*Jakarta Globe, 13 December 2008

It is noon when Christine Hakim makes an entrance on the staircase of a hotel on Bali Island. The weather is balmy and the air has a faint smell of salt. Hakim wears a batik shirt with a cloud pattern and a jade-green lizard-skin tote bag slung over her shoulder. Her signature streak of green hair is barely noticeable when pulled tightly back.
Hakim runs into Trade Minister Mari Elka Pangestu, who has just addressed a conference, at the reception desk.
The press immediately swarm around them. “Mbak Christine!” the photographers and journalists call out.
Hakim answers questions with good humor and the poise that comes from being in the public eye for more than three decades.
“There is still no one in the film industry who can rival her,” whispers a journalist.

Since Hakim launched her acting career in Teguh Karya’s “Cinta Pertama” (First Love) in 1973, barely an unkind word has been written about her in the media.
It is not hard to see why. “As I age, my maternal side develops. I treat them like they are my children, even the older journalists,” Hakim says. “I jest with them, pretending to be difficult. They in turn try to coax me, as a child would coax their mother for a treat, to give them an interview,” she adds with a wink.
After the press conference, Hakim heads for the airport. The appearance of her very famous face — the vermilion lips, the warm eyes under darkened lashes, the beauty spot — causes many people to do a double take.
Besides being a screen icon, Hakim was the first Indonesian to be invited to sit on the jury of the prestigious Cannes International Film Festival and she also graced the cover of TIME magazine as one of their Asian heroes of 2004 for her contributions to film and society. Yet it is with a deep sigh that she sums up her life in the limelight in one word: “heavy.”
“It was my never my intention to end up this way. I just wanted to be a good person,” she says, referring to her humanitarian work.
“These are the consequences of the decisions I have made throughout my life. So I have to be consistent with my choices,” Hakim says. “In a way it is a moral burden — if I choose to let go of my commitments — because at times they involve the livelihoods of others.”
Hakim’s compassion for others and her nationalism are evident in the roles she has chosen to play in films such as “Daun Di Atas Bantal” (Leaf on a Pillow), about the lives of street children; “Serambi” (Verandah), about the aftermath of the tsunami in Aceh; and “Cut Nyak Dhien,” about an Acehnese freedom fighter.
Hakim is also an advocate for public education and children’s welfare. “If I can help someone who is in need — and release them from their troubles — that is what makes me smile,” she says. “When I am in trouble and help comes my way, it is an incredible feeling. Because I have felt that, I want others to feel the same.”
In 2008, Hakim was appointed by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, or Unesco, to be a Goodwill Ambassador for Teacher Education in Southeast Asia.
Her own foundation, The Christine Hakim Foundation, provides nutrition for malnourished children in West Java Province. “We [as public figures] do not always have to contribute to the community, but perhaps I want to give meaning to my own life. I feel if I do things only for myself then my life is less meaningful. But if my life can give meaning to others, then it has more purpose.”
A friend decides to fly back to Jakarta with Hakim and takes the last available seat — in economy. Without a second thought, Hakim gives up her business-class seat to her friend.
“I much prefer sitting in the back of the plane,” she says, waiting patiently for the crowded line to move forward. “Besides, it is the safest place in case of a crash.”
At lunchtime, Hakim takes out a brown paper package of rice from her favorite street stall in Bali. She politely refuses a stewardess’s offer of utensils.
Her down-to-earth attitude — sitting in economy, eating rice with her hands — appears to puzzle the other passengers, who watch her constantly. “Acting is a profession, just like any other. Life does not only encompass acting,” Hakim says. “The gist of life is not there [in film] but comes back to my existence as a human being. There is no difference between one person and another. We all have pluses and minuses. I do not feel I am better than anyone else.”
Arriving at Jakarta’s Soekarno-Hatta airport, Hakim sails through immigration, past a sea of officials’ smiles. “The kindness of others makes my life easier, but it has also become a burden for me. People are nice to me because they appreciate, respect and believe in me. In that sense, I have to tread carefully so as to not disappoint anyone.”
The arrival hall is almost empty — aside from a film crew on break. Their camera and sound rigs are strewn around the area. Hakim recognizes a few of the crew members and stops to chat. They discuss a movie that is currently in production in Jakarta. The verdict is not good. Hakim shakes her head sadly.
“That film has been rife with problems from the start,” she says.
Once in her car, Hakim sinks back into her seat, clearly travel-weary. “On three occasions I wanted to stop making films” she discloses, pausing for thought. “But my soul is in film. As humans, we all have a calling. We all have our own duties to fulfill — of that I am convinced. Whenever I face a major predicament, in other aspects of my life positive things, such as recognition for my work, appear. So how can I stop?”
These awards symbolize people’s hopes and appreciation — their support. And so I continue,” Hakim says.
Back at her office in South Jakarta, Hakim rolls out a mat and begins to pray. The soft recitation of bismillah — in the name of Allah — resonates throughout the room. After praying , she changes into a boldly patterned top and a ruby-red Spanish-style tiered skirt.
Hakim says she does not find it hard to be a woman working in a patriarchal culture.
“I do not want to be a man. My femininity has become my strength. It sets me apart from men. It is an asset,” she says.
“In life, you have to be able to be tender and hard. I can be hard, believe it or not,” she says.
Darkness hangs over the capital as Hakim makes her way to a gallery opening, where she is guest of honor.
“In the end, it is my life,” she says. “But when people already respect and believe in me, they only want to see me as that person [they see onscreen]. They need to understand that I am also human and can also make mistakes. “
She reaches her destination and glides out of the car with a grand smile for the wall of photographers who greet her. Then Christine Hakim disappears into the throng.

(photo: AFP/Mychele Danau)

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“The Museum of Lost Worlds presents: Swi Gunting (reconstructing artefacts from the lost island of Tana Swiwi)” must be the longest title for an exhibition that I’ve seen this year – it is on at Seventh Gallery and it is worth seeing.

Swi Gunting are carved and decorated wooden scissor-lifts constructed by the Jatiwangi Arts Factory from Jatiwangi West Java. The craftsmen at the Jatiwangi Arts Factory have produced beautiful carved and painted work. And the wooden scissor-lifts do actually work; they are capable of being cranked up and down with an adapted bicycle chain and sprocket wheel. Since these scissor-lifts are too small and decorative to have a practical use archaeologists would classify them as ceremonial objects and we know that they must be contemporary art.

Wanda Gillespie is the artist behind this spectacle of the Museum of Lost Worlds; her website has images and details of the sculpture on exhibit. For more information about her residency see Creative Journeys.

I like imaginary museums like the Museum of Lost Worlds; I have also seen the Museum of Modern Oddities and the Museum of Soy Sauce Art. The idea of a museum, the older relative of the art gallery, has an aesthetic impact on the art displayed. The artist becomes the curator and gallery director of their imaginary gallery. Unfortunately “The Museum” part doesn’t really work, it didn’t make me believe in a museum, and feels like an excess of words. Some didactic cards, a website, other exhibits or souvenirs from the imaginary museum would have helped make it more complete.

Wanda Gillespie is a Melbourne based-artist who mixes the conceptual and sculptural. I first saw her exhibition “Flying For Dummies and failed attempts” at Blindside in 2006. I thought that it was a good exhibition when I saw it but Swi Gunting is much better. For two years Gillespie was the secretary for Seventh Gallery, an artist run initiative, in part explaining why Seventh Gallery consistently has good exhibitions of quality contemporary art. She was also founding director of Twentybythirty, a miniature gallery, in Melbourne’s CBD.

Kecapi

Kacapi is a zither-like Sundanese musical instrument played as the main accompanying instrument in the Tembang Sunda or Mamaos Cianjuran, kacapi suling (tembang Sunda without vocal accompaniment) genre (called kecapi seruling in Indonesian), pantun stories recitation or an additional instrument in Gamelan Degung performance.

Word kacapi in Sundanese also refers to santol tree, from which initially the wood is believed to be used for building the zither instrument.

According to its form or physical appearance, there are two kinds of kacapis:

1. Kacapi Parahu (=Boat Kacapi) or Kacapi Gelung ; and
2. Kacapi Siter

The Kacapi Parahu is a resonance box with an uncovered underside to allow the sound out. The sides of this kind of kacapi are tapered inward from top to bottom, which gives the instrument a boat-like shape. In ancient times, it was made directly from solid wood by perforating it.

The Kacapi siter is a plan-parallel resonance box. Similar to the kacapi parahu, its hole is located at the bottom. The upper and bottom sides of it form a trapezium-like shape.

For both kinds of kacapi, each string is affixed to a small screw or peg on the top right hand side of the box. They can be tuned in different systems: pelog, sorog/madenda, or slendro.

Nowadays, the resonance box of kacapi is made by glueing six wood-plates side by side.

The kacapi is traditionally played by sitting cross-legged on the floor. Thus the strings are about 25 cm above the floor. Nowadays the kacapi is sometimes placed on a wooden frame, so that the player can sit on a chair. If the kacapi indung is played while sitting on the floor, usually a pillow or some other small object is placed under its left hand side, as seen from the player, so that the sound can freely escape through the resonance hole in the bottom of the soundbox. Some kecapi are fitted with small feet, so that it is not necessary to lift them in this way.

SOURCE : http://en.wikipedia.org

Following policies found in East and Central Java, the West Java provincial government announced that it would decentralize minimum wage policy even further, so that they will be set at the regency and municipality level, rather than province wide.  In Indonesia, the minimum wage serves less as a floor for wages and more as a benchmark.  This, along with less widespread collective bargaining, makes minimum wage policy far more important to the Indonesian labor movement than, for example, the American labor movement.

As Patrick Quinn notes in his ILO report on labor representation in Indonesia from 1998-2003, the localization of minimum wage policy “has undoubtedly opened up the possibility for workers to launch local campaigns aimed at encouraging politicians to increase wage levels.”  I think an interesting comparative study is in there somewhere, to determine in what ways labor unions have gained leverage by the decentralization of the minimum wage, as well as it yearly determination.  And are there provinces where this process has hurt labor unions?  If anyone knows of any info or commentaries on the matter, feel free to post them or pass them along.

A Kebaya is a traditional blouse-dress combination worn by women in Indonesia. It sometimes made from sheer material and usually worn with a sarong or batik kain panjang, or other traditional woven garment such as ikat, songket with a colorful motif. The kebaya is the national costume of Indonesia, although it is more accurately endemic to Java, Sunda and Bali.

The earliest form of Kebaya originates in the court of the Javanese Majapahit Kingdom as a means to blend the existing female Kemben, torso wrap of the aristocratic women to be more modest and acceptable to the newly adopted Islam religion. Aceh, Riau and Johor Kingdoms and Northern Sumatra adopted the Javanese style kebaya as a means of social expression of status with the more alus pr refined Javanese overlords.

The name of Kebaya as a particular clothing type was noted by the Portuguese when they landed in Indonesia. Kebaya is associated with a type of blouse worn by Indonesian women in 15th or 16th century. Prior to 1600, kebaya on Java island were considered as a sacred clothing to be worn only by aristocrats (bangsawan) and minor nobility members of the Javanese monarchy, in an era when peasant men and many women walked publicly bare-chested.

Slowly it naturally spread to neighbouring areas through trade, diplomacy and social interactions to Malacca, Bali, Sumatra, Borneo, Sulawesi and the Sultanate of Sulu and Mindanao Javanese kebaya as known today were noted by Raffles in 1817, as being of silk, brocade and velvet, with the central opening of the blouse fastened by brooches, rather than button and button-holes over the torso wrap kemben, the kain (and unstitched wrap fabric several metres long erroneously termed ’sarong in English (a sarung (Malaysian accent: sarong) is stitched to form a tube, like a Western dress) After hundreds of years of regional acculturation, the garments have become highly localised expressions of ethnic culture, artistry and tailoring traditions.

The earliest photographic evidence of the kebaya as known today date from 1857 of Javanese, Peranakan and Eurasian styles.

Kebaya

SOURCE : http://en.wikipedia.org

Cendol

Cendol [pronounced 'chen-doll'] is a traditional dessert originating from Indonesia. Cendol vendors are a common sight in Indonesian cities. In Sunda, Indonesia, cendol is dark green pulpy dish of rice (or sago) flour worms with coconut milk and syrup of areca sugar. It used to be served without ice. In the Javanese language, cendol refers to the jelly-like part of the beverage, while the combination of cendol, palm sugar and coconut milk is called dawet.

SOURCE : http://en.wikipedia.org

The story began when a lonely old couple met a stupid ugly giant. The couple had no child but they were dying to have one. The giant said he could help them but with a term. So these God’s creatures made an agreement. The giant gave them a magic cucumber seed to grow a child and when the child grew up, they had to give the child up.

The magic seed was planted in the yard. In weeks, a big cucumber came out of it. They took the cucumber to their house and sliced it. There was a baby girl in it. They were very surprise and happy. Finally, they had a child. The baby girl was named Timun Mas (Golden Cucumber). Timun Mas became a nice girl. She loved her stepparents and always obeyed them. She took care of them and never hurt them. Her stepparents loved her more and more.

In short years, Timun Mas became a young girl. The day to give her up to the giant was getting closer. The couple was worried. They could not fulfill their promise to the giant. They loved Timun Mas too much to give her up. Therefore, they were looking for a way to break the promise.

In the afternoon, the giant came to their house. He wanted to take Timun Mas as their agreement. The old couple saw the giant coming. They told Timun Mas to run away.

“Why I have to run away?” Timun Mas asked.

“Because the giant wants to eat you,” answered her stepparents. Timun Mas looked pale. She was afraid to be eaten by the giant. Her stepparents gave her cucumber seed, needles, salt and fermented shrimp paste. “Use these for your protection,” they said. Timun Mas went out from the kitchen door. Her stepparents went to front to meet the giant.

“Where is Timun Mas? I come here to take her,” the giant asked in his loud voice.

“She was not here,” the old couple answered with frightened tremble.

“Where is she?” he asked again.

“She left”

“Are you trying to cut our agreement?” the giant asked angrily.

The old couple got more trembles. “We couldn’t give her. We loved her too much”.

The giant eyes were wider. He was very angry. He chased Timun Mas. Timun Mas saw the giant. She spread the cucumber seed. Suddenly, there were large cucumbers between them. Timun Mas run faster. The blocked cucumbers did not hold the giant. He could smash the cucumbers easily. Then he chased her again. When he was getting closer, Timun Mas spread the needles. Suddenly, there were bamboo trees growing from the land. The giant run the blockade. His body was wounded because of the trees were sharp. However, the giant would not give up. He was still chasing Timun Mas. Timun Mas run again. And when he almost got her, she spread the salt. Suddenly, the land became an ocean. The giant tried to swim. Although he almost drowned, he was still chasing Timun Mas. Then Timun Mas spread her last weapon –the fermented shrimp paste- and suddenly the ocean became a mud ocean. The mud sucked the giant until his head. Then he never showed up again.

Timun Mas then went home. Her stepparents were very happy to see their daughter home.

SOURCE : http://xastory.blogspot.com

Angklung is a musical instrument made out of two bamboo tubes attached to a bamboo frame. The tubes are carved so that they have a resonant pitch when struck. The two tubes are tuned to octaves. The base of the frame is held with one hand while the other hand shakes the instrument rapidly from side to side. This causes a rapidly repeating note to sound. Thus each of three or more angklung performers in an ensemble will play just one note and together complete melodies are produced. Angklung is popular throughout Southeast Asia, but originated from Indonesia (used and played by the Sundanese since the ancient times).

The Angklung got more international attention when Daeng Soetigna, from Bandung, West Java, expanded the angklung notations not only to play traditional pélog or sléndro scales, but also diatonic scale in 1938. Since then, angklung is often played together with other western music instruments in an orchestra. One of the first well-known performances of angklung in an orchestra was during the Bandung Conference in 1955. A few years later, Udjo Ngalagena, a student of Daeng Soetigna, opened his “Saung Angklung” (House of Angklung) in 1966 as centre of its development.

In Hindu period and Padjajaran kingdom era, Sundanese people used the angklung to sign the time for prayer. Later, Padjajaran kingdom use this instrument as corps music in Bubat War (Perang Bubat).

Angklung functioned as building the peoples community spirit. It was still used by the Sundanese until the colonial era (Dutch East Indies, V.O.C). Because of the colonial times, the Dutch East Indies government tried to forbid people playing the angklung instrument.

Because it was forbidden to play angkung during this time, the popularity of the instrument decreased and it came to be played only by children in this era.

In Bali, an ensemble of angklung is called gamelan angklung (anklung). While the ensemble gets its name from the bamboo shakers, these days most compositions for Gamelan Angklung do not use them. An ensemble of mostly bronze metallophones is used instead.

While the instrumentation of gamelan angklung is similar to gamelan gong kebyar, it has several critical differences. First, the instruments are tuned to a 5-tone slendro scale, though actually most ensembles use a four-tone mode of the five-tone scale (an exception would be five-tone angklung from the north of Bali.) Secondly, whereas many of the instruments in gong kebyar span multiple octaves of its pentatonic scale, gamelan angklung instruments only contain one octave, though some five-tone ensembles have roughly an octave and a half. The instruments are often considerably smaller, and hence more portable when used in cremation rituals. The musicians often play in a procession as the funeral bier is carried from the cemetery to the cremation site, in addition to playing music to accompany the ceremony.

The structure of the music is similar to gong kebyar. Jublag and jegog carry the basic melody, which is elaborated by gangsa, reyong, ceng-ceng, drum, and flute. A medium sized gong, called kempur, is generally used to punctuate a song’s major sections. And although most older compositions generally do not employ gong kebyar’s more ostentatious virtuosity and showmanship, many Balinese composers have created kebyar-style works for gamelan angklung, often featuring dance.

Angklung

SOURCE : http://en.wikipedia.org