On Sorrow

Sorrow, piled on my pillow, what is your shape?
Like waves in rivers and seas, you endlessly churn.
How long the night, how dark the sky, when will it be light?
Restless, I sat up, gown thrown over my shoulders, in the cold.
When dawn came at last, only ashes remained of my hundred thoughts ...

That poem, believe it or not, was written by Mao (taken from this book). All humans are subject to sorrow.

About a Boy (Who Wants to be a Tour Guide)

Several weeks ago, while on a business trip in Ubud, I took a moment to go see the famed rice terraces. As is typical in tourist sites of Bali, the moment I got off from the rented car, a group of people swarmed around me to sell things off. I walked quickly passed them and cascaded down to be at the edge of a cliff from where I could savor the view much treasured by most urbanites who have been away too long from nature.

While indulging my eyes among the greens, I heard footsteps coming over – they belonged to my colleagues and a young boy. He was amongst the group that surrounded me, I noticed, as he brought with him odds and ends that one would be tempted to buy as souvenirs, but then would shove it somewhere and forget about it the next moment. He commented to my Indonesian colleague in Bahasa (thinking that I was not Indonesian for some reason) about how fast I walked. And then he asked my friend where I came from.

After finding out that I am Indonesian, he started talking to me, trying to sell things off – all for merely ten thousand Rupiah. He pleaded that he had followed me a long way, and so I should buy things from him (I wonder how effective is it to sell things off by evoking one’s sense of pity and/or guilt?).

Trying to overcome my own temptation, thinking that these souvenirs would be of no use once I am back in Jakarta, I started asking him questions about himself: does he go to school, how long he has to work everyday, where does he live, what does his parents do.

This boy, who is a junior high school student, caught up quickly. He told me that both his parents owned a souvenir stall down the road, and he and his brother both had to help out. Therefore, I should buy things off from him so he could pay for his tuition. Witty boy. He was weighing down my heart (and why should I feel this?).

I started to like him, but I was adamant not to buy anything from him. So I sat next to him and we chatted. He noticed that I and my colleagues wore similar silver warthog pins that we got from our visit to a jewelry workshop. He started asking questions about the pins and where we got them. He told me that the pin was really nice, and noted that although it was suppose to look like a warthog, it looked more like a bull (which was true). I told him that he was a good observer, and I asked him questions about the future and what he wanted to be. A guide, he said with twinkle in his eyes. My heart sank.

I realize that Bali is a tourist-driven island, and most jobs relate to tourist-driven industries. But does this boy want to be a guide because he really wants to, or because he has no exposure to other jobs he could do? Does one’s dream of possibilities and opportunities open up as one’s own knowledge and experiences widen?

So I told him about the jewelry workshop. I told him about various things people do there, hoping that it would open up his horizon. But unfortunately we had to leave. What I realized after the car moved away from the site on towards our next destination was that I should have given him my pin. It would have meant a lot more to him than to me. This post is my dedication to him instead, although he had no way of knowing or accessing this information.

Western Lords, Frustrated Artists, and Pigeon-Holed Workers

Several weeks ago I went around some cities to visit arts and design industries, communities, and schools. I thought the visits to the universities would be most interesting, but as it turned out, the visits happened towards the very end of the week so most of the schools were rather quiet and one was in dilapidated condition. Nothing was happening.

The arts and design communities, though, were buzzing with a lot of energy. And at both Common Room and Kedai Kebun, we had lively discussions which accidentally, both ended up with rather heated tones when the topic on the role of academics and universities in developing arts and designs came up.

Most academics and universities, according to these frustrated, albeit otherwise very successful artists and designers in their own rights, were not actively involved in the communities. Many of them even accused academics as being backward thinkers, conformers, and bureaucrats who simply didn’t keep up with the way of the world, and were the very actors who kill creativity in the young. They were the very reason why the artists and designers communities started in the first place.

Meanwhile, visits to arts and design industries from the sweatshops to the internationally known ones owned by Westerners, although were very interesting, were very depressing at the same time.

Most Indonesian workers were very skilled in their crafts. And that’s everything that most of them had in store. They wanted to know more about design. They wanted to know more about what would sell. But all they could do was copying exactly as ordered.

And who gained from all this?

The most successful industries were owned by the Westerners. They were the ones who design. They were the ones who know how to market their products. They were the ones who profit from the skills of Indonesian craftsmen. They owned acres of land. They employed hundreds of people. They were lords in modern and supposedly independent Indonesia.

I’m not blaming the Westerners. It’s Darwin’s survival of the fittest world after all.
I’m just asking myself some questions:

When the worlds of schools, practitioners, and industries are so disjointed, how can we start bridging?
When the gaps between the most successful and the barely surviving people are so wide, how can we catch up?

Where do we start?

ADDED:
For more in-depth analysis of the successes in the industries owned by Westerners vs. those owned by Indonesians, see Designing Ideas.

Boxes: 1.3.

A new Atom triagonal clips No. 303 box.
Attempt #3.

I leave it up to your imagination.

Remains of the Earthquake

I recently visited Yogyakarta. I didn’t expect the remains of the earthquake could still be seen throughout the city. Here are some photographs from Institut Seni Indonesia, the Research Institute building – or what’s left of it. They could surely research the structural failure of the building from its remains now.