So today marks my seventh day with Widya in his batik studio. I'd rather be there then anywhere... time flies when I'm working with the melted bees wax, sipping Bali coffee and singing really bad songs on local radio (80's covers and syrupy Indonesian love songs). I truly enjoy creating this art and being in Widya's family. This Bali wouldn't be for everyone, but it's amazig for me!
I'm more than half way through my trip -- unbelievable. I feel like I just got here. My internet access is spotty, so I'm not sure when I'll be posting again. Thank you to everyone who has sent emails, commented on my posts and written on my Facebook page. I miss you all and really like hearing from you, a half a world away.
Love, Diane.
Friday, March 27, 2009
More batiks I'm working on, in progress
Widya adds some detail to our "Fish/Leaf/Ying/Yang" batik.
"Temple" batik, mid-process.
More batik pictures
The final "Tree" batik... as you can see, the final product usually differs greatly from how it looks at any other stage of the process. I love it!
"Tree" batik, mid-process... the chicken digs it.
Sarong #3 (this is not the final version, which is more brown than red).
Sarong #2.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Batik Pics #2
My first batik sarong, handmade by Diane and Widya in Bali, '09.
My first original batik wall hanging, handmade by Diane and Widya in Bali, '09.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Batik Pics #1
Step one, my design (and a cup of ginger tea).
Hours later...
Widya (Wee-dee-ya) in his studio.
Batik
Yesterday morning I went to a village north of Ubud to meet a man named Widya for Batik instruction. I thought I was in for a quick half-day lesson in Batik, and just packed a bit of water to keep me going until lunch (I'm sure Widya wondered why I had traveled so light). I sketched out a design, transferred that to rough, white cotton fabric, learned how to work with dark, molten bees wax and handle a primitive wax "pen." Widya helped me a lot, and truly my first batik is a collaborative effort. I asked him to sign the piece with me, and we both did so ceremoniously, taking pictures to mark the occasion.
Then there was hand-painting the piece then letting it dry, then dipping it to make the painted parts were "color fast." Then we added more wax design on top of painted sections, and dipped the piece in a robin's egg blue. When I left eight hours later, my batik was drying on the yard next to his shop, while ducks and chickens paraded by. I was beat and hungry. I didn't have it in me to wait for my batik to dry this second time, adding yet more wax design before dip it in a darker blue. After that, we'll need to dip it in the color fast solution again before boiling the fabric to remove the wax and see the final version.
Widya has a wife and two sons. He lives in a village of 700 people, in a home (on a small farm) that belongs to his wife's parents. He learned the art of Batik over 20 years ago, and used to work in Java (Indonesia) in a Batik factory. His brother is still there, and has some of his work published in a book on Batik that floats around Widya's shop.
Widya is warm and funny, and we became friends pretty quickly. Throughout the day we sipped ginger tea and laughed while teaching each other Indonesian/English words. As we shared the job, the art, of batik, we'd say to each other "yes, dear" and "no, dear." Widya started this term of endearment, and each time he said it he laughed so hard he'd nearly fall off his little wooden chair.
I'm heading back today to finish my first batik and to start two other pieces. It's gonna be another great day!
Then there was hand-painting the piece then letting it dry, then dipping it to make the painted parts were "color fast." Then we added more wax design on top of painted sections, and dipped the piece in a robin's egg blue. When I left eight hours later, my batik was drying on the yard next to his shop, while ducks and chickens paraded by. I was beat and hungry. I didn't have it in me to wait for my batik to dry this second time, adding yet more wax design before dip it in a darker blue. After that, we'll need to dip it in the color fast solution again before boiling the fabric to remove the wax and see the final version.
Widya has a wife and two sons. He lives in a village of 700 people, in a home (on a small farm) that belongs to his wife's parents. He learned the art of Batik over 20 years ago, and used to work in Java (Indonesia) in a Batik factory. His brother is still there, and has some of his work published in a book on Batik that floats around Widya's shop.
Widya is warm and funny, and we became friends pretty quickly. Throughout the day we sipped ginger tea and laughed while teaching each other Indonesian/English words. As we shared the job, the art, of batik, we'd say to each other "yes, dear" and "no, dear." Widya started this term of endearment, and each time he said it he laughed so hard he'd nearly fall off his little wooden chair.
I'm heading back today to finish my first batik and to start two other pieces. It's gonna be another great day!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Trippin'
My first week in Bali has been emotionally difficult, hence the lack of posts over the past six days. Suffice it to say -- the trip I had planned, the trip I had thought it would be, isn't the trip I'm getting. I'm getting the trip I need, if that makes sense.
A new friend here in Ubud told me today that certain locations on earth are associated with key parts of the body, or chakras. The Himalayas are the head (makes sense), for instance -- and Ubud, the liver. This also makes sense to me, given the emotional endurance test (purging?) of the past week.
Here in Ubud people realize and respect that evil is unavoidable. Evil and good exist side by side here very visibly. The black and white checkered fabric draped over statues, tables and doorways here are reminders of this belief. I first understood this reality in the alarming way that beauty and artistry exist everywhere, alongside feral street dogs and garbage... scooter exhaust hovers over beautiful, graceful traditional dance performances... delicate music is heard as slaughtered pigs sqweel and roosters crow all day long.
My new friend also suggested that here what you have and feel inside, you feel and experience outside. Reality is actually reality here; there is no shrouding of what is uncomfortable or unsightly. Conversely, we Westerners hide our garbage. We bury personal pain and other "stuff" we don't want to deal with, the stuff we don't think is beautiful, conforming, comfortable and acceptable.
Well, the past several days I've been shifting and growing, working to shed some things I have needed and wanted to shed for some time. In some ways, I'm giving birth to a new and improved, more "real" ME. The best way out of something is through it, and I'm now just seeing the light and the end of this week's uncomfortable, dark tunnel.
I think the forces of the universe pushed me to get to the end of this first trip, so that I could really begin and love this trip to Bali.
A new friend here in Ubud told me today that certain locations on earth are associated with key parts of the body, or chakras. The Himalayas are the head (makes sense), for instance -- and Ubud, the liver. This also makes sense to me, given the emotional endurance test (purging?) of the past week.
Here in Ubud people realize and respect that evil is unavoidable. Evil and good exist side by side here very visibly. The black and white checkered fabric draped over statues, tables and doorways here are reminders of this belief. I first understood this reality in the alarming way that beauty and artistry exist everywhere, alongside feral street dogs and garbage... scooter exhaust hovers over beautiful, graceful traditional dance performances... delicate music is heard as slaughtered pigs sqweel and roosters crow all day long.
My new friend also suggested that here what you have and feel inside, you feel and experience outside. Reality is actually reality here; there is no shrouding of what is uncomfortable or unsightly. Conversely, we Westerners hide our garbage. We bury personal pain and other "stuff" we don't want to deal with, the stuff we don't think is beautiful, conforming, comfortable and acceptable.
Well, the past several days I've been shifting and growing, working to shed some things I have needed and wanted to shed for some time. In some ways, I'm giving birth to a new and improved, more "real" ME. The best way out of something is through it, and I'm now just seeing the light and the end of this week's uncomfortable, dark tunnel.
I think the forces of the universe pushed me to get to the end of this first trip, so that I could really begin and love this trip to Bali.
Photos - Week 1
The following photos have been posted in reverse order... the last few are from the Tjampuhan Hotel, where I stayed at the first three nights in Ubud. The Tjampuhan Hotel is the oldest hotel in Ubud (built in 1928), and the location of the Walter Spies house. The first several photos were taken at the Monkey Forest where I went on day two, with my cousin Murray and her (and now my) friends Lori and Mark from California.
Sarongs are required to enter temple grounds.
I'm continually awed by the carvings here. Everywhere you turn.. there's artistic detail, a respect for ceremony and tradition, and a prioritization of beauty and creativity.
At a temple within the Monkey Forest: PLEASE DO NOT STEP UP TO THESE.
They don't call it Monkey Forest for nothin'. You don't bring food in, you don't wear anything shiney -- or a monkey will climb you looking for a snack.
In the Monkey Forest, lovin' the zoom lens and auto-focus feature of the Olympus.
On the rail of my patio, a guest.
Facing the door of Pura 2, outside.
Welcome Home: Tjampuhan Hotel, Pura 2.
Sarongs are required to enter temple grounds.
I'm continually awed by the carvings here. Everywhere you turn.. there's artistic detail, a respect for ceremony and tradition, and a prioritization of beauty and creativity.
At a temple within the Monkey Forest: PLEASE DO NOT STEP UP TO THESE.
They don't call it Monkey Forest for nothin'. You don't bring food in, you don't wear anything shiney -- or a monkey will climb you looking for a snack.
In the Monkey Forest, lovin' the zoom lens and auto-focus feature of the Olympus.
On the rail of my patio, a guest.
Facing the door of Pura 2, outside.
Welcome Home: Tjampuhan Hotel, Pura 2.
Monday, March 9, 2009
No Matter Where You Go...
Hello from HKO. It's March 10th, about 8:00 am here...
Before I left for DIA on the evening of the 8th, I got a call from my friend Ed. He called to wish me well on my journey and to remind me that "no matter where you go, there you are." Right.
My flight out of DEN was delayed over an hour. I had been counting on a decent layover in SFO to get from the Frontier Airlines arrival gate to the International Terminal, to check-in at the Cathay Pacific desk, get through another security checkpoint, get to my gate and board a big 747.
I got to SFO with less than an hour before my flight to Hong Kong. It was about 12:30 am (on the 9th, which I think was yesterday... or yesterday here) when I made my solo run across terminals with my heavy carry-on over my shoulder. Note to self... next time: wheels.
Running through this huge, vacant, spaceship of an airport -- no one around but a few bored vacuum pushers -- I started to laugh. Ed's reminder the day before had sifted to the top of my thoughts. There I was, all my myself. There I was, running toward unfamiliar territory. I was never so happy that in the unfamiliar places to come, I would be there. I was happy to know that the resources and abilities I've built and been blessed with would be there, too.
Previously, I'd thought of the "no matter where you go" sentiment to be more of a warning. How refreshing (and ironic) to realize a comforting, positive spin.
I had a realization in the car with kind driver Betsy on the way from my house in Denver to DIA, that I was hurling myself across the world, and would not be near anything I knew for a full month. Literally nothing would be familiar to me: weather, food, music, language, customs, transportation, smells, time-zones, etiquitte, flora, fauna, etc.
At least I know that no matter where I go, I will be there. That's nice.
Before I left for DIA on the evening of the 8th, I got a call from my friend Ed. He called to wish me well on my journey and to remind me that "no matter where you go, there you are." Right.
My flight out of DEN was delayed over an hour. I had been counting on a decent layover in SFO to get from the Frontier Airlines arrival gate to the International Terminal, to check-in at the Cathay Pacific desk, get through another security checkpoint, get to my gate and board a big 747.
I got to SFO with less than an hour before my flight to Hong Kong. It was about 12:30 am (on the 9th, which I think was yesterday... or yesterday here) when I made my solo run across terminals with my heavy carry-on over my shoulder. Note to self... next time: wheels.
Running through this huge, vacant, spaceship of an airport -- no one around but a few bored vacuum pushers -- I started to laugh. Ed's reminder the day before had sifted to the top of my thoughts. There I was, all my myself. There I was, running toward unfamiliar territory. I was never so happy that in the unfamiliar places to come, I would be there. I was happy to know that the resources and abilities I've built and been blessed with would be there, too.
Previously, I'd thought of the "no matter where you go" sentiment to be more of a warning. How refreshing (and ironic) to realize a comforting, positive spin.
I had a realization in the car with kind driver Betsy on the way from my house in Denver to DIA, that I was hurling myself across the world, and would not be near anything I knew for a full month. Literally nothing would be familiar to me: weather, food, music, language, customs, transportation, smells, time-zones, etiquitte, flora, fauna, etc.
At least I know that no matter where I go, I will be there. That's nice.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Monkeys
I combed through countless websites in my search for a place to stay in Ubud throughout my near month-long stay in Bali. I sent emails off to "innkeepers" of bungalows, villas, hotels and homestays. I would generally get responses the next morning, emails that were sent to me the night before. The concepts of "real time" or "same day" are blurred when you're connecting with people a half a world away.
My favorite email came about a week ago, from Emile H Snellen v Vollenhoven. In his email Emile told me, "we have a very nice house and cheap for 1 or two persons. BUT there are monkeys. The monkeys are coming sitting on the roof sometimes in the garden. When you are not afraid, when you like monkeys when you don’t feed them and send them away it is a really nice place."
I kindly passed on the Monkey House, but several times since hearing from Emile, I’ve remembered his last comment. I find his advice poetically applicable these days.
There are monkeys everywhere: things, issues or concerns that bother and scare us. The trick may be, as Emile suggests, to not to be afraid, to not feed them, to like them (or at least find opportunities in, or despite of, their presence) and to not attempt to send them away. By making peace with your monkeys, by challenging yourself to understand them, you may live more fully.
On Sunday, I’ll throw my monkeys on my back and continue my journey to Bali.
(Incidentally, not only Emile H. Snellen v Vollenhoven an owner of a boutique hotel and manager of rental homes in Ubud, he is a Dutch Indo Artist living there. To see some of his work, check out http://www.dutchartist.nl/)
My favorite email came about a week ago, from Emile H Snellen v Vollenhoven. In his email Emile told me, "we have a very nice house and cheap for 1 or two persons. BUT there are monkeys. The monkeys are coming sitting on the roof sometimes in the garden. When you are not afraid, when you like monkeys when you don’t feed them and send them away it is a really nice place."
I kindly passed on the Monkey House, but several times since hearing from Emile, I’ve remembered his last comment. I find his advice poetically applicable these days.
There are monkeys everywhere: things, issues or concerns that bother and scare us. The trick may be, as Emile suggests, to not to be afraid, to not feed them, to like them (or at least find opportunities in, or despite of, their presence) and to not attempt to send them away. By making peace with your monkeys, by challenging yourself to understand them, you may live more fully.
On Sunday, I’ll throw my monkeys on my back and continue my journey to Bali.
(Incidentally, not only Emile H. Snellen v Vollenhoven an owner of a boutique hotel and manager of rental homes in Ubud, he is a Dutch Indo Artist living there. To see some of his work, check out http://www.dutchartist.nl/)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Welcome Back
About a year ago, I sold an old Nikon F3 that I purchased used over 10 years ago. It hadn't seen the light of day for many years; I had long forgotten how to load film, calibrate settings, etc. and frankly I needed the cash.
This old manual camera was a work horse. It helped me make a living as a freelance writer/photographer when I first moved to Denver in 1997. Thanks to my business partner at the time, Eric Grant, I learned quickly how to handle a camera, frame shots -- and yes, how to maneuver around cattle in a Northeast Colorado feedlot.
I loved being behind that camera, where every moment challenged me to picture what was interesting, beautiful, meaningful before me. I literally felt and moved using another part of my brain. With this camera, I checked-out and checked-in at the same time.
Selling that camera was difficult. I felt a profound appreciation for it; it had opened many doors, both inside and outside of myself. I felt ashamed of myself in letting it go. Its sale was a painful example of my lack of attention to my creative self. In the name of more "practical," lucrative pursuits, I had let go of one of my greatest gifts.
This past Sunday (after plenty of research, of course) I bought an Olympus E-420 digital SLR camera: the smallest SLR on the market today, a relatively inexpensive, popular and well-regarded piece of equipment. I understand the appeal of portable, less expensive point-and-shoot cameras, but I needed a camera that I could engage, and one that would engage me. I wanted a camera I could build a relationship with, in a way. A tool to help me show how I feel about what I see. I wanted to go to Bali and beyond with a real camera in my hands again.
I've been playing with the E-420 over the past few days. Welcome back playful, creative self... thank you for the joy you bring me.
This old manual camera was a work horse. It helped me make a living as a freelance writer/photographer when I first moved to Denver in 1997. Thanks to my business partner at the time, Eric Grant, I learned quickly how to handle a camera, frame shots -- and yes, how to maneuver around cattle in a Northeast Colorado feedlot.
I loved being behind that camera, where every moment challenged me to picture what was interesting, beautiful, meaningful before me. I literally felt and moved using another part of my brain. With this camera, I checked-out and checked-in at the same time.
Selling that camera was difficult. I felt a profound appreciation for it; it had opened many doors, both inside and outside of myself. I felt ashamed of myself in letting it go. Its sale was a painful example of my lack of attention to my creative self. In the name of more "practical," lucrative pursuits, I had let go of one of my greatest gifts.
This past Sunday (after plenty of research, of course) I bought an Olympus E-420 digital SLR camera: the smallest SLR on the market today, a relatively inexpensive, popular and well-regarded piece of equipment. I understand the appeal of portable, less expensive point-and-shoot cameras, but I needed a camera that I could engage, and one that would engage me. I wanted a camera I could build a relationship with, in a way. A tool to help me show how I feel about what I see. I wanted to go to Bali and beyond with a real camera in my hands again.
I've been playing with the E-420 over the past few days. Welcome back playful, creative self... thank you for the joy you bring me.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Insurance
After some web-based research, I paid a visit to my doctor on Monday to get her advice about which vaccinations I should get prior to my trip. A faithful follower of the CDC (Center of Disease Control) guidelines, she suggested I get up to date on vaccines for routine concerns such as polio, diphtheria, measles and tetanus. Recommendations specific to the region are vaccinations for hepatitis A and B, typhoid, as well as an antimalarial drug, a pill taken daily during your trip. Further concerns of varying degrees are avian (bird) flu, dengue and yellow fevers and rabies.
France or Sweden anyone?
Despite this alarming list of potential hazards, absolutely no vaccinations are required for entry into Bali, and many visitors go "au natural" and do just fine. So I bumped up against two life approaches that inform, generally, decisions that I make for myself: a) more and more I appreciate an holistic or naturopathic approach to self care, and being healthy and blessed with a good deal of common sense, I should do just fine... skip the cost and pain and just go, and b) let's face it, I'm a practical girl, and not a real risk-taker with my health and safety... just shoot me.
So, I got shot. And it hurt. And since the deed was done on Monday, I've been extremely achy, tired and even dizzy at times, and my left arm (site of the tetanus and hep a injections) feels like it might just have taken a bullet.
Did I make the right decision? I may never know. But as I've mentioned, when I follow instructions, when I cover my bases, when I'm organized and prepared -- I feel better about what lies before me. It may not be sexy, but it's insurance.
France or Sweden anyone?
Despite this alarming list of potential hazards, absolutely no vaccinations are required for entry into Bali, and many visitors go "au natural" and do just fine. So I bumped up against two life approaches that inform, generally, decisions that I make for myself: a) more and more I appreciate an holistic or naturopathic approach to self care, and being healthy and blessed with a good deal of common sense, I should do just fine... skip the cost and pain and just go, and b) let's face it, I'm a practical girl, and not a real risk-taker with my health and safety... just shoot me.
So, I got shot. And it hurt. And since the deed was done on Monday, I've been extremely achy, tired and even dizzy at times, and my left arm (site of the tetanus and hep a injections) feels like it might just have taken a bullet.
Did I make the right decision? I may never know. But as I've mentioned, when I follow instructions, when I cover my bases, when I'm organized and prepared -- I feel better about what lies before me. It may not be sexy, but it's insurance.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Foreshadowing
The pink lotus blossom is a symbol of grace and holiness in Bali.
Terraced ricefields are the dominant feature of Bali's rural landscape. Steep terrain makes mechanization difficult. The Balinese solution, which dates from as early as the 9th century AD, is an ingenious and complex network of irrigation channels, tunnels and aqueducts that divert water from sources high up in the mountains to water-sharing communities known as subak.
The Batik of Bali expresses the artistic excellence of the Balinese people. Their beautiful designs, inspired by religious mythologies to everyday encounters, spread throughout the world.
People who harvest rice (typically women) cut the stalks with a small knife concealed in their palms so as not to frighten the rice goddess.
Anticipation
After finally making the decision to book this trip, I am enjoying these days leading to March 8. I've got some lists going, appointments made, and bills pre-paid. All of this preparation eases my mind... to me, organization = peace.
In many ways this trip is liberating for me. I have often talked about wanting to travel internationally; it's made my New Year's Resolutions lists for as far back as I can remember. See the sidebar about the irony of commitment.
I trust that giving myself permission to take this journey now is a good move, despite the current state of the economy. If the economy was running on all cylinders, I couldn't, wouldn't commit to this for fear I'd lose career and money-making traction. Could there be this silver lining to the recession cloud? In other words... if not now, when?
In many ways this trip is liberating for me. I have often talked about wanting to travel internationally; it's made my New Year's Resolutions lists for as far back as I can remember. See the sidebar about the irony of commitment.
I trust that giving myself permission to take this journey now is a good move, despite the current state of the economy. If the economy was running on all cylinders, I couldn't, wouldn't commit to this for fear I'd lose career and money-making traction. Could there be this silver lining to the recession cloud? In other words... if not now, when?
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