Gamelan

Part of my research involves students at a school for autistic children.  I was in part drawn to the school because they have a therapeutic gamelan and I am interested in how traditional Indonesian arts, which have such a rich philosophy of personal, collective, and spiritual development, are being used as a healing intervention.

At first I thought this idea was totally esoteric, but it turns out that therapeutic gamelan is an idea whose time has come.  Check this out:

The Gamelan Project

important updates

1) I have internet in the house now!!
2) I know how to make my own sambal now!!  It's freaking delicious.  Five red hot chilis, two cloves of garlic, two shallots, one tomato fried whole for just a second, and salt poured on top.  Then you mash it all up and dollop it all over your rice.  Yum.

Sekarat

So the show that Khadir was part of was a success! It was covered in Yogya news and Khadir's work was chosen to represent.  You can read (the Indonesian) here.  Also I was asked to write a little something about it, you can read my response (in English) and see photos of all the works from the show here.

The theme of the show is kind of a pun: taken from an Indonesian word that means being in agony, or literally in the throes of death (sekarat), the word for corrosion, corruption or disintegration of metal or material (karat), and the idea of the karat, the measure of precious stone (the prefix se- in Indonesian means "one").

I really enjoyed a lot of the work, here are two of my favorite pieces, an elegant egg entitled "Protection" and a garbage pirate.

Also, here's Khadir's work installed at the venue, guarded and watched over by none other than Jesus. 

The Verdict Is Out

Indonesians have spoken and the unanimous decision is that I have gotten fatter since the last time I’ve been here.  Surprise surprise!  Or, as one friend said to another, “It’s true that her body may be fatter, but her face looks younger!” Or as another said, “You look fat, but fresh.”

I knew this blog was aptly named!

Fun with Mustaches and Works in Progress

Getting ready to come to Indonesia was a little bit hectic this time around, as it always is.  I never would have made it here without the help of Lisa, Topher, and Baby Allen who helped me sell my car and avoid a nervous breakdown among other things, Jason who oversaw my last minute move into the storage unit while I was getting my visa at the consulate, and Sri, who loaned me her suitcase and helped me repack what was one unmaneuverable bag weighing literally one hundred pounds into two bags which somehow each weighed more than 50 lbs.  While unpacking I found a fake mustache in the suitcase Sri loaned me, perhaps a left-over from one of her performances.  Khadir and I couldn’t resist having a little fun with it and frankly I think we both look pretty good.

In other news, language classes have been going well. My two lovely and charming teachers Mbak Asih and Mbak Dwi are helping me read and comprehend Indonesian-language research materials for my dissertation research. 

I have also been invited to write a response to an upcoming art show at Taman Budaya this Wednesday the 21st.  Khadir will have a piece included, so I have been spending some time in the evenings hanging out at his friend’s studio where a number of different sculptors are preparing.  The theme for the show is Sekarat.  What is Sekarat you ask?  I will explain all after the show.  Meanwhile, a teaser; the artist at work.

“Mental Krupuk”

Krupuk’s are the delicious Indonesian snacks that can be enjoyed on their own or used as an accompaniment to a meal.  They come in all shapes and sizes.  Fried into puffs that in their texture sort of resemble a Cheeto, they are crispy and crackly when eaten on their own, but become wilted and mushy within seconds of being dunked into soup or stew, soaking up the liquid like a sponge.  Hence the Indonesian colloquial phrase, “mental krupuk” or cracker brain, someone who arrogantly talks the talk but like a big wuss can’t walk the walk.

Pulang Kembali ke Tanah Jawa, aka Returning to Java

After my best intercontinental airplane flight ever on Singapore Air via Tokyo and Singapore, I touched down in Yogyakarta on September 8.

I received a warm welcome from Khadir, who picked me up from the airport in his voluminous and handsome blue and white 1960 Holden.  Sitting in the car is like sitting on a really comfortable couch, but the fact that he has made it a low-rider combined with the fact that it is from 1960 combined with the fact that he was driving it over bumpy Indonesian “paved” roads made for an interesting journey, studded by commentary about which intersections he has broken down in, when, and who helped him push the car. 

My first week has been primarily dominated by my strange and overpowering jet lag sleep schedule, which has been knocking me out from 6 PM-10:30 PM, at which point I awake starving cranky and disoriented, then fall asleep again at 1 or 2 AM, only to awake wide-eyed and raring to go at 4:30, longing for a nap by noon.  My friends back home with new little babies may not be so impressed by this intermittent sleep… all I can say is that I feel your pain.

I have managed to get out and about a little bit though.  One of the first things I did was accompany Khadir to a syawalan.  Syawalan is a fairly informal ceremony held by different groups the week after Lebaran, the holiday that ends Ramadan.  People gather together in a kind of reunion, to celebrate the forgiveness that the season affords and reconnect with one another in the peaceful and optimistic atmosphere of renewal a fresh start.  The one I attended was for a group of senior fine artists in Yogyakarta, hosted by the painter Pak Eko Rachmi.  Some poetry was read, including an amazing poem by the famous Rendra, snacks were eaten, and then the guys broke out the guitar singing some original tunes and some classic Bob Dylan including “It Ain’t Me Babe” and the one covered by the Byrds that I think is called “You Ain’t Going Nowhere.”

I also attended my first art show of my stay here.  Yogya is known for having a vibrant fine arts community and since I have known Khadir I have attended countless art exhibits and openings.  There are a number of venues that host these events: Taman Budaya, or Culture Park, Benatara Budaya or Culture Fort, Galeri Biasa, or Common Gallery, and others.  I love these events because they often have free food and live music, and provide an opportunity to run into friends and most importantly people-watch.  While I myself often feel like a hot sweaty mess, there is always an interesting combination of dreadlocked Indonesian artists, younger bespectacled hipsters that would put the Silverlake and Williamsburg crowds to shame, stylish women, rich art collectors, and a peppering of international visitors.  Anyway, this week we went to a theme show at Bentara Budaya that was based around the shape of the guitar. Here are some of my favorite pieces.

Aside from that I have hit up some of my old favorite places to eat, and had my first motorbike lesson.  I am determined to learn how to ride this time, even if I’ll never brave real traffic.  Khadir was a good teacher, ordering me to stay calm, distracting me with maxims like, “The most important thing is to just relax and enjoy the ride,” and taking control of the steering when I panicked.  At first I was braking every other second, and then slowly bit by bit I was able to enjoy the cool night all around me, riding alongside vast and quiet rice paddies under the full moon. Then Khadir tricked me into taking a busy road, Jalan Godean, on the way back, which at first was stressful but once I stopped flinching at every approaching vehicle it was no sweat and we made it home in one piece.

This morning I start a refresher language course at Puri Bahasa and hope to try a yoga class at Balance Yoga, if the jet lag doesn’t get the better of me.  I have made contact with some of my collaborators and research subjects, so I hope to get things started on that front by next week.  In the meantime I am still taking care of business—obtaining cell phones, buying my own helmet, figuring out where to stay, re-acclimating to a life lived largely without toilet paper, and etc.  More importantly I am slowly sinking back in to the bewitching details of being in Indonesia, the sky smelling faintly of fire, women’s headcoverings draping over the backs of their upswept hair like Renaissance courtesans, the red tiled roofs, and the swallows dipping and swooping at dusk.

Welcome to my second blog ever.

I have decided to keep a blog about my time in Indonesia.  While I am here for dissertation research (ostensibly, hehe), which I may touch upon here, I hope the blog will mostly cover things that happen outside my research, to keep friends and family updated, serve as a record for myself of my time spent here, share things that I learn in and about Indonesia, and perhaps provide space to meditate on what I love about traveling, and traveling in this country in particular.

Before I post anything more I should explain the title of my blog, Roro Gendut.  "Roro" is a word that indicates royal lineage, kind of like saying “princess.”  Roro Mendut is a famous figure in Indonesian history/mythology: she was a beautiful spitfire who refused to submit to the will of the bossy kings and princes and politicos all around her.  Gendut, which rhymes with Mendut (pronounced Mendoot and Gendoot) is the word for fat, or chubby.  I am incredibly familiar with this word, as I am called it constantly, albeit affectionately.

So, Princess Fatty.  I’m sure I’ll have a lot to say.  Here below is a picture of Roro Mendut, taken from a cover of a historical novel that I hope to read before the year is through.  You can see that she is not actually fat at all.