Wit, wisdom and innovation at Erasmus Huis

Wit, wisdom and innovation at Erasmus Huis

By Dini S. Djalal

JAKARTA (JP): Prior to the mass marketing of the global
village, Indonesia's ethnic groups lived in relative isolation
and in the relative splendor of tradition.

In their small non-commercialized worlds, their tools --
dress, weapons, even cutlery -- were few, but produced with great
care and an equally keen aesthetic sense. Traditional Balinese
language did not have a word for "art", but every ornate detail
of Balinese life was perceived by others as great "art".
Similarly, the suku (tribes) of Kalimantan, such as the Iban and
the Kenyah peoples, passed their days in flamboyant brass leg-
braces, massive head-dresses, and multiple hoop earrings which
eventually pulled down their earlobes to neck-level.

"That's a load of jewelry," observers today would conclude.

But is it? What is jewelry? Webster's dictionary defines
jewelry as "objects of precious metal often set with gems and
worn for personal adornment." Here, the word "personal" is key,
and prevents jewelry from being seen as "art", which connotes
public viewing. Yet a pendant dangling from one's neck has a
larger audience than an etching hanging on a gallery wall, and
has, perhaps, been produced with similarly artistic aspirations.

What elevates any every-day object into the realm of art?
Ethnocentric preconceptions or personal taste?

The blurring of distinctions between "art" and "accessories"
is the intent of the Dutch Jewelry Exhibition at Erasmus Huis,
which will run until April 27. Curator Tom Berends compiled the
contemporary works of 18 jewelers/artists in what is an
impressive and cohesive show.

At the opening, Berends explained that the world of Dutch
jewelry experienced "a kind of revolution" in the 1960s -- a
revolution that has continued to this day. Whereas previously
jewelry was seen and used as an expression of status, young
jewelers Gijs Bakker and Emmy van Leersum sought to create and
promote jewelry as "wearable objects." Their creative partnership
gave rise, in 1969, to the exhibition "Objects to wear" at the
Stedelijk van Abbe museum in Eindhoven. The community of
"modern" jewelers/artists has grown considerably since then.

The primary difference between the new jewelers/artists and
their predecessors was their use of materials. Not content with
either the aesthetic limitations or the economic elitism of
traditional mediums gold, silver, and precious stones, these
revolutionaries looked for more accessible and organic materials.
They sought to be free of restrictions. Everything from wood,
rubber, steel, paper, and plexiglass were cut and molded into
rings, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and brooches.

Modernity

It is not merely freedom which the new media express, but a
contemporary cultural mentality. In the late industrial age, it
is economically wise and culturally relevant to use "utilitarian"
materials. We drink from plastic cups and drive in steel machines
-- why not wear them too? True to the new-age 'nineties'
environmentalism, Iene Ambar also adorns her rings with recycled
materials, such as corks and bottle-caps.

The only Indonesian in the show, Iene Ambar is a sculptor by
profession but produces jewelry in her spare time. Her creations
-- brass rings with wire-attached feathers and bells shooting up
from the finger -- are exhibited standing on the tops of steel
cans. The dramatic size makes one forget that it is a ring until
Ambar pronounces, "Oh no, it's completely wearable, even if you
straighten out the wire."

Asked how much her pieces sell for in Indonesia, Ambar
answers: "I couldn't sell these here, because no one would pay Rp
350,000 for my rings. But I sell many in Europe." The prices may
seem expensive by Indonesian standards, but they're a bargain if
you consider that every piece is one-of-a-kind and that Ambar
creates everything alone and by hand.

Yet the individuality of the pieces, Ambar contends, is not
enough to attract Indonesian buyers. Spoiled by a cultural
tradition of handicrafts, Ambar says, "Indonesians often don't
appreciate things made by hand, because only tukang
(laborers/handymen) work with their hands.

But what's the difference between a tukang and an artist?" The
elitist distinction is also more evident here because "in
Indonesia, as soon as you become a designer, you hire tukang. But
all the artists in this show still make everything themselves,"
Ambar explained.

For Ambar, the whole point of being an artist is to be
involved the process of creation. "Students ask me how to make
certain things, and I answer that I can't show them. Every
creation of mine is like my signature. They express my personal
ideas, and no one can imitate that," said Ambar.

The personal ideas expressed at the show were indeed
inimitable, and displayed a range of attitudes and philosophies.
Suzanne Esser, for example, rolled and laminated magazine paper
into small daggers, before arranging them into necklaces and
brooches. The written word as sharp as knives? Perhaps that's too
extreme an interpretation, but Esser's work does explore the
various guises of the printed media.

Nel Linssen took the organic approach even further with his
necklaces of reinforced recycled paper. Composed of thinly-
spliced sheets, each two inches in diameter, it is not an
accessory to do yoga in. But other modes of dress have been just
as impractical -- stiletto shoes, for example, are downright
hazardous on a cobblestone sidewalk. Linssen's creations are
magnificent sculptures in themselves, and need no pouty model to
make them come to life.

Marie van Kesteren also uses forestry products, namely
palmwood, for bracelets as smooth as ice. One bracelet was made
of wood so dark and glossy, it looked like car tires. Van
Kesteren's technique is more stereotypically "modern" in its cool
glossy esthetics, which partly explains its accessibility and
wearability. The vision of the 1960s modernist movement
championed sleekness and durability over excess and whimsy.

With the weariness of a generation bred on the bleak and
sterile wor(l)ds of Aldous Huxley and George Orwell, the 1990s
school of modernity allows a great deal more whimsy. Danielle
Koninkx's fine gold wreath of tiny glass and plastic flowers
hints at a fantastic imagination. Her other necklace, a white
paper daisy-chain, speaks for all the desperate voices of the
peace movement, while retaining the lightness of innocence.

The rest of the show is just as rich. Much of the jewelry is
made of silver or steel -- both sleek and shiny surfaces. These
materials manage to shirk away from grandeur even in copious
quantity or elaborate design. Some pieces venture into other
mediums, like Birgit Laken's copper spiral brooches or Robert
Smit's gold Kandinsky-like designs.

But perhaps the most singular is Ruudt Peters, whose Greek-
inspired creations use mixed media in very novel ways. All his
works have Greek titles, like "Absolom" and "Soppho." The latter
is a silver necklace of pearl-inserted netting with a large
goose-egg in the middle. Not everyone will share Peters' exotic
esthetics, but most will appreciate his philosophical
sensibilities. Greece's Parthenon was the site of the world's
first democracy, and ostensibly the birthplace of modernism. And
the Greeks' passion for all things beautiful provides the basis
of a truly modern society: that every object has utility and
beauty, creating a world where everything is art.