Batik artist Ardianto amasses objects of desire

By Dini S. Djalal

YOGYAKARTA (JP): Ardianto Pranata is worried. He looks at the object before him, a bright green sculpture sitting on a podium of red bricks, and nervously asks: "Do you think it looks good there? For so long I've been thinking of where it belongs."

It's a curious question because in this vast, 6,000-square- meter compound, there are, by Ardianto's own count, 6,000 artworks.

Amused by his own purchasing power, he says: "I have 800 old cloths, 800 ceramics, so much stuff!"

That's more artifacts than some small museums.

So head-turning is Ardianto's eye for decoration that the new architecture tome, Java Style, devoted heavy coverage to the treasure trove of collectibles.

"That book! Now people come here all the time from all over just wanting to see my house! Some even ask to buy my antiques, but I tell them that they're not for sale," Ardianto smiled.

There are good for sale, but they're more fragile than the carvings on the walls. Turn another statue-lined corner and one begins to understand how this modern-day palace construction achieved its opulence.

On ornate teak benches and cabinets are piles of the finest batiks in all fabrics and colors, from deepest purples to brightest blues. Down the corridor are pillows, throws and blankets, all bearing batik motifs.

Peek at the price tags, now bearing dollar signs, and learn the second reason why Ardianto's abode, located on the outskirts of Yogyakarta on the road to Magelang, is an antique dealer's paradise.

"I make the fourth most expensive batiks in Indonesia, after Baron, Obin (Josephine Komara),and Iwan Tirta," Ardianto said proudly before inspecting another exquisite cloth.

As he glides the silk through his hands, the third reason for Ardianto's wealth becomes clear: Ardianto is not just an artist, he's a perfectionist.

Looking at a woman, one of dozens in his employ, batiking a cloth, Ardianto reminds: "Finer, finer. The work should be finer". Rummaging through a stack of samples to be photographed, he repeatedly says "Ordinary" or "Not good enough" before finding the odd batik that suits his standards.

Ardianto has such high standards that he admitted even he can't meet them. When asked about his export business, he answers, "I wouldn't call it an export business. I don't produce the volumes that an export business requires."

Producing fine batik, says Ardianto, is time-consuming -- a good cloth requires weeks of drawing, dyeing and waxing -- and unchecked expansion may lead to a downgrade in quality.

Dollars

In today's mad search for the almighty dollar, however, more exports would be a godsend. Yet Ardianto is happy with business, at least since he changed prices from rupiah to the greenback.

The move was recent, and only after his margins took a beating from the rupiah plunge. And not only cash flow has been affected by the currency crisis -- sometimes it's hard to just continue production.

In the last months, Ardianto has literally begged his regular fabric suppliers for material because they refuse to sell their goods. Afraid of losing money by giving too low of a price, fabric suppliers would rather hoard their stocks than amass a mound of depreciated rupiah.

"I had to force them to sell me fabrics, especially imported silks. It's crazy, because we need to produce or else our staff doesn't eat," he said.

Now Ardianto buys lowered volume of silks (because of skyrocketing prices) but produces finer work. It is a better attitude than other manufacturers and suppliers, whose morale has been hurt by slumping sales.

"Manufacturers are not serious now, because they produce goods but no one will buy. So suppliers won't sell because even if they sell fabrics cheaply, no one is buying," he said.

Ardianto has a more positive approach. Sales may be slower, but profits are better.

"When we changed the prices to dollars, sure the sales dropped dramatically. But it balances out because we make up for it in income."

Yogyakarta's constant flow of tourists, said Ardianto, still buy batiks at normal prices but cash-strapped locals are given a lower exchange rate. "People know they can still bargain with me," Ardianto grinned.

Plants to painting

It's confidence mixed with cunning, for success needs more than just talent. Ardianto, now 53, came into the batik business by chance, but he applied himself to the craft with the same obsessiveness he has toward plants and other greenery -- Ardianto's university years were spent learning agricultural technology at Yogyakarta's Gadjah Mada University.

Yogyakarta then, as it is now, was a hippie haven. And at Ardianto's small restaurant, these tourists would discuss their fascination with Javanese culture.

"They were all learning batik, and I thought, I live here and I don't even know batik," said Ardianto.

Curious, he took a month-long batik course with his hippie friends, some of whom were American soldiers returning from Vietnam. The next time he met one colleague, it was during a batik exhibition in the U.S.

"I said to my friend, now it's my turn to teach you how to make better batik!" laughed Ardianto.

From batik, Ardianto moved on to painting. His colorful abstracts have since made him an accomplished artist, staging solo exhibitions as well being showcased in art biennials.

Batik, he said, was one way of expressing his creativity, "but batik artists are considered craftsmen and I wanted to be a real artist". So again, Ardianto plunged wholeheartedly into his new passion as "I forced myself to paint."

Now, Ardianto's paintings sell for upwards of US$2,000. But dollar signs are not important, explained Ardianto: "My prices are flexible because painting is a hobby. As long as there is a sense of appreciation, I am happy."

Thus, his income is two-fold; painting is the butter, batik the bread. Batik keeps Ardianto busy as he heads the national coalition of textile design schools, and he arranged the International Batik Conference in Yogyakarta last November before rushing off to attend a similar conference in China.

Although he is a member of the Association of Indonesian Fashion Designers and Manufacturers (APPMI), he is quick to say that he is a batik artist, not a fashion designer. And despite the fact that Indonesia is steeped in the batik tradition, Ardianto says there are not more batik artists because "it's easier to call yourself a fashion designer than a textile designer".

There's a slight note of disdain when Ardianto speaks of the fashion industry, perhaps because the industry has often spoken ill of him. "I used to be made fun of. The other designers would call me provincial, that my vocabulary was lacking."

The condescension didn't deter him, however -- it just made him more determined.

"(The late designer) Prajudi told me that I was lucky to live in Yogyakarta, because here I can have status while in Jakarta I would just have a headache! Here I can sell my batiks to Jakarta and all over the world, but live large with less money."

And in Yogyakarta, he doesn't have to compete with many other designers for choice clients.

"I feel very lucky here. When Hillary Clinton was here, she came to visit me. If I lived in Jakarta, she probably would have gone somewhere else!"