a 5,000 square-meter palatial Italian-style mansion.
Finding Villa Leduk is a bit tricky. This multi-columned celebration of the Renaissance, looking like the ultimate in standout opulence, is the rural estate of Jakarta architect and designer Bagoes Brotodiwirjo. But it's tucked away behind a conservation and education center that's also part of his grand design.
The Kaliandra Sejati Foundation that Bagoes chairs is a collection of Javanese bungalows set into the contours of the mountain slopes. Many have been built in the pre-European way – no mortar between the flat red bricks, shuttered windows, carved teak furniture and fittings, and terracotta tiles. Verdigris verandah posts; ochre walls and green swing doors; shade and cool breezes – it's a place for contemplation.
Although constructed only a decade ago the cottages look centuries old. The only giveaways are flush toilets and electric lights.
It would be difficult to find a starker contrast with the big Tuscany-in-the-Tropics palace next door.
Within the foundation's complex are restaurants, high-roofed meeting halls, richly manicured (but seldom geometric) gardens, riverlets and ponds. Gamelan music (there are three sets of instruments) slips through the drooping branches, the rain splashing in tune off the glossy leaves.
Kaliandra will be a principal location for the five-day Panji Festival scheduled for the first week in September, just before the start of the fasting month of Ramadan.
The Panji stories date back 700 years to the Majapahit era and have influenced many aspects of Javanese culture, including the way crops are grown and harvested, forests maintained, sickness cured and relationships organized. (See sidebar)
The Panji festival is an international initiative. It started in August 2004 with a meeting at the French Cultural Center in Surabaya. Present was East Java activist and educator Suryo Prawiroatmodjo and Javanese arts scholar Lydia Kieven. Originally from Germany she's currently in Australia studying for a doctorate.
Artist Suprapto Suryadarma was another key participant. He's a spiritual dancer and wayang choreographer from the Padepokan (art center) Lemah Putih in Solo, famous for having developed a Wayang Buddha performance.
Others at the original meeting included traditional and contemporary artists, farmers, doctors and educators. All agreed that Panji culture could help recover local identity and counter globalization.
The committee has now been joined by Agus Tinus, a lecturer in tourism at Surabaya's Petra University, and puppet master and choreographer M Soleh Adi Pramono. He's based at Tumpang, a village outside Malang.
With such a diverse and dispersed group it's no surprise that the ambition to stage a festival has taken longer to achieve than first expected. Sponsors have been found and the show will at last hit the road. Or in this case, the mountain.
Apart from theatre, the idea is to recall the Panji cultural practices in land husbandry, batik design, architecture, music, medicine (through the use of herbs) and food. Organizers hope the past can teach the present much about conservation and living in harmony with nature.
Another expectation is that the festival will boost pride in the history of Java before the 1945 proclamation of the Republic, the point where much official teaching starts.
Activities have expanded to include an international seminar on Local Wisdom from the Panji Era at Merdeka University in Malang (on 5 and 6 September), theatre at Soleh's Mangun Dharmo arts center and land care studies at Kaliandra.
The name refers to a clever American acacia-like tree (Caliandra calothyrsus); it's smart because it can fix nitrogen in the soil and – unlike many foreigners - is happy in humidity.
At 850 metres above sea level Kaliandra is a top location and not just because of the elevation. It can accommodate 120 people and is billed as a center for studying the environment, culture and community development. Last year 20,000 visited, mainly school and university students.
Because the area is so well watered the statuary and buildings have been draped in a patina that disguises age. Are the Majapahit images squatting in the foliage priceless relics from a millennium ago, or concrete copies from an antiques-while-you-wait workshop?
If the design is the same does it matter whether it has been chiseled by an iron adze or an electric-powered angle grinder?
"This is an ideal clean and relatively unspoilt location for festival participants to learn about our culture and study East Java flora and fauna," said Suryo. Seventeen years ago the former veterinary surgeon established Indonesia's first outdoor environmental education center at the nearby village of Seloliman.
"Panji isn't just about mask dancing. It represents a way of life that includes recognizing local wisdoms and respecting nature.
"In the past rural people understood the importance of working within the cycle of nature. Now clear felling of forests, locating noxious industries in farm areas, land and river pollution by chemicals and waste are upsetting the balance and killing the environment.
"Through this festival, and the young people who will participate, we'll be able to reinforce the need to care for our resources, reforest for the future and reconnect with nature. This is everyone's responsibility."
ONCE UPON A TIME …
The Indian epics the Mahabharata and Ramayana are reasonably familiar to literati in the West where they've been infrequently performed. The Panji legends, once well known throughout South-East Asia, are now foreign outside Java - and to much of the present generation of Indonesians who prefer TV to live theatre.
As in all good yarns that don't fade with fashion the tales are about love and adventure. It's the evergreen theme: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds girl again. He gets her and the throne and she gets him and the status.
The heroes in this home-grown saga are Prince Panji (who could also be the Hindu god Visnu), and Princess Candrakirana. The tales are set in the 11th century and became popular during the following 200 years of the Majapahit era, though some claim the Panji period spanned the 8th to the 15th centuries AD.
The Majapahit era was the golden age of Java when the Hindu-Buddhist kingdom is believed to have controlled much of lower South East Asia through trade and conquest. So revisiting the Panji stories is to celebrate pre-Islamic Javanese triumphs and values.
(For more information see postings on: http://blogs.usyd.edu.au/vicindonblog/ For details of the academic program contact Dr Gunawan Wibisono guna_269@yahoo.com )
(First published in The Sunday Post 2 September 07.)
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