image

Danius Kesminas embodies some of the wilder energies of the Australian cultural scene. The tireless Melbourne artist is very much embedded in the art world – his exhibitions in a cutting edge commercial art gallery quote from modernist art history. Yet Kesminas’ work is far from pretentious: his many projects set about attacking art’s elitism by popularising its most privileged secrets. His weapon of choice is rock music, particularly Punk. His band Histrionics perform songs about revered contemporary artists, like the Thai relational artist Rirkrit Tiravanija who transforms galleries into restaurants. The lyrics follow a familiar tune: ‘I don’t like Rirkrit, no, no / I love him, yeah /I don’t like your bean curd / Don’t mean no disrespect / I don’t like your tofu / If this dish is an art object.’

Kesminas shares a Lithuanian background with the founder of the Fluxus movement, George Maciunas. He acknowledges Fluxus in the project Vodka Sans Frontières, which traces an illegal vodka pipeline that travelled under Maciunas’ house in Vilnius. But in a different way, Kesminas’ work also seems quite at home in an egalitarian country like Australia, where the elitist authority of global visual arts has relatively little purchase.

So we might be surprised to learn that Kesminas has commissioned work from traditional Indonesian artisans. This would seem exactly like the kind of naive ‘politically correct’ art world project he would make the target of his satire. Despite its seeming worthiness, Kesminas has been able to develop an anarchic mode of collaboration which challenges our understanding of what it is to work with artisans.

At the end of 2005, Kesminas arrived in Jogjakarta for a three month Asialink residency. His only preparation for the new culture was reading a book, The Politics of Indonesia, by Damien Kingsbury. It was a dense read, filled with acronyms. Despite their inscrutability, these acronyms would later end up being an important creative resource.

Soon after he arrived, Kesminas started hanging out at the local art school. There he found a familiar scene of young rebels playing aggressive rock music. So he decided to form a band of his own and went about recruiting musicians, with immediate success. As Kesminas didn’t speak any Indonesian, they created lyrics together that were inspired by the acronyms he had read. Fortuitously, this method corresponded with a local word game plesatan, which sends up official language. For example, the song TNI is based on the acronym that stands for Tentara Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian National Military) but which is sung as Tikyan Ning Idab-Idabi (Poor but Adorable). In a similar vein, the band adopted the title Punkasila, which is drawn from the concept pancasila, the official five ideological tenets of Indonesian nationalism.

Danius Kesminas with locals celebrating the carving of the Punkasila emblem (photograph supplied by artist)

Danius Kesminas with locals celebrating the carving of the Punkasila emblem (photograph supplied by artist)

Local involvement in Punkasila expanded rapidly. A batik artist produced the band uniform in military camouflage. A wood artisan carved elaborate machine-gun electric guitars from mahogany. Others produced t-shirts, stickers, videos, etc. Much of this was well beyond Kesminas’ control, but this was exactly as he wanted it – ‘you’re a catalyst lighting this wick.’

Like many foreign artists, Kesminas enjoyed the freedom to make art in Indonesia. He contrasted this with the situation in a country like Australia where everything has to be paid for – ‘over there it’s different. You just do things because you do them.’

Artisan designing machine gun guitar with skeptical mother (photograph supplied by artist)

Artisan designing machine gun guitar with skeptical mother (photograph supplied by artist)

Given the role of the military in Indonesian life, Kesminas was afraid their provocative repertoire would endanger his collaborators. He claimed that he ‘always had to defer to them for limits. We never did anything they didn’t want to do.’ Yet at the same time, he recognised that his role as an outsider was critical: ‘There was a nice unspoken agreement. I gave them a kind of cover, as a naïve Westerner.’ It’s hard to tell who is using who in this situation. Even though punk is an identifiably Western popular movement, Kesminas associates it more broadly with a DIY principle of cultural independence. Like the paraphernalia that was locally made for Punkasila, it represents self-sufficiency in culture and defies a reliance on imported readymade products.

For Kesminas, the most significant complaint against Punkasila came from ‘NGO do-gooder missionary types’ who thought he was showing disrespect for Indonesian culture. Kesminas would claim that he actually more respectful by following the authentically carnivalesque nature of Indonesian street culture. According to this line, what we normally associate with Indonesian traditions, such as Wayang, is just a cultural commodity sustained for Western tourists. The real life is on the street.

There’s plenty to suspect Kesminas of. ‘So he likes the fact that they don’t have to be paid! But, hey, doesn’t he end up marketing their product in his exhibitions back in Australia?’ This line of interrogation seems to be missing the point, and indeed play into the very stereotype of political correctness that Kesminas’ satirises. As far as I know, the work based on Punkasila has not sold. In the meantime, Kesminas raised money for his fellow band members to participate in the Havana Biennale, which profiled them on an international stage. Sure, it all contributes to his cultural capital, but compared to other artists who use artisans like Jeff Koons, it’s relatively high on the scale of collaboration.

Indeed, there’s something quite refreshing about Punkasila. It makes us re-consider whether work with artisans must only be in forms that they are familiar with. It adds a pinch salt to our sanctimony and a dash of chili in our philanthropy.

Danius Kesminas with fellow Punkasila band members in Havana, Cuba (supplied by artist)

Danius Kesminas with fellow Punkasila band members in Havana, Cuba (supplied by artist)

But in the long run, there may be problems. While an important detour from cultural conservatism, we need to admit a certain guilty pleasure in Punkasila. It shows an image of Indonesian society that reflects back our familiar ideology of Western individualism. In the spirit of good ol’ rock’n roll, we have a natural tendency to champion those individuals who defy authority. We join them in solidarity against local leaders – the patriarchs, warlords and ‘tin pot dictators’.

But who are these foot solders really fighting for in the long term? We need to think of the broader context. Countries like Indonesia face significant pressures from overseas companies to ‘open up’ for ‘development’. So why should the polygamous village elder stop you from selling your land to Monsanto? Who’s the fat old chief to say you can’t sign away royalties for your village’s traditional chant? While rock’n roll is great for breaking things down, such as a military regime, it’s not disposed to building new structures.

Thank god that Kesminas has finally let the cat out of the bag. But the mice better to get organised.

Related posts:

1. Craft out of the cage – Wanda Gillespie’s marvellous discoveries Wanda Gillespie is an Australian artist who discovered the Indonesian...
2. Welcome Signs – early notice Early notice of an exhibition of jewellery from the Asia...
3. UNESCO workshop for Artisans and Designers – who owns culture? DSCF6048 DSCF6058 DSCF6049 DSCF6066   The UNESCO Workshop for Artisans...

This island of Swi Gunting is the scene of some remarkable discoveries. Included this very early versions of the scissor-lift (see below)…

clip_image002

You can find out more from her website. You can also see a short film about her stay in Indonesia and work with the artisans here. Or if you are in Melbourne, you can see it at SEVENTH Gallery, 155 Gertrude Street Fitzroy, 3-21 November.

In her invitation, she credits the work thus:

This was a collaborative project with craftsmen from Jatiwangi West Java. Project managers Anex (Nana Sukarna) and Kwa Ping Ho, and craftsmen – Didi, Tata, Ugang, Endany, Entis, Uri, Wawan, Umu. Special thanks to Jatiwangi Art Factory, Arief Yudi, Loranita Theo and Umi Luthfi.

This project was made possible with the help of Jatiwangi Arts Factory, Arts Victoria’s Cultural Exchange fund and the Anthony Ganim Postgraduate Award, (Victorian College of the Arts)

It’s another example of the very creative collaboration developing between Australian artists and Indonesian carvers. Maybe it’s time for a joint exhibition…

Related posts:

1. Authentic punk, handmade with attitude in Indonesia image Danius Kesminas embodies some of the wilder energies of...
2. Craft in Fiji – more than souvenirs As a matriarch of the Fijian craft scene, Seniloli expresses...
3. Maryann Talia Pau makes Samoa in Australia We know that Pacific Island populations spread out well beyond...

image

Made Leno works on a sculpture of Rodney Glick

You come up with a brilliant idea. You find someone with the skills to realise that idea perfectly. You work out a fair price. While the person is completing the job, others discover your idea and start copying it. Should you try to stop them, or risk your singular idea now just being one of many? This is the problem that Rodney Glick found having his art made in Bali.

I think Rodney Glick is one of Australia’s most interesting artists. I’m usually left cold by conceptual work, but Glick’s installations always leave me with a strong sense of non-being – others might call it spiritual. His public art at Subiaco Station using close circuit cameras created something transcendent from an everyday commute.

But more than just an individual artist, Glick also creates spaces for others to create in. He first came to prominence in the eastern states with the Glick International Collection, a purely fabricated international collection along with fictional artists and writers. Following that, he established a colleague Marco Marcon a residency program in a small wheat town in the middle of nowhere – Kellerberin. I guess while so many artists on the west coast (and east coast) of Australia are striving to be somewhere (i.e., Venice or New York), Glick is attracted to the nowhere places. There it’s possible to construct something new.

I’ve never connected Rodney with craft before, but his most recent series has strong relevance to new practices involving collaboration with traditional artisans.

Rodney Glick is one of an increasing number of artists working with Indonesian artisans, particularly wood carvers. For a recent Perth exhibition, Rodney commissioned a Balinese wood carver Made Leno from Kemenuh south of Ubud. He asked Made Leno to carve a life-size version of the multi-armed Hindu god, but based on likeness of Western figures, including himself. This involved quite a technical leap, as traditionally these statues had been made only of iconic divine figures. There was quite prolonged and open negotiation about price and cultural sensitivity, and with time a beautiful carved figure began to emerge.

Glick was concerned that these works would be seen as disrespectful. However, when he inquired about this, he was surprised to see how warmly they were received: ‘While the sculptures do show Western people in poses that suggest Hindu gods, or in one case Buddha, they have been generally seen in Bali not as suggesting that their gods have been belittled, but rather as suggesting a divine presence that is in everyone and that links all humanity.’

Made Leno negotiates with Chris Hill about the carving job

Made Leno negotiates with Chris Hill about the carving job

Second time around, Made Leno works with a written contract - much better

Second time around, Made Leno works with a written contract - much better

But there was one problem – though it was more a result of the work’s positive reception, than any complaint. A nearby stone carver started also to make likenesses. Local Balinese soon started to inquire whether they could have statues made of their family in this manner. Rodney became concerned about this. According to his collaborator Chris Hill, ‘We have talked to the carver about this and he accepts our point of view that Rodney should retain some control over works done according to his idea, not because he wanted some financial reward but to protect the integrity of the concept.’ They cited the uncontrolled production of Australian Aboriginal artefacts in Bali as a sign of how copying can get out of hand.

Rodney is not dogmatic about this control. He has become involved in many other projects in Bali. As well as showing the work locally, he has helped start up valuable agricultural projects.

But this case does reveal a contradiction between the Balinese and Western creative economies. Artists like Rodney are attracted to Indonesia partly because of the ease with which it is possible to get things done. Artisanship there doesn’t come with legal strings attached: no contracts are necessary – it’s a personal thing . Yet taken to its limit, such a system can undermine the Western creative economy that artists like Rodney depend on. If the market is flooded with imitations of his work, then the one-off art works are in danger of losing value.

image

These figures formed a series called 'Everyone' that were included in the God-Favoured exhibition at Lawrence Wilson Gallery.

Rodney has to survive as an artist too. He’s one of Australia’s most creative and interesting artists, but he’s certainly not wealthy.

So what’s the ethical course of action here? Does Rodney have the right to prevent unauthorised use of his idea? In China, manufacturers can offer discount rates to produce branded goods because they get tooled up then to produce cheap imitations free of royalties. This proves unsustainable – in the end, everyone loses.

In addition, where do we place Glick’s work in agricultural development? Is that just a side effect resulting from his human response to the world he discovered. While Glick would most likely dismiss this as just his own personal intervention, is it possible to see this contribution as integral to his work, in the same way that we might see the Fair Trade label as part of the experience of eating the chocolate inside its wrapping?

I guess that we ask all these questions is part of the value of Rodney’s work. It’s an open dialogue at the moment. Lena Mado has been commissioned for a new series of works. Something’s working.

Related posts:

1. Craft out of the cage – Wanda Gillespie’s marvellous discoveries Wanda Gillespie is an Australian artist who discovered the Indonesian...
2. Authentic punk, handmade with attitude in Indonesia image Danius Kesminas embodies some of the wilder energies of...
3. Welcome Signs – early notice Early notice of an exhibition of jewellery from the Asia...

West Timor textile

Tais Marobos Raroti Ceremonial Tubular Skirt (2005)

Ruth Hadlow gave a very interesting talk about West Timorese textiles at the Victorian Tapestry Workshop last Wednesday night. The images of textiles that she presented were absolutely stunning, with extraordinary melodies of colour, intricate handiwork and animated designs.

Ruth talked about how integral textiles were to life in West Timor. She mentioned that it was practice in the Indonesian civil service every Thursday to wear clothes that were handmade locally.

One significant demand on textiles was funerals, where they are buried with deceased of importance. At first, it seems a tragic waste to bury thousands of textiles at the recent funeral of an aristocrat. But Ruth observed that this was actually quite a boon for weavers, who then had a lack to fill. That’s quite a different reading to the convention of conservation. To destroy is to sustain.

Despite the integral nature of textiles, Ruth said that there were real problems of sustainability. The average age of weavers was increasing as younger women were drawn more to the cities. The attraction of the city is understandable, with opportunities for better health and education. Ruth felt that the solution was to professionalise weaving so that is seen as a legitimate career. But this was difficult with the lack of sales for expensive items.

Here perhaps is a role for Australia. Even though West Timor does not share the East Timor story of liberation at Australian hands, maybe there’s room for partnership in the future.

• See Threads of Life for more West Timorese textiles

Related posts:

1. The latest gossip about Gup Shup in Pakistan Here’s some news from the Gup Shup project in Pakistan...

Opera Jawa is an Indonesian film commissioned by Peter Sellars for Mozart’s 250th birthday. Directed by Garin Nugroho, the film claims to be the world’s first gamelan musical. Besides stunning music and ravishing scenes, Opera Jawa is a particularly interesting setting for world craft.

The plot, based on the Ramayana, involves conflict between two families. One are potters, who find the market for their wares shrinking. And the other are more aggressive dancers, who make wonderful textiles. Pottery features in remarkable ways. There’s a dance where women balance on small pots. Pots are smashed in dramatic acts of defiance. And there’s an erotic scene with the potter trying to mould his love on the wheel.

Opera Jawa shows how ‘world craft’ goes beyond the exotic trinket. Here is a powerful expression of craft as a performative medium, rather than object-making. Of course, it is ‘world craft’ or ‘world cinema’ only in the eyes of a first world audience, however that doesn’t deny the fact that it is a powerful aesthetic challenge to our own use of craft.

Related posts:

1. Craft out of the cage – Wanda Gillespie’s marvellous discoveries Wanda Gillespie is an Australian artist who discovered the Indonesian...