Anusapati's creativity speaks through nature<\/p>\n
Stuart Koop, Contributor, Yogyakarta<\/p>\n
Last Sunday afternoon was interrupted by the snarling sound of
\nmachinery. I assumed it was the garage next door, where they
\nregularly beat car panels. \"But surely not on a Sunday?\" I
\nthought.<\/p>\n
When I listened closely, it sounded more like a chain saw at
\nwood than a metal-working tool. In fact, it wasn't the garage at
\nall but the artist Anusapati preparing his latest exhibition of
\ntimber sculptures, which was to open at Cemeti Art House that
\nevening.<\/p>\n
I went to the source of the sound and found Anusapati and his
\nassistant bent over a stalled chain saw, pulling furiously to
\nbring it once more to life. The gallery was full of sawdust and
\nthe smell of freshly cut, green wood. They were just finishing
\nthe last of the works, Diikat, a large bundle of short, split
\ntimbers. For this work, many small pieces had been collected and
\nstacked to form a circle, like a giant coin standing on one edge,
\nor as if an enormous tree trunk were cut in cross section and
\nstood on its side.<\/p>\n
Anusapati and his assistant were using a chain saw to trim the
\nends to make them even, yet they were trimming them after they
\nhad already been bundled. Why not trim each one before, I thought
\nlater (it would be much easier dealing with single pieces than
\nthis big, unwieldy stack)?<\/p>\n
There may be several reasons, but we may also take this as a
\nclue to Anusapati's approach to materials; he responds to the
\nsymbolic form of the work rather than its actual materials. For
\nexample, he made this work as if it really were a massive single
\ntrunk, as if the idea in his mind for the work had already
\ntransformed small kindling into a giant log. The implication
\nleads us to a central question: can Anusapati (and can art)
\nimprove on nature?<\/p>\n
Many small plantation trees cannot really replace old growth
\nforests, even though most of us would wish it otherwise. Thus
\nAnusapati's work might represent our longing for environmental
\nhealing despite the unlikely prospect. Indeed, much of
\nAnusapati's work in the exhibition takes the same melancholic
\ntone.<\/p>\n
To this end, he does not use specially cut wood -- only found
\ntimber and usually cheaper, common varieties. And while the
\nsounds I heard last Sunday reminded me more of a timber mill than
\nan artist's studio, Anusapati enacts a gentler, subtler
\ntransformation of timber than any profiteering furniture exporter
\nor paper miller.<\/p>\n
One of the most subtle works on show, I wish I belong here,
\ninvolved combining dried tree branches of different types. The
\ntrunks were lashed together with string and their bifurcating,
\ndead branches were interlaced so that it was difficult to finally
\ntell the different trees apart. Thus a new whole tree was made
\nout of fallen, scattered brushwood. But the title tells more,
\nexpressing once again a desire for rejuvenation and completion,
\nwhich refers equally to nature as to the peaceful coexistence of
\ndifferent cultures (or different \"species\").<\/p>\n
However in another work, unification has an insidious aspect.
\nSeveral long, thin saplings are bound and stitched together with
\ngrasses to form a graceful arc, delicately balanced within the
\ngallery space. The saplings are bent uniformly, strengthened by
\ntheir agreement, and the ultimate form is aesthetic. But they are
\nequally retarded and restricted, prevented any free, individual
\nmovements or expression (these reeds couldn't even bend with the
\nwind).<\/p>\n
There is some figuration too, in several recognizable but
\ndysfunctional works. In Imbalanced, Anusapati has roughly hewed a
\nspinning top. The chiseled offcuts lie scattered around. Yet the
\nspindle is clearly off-center. This top could never spin. Indeed,
\nthe path of the top is traced by a line marked in the timber
\nshavings. Evidently, this top simply rolls pathetically around
\nits skewed axis, a hopeless toy.<\/p>\n
In another work, resembling a fork, two different woods are
\nagain combined. One timber is used for the scoop and another for
\nthe pointed tines. However, these sharpened prongs are hinged
\nfreely to the rest of the work, quite useless for digging since
\nthey readily give way. Like the top it's a useless tool,
\nprecisely made so as not to work.<\/p>\n
So the news of nature is not good: Anusapati rarely improves
\nupon it, but as it turns out, nor does he intend to. Indeed,
\nthese odd and flawed objects, and the impossible hopes they
\nembody, comprise a tragedy overall. While old forests burn out of
\ncontrol in Kalimantan and a haze settles over Indonesia,
\nAnusapati reflects the environmental imbalance that logging and
\nunchecked development entails.<\/p>\n
His sensitive and careful handling of material releases some
\npowerful metaphors still inhering in nature despite the threat of
\nits rapid depletion, like a song or sound held within the very
\ngrain of timber, crying out for care and respect.<\/p>\n
A final work, Underground Sound, sums it up eloquently. Three
\nold fern stumps are hollowed out to resemble bells or gongs. They
\nlie scattered about on the gallery floor, some on their side, all
\nare idle and silent, perhaps waiting to be struck. What sound
\nwould they make? A sad song I'm sure, rising up from the earth.<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/anusapatis-creativity-speaks-through-nature-1447893297",
"image": ""
},
"sponsor": "Okusi Associates",
"sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com"
}