Balinese iconography turned into a commodity

Balinese iconography turned into a commodity

By Kadek Adnyana

DENPASAR (JP): A few years ago, when coming down the steep
road from Bukit to the village of Jimbaran, now the location of
the Bali Intercontinental, I noticed a tree split in two in a
strange way. Branching just above the ground before rejoining
again higher up, it was the perfect simile of the female vagina.
This similarity had not escaped the attention of the locals
either.

Obviously awed by what to them was more than a coincidence,
they had started placing offerings in the tree's most interesting
juncture. To them, the vagina-like tree was obviously the
dwelling place of a deity of fertility. Now, a few years later,
walls have been added, as well as a couple of shrines. The deity,
certainly after proper consultation, has been formalized in its
possession of the place. A sexual shape has been elevated to a
religious symbol and function.

Things like this are common in Bali. Phallic or vaginal-shaped
stones are found all over the island. As with the tree, this
embodies a local ancestor or god of fertility of megalithic
origin. With names as varied as Batara Segara or Batara Celak
Kontong (celak means penis), they have been integrated into the
general framework of the Hindu-Balinese perception of life. When
their special day comes around in the Balinese calendar, they are
washed, dressed, powdered and sometimes carried around the temple
and village as a way to ask for protection and prosperity.

Sexuality has also been accepted and been given symbolic
reverence at the upper level of the Hindu-Sivhaist pantheon. In
the Hindu-Shivaist philosophy, the world is seen as consisting of
the union of two cosmic forces: the male principle, called the
Purusa, bearer of the material component, and the female
principle, called the Purusa, bearer of the spiritual component.
The linga is said in particular to represent the god Siwa in its
supreme ParamaSiwa aspect. In the Siwaratri Kalpa story, the evil
hunter Lubdaka is saved from hell for having inadvertently put
together a linga of leaves in a lake while waiting out the night
in a tree for protection. In Bali's Goa Gajah cave, one can also
see three lingas representing the Hindu trinity of Shiva, Brahma
and Wishnu.

The Balinese island world itself has been rethought along the
lines of sexual cosmology. The highest mountain, Agung, the
dwelling place of the highest gods, is a male symbol while the
lakes and the sea are female and the abode of more negative
deities. At the level of the individual microcosm (Bhwana Alit),
the phenomenon of conception is said to come from the encounter
between the Kama Petak or deified white desire (kama) of the male
with the Kama Abang or red deified desire of the female. It is
through their meeting that the incarnating soul (atma) can came
down and don an earthly dress.

Sexuality conveying symbolical and religious meanings accounts
for the sexually explicit nature of some Balinese iconography.
Many temples are decorated with daring sexual or erotic scenes
from Balinese hell, usually as a warning against the consequences
of sin. The representation of sex is therefore not negative. It
is the use which is made of sexuality which matters to the
Balinese, whether it serves demonic or godly purposes. This fact
is little understood by many Moslem and Christian Indonesians.
They are not able to appreciate the dual aspect of Balinese
sexual symbolism, and criticizes it from a perspective that is as
intrinsically ignorant as it is self-righteously puritanical.

Problems are emerging in Bali, however. Because of its
religious and symbolic significance, Balinese iconographic sexual
representation is ill-prepared to deal with modern secular
sexuality. It is an accepted fact that sex sells, and that sex is
now inseparable form the other aspects of the much vaunted market
economy. The consequence can be guessed easily.

Spurred by the unquenchable demand of tourists with their own
perception of freedom of choice and sexual orientation, the
cosmic and religious sexuality of the Balinese is being eaten
away and turned into just another commodity.

The change in the meaning and content of sexuality has had
little effect on behavior, because the Balinese are still
protected by their village tradition, but a tremendous effect on
what images are produced.

Twenty years ago, to give but one example, villagers in Pujung
made primitive statues of naive sexual content. They carved small
figures with big penises, a theme directly derived from similar
images found in the local tradition. Now, obviously at the
request of alien purchasers, local sculptors make, alongside
regular statues of gods or Donald Duck, hard-porn statues of male
homosexuality.

In villages reputed for their traditional painting, like in
the Ubud-Batuan area, some artists, and not necessarily the less
talented, have turned to producing soft-porn. A picture depicting
an act of fellatio against a Balinese backdrop -- invariably on
commission -- commands a better price than the traditional but
passe Balinese love scene between faithful Setyawati and her
beloved husband Salya.

Traditional erotic iconography is thus voided of its symbolic
and didactic meaning. It has been set in a new, secular
perspective for the sake of increasing sales. This portrays not
only a change in function but also a change in culture.

In some instances, the pretense of a Balinese cultural
background is completely gone. One of the biggest hits at beach
stalls and at the Balinese art market of Sukawati are penises of
all shapes, sizes and hues. They are made into ashtrays,
key holders and other instruments for domestic and private use.
Just imagine ten, perhaps even hundreds of good, temple-going
smiling Balinese bent over pieces of wood, earnestly carving
these pieces of shame.

All Balinese are artists, it is said. But, in post-modern
Bali, where have all the symbols gone?