Bold Planes, Intricate Patterns

Celebrating the technical mastery and aesthetic power of island works.

By Lee Lawrence

The exhibition showcases pieces from a premier collection, many rarely displayed because of their size or fragility. Yale Univeristy Art Gallery

East of the Wallace Line: Monumental Art From Indonesia and New Guinea

Yale University Art Gallery

Through Feb. 1, 2015

New Haven, Conn.

In a gallery painted the color of the ocean on an overcast day, a totemlike pole rises and splits into a large V, a giant stylized snake sports a horse's head and two riders, and a flat gravestone slashes the air like a giant shark's fin. These are just some of the arresting works in "East of the Wallace Line: Monumental Art From Indonesia and New Guinea," Yale University Art Gallery's exhibition of almost 140 18th- to 20th-century objects from island cultures in Southeast Asia.

The line in the title refers to a demarcation that naturalist Albert Russel Wallace documented in the 1860s. Some islands, like Bali, have fauna that relates more to that of Asia, while the ecosystems of neighbors to the east—Sulawesi, Timor, West Papua, the Moluccas, and others—bear more similarities to Australia. As we make our way through a display that subtly evokes island-hopping—interconnected and individual platforms float in the center, while clusters of works hug the walls like so many coastal villages—it seems clear that we are not to read much meaning into this fault line. Rather, it serves as a convenient framework within which to showcase pieces from a premier collection, many rarely displayed because of their size or fragility.

All but one of the artworks are from the collection of Thomas Jaffe, a Yale graduate who grew up around modern art and developed a passion for tribal work. It is perhaps not surprising then that many of the three-dimensional objects have a powerful, modernist presence. A 19th-century carving from the Moluccas, for example, portrays the human figure in a manner akin to cubism: a three-quarter, a profile and a frontal view merge into a single, striking silhouette 7 feet tall. And five well-worn figures from Timor atop a round platform seem like precursors to Alberto Giacometti's statues. Artists in the 18th- and 19th-century turned the forking of branches and angles of tree trunks into walking and standing ancestors, their surface now softened by time and nature.

Throughout the show, there is a wonderful interplay between simple forms and decorated surfaces, bold planes and intricate patterns. In a canoe prow from West Papua dated mid-19th to early 20th century, two big-headed humans stand out, bold forms amid a dense pattern of interlocking swirls. And in a tortoise-shell comb made in East Sumba about 1920, delicately carved deer, long-tailed birds and a central, scorpionlike creature play against a plain central band and the linear pattern of the comb's teeth.

Often related to ritual and beliefs, many of the works could spawn dissertationlike wall texts. But in her first special exhibition since becoming the gallery's inaugural curator of Indo-Pacific art, Ruth Barnes gives us just enough to appreciate that the works often served a purpose we might not guess, but not so much that we drown in the details of symbolism and ritual. She makes sure we know that many of the figures are effigies that host or commemorate the spirit of individual ancestors, and that they are still in some places revered and feared. That some textiles were used in burial ceremonies, others in village celebrations. And that, say, the buffalo symbolizes prosperity to the Toraja people, while the forked totem indicates the union of two clans.

The information primes us to engage with the works. In a grouping of textiles made by the Toraja, for instance, concentric square bands teeming with red and black geometric patterns fill a square piece of barkcloth. The label only tells us that a headhunter used this as a turban around the year 1900. And this is enough. Headhunting was a ritually charged and violent endeavor, and we feel it viscerally in the strong diagonal axis the artist created by interrupting the pattern along two opposing corners so they look like bright yellow-orange arrows pointing outward. Speculations and explanations, in this case, would reduce the experience to words.

The show abounds in moments like this, often enhanced by the placement of the works. Lined up on a raised platform that recalls an altar, five 19th-century male and female ancestors from Flores stand side by side, looking out. At their feet, Ms. Barnes has placed a contemporaneous threshold—and we sense the shift it takes to reach the realm of the sacred. Similarly, when we look at 19th-century masks from Timor we have no indication of how they were used. But rising behind them in our sightlines are the Giacometti-like ancestors in the corner—and the masks suddenly take on the power of entry points.

Toward the back of the gallery, two pale-wood figures, arms held out, palms facing skyward, stand out against the backdrop of three long tie-dyed banners filled with a dizzying array of circles and geometric designs made of red and white dots. Seen together, the banners capture the vibrancy of the sun and stars while the figures' gestures at once evoke the surrender of prayer and the power of creation—both of which, it turns out, might be accurate. The sculptures may be effigies of ancestors or rare representations of deities, according to a label that seems satisfyingly redundant.

By journey's end, the title's reference to Wallace appears more than a convenient framework. The show notes that he wrote admiringly of the islanders' "love for the fine arts," but what none of the texts include is that Wallace was also a committed spiritualist. He would no doubt have approved of a show that celebrates the technical mastery, aesthetic power and otherworldliness of island works.

Ms. Lawrence writes about Asian and Islamic art for the Journal

http://online.wsj.com/

Inside the World of Papua’s Dani Tribe

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Men from the Dani tribe in West Papua’s Baliem Valley carry weapons into battle. Evi Aryati Arbay

Years ago in the highlands of Papua’s Baliem Valley, “tribal war was a symbol” of maturity and power, says Dr. Semiarto Aji Purwanto, head of the research division at the University of Indonesia’s Papua Study Center.  In each tribal war, the Dani tribesmen native to the region would determine who would become a prestigious man – or “big man.”

Dani men paint their faces in preparation for mock battle. The battle is the main attraction of the Baliem Valley Festival. Evi Aryati Arbay

These men are not tribal chiefs, but men with power. They must be strong enough to take on a specific task and lead the rituals around it until their death.
A big man “must demonstrate certain skills,” American anthropologist Marshall David Sahlins wrote in a research paper in 1963. “Some are good at farming, hunting and diplomacy.” But above all, big men must have “magical power, the ability to guide rituals and bravely lead war.”
It’s the story of the Dani that Evi Aryati Arbay explores in her new photo book, “Dani The Highlander.” Ms. Arbay, a tour operator and hobby photographer, first visited Indonesia’s easternmost province of Papua in 2004 as part of a group tour. Over the next decade she made repeated visits to Baliem Valley, and grew close to the Dani people. They even gave her a family name, Mabel.
“Baliem made such an impression on me,” she writes in the Prologue to her book. “Apart from the spectacular scenery, the culture in that place was still untouched. Only a few people could get a chance to get in and out of the Baliem Valley and develop an intimate relationship with the Dani.”

Photographer and tour guide Evi Aryati Arbay poses with people from the Dani tribe in the highlands of West Papua, where she traveled for 10 years capturing pictures for her new photo book. Evi Aryati Arbay

On each weeks-long visit, Ms. Arbay, 34, would take photographs capturing the daily life of the Dani people. Each year there was a heavy focus on the Baliem Valley Festival, an annual cultural event marked by mock battles, traditional music and dances and finished off with a pig roast.

Dani tribesmen conduct a pig roast, a common tradition in the Baliem Valley in Papua where they live. Evi Aryati Arbay

Ms. Arbay, who visited several times a year, observed the big men as they guided important rituals. One big man, for example, was responsible for leading regular pig slaughters. Others were in charge of agriculture or hunting – all the tasks outlined by the anthropologist Mr. Sahlins.

A Dani man with boar tusks in his nose. Evi Aryati Arbay

In one photograph, a war leader appears on the top of a bamboo tower: “His eyes continue to watch over his troops; [with] him boldly commanding,” said Ms. Arbay.
Traditions have changed since the days when the wars were a means of gaining power. The battles, which Dr. Aji described as magical and sacred, are now about solving disputes over things like women, pigs or even irrigation channels. The last war, which began in March between the Dani and the Moni, another major highland tribe, lasted until June.
These battles have also become a tourist attraction, drawing visitors and money to the Dani villages. The Baliem Valley Festival, started as a way of raising awareness and understanding about the Dani and the two other tribes that live in the highlands, has been running for 25 years.
The shift these changes have produced is what Dr. Aji calls “cultural disorientation.” For Ms. Arbay, the rituals remain distinctly captivating, regardless of the reasoning behind them. And the Dani, long one of the most feared tribes in Papua, she has found to be warm, smart and welcoming. And that, says Ms. Arbay, is what she wants to share through her pictures.

Dani men and women perform a tribal dance at the annual Baliem Valley Festival in Papua. Evi Aryati Arbay

“My wish of this documentation is only one,” she writes in her book. “Come and visit Papua, embrace the Dani and their world.”

A Dani man sits in front of a honai, a traditional house belonging to the Dani tribespeople, in Papua’s Baliem Valley. Evi Aryati Arba

 

 By Anastasia Ika

http://blogs.wsj.com/

THE BLACK PRESENCE IN AUSTRALIA AND MELANESIA

WEST PAPUAN LEADER-CHIEF BENNY WENDA

The Black Presence in Australia: Fighting for Survival

Australia was settled at least 50,000 years ago by people who call themselves Blackfellas, and who are usually referred to as the Australian Aborigines. Physically, the Blackfellas are distinguished by straight to wavy hair textures, and dark to near-black complexions. In January 1788, when Britain began using Australia as a prison colony, an estimated 300,000 indigenous people were spread across the continent in about 600 small-scale societies. Each of these communities maintained social, religious and trade connections with its neighbors.

The dumping of British convicts into Australia proved catastrophic for the Blacks. Victims of deliberate poisonings, calculated and systematic slaughters; decimated by tuberculosis and syphilis; swept away by infectious epidemics; their community structures and moral fibers shredded, by the 1930s the Blackfellas had been reduced to a pathetic remnant of about 30,000 people, and perhaps twice that number of mixed descent.

When the continent was invaded by Europeans in the 19th century, the white historians who wrote about Australia invariably included a section on the Blacks, and acknowledged that the original inhabitants of the continent had had a historical role. After 1850, however, few writers referred to the Blacks at all. The Blacks were thought of as a “dying race.” By 1950, general histories of the continent by European-Australians almost never referenced the indigenous people. During this period, the indigenous people, whether part or full blood, were excluded from all major European-Australian institutions, including schools, hospitals and labor unions. They could not vote. Their movements were restricted. They were outcasts in white Australia.

Today, the Blacks of Australia are terribly oppressed, and they remain in a desperate struggle for survival. Recent demographic surveys, for example, show that the Black infant mortality rate is the highest in Australia. The original people have the shoddiest housing and the poorest schools. Their life expectancy is 20 years less than Europeans. Their unemployment rate is six times higher than the national average. Aborigines did not obtain the right to vote in federal elections until 1961, nor the right to consume alcoholic beverages until 1964. They were not officially counted as Australian citizens until after a constitutional amendment in 1967. Today, the indigenous people constitute less than 2 percent of the total Australian population.

West Papua in Melanesia: The Struggle Continues

New Guinea is the biggest and most populous of the islands of Melanesia. Indeed, it is the largest island in the world after Greenland. It is tremendously wealthy in mineral resources, including: uranium, copper, cobalt, silver, gold, manganese, iron and oil. Now split into two by colonial design, New Guinea has until lately contained a racially homogeneous population of 5 to 6 million Africoid people. The eastern half of the island became independent in 1975 under the name of Papua New Guinea. The western half of New Guinea, however, along with a significant portion of the islands’ total population (estimated at 3 to 4 million people), has been seized by Indonesia as its 26th “province.”

For the people of West Papua, (the western part of New Guinea), Indonesia has been and continues to be a brutal and aggressive occupying power. Under Indonesian rule since 1963, the Melanesians have been prone to both physical and cultural genocide. Indonesians generally have a condescending view of Melanesians, who they consider their racial inferiors — except, of course, those who turn away from their own culture and choose to identify with Indonesian cultural values, behavior modes and language. Additionally, members of the Indonesian military and other high government officials possess considerable wealth in West Papua, and are firmly resolved not to share it with the Melanesians.

Melanesians living in the forest communities of West Papua have been subjected to forced labor schemes, while in urban areas Melanesians face overt racial discrimination. A major part of the Indonesian regime’s genocidal policy, in fact, is the physical replacement of Melanesians with Indonesian nationals. This poses the distinct possibility that the Melanesians of West Papua could become a minority in their own country. The struggle of the people of West Papua today is deserving of far more of the world’s attention, particularly the Black world.

http://atlantablackstar.com/

Suku Kamaro di Papua, Ngemil Ulat Sagu & Cacing Tambelo

 
Timika - Salah satu yang unik dari suku-suku di Indonesia adalah apa yang dimakan mereka. Suku Kamaro di Papua, biasa makan ulat sagu dan cacing tambelo. Proteinnya sangat tinggi lho. Seperti apa rasanya ya?

Suku Kamaro tinggal di sekitar Kabupaten Timika di Papua. detikTravel pernah mengunjungi mereka beberapa waktu silam, ketika mereka menggelar semacam festival. Selain menari dan berjualan ukiran kayu, orang-orang Kamaro mengajak pengunjung mencicipi makanan khas mereka yaitu ulat sagu dan cacing tambelo:

1. Mengenal ulat sagu
Ulat sagu adalah ulat-ulat besar segemuk ibu jari. Ulat sagu adalah salah satu bahan makanan dan sumber protein penting untuk mereka.

Untuk mereka yang asing, mungkin jijik rasanya melihat ulat-ulat gemuk itu akan dimakan. Tapi serius, kandungan gizinya tidak diragukan lagi.
 
2. Dimakan mentah, tapi dibakar lebih enak
Ulat sagu bisa dimakan mentah, tapi bisa juga dibakar dulu. Rasanya lebih enak kalau dibakar, seperti disate. Kepala ulat sagu sangat keras dan tidak dimakan. Nanti cara memakannya adalah pegang kepalanya, gigit badannya, dan kepalanya lantas dibuang.
 
3. Rasanya kenyal dan berlemak
Rasanya adalah kenyal. Tekstur kulitnya seperti karet, namun daging di dalamnya seperti lemak. Rasanya nyaris tawar dengan sedikit beraroma seperti nangka.

Sungguh makanan unik dan tiada dua. Variasi lain dari ulat sagu ini dimakan dengan sagu dan dibungkus daun seperti pepes. Ulat sagu pun semakin berasa bumbunya.

 
4. Mengenal cacing tambelo
Cacing tambelo, adalah cacing yang hidup di dalam kayu lapuk di hutan bakau di Timika. Suku Kamoro memang tinggal di dataran rendah dekat pantai. Oleh karena itu, mereka menjadikan cacing tambelo ini sebagai makanan pokok mereka.

Nah, cacing ini biasa dimakan mentah-mentah. Bentuknya seperti tentakel cumi-cumi yang biasa kita liat di pasar ikan.
 
5. Cara makan cacing tambelo
Bagaimana memakan cacing tambelo? Pegang kepalanya, angkat tinggi-tinggi di atas mulut, masukan ke mulut sambil dikunyah pelan mulai dari buntutnya.

Warga Kamoro memakan langsung cacing tambelo. Tapi cacing tambelo ini biar lebih enak direndam di air jeruk nipis, jadi tidak perlu takut jijik. Rasanya enak! Sama saja seperti makan seafood seperti cumi.
 
6. Untuk keperkasaan pria
Cacing tambelo ini ternyata dipercaya sebagai afrodisiak. Warga Suku Kamoro meyakini memakan cacing tambelo bisa menambah kejantanan para pria suku mereka.

 Fitraya Ramadhanny
http://travel.detik.com/