BATIK ARTISTS AND AN ART PURCHASE – YOGJAKARTA, INDONESIA
I knew I was trapped when, after eyeing me the whole evening, he finally came over and sat down at my table. We spoke briefly about my first impressions of Jogjakarta and he was kind enough to educate me on the cultural importance of the city as the center of Javanese arts and academics. I mentioned that I was impressed with the city’s ample offerings of batik as an art form. When I think of batik, I remember it as the nightgowns that my grandmother used to wear, the shirts adorned by drunk uncles at parties or its tacky use as colourful bedsheets and tablecloths. I can’t seem to take it seriously because I had never admired it in a respectable or artistic context. So naturally, I was surprised when I learned that traditional batik, especially from Jogyakarta, has notable meanings rooted to the Javanese conceptualization of the universe. I was eager to learn more and my companion was pleased with my inquisitiveness. He mentioned that his friend was a batik artist and had a studio just around the corner if I was so inclined to see it. Before accepting the offer, I promised myself that I wouldn’t be forced in to buying anything. Art, books and maps make up for my ultimate retail weakness and is more pronounced while I’m traveling. Furthermore, I find it particularly hard to refuse any purchase of this nature especially if I have my heart set on the item from the very beginning.
The studio was small and bright. A single couch and coffee table sat in the middle and surrounding them were countless batik paintings, hung on the wall and arranged against each other on the floor. I had entered a fish bowl of bright coral and mysterious objects swam around me, exposed by the natural light that radiated through the large windows. I was drowning yet I didn’t want to come up for air. The artist and I were left by ourselves and I paced from one painting to the other while he lit a cigarette. He spoke about his work and the others that made the group of artists to which he belonged. Every time I paused at a piece, he explained the inspiration for it and the technical aspects of its batik production. My eyes finally fell on a swirling heap of colours that covered a reasonably sized canvas. I was drawn in immediately and I stood for quite a while watching the subject matter - three fishes forming a circle, creating a vivacious sense of movement and harmony. The artist explained that the fish were native to the island of Bali and each represented harmony, good luck and long life. The fish needed to come home with me and I could tell that he sensed this desire. Instead of pursuing the sale and pushing me out the door, he invited me to sit, have a cup of coffee, join him in a smoke and meditate on the work before I made my final decision.
The Balinese coffee was full of body, the cigarette settled my anxiousness, and the conversation settled on his life experiences. He spent a few years at an art school in Germany under the tutelage of a well known artist who frequently visited Indonesia for inspiration. It was the 70’s and the times left much to explore for a young and impressionable artist from Jogjakarta. Unfortunately, he faltered when he started using drugs and it lead to an addiction. His art career in Germany came to an abrupt halt and he came back home to pursue his ambition but still could not rid the habit that had engrossed him. At the time of our conversation, he’d been clean for two years. He was divorced and had three children. He spoke with his heart; his voice was clear with verity and he eyes painted the anguish of what he uttered. As I put out my cigarette and drained the rest of my coffee,I knew I would walk out of his studio with more than just a painting.
Forever in my memory, I would have the past few hours of a sunny afternoon in Jogjakarta, sitting with an artist in his studio and talking candidly of art, life, love and loss. He stopped me as I was about to leave and reached in to a pile of framed paintings and gifted me with a beautiful piece of a Balinese dancer. “This is of my wife when I first laid eyes on her at a dance festival...she danced with so much expression”. He had captured her energy accurately both in the way he painted her gestures and the colours he used. I noticed an unnaturally obvious feature of the painting, slightly absurd but still evocative, and asked him curiously why she had two heads. “Oh that”, he smirked before continuing. “I was high on ‘shrooms and that’s just how I saw her”.
