Ono is off the rails, but right on track

Duncan Graham, Contributor/Surabaya

When the tram lines were ripped up around Malang in the middle of the last century, the East Java city's leaders doubtlessly thought this was another great step forward.

Trams were the transport of yesteryear, clumsy, noisy and uncomfortable. The era of the sleek automobile was in ascendance. Out with the rigid and ancient, in with the flexible and modern.

A few nostalgic oldies probably regretted the change but their views would have been dismissed as irrelevant. At least one kampong kid also had misgivings; his views wouldn't have cut much ice, either.

Sumarsono, better known as Ono, was born in 1947 during the great struggles for Indonesian freedom and certainly on the wrong side of the tracks. His father was a tailor, his mother sold noodles and his nine siblings had interests other than iron rails.

Ono's home was in Gang Masjid Nur, near the mosque of its name. It was right alongside the tramways and among the metal workshops and spare parts yards which kept the clanging, clanking carriages shaking down the streets.

For most people these hot and smoking foundries were areas to avoid; molten iron is too much a reminder of hell. For a curious lad with a more practical imagination they were heaven.

"I spent a lot of time around the trams and the workshops," he said. "I was fascinated by the system. I appreciated old things made of iron and steel. I was always number one at school in art, but for the most part I'm self-taught."

Young Ono did not like the idea of the old tram parts being melted down for scrap. He thought they had potential to be reshaped and reborn as objects of interest, even beauty. As a teenager he found it easier to express his concerns about the world in painting and sculpture, and he was audacious enough to get his work shown in Surabaya.

Smart move, for among the admirers who saw his exhibition was a police doctor, Dr. Van Haycop Thein Ham -- a man with the skill to spot talent and the ability to nurture. He encouraged, bought and promoted. Through his job he had that most essential of Indonesian qualities for success -- contacts at the top.

Before long, Ono was being photographed alongside men of rank in their khaki uniforms, creases sharp as bayonets, peaked caps above regulation short-back-and-sides.

Incongruous sight, for Ono looked the archetypal rebel, long hair, bare chest, jeans and perky headgear. Wild man with big grin mixing it with the stern custodians of law and order -- who were also buyers of unusual art and presenters of commissions for public art.

Fame and some fortune followed for the multitalented Ono, who seemed able to handle a mix of technologies, from welding to painting to cement sculpting -- even wire and fiber. His more portable work rapidly escaped the confines of Malang and found refuge in the homes of collectors, in galleries and museums across 25 countries.

Less dedicated artists would by now have moved into some smart upmarket suburb to enjoy the delights of soft living. But although he owns five properties, Ono prefers living in a crowded kampong tucked behind a church and in rooms so small they can't contain his art.

So three sculptures have to stand guard in the alley outside like steel satpam (security guard) showing off their authority; no braids and epaulets required for these robotic figures of gears and sprockets, levers and hooks, bolts and chains. Metal carries its own force.

"I prefer to live in the kampong with my wife Tristianingsih because this is Indonesian reality,' he said. "Here we have gotong royong -- community help. For an artist this can be inspirational. Where I live is not so important as what I can say through art."

Apart from teaching Ono continues to experiment with abstract work. His paintings tend to be big and lurid with just a hint of recognizable form under the broad-brush strokes. Birds are a regular theme, "because they are free".

So in his metal sculptures pliers become beaks, drill bits necks and marine hooks make perky tails. Materials have been plundered from the pasar loak (flea market) where broken equipment and tools are sold.

"I don't copy other people's work. I try to be original, though I have been influenced by some of the art of Bali and Irian Jaya," he said. "Art should not be about dollars -- it's about honesty and expressing yourself so others have pleasure.

"The only truth is in God. Truth is a nonsense in human beings. I'm a Muslim but I have no concern about other religions. Through art, I find peace and that's a message I want to spread."

But how does this worthy philosophy reconcile with working for the military?

For in the past, he has made sculptures "celebrating" the brutality of man, concrete conquerors thrusting rifles, directing artillery, repelling some distant foe. All presumably in a bid to inspire future generations to celebrate war.

"Art is art," he said. "It transcends human affairs and politics. Look at the conflict now with Australia. The politicians just want to break up the good relationships between our countries, but artists can help repair these. God does not allow people to quarrel."