An ongoing exhibition at Ubud’s Puri Lukisan Museum shows that traditional Balinese wood sculpture is still alive, and most importantly, retains its energy to mesmerize even the most seasoned of art connoisseurs.
Following the demise of Lempad, Cokot, Tilem, Njana, Ayun and the other great sculptors of the 1940s and 1950s, traditional Balinese wood sculpture gradually faded into obscurity.
The rising popularity of modern and contemporary arts, which crowned painting as the most sought art object, as well as the onslaught of tourism — which opened a huge market for mass-produced, lower quality wood and stone statues — drove traditional Balinese wood sculpture out of and away from the limelight.
“Then Darlun came, and all of sudden, we were reminded that people like him, committed and dedicated artists who preserve and develop this art form, still exist. Suddenly we realized this art form was still a living tradition, and that there was more to Balinese sculpture than the wooden handicrafts sold to tourists,” Wayan Windia said.
A professor of traditional law, Windia is no stranger to beautiful sculptures. His late father was Wayan Pendet, a famous sculptor from Nyuh Kuning, Ubud. Nowadays, he juggles lecturing at Udayana University and managing a sculpture museum that houses his father’s precious treasures.
His name appears on the long list of art connoisseurs who find Darlun’s works captivating. It was Windia who came up with the term Tan Matepi (Without Borders), the title of Darlun’s solo exhibition at the museum.
High on this list is Lin Che Wei, the founder of Sarasvati Art Management, the research-based institution that co-organized the exhibition with Puri Lukisan, a museum owned by Ubud’s royal family — and one of a few establishments in the island that still collects traditional Balinese sculptures.
Lin disclosed it took six years to prepare the exhibition because unlike painters, sculptors could only create two to three pieces of art per year.
“I admire Pak Darlun’s energy, patience and tenacity. It is very difficult for a sculptor to do a solo exhibition because it takes such a long time,” he said.
The exhibit, he stressed, is part of Sarasvati’s long-term strategy to assist Balinese master-artists in gaining international recognition.
“I believe it is our shared responsibility to promote the traditional arts of our country. Bringing the masters of this tradition into the global stage will be a crucial step in achieving that objective,” he said.
It is hard not to fall in love with Darlun’s works. Jusuf Wanandi, avid collector whom Bali governor Mangku Pastika praised as “a man who loves Bali more than many Balinese do”, saw in Darlun’s works the vestiges of past masters.
“In Darlun, we find the continuation of the esthetic exploration of Tilem, Njana and Ayun. He is the successor of those great artists,” Wanandi said.
The most eloquent narrative on the mesmerizing quality of Darlun’s works was conveyed by influential critic Oe Hong Djien.
“Darlun is adept in using the shapes of wood. He is capable of creating statues that are not deformed and are elegant as well as commanding. Darlun is also capable of effortlessly stretching his statues into extreme elongations whose deformities and soft yet intense expressions exude beauty,” he said.
Darlun’s exceptional ability to use the shape of wood, he disclosed, is in line with the age-old principle of traditional Balinese sculpture.
“A Balinese traditional statue generally follow the natural forms of the wood, which makes it a one-of-a-kind piece…unlike bronze or fiberglass statues that can be replicated easily,” he stressed.
Darlun’s choice to stay true to this principles means his pieces take more time to complete than might be required using a common technique, in which the artist shapes the wood into a pre-constructed form in his mind.
“Sometimes I spend days, even weeks, just looking at the wood, trying to figure out forms and a story that will match the original shape of the wood. Then a shape, or a story will flash across my mind and somehow it will work out beautifully,” Darlun said.
Darlun does not impose his ideas onto the wood. Instead, he asks the wood to “talk” to him, to reveal its true shape, to make him aware of the esthetic possibilities it bears in its shade of colors and textures.
Darlun’s creativity reflects the silent dialogue occurring between the man and the piece of wood. It is not uncommon for Balinese people to communicate with trees, because since childhood, they have been taught to respect the spirits of trees, rivers, mountains, and the sea.
Bali’s traditional cosmology has never placed the human as the Divine’s sole and hegemonic representative in the world nor as the rightful owner of the earth, who can do whatever he or she wants
to the planet and its non-human inhabitants.
In this cosmology, a human is but a single filament in an inter-dependent and intertwined thread of life. In this culture, humans are constantly reminded that they share a space and time with many other beings, visible and invisible.
Thus, a Balinese family never exorcises the unseen creatures that reside in its house. Instead, the family erects a shrine, places an offering of food and wine, and offers a gesture of friendship toward the spirits.
This principle of peaceful co-existence extends to various facets of life; a mask-maker will ask the permission of the tree’s spirit before chopping down a tree, sacred wooden masks crafted from the same
tree will be treated as kin, a special ritual held every six months to honor the trees and a high priest will consult the Taru Pramana treatise to determine the magical properties of specific plants.
Darlun’s creative process reflects that respect toward the invisible power and esthetic possibilities that lie inside the wood.
When Darlun “listened” to the wood and the wood “spoke” to him, the ensuing dialogue gave birth to sculptures that never fail to mesmerize.
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