Museum MACAN
By Stella Wenny

This is a winning entry from the third Art & Market ‘Fresh Take’ writing contest. For the full list of winners and prizes, click here.

As the country struggles to contain the spread of the pandemic, ‘Why Let the Chicken Run’ that was exhibited in Museum MACAN kept getting extended while the museum closed for a year, opened, closed, then opened again. It was almost as if the pandemic knew the essence of Melati Suryodarmo’s long durational performance art and why it matters: because sometimes, life is a prolonged exhaustive and repetitive endeavor that requires persistence and solemnity in order to survive it.

In ‘Why Let the Chicken Run’ (2001), she releases a black rooster among the audience and then proceeds to chase and catch it again. This action is more familiar in the context of villages, but since this is presented in the city, it juxtaposes traditional culture and urban contemporary, a substantial concept in Suryodarmo’s works. She questions what is lost and what is gained when a society grows more and more? Does it change the identity?

Moving away from a small town to a big city is a common practice undertaken by many people as they enter the workforce in Indonesia. After you get your bearings in the new city, then you move to a bigger city, and then you move abroad. Suryodarmo’s exhibition takes us along in this seemingly long and contemplative journey.

The opening act is ‘The Black Ball’ (2005), for eight hours we are sitting in a chair holding a black rubber ball, two and a half metres above the floor. Beneath our feet, a shelf designed by Marina Abramović is covered with shards of artificial grass. We are contemplating our identity and preparing ourselves to welcome what lies beyond.

Melati Suryodarmo, ‘The Black Ball’, 2005. Image courtesy of Museum MACAN.

In ‘I’m a Ghost in My Own House’ (2012), Suryodarmo, wearing a white dress, stands in the middle of piles of charcoal, taking chunks of them to a table, grind them with a rolling pin until they become ashes, and repeat it for as long as twelve hours, sometimes stopping and laying down to take a break, symbolising the various phases of our life. Witnessing such futile action that challenges anyone’s physical strength, some people may be reminded of their mother back in the village, some of their struggle to earn a living in the city during the pandemic.

Melati Suryodarmo, ‘I’m a Ghost in my Own House’, 2012. Image courtesy of Museum MACAN.

Turning our backs, we now face a tree made of clothes in ‘Kleidungsaffe’ (2006) which means ‘clothes ape’ in German, a critique against the mass-manufacturing fashion world. As we move from villages to cities, we are now expected to climb the tree, buying more expensive clothes to suit our social status and our desire to belong.

Melati Suryodarmo, ‘Kleidungsaffe’, 2006. Image courtesy of Museum MACAN.

Looking the other way, as if mocking our dirtiness from the soot and consumerism, we are immediately invited to cleanse ourselves by erasing a pencil drawing in ‘Erase’, but ‘Not Your Tears! Erase’ (2020). Black rubber erasers are provided for the audience to try erasing a drawing packed with people engaged in activities related to cultural tradition and the modern era. The city we arrive at is apparently already chock-full of people, competition is tough, both conflicts and celebrations are everywhere. This placement right after such a meticulous work of grinding charcoal reminds us that all the hard work will finally turn into eraser shavings on the floor. But we are not capable of erasing the drawing completely, just as it is impossible to erase our identity. We only shape it to create a new type of art that is emptier, and therefore more open to whatever will be drawn.

At the end of our philosophical pilgrimage, we are facing the ‘Alienation of the Stone’ (2012), a series of six photographs depicting the artist laying on the ground in several locations, completely covered with a red cloth that is used as a sign for funeral rites in her hometown. The sites chosen are also where beggars and homeless people usually stay. By drawing the relation between temporary voyage and homelessness, she illustrates how complex it is to discuss where one actually belongs. Perhaps the question of home defies a simple geography answer, or perhaps it is something that requires episodes depicting every stage of our life.

This journey challenges us to be still and quiet in our search to grow a self that is adapting to the new environment but does not forget the memory left behind. She urges us to spend time to mourn our loss, then to get up and dance again, all the while focusing on ourselves to reshape our identity according to our preferred meditative approach.

To the people who ask why her performances often last for a long time, Suryodarmo would always answer with a question: Why is it that when we work for many hours it feels normal, but when a performance that reflects life does the same, it feels too long? Either for twelve hours or only a couple of minutes, to the audience, her performance art serves as a shelter to visit and experience the relationship with body, mind, and the society that surrounds them.

“To the people who ask why her performances often last for a long time, Suryodarmo would always answer with a question: Why is it that when we work for many hours it feels normal, but when a performance that reflects life does the same, it feels too long? Either for twelve hours or only a couple of minutes, to the audience, her performance art serves as a shelter to visit and experience the relationship with body, mind, and the society that surrounds them. ”

Finally, we have to go back to reality, facing the pandemic that still imposes a certain isolation between each individual. We are also going back to the tedious routine that repeats itself each day. But we can walk away remembering that like all Suryodarmo’s performances, it ends at some point. We will then be brought upon a different repetition, one that we will survive as well.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect those of A&M or the prize sponsors.