Adventures in South East Asia

27 ~ Artistic pursuits

Ubud, Indonesia

My morning began with tea and breakfast on my little balcony. I watched an older Indonesian woman go from cabin to cabin, with small baskets, either woven from bamboo or banana leaf, filled with colourful flowers and rice. Some would be placed near what had been referred to in Thailand as the Spirit House. In Indonesia, a bit of research helped me identify a collection of these shrines, which resemble small temples about as large as a dollhouse, as sanggah (1).

I was too shy to interrupt her ritual and ask what the holiday or occasion was currently being celebrated. I went to look up 'Kuningan': the festival the taxi driver had mentioned yesterday. It which essentially marked the end of Galungan: a ten day period when the spirits would descend from the heavens to visit family and were showered with gifts, likely the ones I had watched the woman offer. In two days, Kuningan, the return of spirits to the heavens, would occur. I felt quite fortunate to visit during the festival and witness it, even though many of my observations were subject to my own ignorance.

On the doorways of homes and businesses the woman spread water. I noticed this on many other doorsteps after I left for the day. My research had also identified a few sites to check out within walking distance.

The previous day's curiosity resurfaced and I wandered into the nearest temple I could find. It only took about five minutes to reach the first. In the temples, it was hard to fixate on one aspect as they all boasted such beauty and craftsmanship around every corner. Statues carved to depict different Hindu gods or goddesses, even demons, had been dressed in saris and head scarves. People had taken the time to place a flower at the foot of each one as an offering. Orange stone rose up and gray carved stone jutted out the sides, curling and twisting in several patterns. Faces were carved into the same stone and overlooked each doorway.

The second temple I visited, Pura Saraswati, had an impressive pond on either side of the walkway to the main area. I bypassed the coffee shop to marvel at the pink lotuses in the pond and lily pads larger than my face, which covered most of the surface of the water. On either side of the walkway, demon statues spurted water into the air before it fell back into the pools. The same orange colour and carving styles adorned the temple. 

The next stop was a Balinese art museum, Puri Lukisan, housing a mix of pre and post-independence Balinese art in three modern buildings. I marvelled at the wood carvings and paintings, also appreciating sculptures made of different materials.

The entry fee came with a welcome tea.  The staff was quite pleasant and nice. One woman taught me a little Balinese. 'Suksama' was one way to thank someone in Bali. She also showed me how to do this with a little bow I had practised during my time in Thailand. She informed me that Balinese people generally spoke both Bahasa Indonesian and Balinese.

After the museum stop, I had every intention of eating, but cheap and vegetarian options were few and far between. I kept walking until I stumbled upon the Antonio Blanco museum. The museum was dedicated to the ex-patriot artist who had spent many of his years in Bali, eventually taking a Balinese dancer as a wife and having four children.

From the grandeur of the gate, with his name inscribed up top, and the ascending driveway to the large house on the hill, I could tell this would be an extravagant museum. At times that would turn me off the site, but not that day. Once I paid the entrance fee, I was escorted into a courtyard with tropical birds like parrots and toucans, which could be held. I proceeded through and the employee advised me not to take any photos inside.

The floor's cool dark marble colour contrasted the light marble support beams. Two winding staircases with metalwork railings led to a second floor open in the middle so one could look up to the domed roof. The walls, bright red and yellow on the main floor, made me think of Mr. Blanco's Spanish roots. He was raised grow up in Manila though.

His painting collection was impressive. Although I was no artist, I found he was able to use colour and shadow well to create more subtle details in his work. A less is more approach. His work also extended off the canvases and continued onto the frames, which he designed himself, some ordinary shapes and others swaying from the norm. In other works, he'd use collage or incorporate poetry.

Blanco's subjects were also his favourite aspect of life: the female form. Particularly the naked female form. Many of his paintings focused on young Balinese woman posed nude, or partly nude, and seductively with objects like fruit or vases. One of his paintings 'The Meaning of Life' had a description underneath which cited his interaction with an art collector some time ago:

"Antonio, you are rather Philosophic; what have you found to be the meaning of life?"

"When I am biting into a ripe succulent Mango in my right hand, and at the same time fondling (with my left hand) the firm buttocks of an 18 year girl.....er.....Model, THAT I have found to be the closest THING to a MEANING FOR LIFE." (2)

The quote itself summed up what most of his work conveyed. He had one thing on the mind and wasn't shy about sharing it. My agreement with his statement only extended to the wonderful fruit. I enjoyed most of his work; the erotic poetry toward the end had me laughing due to its cheeky and witty nature. Unfortunately, a sample of that work could not be found online to share with you.

Antonio's son, Mario, also painted and his works were featured in the museum. His father's tastes for the human body were not reflected in his painting. The subjects were fruits and flowers.

The art museums in Bali so far had come with free drink vouchers. The Blanco offering was an iced coffee, which turned out to be rather nice even though I hardly ever drank coffee. I didn't want to even look at the lunch prices in Blanco's former studio turned museum given that I was sitting on a fancy chair overlooking Ubud's main street and the river surrounded by trees and vegetation. Beautiful and classy could only mean pricey.

I did find a nearly local lunch in the end and chatted with a woman who had spent some time in the Gili islands everyone recommend for their amazing diving. I had looked up the boat times and knew I couldn't do both that and surfing. I had opted for the latter since I wasn't dive certified. My lunch companion's shared insistence on finding local food made me smile. Good to know I wasn't the only one missing it.

At night, locals performed dances at the nearby temples. I headed to Pura Puseh in the rain for the Kecak Monkey Chant dance show. Sure, it was a total tourist show, but on some level it kept the culture alive and encouraged more people to learn it if there was monetary incentive.

The rain forced us all under a roofed area in a large circle of chairs. In the middle sat a candelabrum, which burned and lit up the whole show. The music was mainly acapella singing, featuring a group of thirty men of varying ages from young men to grandfathers, sitting in a circle and chanting. A few did the chorus and the rest would do the raspier or deeper parts.

The dance followed the story of Prince Rama and his wife Sita from the Ramayana Hindu epic. There was a kidnapping, trickery, messengers and even a monkey (or rather a man in a monkey suit). The finale came with a man walking barefoot across burning coconut shells.

The only part I dreaded was coming home to those unfriendly dogs who still wouldn't accept me as part of the local scene.   

Reference links:

(1) http://spirithouses-shrines.ucdavis.edu/content/lessons/readings/balinese.pdf

(2)http://www.blancomuseum.com/masterpiece03.html#masterpiece