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?