The documentary film “Mentawai – Souls of the Forest” about indigenous people in the rainforest of Sumatra inspired a conversation between director Joo Peter and the author of the book “We are creatures of the forest”, Wolf Dieter Storl. In the culture of the indigenous people we find the deeper roots of mankind, a deep relationship with nature, which the conversation explores with passion and rich knowledge of anthropology and personal experience.
Wolf Dieter Storl is an anthropologist who grew up as an immigrant in rural America, lived with Native Americans, spent years researching the ancient history of India, and reconnected with his European roots in a communal farm project in the Swiss Alps before settling in southwest Germany as a writer and farmer.
Watch the film talk for free here Link Germany/Indonesia 2023, Cinemate Studio, 53 Min (Send a message to contact (at) joopeter.de to watch the full film about Mentawai).
Table of Contents
Introduction – Meeting with Wolf-Dieter Storl for a film conversation Life of the Indigenous People on Mentawai Indigenous culture, life without modern technology, medicinal plants
The Wandering Soul – The soul in dreams, trance, and illness – rituals of the Sikerei (healers of Mentawai)
Animism as a Worldview – Everything is ensouled: nature, plants, animals, humans
Parallels with Other Cultures – Native Americans, Bali, Indonesia – universal concepts of the soul
The Tree of Life – Kayonan in Bali, the World Tree, cosmic order, the Christmas tree
Dualism vs. Animistic Worldview – The cliché of good and evil, Zoroastrianism, Christianity, the ambivalence of nature
Art and the Ensouled World – Artists as shamans, colors and images with soul
What We Manifest Technology – Mechanics, artificial intelligence, conscious creation of reality
Trance Without Drugs Dance – Music, and community as spiritual practice
Rituals, Drumming & Ecstasy – Natural expansion of consciousness through sound and movement
Medicinal Plants & Turmeric – Healing knowledge in Mentawai, India, and other cultures Plants as Spiritual Beings Cheyenne traditions, rituals before harvesting
Syncretism & Cultural Evolution – The merging of myths, religion, and nature
Ancestors & the Soul in Nature – The ancestors in nature, not in an abstract afterlife
The Soul as a Collective Being – Animal spirits, plant souls, guardians of the forest
Limits of Understanding – Translation, simplification, cultural depth
The Lost Sacred Plant of the Cheyenne – Rediscovery of the original shaman
Where Is the Soul in the Body? – Solar plexus, heart, breath, chakras
Multiple Souls & Spiritual Siblings – Balinese and Siberian models of the soul
Forgotten European Myths – Sacred places, dragons, Christian legends
Back to One’s Own Roots – Indigenous cultures as mirrors, not as copies
The Soul of Nature – Today Animals, research, destruction of sacred places
The Journey of the Soul – Transformation, interconnectedness, new worldviews
Cultural Diversity as a Treasure – Every culture as a flower in the garden of humanity
Conclusion – Shiva in Everything The world as a living, ensouled whole
Thanks to Wolf-Dieter Storl for this conversation.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Looking back in time: Borneo Dayak 1936
After the national premiere of the rediscovered and restored film Headhunters of Borneo (1936) at Usada in Ubud, Bali on August 3rd, 2025, we had the opportunity to talk to indigenous Dayak visitor Cakra Wirawan Bangkan, reflecting on history and changes of Dayak culture
Scott Baur and Chakra Wirawan Bangkan
Reconnect with the ancestors
Joo: What is the name of your tribe?
Cakra: Dayak Ngaju.
Joo: This is central Borneo, right?
Cakra: Yes, this is central. But I went also to the area of the tribe in the film, North Borneo or East Kalimantan.
Joo: It’s the Kayan River area?
Cakra: No, Hayan River. Or Kahayan, they call it. But my tribe is in the center of Borneo. In old time, people call it Biaju. The Biaju people.
Joo: And how far away is it to this village?
Cakra: It’s pretty far away. If we want to go to Kayan, we have to go to Barito river, then to Mahakam river, then to Kayan river, so it’s quite is far away.
Joo: Nevertheless, as you said before, there are a lot of strong connections in culture.
Cakra: Yes, with the Mahakam people. The Bahau. Their culture is similar to the Kayan. We have a strong connection with the Bahau people. So if you go upstream of Mahakam, to Long Glat and this region, they speak our language. They still understand us.
Joo: You were able to identify aspects like a typical ritual in the film?
Cakra: Yes.
Scott Baur and Chakra Wirawan Bangkan
The shift to the peaceful goddess
Joo: You mentioned the Goddess. Tell me more about it.
Cakra: So actually, the Kenyah in Apo Kayan, before their old religion changed, worshipped a Supreme God who was male. If I’m not mistaken, his name was Jalung. But this god is very vicious. He demands war, demands many things, and they suffer for that. And there is one chief, I forgot her name. She got a dream. She met this Goddess, the Bungan Malan Peselong Luan. So since then, they started to worship the Supreme God as the Goddess — the Bungan Malan, this benevolent spirit. And then they stopped war, became more peaceful.
Joo: Has there been influence from outside, putting pressure into this direction?
Cakra: No, they didn’t have pressure from outside, because the chief I mentioned, she got something like a revelation from the dreams about this God, this Bungan Malan Peselong Luan. But after Christianity came, I can say, this religion has gone extinct. It’s gone now. Yeah.
Joo: About when was this shift to the Goddess? Around which time?
Cakra: I’m not sure about this time-wise, but we differentiate that the timeline in Dayak as time of war. So after the time of the war, people engaged more in trading, they became more peaceful. There still have been some wars, but in general it became more peaceful. I’m not sure about the time, but we differentiate this eras. The first era is Genesis, like tetek tatum (Dayak Ngaju oral epic/chant that recounts origins, ancestors, and mythic history. It literally means “cry/voice of the ancestors”). Tetek tatum means the cry of your ancestor. Yes. This was a tough time, people have been on war with each other. And after that, they’re shifting to the era of people who go for more trade relationships. And there are no more wars. In this era, there are no more stories about wars in the banjar any more. People tell a story about their success when they go trading and come back, become wealthy. So I think the film is related to the beginning of that era. But time-wise, I need to trace our ancestor who started the change. In my family history, my ancestors, the grandfather of grandmother is the last headhunter. So from that timeline, I can estimate when this change started.
Joo: Yes. That gives a pretty clear idea, generation-wise. And the goddess, tell me more about the goddess. Which context does she have? Does she come from the forest?
Cakra: I’m not sure about Bungan Malan, but in Kaharingan, the God is not in the forest. There is a spirit of the forest. There is the manifestation of God in the forest, which is part of the God in all… In the beginning, the space was like this shape (indicating a form like a handful of clay), and then God appeared, and he started forging it and it by and by expanded it. Yes. So the God is not from the forest, but it’s something above the universe. But this God is forging the universe. It just starts from this small and became big, expanded. I think now what the scientists call it, expandable universe, right? Yes. So the spirit in the forest or in the mountain, in the river is just a manifestation of the power of God itself. Yes.
Joo: And so how is the Goddess in this context? What can you tell about the Goddess?
Cakra: About the Goddess? I don’t have much reverberation, not much knowledge about the Bungan Malan religion because this religion has been gone. No more people worshiping it. Maybe some small tribe still doing it in the border between Sarawak and Indonesia. They’re part of us. I heard that… I think in the ’70s (I know that since I have a friend from Kenyah), they buried all the heirlooms from the Bungan Malan era in another place, in the sacred place. So since then, everything about this religion is gone. We don’t have much information about the rituals back then.
In the film, I can see that they ask the God, like the omens, and the God calls for peace. So this must be now the time of Bungan Malan. That’s what I understand. They stop fighting, and they bathe, clean (have cleansing rituals). Like they said in the film, after they clean themselves with the water, they will forget everything about the war.
mask dance, film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Masks
Joo: And the other rituals, like the dance with the mask, is it something you can identify?
Cakra: Actually, the mask is actually to hide the face. The story is like this. The spirits from above, from God, came to the Earth, but spirits are so bright that people cannot see them. So they have to hide their face. They make these masks. That’s why the mask is made to cover their face, the original face of the spirit. Because if people, human beings, see the original face of the spirit, either they die or they become crazy. Because we human cannot see the face of the angels or the face of the spirit. So the spirit covers the face with the mask.
Speaker 3: I was saying that it’s Tiwah.
Cakra: Yes, Tiwah. Tiwah and Bebukung have different purposes. Bebukung is a masked ritual performance — sometimes to entertain, sometimes to frighten away spirits. But Hudoq is different: Hudoq is for agriculture. Have you seen the Hudoq Festival? Yes, Hudoq is performed to protect the rice fields and farming — it wards off evil spirits and pests. The friendly faces in the masks represent benevolent spirits. So among the Dayak, whether in Kaharingan or in the Bungan Malan tradition, you must honor both the good and the bad spirits. Why? Because the bad spirits do not exist only to disturb you, but also to protect you. And the good spirits, you also honor them — they bless you and bring good things. There must be balance between good and bad spirits.
Joo: Louise von Plessen writes in her biography of the director Friedrich Dalsheim that this dance with the mask is connected to rice agriculture?
Cakra: Yes, the Hudoq. It’s connected to the rice cult. Because this spirit is for the Tiwah ritual — to clear the path for the soul of the dead, so it does not disturb the living. And at the same time to bless the harvest. That is the purpose.
Joo: So there’s the presence of this divine power, when they protect their face.
Cakra: It keeps off bad spirits. You can differentiate from the mask. If the mask is like evil, like with the sharp teeth, so that one is to ward off the evil.
Joo: I can compare it with the tribes I met in Mentawai, Sumatra, where I shot a documentary. A lot of spirits live in the forest and at the same time, also ancestor spirits live deep in the forest.
Cakra: Yes, there is something similar… in our culture, a spirit could be like a God if he achieves some higher spiritual level. He could be what we call Nanyu. These spirits could be like a God to protect us. So we are connected to the ancestors, to the spirit of the forest, of the mountain, of the river. It’s also representation of the power of God.
The spirits are among us
Joo: Where do the ancestor spirit live?
Cakra: Among the children, their descendants. They live in the village. They build a special shrine for them.
Joo: So they are present in the village. In Mentawai, the ancestor spirits live deeper in the forest. If they are called in a ritual, they come, stay for the time of the ritual and later go back to their realm deeper in the forest. But in this case, they are present in the village.
Cakra: Yes, present in front of the long house. There is the ancestor shrine.
Joo: When the ancestors are present, that means that the communication with the ancestors is a daily experience.
Cakra: I don’t know, how it was hundreds of years ago, but now, yes, we’re still doing it. We still have our rituals (for daily communication). Yes.
Joo: It’s the same with the Bajau Laut sea nomads in Sabah, Borneo, where I just have been. The spirits are present.
Cakra: Yes.
Joo: And one of the key persons of the sea nomads I’ve interviewed, he had a more or less daily communication with the spirits, for example in his dreams.
Cakra: Yes.
Joo: That’s fascinating. So the dreams are important for your culture?
The spirits come in our dreams
Cakra: Yes, dreams are important. And also it is believed they can appear right in front of your eyes. Not any more today, because nowadays, the Dayak people are also absorbing other cultures which for example eat dogs. Then the spirits go away. They don’t like people eating dogs or doing bad things to dogs. Because according to our belief, dogs are friends for the humans. So if people start killing dogs or eating dogs, this spirits go away. They don’t want to stay. Because the smell is bad for them. That’s what I know.
Joo: When I was interviewing one of the shamans in Mentawai, he also told me that the spirits don’t visit him so much anymore, especially in the sense that he can see them. That’s not so much happening anymore.
Cakra: Yeah. Because nowadays people are going to the shrine, to ask for something, and then they pay, they’re giving the sacrifice, but that’s it. There’s no more a deeper connection like in the old times. It used to be a relationship with the spirits like friends. I heard the story of my grandmother, how they call their spirit. They call them as a friend. Sahabat, we call it. Yeah. So it’s not contractual like, for example, I ask you, I pay you this. But we make a friendship with the spirit. That’s what we call it sahabat. It’s your relationship. As a friend.
We are orphans
Joo: Can there be something like a curse — that some ancestor spirit has bad intentions also? Is it occurring?
Cakra: If there is agreement between our ancestor and the spirit. In such a case, if we’re neglecting the agreement, the spirit that should protect us now becomes angry. Some people believe that. And it could happen, because there was an agreement made before that, between our ancestor and us. And there are stories that I heard and I encountered some of them. In my family also, they got sick or had bad luck after they broke the promises.
Actually, if they want to dissolve the promise, they can do it in a proper way. How can they do? It is like a divorce, you have to communicate it with the spirit. You not just run away, right? Because first you make an agreement, there is a ritual in which you convince the spirit to become your friend, and now you want to dissolve the connection. You cannot just go away. You need to do something. You need to talk to them and explain it, for example, I want to follow another religion. I cannot continue our connection. And you tell it in a good way, not just run away.
I think they can understand it because we believe that the spirits call us humans Talatah Nulun. Talatah Nulun means we are like an orphan. They see us like an orphan that needs their care, needs their mercy.
Ask the spirit for permission
Joo: Yes, I understand. You need this connection, because in old times all the cultural knowledge is came down from the ancestors. So you search this spiritual connection to the ancestors.
Speaker 4: Yes. It’s similar to when they cut a tree. If they’re going to cut a tree, it has to be a ritual.
Cakra: Yes. Even for us to take medicine from the tree. We ask for permission. Just as you ask your friend. When we take medicine from the forest, we bring salt, we bring some nails, and we talk to the trees. I want to take a part of you, just a little part of you, not to cut you completely, not to kill you. I just take a piece of your bark for medicine for this people. I have to mention the name of the people to whom I want to give the medicine.
So I ask permission from the spirit of the Earth, the spirit of the trees, the spirit, many spirits. Yes. They call it the prophet of the Earth, the prophet of the trees, the prophet of the river, they call all for permission. This is my offering what I give you to replace what I take. They put salt, they put their nails near the trees, and they take it. Just enough what they need.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Guardian statues and carvings
Joo: And the artwork in the film, there were these statues.
Cakra: Yeah, Guardian statues.
Joo: And there were elaborate paintings on the inside of a warrior shield used in ritual dances. And also elaborate paintings and carvings on the door.
Cakra: The door was a very elaborate carving.
Joo: And do these special artworks have a specific meaning?
Cakra: Yes. In case of the carvings at the house, there are special carvings for the noblemen, which means, you cannot have it for the common people, because otherwise it will curse you. One of the common motifs, that one with the tongue out, is for protection. Or the dragon… also called aso. It’s like dogs or a dragon to protect the house. And there are motifs we call Tantalilawai (Tali Talino?). I cannot describe it. It means it’s connected from your ancestors down to you as their descendants. All the knowledge or the blessing is connected to you.
There is a carving, we call it Tali Liliwan or Bajakah Lili. It’s inspiration from the plant. I don’t know it in English. So this Bajakah Lili it’s connected, intertwined. It never, never stops. So it means from your ancestors coming down to you without interruption. Yes. All the knowledge, all the blessings. So there are many special carvings with special purposes. It also depends on the social level, whether nobleman or common people.
Joo: And so these statues have been Guardians.
Cakra: Yes, Guardians. You can still see it in Ma’anyan. BUT I think it’s gone now in most places.
Speaker 3: When we stopped in those remote villages, they had those carvingS still at the entrance to the village from the river when you got off the river. Exactly like in the film.
film stills "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Tattoos & more
Joo: And the earrings, did they have a special meaning?
Cakra: No, it’s just like a fashion. It’s fashion.
Joo: And the tattoos?
Cakra: Concerning the tattoo, there are several meanings. If you are a weaver, carpenter, or doing carvings, or if you have been beheading people, also several meaningS for that. If you’ve been travelling for a long time, you get a specific tattoo. It means you have travelled, go out from your village and come back safely. So there are several meanings. Depending on the tribe. But not all the Dayaks have tattoo. It depends on the Dayak tribe.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Dayak and Punan – a common history
Cakra: Concerning the Punan — the Punan live in the forest, in caves. But their culture still is deeply connected with our tales. Before the Dayak knew the longhouse, they also live in caves. So they knew it from — how to say — the spirit, like the gods — they learned how to make this longhouse and farming from the gods.
Story of creation
Joo: Yes, this goes back to stories of creation. You mentioned, in the beginning, God modelled the universe out of something small.
Cakra: We call it Sulau, as big as Sulau, just like something very small. And God appeared and forged it like a blacksmith, forging it until it expanded and expanded. And then the universe was created. Then comes the story of the Tree of Life. There was chaos between the female bird Enggang, and the male Enggang. And from that chaos came the planets, because the fighting in the Tree of Life produced the sun, the stars, and the planets.
Joo: Yes. And how do the animals and human beings come into existence?
Cakra: Every Dayak group has a different story. In our Ngaju tradition, humans were created from the Tree of Life. We have three brothers: Raja Sangiang, Raja Sangen, and Raja Bunu. We are the descendants of Raja Bunu. The other two are like heavenly beings, our elder brothers, but they do not die — only humans are destined to die. That is why we are mortal. But they are still our siblings, and we can call on them to help us. And then, from the Tree of Life’s creation, came the planets and life. That was the beginning of life. But after that, God created humans. So there are three brothers: two dwell in the Upper World, while we live here on Earth, destined to die. To return to be like them, we must perform rituals. After death, people undergo the Tiwah or Ijambe ritual, to purify the soul so that it may join the siblings in the Upper World.
Joo: Yes. And what’s the name of the Tree of Life?
Cakra: Batang Garing. It’s the Tree of Life.
Joo: Is there a specific location?
Cakra: No, it’s in the space.
Joo: I mean in the sense that you say that the human world is, for example, more like on the roots or the center or the top of the tree of life.
Cakra: This is before the human world was created. When the universe was created.
Joo: When God forged and expanded the universe.
Cakra: And then there’s the Tree of Life. It’s like something in the universe. They call it the Tree of Life. And there is a chaos that created the sun, the stars and ant the planets, and after that, life was starting.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
How to show love?
Joo: In the film, did you notice something where you think, oh, this is so European? It’s not really the Dayak culture. Did you notice something which maybe is more fictional? For example the love story?
Cakra: No. The story of love there is very common in our culture. But surprisingly, we don’t have words to say love. Mostly, we don’t have words to say love. We just borrow the words from Malay. But we don’t have words to say love. We don’t have words to say thank you. Because love or thanks is not shown by words, but by deeds. They have to express it. Like the story in the film, the main character fought for his love, although he had to abandon his position as a chief.
Joo: So you have to express it by action.
Cakra: Yes. Maybe this is not so romantic because we cannot express it in words.
Doubts about child marriage
Cakra: There is one thing I noticed from the movie. See, they were betrothed when they were young, maybe 12 or 13 years old. But there is no marriage at a young age in our culture. Among our Dayaks from the old times, we have no culture of child marriage. Because the male has to prove himself — that he is worthy, adult enough to provide, to build a family. So there is no story of child marriage among the Dayak people. Maybe in other parts of Indonesia there are people practicing child marriage, but in Dayak society, generally, they don’t do that.
house of a nobleman family, film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Social classes and marriage
Joo: I wonder if this is more a European perspective: the film shows a typical love story with jealousy and so on, also violence because of jealousy.
Cakra: That’s common. Very common, even until today. Yes. But even if you go to the Ma’anyan people, or in my tribe, there are stories like that — about love, and that you cannot marry outside your equal status. The punishment could be death. Yes. So until today, even among the Kenyah people, they still trace lineage: who is a descendant of the noble line. They call it the Hipuy — the nobles, the kingly class, as opposed to common people. They cannot intermarry, even until today.
Joo: To keep the social status, you have to marry in your social class.
Cakra: In my tribe this is gone, because once they accepted Christianity, people don’t really trace about their lineage in that sense, whether you are descendants of the noblemen or the slaves.
Joo: So there have been noblemen and slaves. Has there been a middle class or other classes?
Cakra: Yes, there is a middle class. And we have Utus Gantung (correct term would be Paren?), the noblemen, and then the common people, and the slave called Utu or Jipen. This you cannot marry. But there are two types of slaves. Slaves because of debt, or slaves because you lose in the war. When you’re a slave because of debt, you can become independent if you’re able to pay your debt. So, even if you are noblemen, you can be a slave also, if you have debt.
Joo: I remember the Toraja in Sulawesi, there it was also like that in the past, noblemen and slaves, and sometimes, when they are gambling and lost a fortune, they became slaves because of the losses in gambling.
Cakra: Yes, something like that. So even if you are noblemen, you could still be in the lower class if you have a debt, but mostly they haven’t been.
Joo: Yes. And the slaves have to do more work?
Cakra: Work, yes. They get salary, but not much. They have to be able to pay for their debt, for their loan. (…)
Slaves were the first to become Christians. But the first chief who converted to Christianity — he did it not because he was a believer, but to match the power of the sultan. The Sultan of Banjarmasin was too strong and was a bully against both the Dayak and the Europeans. I think the missionary had been captured and decapitated by the sultan’s army. So the chief — his name is Tamanggung Ambun — he was the first chief in my tribe to become Christian. He did it to counter the power of the Sultan. So they merged with the Europeans — not because they wanted to become Christian, but because “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” At the time, the European missionaries were the enemies of the Sultan. So they had to choose a side.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Rank of a chief
Joo: It’s quite interesting that the main character in the film playing a chief was a chief himself.
Cakra: Yes. He became the main actor. And also in Dayak, if you’re chief, your son does not necessarily become chief, will not necessarily replace you. It’s not something like that. This child has to prove that he’s worthy to become like his father. If he’s not worthy, the community can choose another chief. It’s not like because you’re the son of the king, you will automatically become chief. He needs to prove it. He needs to endure the pain. They show some rituals related to it in the film. Now, they’re still doing some of this rituals.
Intermarriage
Joo: How are the rules for marriage? Can you marry in your tribe, or do you have to marry someone from another village?
Cakra: Yeah, as long as it’s not your cousin. All the family will come and discuss: Do you have a family connection or not? Because although we have the same age… sometimes this girl can be my aunt or my nephew, and we cannot marry. If we break the rules, the punishment is that we have to eat in a place for pigs. So we will be considered like pigs.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Women and equal rights
Joo: You mentioned the shift to the goddess. How is the relationship of the genders — like women rights?
Cakra: Yes. In my tribe, the women — although they are mostly in the house providing food — can also appear as chiefs. There is a story of Nyi Balau. She was a female chief who protected the village and fought against headhunters. And also Nyi Udang. So we have female leaders. You can find equality in these aspects. For example, if your father passes away, the heirlooms are shared equally. It doesn’t matter if you are female or male.
Punan in the film "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Hunters and farmers
Joo: You have a rice culture, but you also go hunting once in a while.
Cakra: Yes, that’s true. Among the Punan, they practiced hunting and gathering. They mostly used the blowpipe and spear. But later, with the shift to settled rice farming, people began using the machete — the mandau — to open the rice fields. Even the mandau reflected social status: there was one for noblemen and one for common people.
Rituals for coming of age
Joo: Many cultures have special rituals for coming of age.
Cakra: Oh yes, there is. In my tribe, they practiced it in Kaharingan, the old religion. The Iban are still practicing something similar, like a baptism. They bathe the baby in the river, and they sacrifice a pig. The blood goes into the river, and then they bathe the baby.
Following the old belief
Speaker 3: Are you Kaharingan again? Do you follow Kaharingan?
Cakra: I’m practicing it to some extent. (showing some photos on the smartphone) We are reading the heart, the omens in the heart of the pigs.
Joo: This is at your village?
Cakra: Yes. By the way, now I’m working in Saudi Arabia.
Speaker 3: What are you doing in Saudi Arabia?
Cakra: Working in the oil fields.
Speaker 3: So how do you have all this knowledge?
Cakra: I come from the villages. I have my family that’s still Kaharingan. My aunt’s still is Kaharingan. But most became Christian.
About dreaming — yes, I get encounters with the spirit, the ancestors’ spirits.
Joo: You meet the spirit?
Cakra: Yes, I met. And I asked people to draw it, paint it, and they made paintings about it.
Joo: What’s the painting like?
Cakra: Hold on, let me search a photo… See, this is the painting.
Joo: That’s great.
Cakra: This is the shrine of the ancestors. So I met this spirit. He gave me some sign.
Joo: Yes, living together with the spirits. It perfectly makes sense — in a culture with oral tradition, it’s direct communication, generation to generation, passing down knowledge. You search for connection to your ancestors.
Cakra: Yes. I see them in my dreams. I’m not familiar with the ritual things. The spirit explained it in a simple way I could understand. I talked to an old guy — they told me what it meant and what to do. I just drew it. I didn’t know the name. The elder explained what it meant, what I had to do. It helped when my mom was sick. Before she got sick, I had this dream. They gave me signs: this is the medicine. This is what you have to take. And I didn’t know, but they explained it in simple words. The ritual the ancestor showed me in the dream used special words I don’t understand. I went to the elders, they understood and explained it to me. “You make it like this. That is the name.” And I used it, and my mom healed.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Music
Joo: And the music — unfortunately, not so much traditional Dayak music in the film, but at least some.
Cakra: In the movie, there was some sape music that I heard, but not for rituals. Because for rituals, you use only the two-string sape. Not like today, with five or seven strings.
Taboos
Joo: Louise von Plessen also mentioned special taboos. They went upriver, and then a bird flew in the wrong direction.
Cakra: Yes. If a bird flies from right to left, that’s not good. Left to right, that’s good — an omen. Also snakes — they are an omen. Bad omen if it’s the wrong direction. Good omen if it goes to the right side, from left to right.
Speaker 4: Yes. I feel it’s like when a tree falls down.
(searching a video on his phone) I will find a video when they do the ritual.
You have to do the ritual — they call it Weheya. Maybe we will do that next year. You have to stay in front of the longhouse for three days. You cannot sleep. You must fast. You cannot be touched by a woman. In Weheya, they still practice it very strictly. You have to keep the fire in a small hut. You just stay there. On the third or fourth day, they go hunting for a head. After that, they do the celebration. The women welcome you. They are still doing it. In the old days, if you didn’t do this, you could not marry. You must follow this ritual as a man.
And for the feathers: it depends how many times you have followed this ritual. If you have done it many times, you can wear more feathers. If only once, one feather. If never, you cannot wear feathers at all.
film still "Headhunters of Borneo" 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
The hornbill and remote relatives: the Naga in India
Speaker 3: Just another subject — have you heard of the Naga people from Nagaland?
Cakra: Nagaland, yes. In India. I have one of the swords from the Naga people. They call it a Dao. We call it Mandau, they call it Dao.
Speaker 3: There are a lot of similarities between the Naga people and these tribes. It’s amazing.
Joo: Yes. Oh yes, and they worship the hornbill, too.
Speaker 3: They even have a festival over there called the Hornbill Festival.
Cakra: Yes. And that’s true. Because the hornbill represents the upper God, while the lower God is represented by the serpent — the great snake — called Jata. Jata is the underworld God. But actually, they believe the two are one — like masculine and feminine aspects of the same God.
Joo: The snake is the feminine?
Cakra: Yeah, the feminine. And the hornbill is the masculine. Both are divine. We humans are in the middle. They’re represented by the hornbill feather: white, black, white. That’s why we use it.
Joo: And the snake is represented also in a symbol?
Cakra: Yes. You see the carving of the dragon or aso, or of a crocodiles — it’s the underworld God.
Joo: And the black and white has a meaning?
Cakra: Yes. Because we are human — the black color. We are in the middle. That’s our world.
Joo: The Bajau Laut sea nomads also know two main deities — the Lady of the Forest and the Lord of the Sea. It’s male and female.
Cakra: Actually, if you see the Kaharingan mythology, they said that when God created humans and the earth, everything — when he looked down to the earth, he saw his shadow. That shadow is the underworld God, actually — the shadow of God.
Reviving traditions
Cakra: We do lots of exhibitions about the Mandau. In Malaysia we also held exhibitions. We try to revive the blacksmithing tradition in Borneo, because nowadays it’s almost gone — how people once made iron and forged the Mandau. Now we try to revive it. I have a friend who can do traditional blacksmithing.
Joo: Yes. Traditional blacksmithing is also in my film about Bajau Laut.
Cakra: Yes. We try to revive it. We have some short movies — like from the beginning, the raw material. We do the rituals before forging. We forge it, carve it, and by and by it becomes the sword. So it’s a very long process to become a special sword.
(showing a ritual on his smartphone) This is called the ritual Habay. Habay is calling the spirit of the dead who died unnaturally — like by murder or something like that. They need to ask and “interview” this spirit — how did you die, who killed you — they will call the spirit to answer. This is my friend’s family ritual. So they make a statue or effigy, and they will call the spirit of the dead person to enter it. And then they will ask how he died.
Joo: It’s a dance ritual?
Cakra: Dance, yes. That music is for rituals. It’s only two string. Yes. I have a community for the youngsters in West Borneo, Central Borneo, and East Borneo. We do a lot of exhibitions for swords because we like blacksmithing and traditional swords.
Interviewer: Joo Peter. Joining the conversation: Scott Baur, David Metcalf and visitors of the screening. Film stills by the film “Headhunters of Borneo” 1936, director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin.
Transcript and portraits photos by Joo Peter.
Coproduction of Joo Peter Studio Cinemate and Usada Ubud
"Dreaming in layers and layers" - a conversation with I Ketut Budiana
After the premiere of the restored film “Island of Demons” of 1933 in Ubud August 2025, I visited I Ketut Budiana as an leading artist in Bali deeply connected to traditional culture to hear his impressions after attending the screening.Budiana answered like a true master. Not directly, but with a deeper message that gradually unfolded as he moved away from the topic of the film and began speaking about his own art. His reflections reminded me of a key point of Bali culture which Putu Yudiantara mentioned during his talk at Usada: Vedic Hinduism had less influence on Bali than Tantric Hinduism, which is much more deeply connected to ancient animistic roots in Bali. Putu offered a compelling example: In Vedic Hinduism, Māyā is understood as illusion. In Tantric Hinduism, however, the concept of Māyā is more complex—it represents the diversity of incarnations of cosmic forces.
I followed up on this comments in a research and came across the following quotes: In Vedic Hinduism, Maya is the “cosmic illusion that veils the true nature of reality, which is Brahman—the infinite, formless, non-dual consciousness.” In Tantric Hinduism, on the other hand, “Maya is not just illusion, but a creative power of the Divine—especially (Śakti), the Goddess. She manifests the world, not to deceive, but to express the divine in form. The world is not something to escape from, but to engage with spiritually, using the body, senses, and emotions as tools for liberation. Māyā is real, but it’s a relative reality, an expression of consciousness (Śiva) through energy (Śakti). Instead of rejecting the world, Tantra embraces it as sacred.” Tantric Hinduism is much more an open process, allows much more the co-existence of different roots, influences, interpretations.
It can be a key to the art of Budiana and his deeper understanding of Bali culture.
As for the 1933 film, Budiana emphasized the importance of Walter Spies—both his influence on the film and on Balinese art in general. I had often wondered why Walter Spies had such a profound impact on art in Bali. Budiana, almost in passing, evoked with simple words a deeper insight. To understand his words, be reminded that Wayang Kulit, the traditional shadow puppet theatre, is so fundamental to Balinese culture. It is created by light and shadow, enigma of the spiritual. The magical surrealism of Walter Spies uses light and shadow in a new and impactful way for Balinese perspective, often in moon light night scenes of rice fields, valleys, rivers. More than physical objects, an inner light shines in these landscapes, related in its own unique way to flickering light of the shadow theatre. Walter Spies uses colors, but reduced in moon light to almost black in white. There is a transcending quality in the sensibility of Walter Spies as an artist which connects with Balinese spirit.
Traditional Balinese painting was line art. Now the moving energy of light and shadow could enter the painting. It was a huge inspiration for Balinese art. Budiana soon went beyond narrative line art and became a genius in the drama of the moving light and shadow in the powerful spiritual storytelling of his paintings. For the start of our conversation, Budiana lit incense candles and we watched the smoke rise gently while we were talking. Budiana found a way to paint Niskala.
As a coincidence, black & white film of the early 20th century also was a unique and innovate art of moving light and shadows. The production of “Island of Demons” started as a silent movie, but in the process, technology advanced and they were able to add sound and did so using natural sound and Balinese language like a musical layer, while also composing European film music responding to it.
Conversation with Budiana August 23, 2025
Budiana (sitting in the garden):
My name is I Ketut Budiana, born in 1950 in Padang Tegal, Ubud. We were four siblings. My grandfather was a craftsman, he made shrines and Balinese buildings. Including Monkey Forest—it was my father who built it, though it wasn’t called Monkey Forest back then, it was Pura Dalem Agung Padang Tegal. So, Monkey Forest only later received that name; before, it was Pura Dalem Agung Padang Tegal. My grandfather’s name was I Made Kari. He was a shrine builder, a master craftsman throughout Gianyar, around the 1900s. At the beginning, I stayed with my grandfather, the shrine builder, so I received much education there, and even though I came here later, I always returned there as a student.
Here in Ubud I met my patrons; I was always included, and that’s how my connection with Ubud grew. That’s also how I came to know many foreigners, for example Rudolf Bonnet. Indeed, Walter Spies hasn’t been there any more, but many foreigners stayed in Bali, especially in Ubud, and I met them. Through that, I was guided by Rudolf Bonnet, a Dutchman, who taught me painting. So, Rudolf Bonnet was my teacher, my painting teacher. From Bonnet, that’s how I came to know Walter Spies. I was very, very amazed when I saw the photos of his paintings. Even though I never met him in person—because he had already passed away— I was truly very amazed and really admired his works. One of them was a painting titled ‘Liak’, which is now in ARMA (Agung Rai Museum of Art). And also his creations, what was it—his gamelan music. He was the one who created the Ramayana story in performance form. Before that, there was no “Cak” dance, like it is now. It was Walter Spies who created that. That’s why I so deeply admired his works. But I never had the chance to meet him in real life— maybe at Niskala (The unseen spritual realm), hahaha. And from there, I met friends from Germany.
A friend of the Walter Spies Foundation was called Hans Joss, and he was the chairman. I visited the foundation when I went to Denmark, at a festival. I joined the festival and stopped by in Germany, picked up by Hans Joss, the chairman of the foundation. And I stayed there, in a place they called a palace, the Walter Spies Palace,
I forgot the name—there was a woman there, Victoria von Plessen, yes, that’s it. And before that, one of my paintings was brought there, the one titled Calonarang (barong and Randa fight-symbolizing the battle between good and evil). So through that I had conversations there about how the life of Walter Spies was here in Bali (…) I very deeply admired his paintings. He seemed to pass on something— yes, creating a painting that carried shadows of light, you know? That’s what I deeply admired.
(…) That young woman, yes, I met her in Germany. We both were connected through our deep appreciation of the art of Walter Spies. And in my view, there was an opportunity in this time to create a memory—like through a film or something similar— for his memory.
That was the story. But as a painter, I couldn’t accomplish a film. At most, I could support it, encourage it, that’s all.
Maha Dewi: So, when you’ve been in Hamburg, what was the most memorable story or impression from that meeting?
Budiana: Well, in Hamburg I didn’t spend too much time, because at the time I was still tied to Denmark, to that festival.
Maha Dewi: Let’s talk about the film from yesterday.
Budiana: What’s my opinion from the perspective of Bali? Well, philosophically, the film was very, very good. It served as a kind of memory, a very good memory reminding us of the past, of our elders back then. Nowadays, such things are rare, maybe even non-existent. So this film is an opportunity for the younger generation to see: “Oh, that’s how it was back then—different from now.” That’s very good, especially since many of the scenes were authentic, true to their time.
Maha Dewi: So, regarding the film, was it more of a foreign art form, or was it already deeply Balinese?
Budiana: In my opinion, it depicted the life of that time. It was framed as a story, yes, the life of that era—around the 1930s. Yes, that was the life of the Balinese people back then. So we can clearly see the difference between then and now. Back then, we remembered that Balinese people believed in ‘karma pala’ (the result of consequences; the law of cause and effect)—whatever you did, that is what you would receive. That really stuck with me. Now it still exists, but it’s a little blurred. So, in my view, the film really succeeded in portraying life—yes, indeed In the old days, yes, but now it has to be reframed so that people can better understand.
above: film stills of “Island of Demons”, 1933, director F. Dalsheim, (c) Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin
Budiana:Nowadays, especially the younger ones who have never heard these stories, they get confused, puzzled when watching. They wonder, “Why aren’t they wearing clothes?” and so on—of course they get confused. But back then, that was normal. For example, myself—in 1970, when I made a Rangda mask for the temple, when performing at the temple, I didn’t wear a udeng (headcloth), only a simple cloth wrap. At that time, it was already permitted, it was normal then. But now, people wear a headcloth, a sash, and so forth. Yes, in terms of ethics, that’s how it has developed. But back then—especially in the 1930s—yes, women’s breasts were visible. People bathed naked in the river then. But now, times are different. I was once asked by someone, a member of parliament from Jakarta, about it. Those pictures or photos of naked people were considered pornographic. But actually, they were the reality of that time. So, when someone wanted to make a film like that—depicting the past—it was protested. People said, “That’s pornographic, that’s obscene.” Well, that was part of development: the authentic was restricted. So that’s the situation.
Maha Dewi: Now, when watching the film, does it truly give a philosophical depiction of Balinese life at that time? Perhaps it needed better sound, audio, or context of the civilization?
Budiana: Yes, the sound was not clear, seemed blurred. But as for the scenes, I enjoyed them—they were very good, very good, showing the authenticity of that time. Of course, each era evolves, so it is different. So maybe, if improvements could be made in the video, I think the storyline was already good, only the audio lacked clarity. For someone like me, whose hearing is not sharp, it felt vague, unclear. I think narration also in some moments wasn’t very clear—(subtitle) explanations and so on. Nevertheless, That’s Bali. So, what is shown there is not bad, not wrong. It shows karma pala (the law of cause and effect). When someone is innocent, they won’t be harmed. When someone does wrong or bad deeds, they will suffer the consequences. That’s part of karma pala education: whoever does wrong will receive wrong, whoever does good will receive good. That’s one of the teachings embedded in it.
Maha Dewi: So from a Balinese perspective, for example, with the figure of ‘Calonarang’ (barong and rangda fight ; symbolizing the struggle between good and evil), should it be destroyed or balanced?
Budiana: It does not need to be destroyed. This creation cannot and must not be destroyed. It is a teaching: the good will rise, the bad will fall. That means in the story, the bad will be defeated. So even the bad, in the end, meets its downfall. The point in Bali is balance. Yes, balance. As I mentioned, nowadays many people tell the story of ‘Calonarang’ There is the figure of Barong and Rangda. And this represents balance. If Barong dominates too much, it is unbalanced. If Rangda dominates too much, it is unbalanced. But in the temple, they are united.
Maha Dewi: What does that mean?
Budiana: From the one, it became two and then was put into conflict. And from there arose truth— AUM, the true one, and also the false one.
Maha Dewi: In the film’s story, did Mangku (temple priest) and also Liak (Balinese mythology of witch associated with dark magic) have the same knowledge, or did they have different visions and missions?
Budiana: Actually, that was just a scene. So in the end, they became one again. That’s the proof. For example, in wayang (shadow theatre): Ravana and Dharmawangsa — they conflict, but in the palm-leaf manuscript they are written as one. This is a remarkable philosophy: from one story, it is made into different sides, but in the end, it’s still one. That’s what should be taken as the lesson. That’s why Rangda is said to be bad, while Barong is usually seen as good.But in the temple, they are united—there, Barong and Rangda are one. That is a profound philosophy. So first we must interpret its philosophy.
But nowadays, many people say that in Calonarang, there are lots of corpses, bodies. That’s fine—it’s a story. But the essence of the story is philosophy. That philosophy is balance. Rwa Bhineda (the duality of opposites).
above: film stills of “Island of Demons”, 1933, director F. Dalsheim, (c) Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin
Maha Dewi: So if we compare old Bali and present-day Bali, what should we rebalance?
Budiana: Nowadays, development has been… very, very rapid, too much development. So it has become confusing, actually, because there are too many teachings or influences coming from outside. And before we even try to understand what our ancestors taught us, we already judge it: “Oh, that’s bad,” when in fact, it is a teaching of balance. So there is no “bad,” no “good”—there is balance. That is what we Balinese should strive toward.
Now, when people talk about Calonarang, ,usually they just focus on the corpses, the death. But they miss the meaning. Maybe it’s me who doesn’t understand, but…
Maha Dewi: So, from your experience, Mr. Budiana, seeing the foreigners who came in the old days and now— what development, what understanding of old Bali still remains with you? and what have you carried forward until today?
Budiana: Yes, the Balinese terms, like Rwa Bhineda (Balinese philosophy; everything exists in pairs, good and bad, day and night, joy and sorrow and balance between them is essential in life) that must be truly understood:
two that are different, but are the same.
How do we explore more deeply the idea of different but the same? Yes, in our development we have Rwa Bhineda—but in the end, they are one. Two things that are very different, but eventually they unite. For example, as we said earlier— in wayang, in ritual, in the temple— they are all inside one palm-leaf manuscript. This must be interpreted deeply: Rangda, the temple, the sacred, and the good— still present together in the temple. Then after that comes the ritual of receiving holy water – Tirtha. This must be taken as a whole, not in fragments. Because nowadays, people tend to interpret only parts, so the meaning is off—not entirely wrong, but incomplete. That means we, as humans, and the Creator are one. Yes, but of course, we are limited by age. Life is limited, so don’t be arrogant. Hahaha.
Maha Dewi: If there’s something I’d like to pass on to the younger generation, what message would I leave?
Budiana: For me, it is: understand first what already exists. Only after truly understanding, then make a decision. Don’t make decisions first, only later looking at Rangda, seeing it as evil, like a demon or something bad. No—first study what it really means. Why did people create Rangda with fangs like that, with her tongue like that, and so on? First understand, don’t judge right away: “Oh, this is bad.”
That, I think, is the deepest lesson.cBecause in Bali, there are so, so many teachings to be learned. One example is Hineda; two things that are different, but they are also the same. That, I think, is the message I can give. Hopefully, what (….?) has created can revive real understanding of what Bali truly is. What is Bali? If Bali could be summed up in three words, what would they be First: learn before making judgments.
Maha Dewi and Budiana
Maha Dewi and the family roots of Cecak dance in Bedulu and Bona
Maha Dewi : Then, as for my background—since the film was located in Bedulu – are the artists in the film from Bedulu, or are they mixed from other villages, like Bona (where I come from)?
Budiana: In my experience, after all that— my father was a dancer, my uncle a drummer (damrat cek), and he also taught colors, and then there was my mother. From that, at the time we created the Cak in Padang Tegal, those who could perform were called (brought together). So, who would fit as Ravana? Not always from this village. Sometimes they called people from other villages.
Maha Dewi: Yes, yes, that’s true. Like my mother, she was from Bedulu. She was brought here by my father, and here she established Cak for this village. While Ravana—that role was brought in by my father from outside, along with trainers from Singapadu. So in my view, there were outside influences too— they would say, “Oh, this one fits as Ravana,” or “This one fits as Rama.” That’s how it was chosen. Back then, the famous group was Pak Limbak’s. He was truly skilled in acting and performing scenes.
Limpak in the 1930s
So, Mr. Budiana, according to the old generation, was Kecak different back then?
Budiana: From the stories I’ve heard, yes. Before Water Spies, Kecak was only “cek-cek-cek”—just sounds, without story. In the rice fields, after harvesting, in the morning, they would gather, make noise, imitate, laugh—that was it. Only later, Walter Spies added the Ramayana story. So yes, it was closer to Sanghyang Jarang. But Sanghyang is different. Kecak is not Sanghyang. Though Kecak borrowed some elements, it was not Sanghyang. Back then, Kecak was just playful chanting, later associated with drunkenness, fun, and so on. Then it developed after Walter Spies put the Ramayana into it.
Maha Dewi: So, Mr. Budiana, would you agree that Kecak was originally just entertainment for farmers after harvest?
Budiana: Yes—Bali is very unique. Extremely unique. In Bali, entertainment can become something sacred. That’s why now, even when creating new variations of Cak, they can still become sacred—uniquely Balinese. This is what must be understood about Bali. The feeling is like, “Yes, let’s close with this.” If there’s something missing, please add it.
What am I working on now? Maybe I’ll share a little. As a Balinese, I myself cannot fully explain what it means to be Balinese. I just followed along, making masks together—like this, yes, masks together. I made them as offerings, not for business. Recently, I made a Barong in Lombok. Yes, all of it was donation work, not for profit. So in Lombok, I have already made two Barongs, one in Rinjani and one in Mataram. It’s always like that—whoever wants it, that’s fine, but it must be done sincerely, not for business. That’s what I understood from the teachings of our elders. When someone needs something that is useful for life, if we have it, we must do it. Yes, when it comes to making statues or masks that have religious importance—offerings for temples or sacred places—that I do wholeheartedly, sincerely. That’s what we can do.
But painting is different. With painting, there are works that I keep for memory, and there are those that are sold. The process is different from making statues, like at Monkey Forest—all the works I did there were offerings. And also in Lombok, I made many statues as offerings. In Java too.
Because whatever we can dedicate, it’s not an offering to the gods alone—God is universal. It is also an offering to people, to those who understand what we create, those who understand divinity itself. That is the meaning. So that is one of the Balinese teachings still held today, though lately it has shifted—because now everything uses money.
For myself, I try, but of course not 100%. Money is always needed. But the point is—where does the money come from, and how is it earned—so that sincerity is preserved? We separate it: for Yadnya (sacred offering) and for personal needs. For personal things, like painting for memory or for sale—that is different. Again, it’s about balance.
Art in the garden of Budiana
Walking through the garden towards the studio, we pass a shrine with paintings of Budiana in the connecting center of the garden.
Budiana: So here I painted Brahma and Vishnu…..it’s the old the story of arrogance: “I am more powerful.” But not Brahma and Vishnu. So Brahma said he could reach the very top. And Vishnu said he could reach the very bottom. But then Shiva tested them. And what happened? Vishnu turned into a boar, he became a boar to go deeper and deeper, but he never found the end. Brahma turned into a bird, flying upward, but he never found the end either. It’s a wonderful story.
Vishnu and Brahma - shrine painting in the garden of Budiana
Brahma
Wishnu
Yes. For example, the judges wanted to show it in Ubud. Maybe things like this are not publicized enough, so many people don’t understand. But here in Padang Tegal, when a big ceremony is held, all the small elements are included. Those are placed into the ‘Kober’ (large sacred ceremonial flag, used in temples and rituals, the symbol of divine power and protection) , the offerings, the rituals, and so forth. But the explanation is often lacking— just making it, without explaining deeply.
stone sculpture across the shrine with the painting of Vishnu and Brahma in the garden of I Ketut Budiana
Yes, and this one – what is this? In your view, what is this? It looks like a head, an elephant’s head. But the ears are small—pig ears, or elephant ears?Yes, it has tusks—pig tusks or elephant tusks. Actually, this is Yoga. This is kundalini: it must rise, not fall. It should rise. Some people see this as obscene, but actually it is not obscene. That is the real meaning.
What interpretation can we take from this? Yes, the elephant represents strength. It raises the kundalini. To raise the kundalini, the energy must go upward. From here, it means focusing energy so the mind can rise upward— from here, to where? Either to moksha (liberation) or to life again. That is what kundalini determines. So it plays a role, yes. People may see it as excessive or obscene, but actually— beside the shrine, it has meaning.
It also has three symbolic meanings. What are those? Yes, (…..) knows. So, all of this is a lesson. Everyone must first understand it, so they don’t just jump to conclusions — “Ah, this is like that.” Don’t judge it too quickly. Balinese teachings are all like this. In other words, Bali is the skin. Yes, but—inside, it is empty, that is the deepest part. Is it still being worked on, or is it already complete? How long does the work take? I don’t know. It depends on inspiration. Simple.
(we are going upstairs into the studio, talking about a large painting on the topic of mother)
Studio Budiana
Budiana: This—this is all the strength of the mother. This, all of this, is the power of the mother. Earlier, that was rising.
This one here, its movement is upward. This one, downward.
Are they the same? Yes, this one is downward. If this is exalted, it is arrogance. Monstrosity and all of that. But all are true, none are wrong. Everything again, yes? Interpretation, perspective. There are levels of difficulty there. Because it is about feeling right, feeling wrong. But actually, there is no right, no wrong. That is perspective. Like the sixth stage, perhaps—emptiness. That is what is sought. Zero—that is what is sought. The sixth light, that is the turning. That is the turning. As long as humans exist, certainly, (Om….?) life is movement. Without movement, there is no life. Dynamic—yes, that is the dynamic of life. Yes, that is life. If there is no movement, there is no life.
'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of the left panel of the triptychon
'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of the left panel of the triptychon
'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of the left panel of the'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of the left panel of the triptychon
'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of the central panel of the 'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of the left panel of the triptychon
'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of right panel of the 'Mother' by I Ketut Budiana, close-up of the left panel of the triptychon
It is only the body—we are the ones who give it meaning and adjust it to our abilities. Our Lord gives us a certain ability at birth. (om…?), do you have another opinion? God Himself must be understood. And we, yes, we are limited. Time is limited, right? There are complications, many obstacles. So maybe we are limited to only a few minutes. Every moment, every minute, we are limited. Like the eye—Power of the Mother. This is the strength of the mother. But truly, the mother is very beautiful. Yes, her energy—when she is violated, it is extraordinary.
Extraordinary, the way she restores balance, she holds life itself. That is within us. Mother is beautiful; we make her beautiful, very beautiful. But this is imagined as the power of the mother like this. This is what can happen in life. The mother gives birth, extraordinary. So she is the source of life. Yes. But everything goes back and forth. Life, death, life, death. Nothing is permanent in this world. Nothing. The body ages, ages, ages—then disappears. Who can stop it? It just happens. Yes, that is how life is. Meetings and partings. That’s why (….) —those are corrupt.
So perhaps, according to this teaching, Bali gives more meaning to time. Like the mother, actually. Whereas in foreign countries, there are rules, structures, fixed moments— not the same as here.
For example, Brahmacari(learning phase). Here we are directed to study—that is universal. Study anything. Learn and learn. Yes, during learning, maybe until about 100% complete.
Then comes Wanaprastha (the household phase; getting married, working, rasing a family). Wana means forest, Prastha means house (check spelling). So the house is like a base, like a forest.
After that, only then does one move from there to monkhood, to being a monk. So, in doing the practice of monkhood, Biksu, all of those women— that means the younger, the younger sister, the grandmother, the elder—all of them are the same. That is biksu(the final stage of life; living as an ascetic or wandering holy man, renouncing all worldly attachment). Like in the wayang stories, the Pewayangan— that is it. Yes, that is Bali.
Do you understand now, how this connects with the earlier question? So, if we explain why Bali is like this— Aum –it is about Rwa Bhineda (two spirits in opposition). These are two spirits, different but one. This must exist; it is extremely important. If it does not exist, there is no life. Like father and mother, who together become one parent. That’s why in the letters Ang and Ah, when united, they create something. If they are not united, nothing arises. Yes, that is Rwa Bhineda. From the syllables Ang and Ah:
Ang (Balinese aksara symbol) is water, united it becomes Aum (Balinese aksara symbol) the seed.
That is already present in the temple— that is the symbol, the symbol of creation.
And Ah (Balinese aksara symbol) is fire.
Ahalso means money, yes. This is Rachirta, Martha. In yoga, it is what lies below.
Rwa Bhineda is one, right? And from that something arises. But the real thing, the one that is pushed, that is here, that is life— that is yoga.
For example, if the will is brought downward, all the energy will dissipate and nothing will exist. That is the meaning of this philosophy. But if the habit is to bring it downward without transforming it— without passing through love (amor)— the meaning is different, deeper.
That’s why it is not pornography— it is actually something very sacred. It goes back to Rwa Bhineda. Like in yoga, where energy is moved upward— it rises, yes. If it goes downward, it becomes a child. If it rises upward, it transforms. That is why it is important to interpret it first, before misunderstanding.
Yes, in this world, all are symbols. What Ong has described—people already know. That’s why we tell it in symbols:
these symbols, these forms.
It is actually a lesson for the self: how to interpret ourselves, how to see life within ourselves. Where we will go, eventually— that is the question.
"Body, heart and mind" by I Ketut Budiana
Joo Peter (suggesting interpretation to the next painting): Hanoman—he is fierce, but actually, in his heart, he is a Buddha.
Budiana: Why is he called Hanoman? Why not something else? Because it is carried in people’s memory, passed down. But this is not Hanoman —it is always about (…….?), but the energy within them.
This is a Buddhist symbol, Buddha.
Ong (?) within oneself, in the heart—that is Buddha.
This is a Shiva symbol, the outer self.
So what is this one? Our body.
Yes. So this represents our body, heart, and mind.
But now, when people see it, they just say, “Oh, Hanoman.” Too narrow. This is body, mind, and soul. So this is interpretation through the body. Not always about Hanoman.
We dream in layers. Layers and layers. It’s not more difficult— I think it is dreaming in layers.
Layers and layers – what understanding comes after this discussion? Balinese teachings, tantra— there are Balinese lessons that are deeper than what foreigners see. In truth, Bali had other religions too. That’s why they were forced to have holy cities, temples, things like that. That’s what grew later. That’s why, if we look at statues from the past, for example in Goa Gajah, they were from before Hinduism entered.
(Next painting)
This is again Kebo Iwa (Legendary Balinese Hero). If we sum it up—without labels— that was the original Bali, wasn’t it? Yes, that’s the truth. So later, religions came, with holy books, scriptures. But can we still find that earlier understanding? Actually, in Bali before, it was Bhairawa (Protective and destructive forces) understanding. For example, my grandfather was a balian (healer). Yes, he didn’t know the mantras of Shiva. (….)
What is Mangku? (balinese priest) Mangku means to hold, to bear, to carry something. But not just like going to the temple and praying—that’s not it. No, Mangku is carrying. And there are many kinds of Mangku. (…) I forgot your name?
Maha Dewi: Maha Dewi. Mastiayu Maha Dewi.
Budiana: Maha means great. Dewi also means great. Greater than great. The most supreme.
Maha Dewi and Budiana at the end of the interview
Text and photos by (c) Joo Peter.
Coproduction of Joo Peter Studio Cinemate and Usada Ubud
"Insel der Dämonen"1933, Director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Looking back in time: Bali in the 30s
Part 1
After the premiere of the rediscovered and restored film Island of Demons (1933) in Usada August 2nd, 2025, we interviewed Balinese audience about their impression.
Maha Dewi and Joo Peter
Maha Dewi: As a Balinese, the film brings back memories of my time with my grandpa. All the traditions and culture I’ve known since I was a child—it goes back far before I was born. I was born in Bona, which is very close to where the film was shot, in Bedulu. The film feels authentic to a large extent. It also makes me a little sad, because so much has changed in Bali. It’s not like it used to be—not like in my grandfather’s or even my father’s time. I’m grateful to see the old Bali in the film.
And the dialect used—it’s quite an old Balinese dialect, probably specific to the Bedulu area. Bona and Bedulu are in the same district, so we share the same dialect, but the one used in the film is really old. It’s from my grandfather’s time—he was born in the 1930s and even earlier. It’s not spoken that way anymore.
As we discussed before, from a Balinese perspective, it’s easy to distinguish between European influence and what is truly Balinese. For me, what’s really Balinese is in the expressions and activities. On the other hand, the music in the film was more European. In Bali, we mainly use Gamelan music. The European music helped to express emotion differently. It acted like a translator—it expressed feelings in a way Europeans might understand. But in my culture, I can follow the Balinese storyline without needing that kind of music.
film stills “Island of demons” 1933, Director Friedrich Dalsheim (c) Kinemathek Berlin
Maha Dewi: And the depiction of Rangda, as we mentioned, from a Balinese point of view, is more about balance. Yes, I agree.
Interviewer: Yes, it’s interesting how strong the European perspective is—how the witch has to die in the script by European authors.
Maha Dewi: We’re more focused on balancing, like Yin and Yang, black and white. We’re not trying to say one energy is higher or lower than the other. We try to keep everything balanced. I’ve heard stories about a witch, or Rangda, where people give offerings—not to destroy her, but to maintain a good relationship. But the Western perspective often sees the witch only as something bad.
However, both the priest and the witch possess the same knowledge—it’s just used differently. And to me, it’s still the same knowledge.
Interviewer: That’s an important lesson for a Western audience: the priest and the witch—it’s the same knowledge.
Maha Dewi: Yes, but the difference lies in how they use it—in terms of kindness and other aspects.
That’s one of the most important things my family has taught me. We should not wish harm to the witch. They have the same knowledge as the priest. It doesn’t make sense to fight against that energy. Instead, we try to bring balance with kindness.
We don’t believe in retaliation—like, if someone does something bad to me, I won’t try to get revenge. That’s not our way. We try to rebalance the energy through rituals, like offerings.
Interviewer: I think the film also reflects this aspect of Balinese culture, at least to some extent. At first, there’s a more European reaction—the father wants the witch to die. But then they go to the priest, who tells them to calm down. Not just the father, but the whole community, which has been thrown off balance by the events. The priest gives advice to go to a holy temple in the forest, in the mountains, to bring back holy water, and then the whole community should perform a ritual to restore balance.
So this Balinese aspect is there in the film. But in the end of the film, the witch still dies. As we said earlier, it’s this mixture of European fiction and Balinese tradition—both present in the script.
Maha Dewi: As I understand it, the witch’s death was not supposed to be the point. We don’t want the witch to die—we wait for the energy of balance to return to the soul. That’s what I’ve learned.
We see this again and again throughout the year in our many celebrations. From the small flower offerings placed on the ground to our visits to the Mother Temple—everything in our spiritual life is about regaining balance, constantly. (…) So how did the historic film come back to Bali?
Interviewer: Louise van Plessen, a descendant of the original filmmaking team, rediscovered it. The Kinemathek in Berlin restored the film. Her ancestor, Victor van Plessen, was friends with Budiana, the famous Balinese artist. Budiana had visited Victor van Plessen, the co-creator of the film in Hamburg in the 1980s. Victor van Plessen was a close friend of Walter Spies, a key motivation for Budiana to meet him. Louise van Plessen knew about this old contact and searched for Budiana in Bali. That’s how she connected with Scott Baur, a close friend of Budiana—and then with me.
Maha Dewi: Budiana knows my grandpa! They knew each other. Bali is a small place.
Interviewer: Budiana knew your grandfather? Great. One of my film assistants, Yuliani, also lives in Bedulu. We’d like to show the film there.
Maha Dewi: I hope the screening in Bedulu works out! Will the film be made available for others, or is it only shown in a closed circle?
Interviewer: It’s copyrighted by the Kinemathek Berlin. Right now, it’s only being shown at special public events like today. But I think they may make it available online someday. Since it’s an important part of Bali’s cultural heritage, they’ll probably find a good solution.
Maha Dewi: I hope so. Maybe it will even be shown on television one day.
Interviewer: And you’re an artist yourself?
Maha Dewi: I work in media—also with video. I studied it in college. I do photography too. I’m still learning, but I’ve started taking on some commissions.
Interviewer: Thanks so much for the conversation.
(Interviewer: Joo Peter)
Coproduction of Joo Peter Studio Cinemate and Usada Ubud, Transcript and portraits photos: Joo Peter
When I first came to Bali twenty years ago, two iconic authors have introduced me to Balinese culture. Fred B. Eiseman’s bestseller “Sekala and Niskala” (which translates as “the visible and invisible world”) and Bruce Granquist, an illustrator, mapping artist and writer who uniquely depicts and explains Bali’s complex culture. I didn’t know his name for many years, but his illustrations in many collaborative books always appealed to me.
I was amazed by his hand-painted map of Bali, so helpful in the old days before Google map. The beauty of the map made me curious to travel and discover the island on the small country roads and this watercolour artwork was perfectly usable. What an achievement and lasting magic.
Now that he has published a book summarising his legacy, “Mapping Bali”, I visited Bruce in his studio in North Bali.
Below: The artist unrolls the original hand-painted map of Bali
Bruce also designed a map of Ubud. I used it to explore the area in the old days.
Below: The original map for my first explorations leads from Ubud to Tampak Siring in the right corner.
Bruce Granquist, born in Chicago in 1958, came to Bali in 1986, around the time the first telephone arrived in Ubud. It was not until the 1970s that the first light bulb and electricity reached Ubud. Bruce Granquist’s long-term map project was first published in the 90s. Bali has changed a lot since then. Below is a comparison of the Ubud area in 1985 and 2024 with historical satellite images provided by Google.
Bruce didn’t have Google Maps in 1986. By chance, he came into possession of the blueprints of the original 1928 Dutch topographical maps of Bali. “I arranged the charts on my floor, the complete map of Bali filled my whole room”. The 1928 Dutch plans were very detailed, but they didn’t show roads, just paths. Bruce Granquist started researching on the ground to see which paths had become roads. By the use of watercolour he began to create a map with a soul.
It took many years to hand-paint the complete map of Bali. After starting the project in 1986, the map was finally printed in 1999. The 10000 copies are sold out.
A map with a soul: the close-up of the map shows the artistic work of fine layers of colour, applied with paintbrush and toothbrush.
In 1986, the area around Mount Batur was still sparsely populated, as the great volcanic eruption of 1963, which killed around 1500 people, had only been two decades ago. The Bali Aga village of Trunyan could only be reached by boat across Lake Batur (small village on the right). A comparison of satellite images from 1985 and 2024 shows the massive changes since then.
The south has seen the biggest changes since Bruce started his map project in the 80s.
Below: Comparison between 1986 and 2024
When Bruce Granquist first came to Bali in the 1980s, the population of Denpasar was about 150,000 – today it’s 1.3 million.
Below: Kuta and West coast North of Kuta 1985 and 2023
I visited Bruce Granquist at his home in North Bali, where Bali hasn’t changed that much in the last 40 years.
Me, Bruce and his wife in the garden of his house enjoying rambutan fruit from his garden.
He showed me the first sketches of his map projects
Bruce does much more than maps, of course. Most people will remember his excellent illustrations of Bali’s culture, architecture, flora and fauna. The new book “Mapping Bali” showcases his work over the decades.
The attention to detail and the use of colour put a spell on me.
His new book, Mapping Bali, is also an insight into the process behind his work.
Bruce Granquist is a messenger and translator of Balinese culture. “When I start working, I always remind myself: it’s not about me.” He describes a kind of trance in the working process: “Breathe in – breathe out”. Getting into the flow of the marathon work of detail and precision.
And Bruce Granquist is a writer too. Of course he is! This is part of the intense research that goes into every subject he works on. So “Mapping Bali” is also a great warm-hearted read about the culture, spirituality and mentality of Bali.
Today, Bruce also makes abstract art, to balance his equilibrium. In the last years, writing has become more important. After four years of research, interviews with artists, collectors and historians, he published a book on Balinese art from Batuan: “Inventing Art – The Paintings of Bali Batuan”.
below: Page of the book showing a detail of a Batuan painting by I Made Budi
He laughs a lot. Like a free spirit. And the lost generation with no strings attached. Kuncir Sathya Vikur is a young, contemporary Balinese artist whose traditional roots are transformed into pop art. “Sorry, I don’t have a sketchbook to show you. Everything just happens here on the final canvas and I let it flow”. He uses a traditional Balinese colouring technique called sigar, the selection of contrasting pop-cartoon-like colours.
“Garden of Edan” series inspired by Hieronymos Bosch “Garden of Earthly Delights” (Edan means crazy in Javanese)
Kuncir experimented a little with bamboo pens and ink, but soon moved on to modern pens and brushes. He has a very small studio in Tabanan, an average Balinese mini-apartment converted into an artist’s studio, paint-stained tape on the wall, beer bottles left over from last night’s party, a couple of assistants smoking vapors and colouring the large canvas drawings.
Having visited many masters of the older generation who grew up in Bali before electricity, it’s quite a shock to meet this new generation after the rise of mass tourism. “It is crazy what is happening in Bali now. We are in the middle of a magnetic field”. His inspiration is no longer the epic wars of the Mahabharata, but those of the present day. On this bumpy road to the future, he lost his faith. “I’m just a human being. No strings attached to this religion thing”.
“Un-taat citizen. sebuah konsep berkewarganegaraan”, artwork by Kuncir Sathya Viku
But it all started very differently. He is the son of a Balinese priest (Balian) who was passionate about supporting his child’s journey into the arts. Kuncir attended traditional dance classes and learnt gamelan. His father noticed his son’s talent in art and taught him to draw the magical signs of rerajahan. His son learnt all about it and was soon drawing the visuals, his father adding the sacred mantras. But then modern life kicks in.
What is No Longer Sacred
Growing up in the suburbs, the kids were into skateboards and rock music. “My mum and dad worked for a government thing.” Not a peasant’s life. “For me, it is no longer sacred.” But what is “it”? Kuncir refers to the rerajahan, for example. But it is also nature, the traditional way of life. The new generation sees rice fields being turned into concrete buildings, with foreign investment, while most Balinese families remain poor. So this is the new Mahabharata war, but with fewer heroes. “So I learned to draw rerajahan and noticed its similarity to comics. It is a kind of pop art, popular folk art. Kuncir studied at the Art Institute in Denpasar. “I saw a lot of urban art during my studies.”
“Garden of Edan” series “Everybody wants to cancel everybody because we live in garden Edan”
“But Lempad was also one of my inspirations. Clear lines, single figures, satire, gestures”. Lempad began this style during his friendship with Walter Spies, a Western artist who encouraged him (and sold his work for good money). Spies brought Lempad paper for the first time, which was previously unknown in Bali and a good trading commodity, as opposed to the sculptural architecture that Lempad had previously focused on. The hype about Balinese art was a bit funny for Lempad, it suited his satirical spirit. The same is true of Kuncir today. The satirical element goes deeper, back to the Wayang Kulit theatre and the popular comic characters in it, the Panakawan. They are a key element in Wayang Kulit.
A Clownish Translation
The gods and heroes speak an old Javanese dialect that hardly anyone understands anymore, and their divine part of the story is highly ritualised. The clowns are the translators, translating not only into today’s language, but more importantly into today’s life, often vulgar and surprising, with satirical wit. They are like magical time travellers, immersed in ancient history and at the same time witnesses of contemporary life, connecting the two worlds. Going deeper, there is a satirical aspect even in the gods and monsters, for their facial expressions are artfully exaggerated, highly expressionistic ancient pop art – an unsurpassed superlative of its kind. An energy that reaches deep into the human soul and beyond.
The Wayang Kulit theatre is also the origin of the Balinese painting style, Kamasan. Clear black lines, figurative, narrative, dramatic, sometimes surreal and grotesque.
“Overcrowded made us got kérek” – artwork by Kuncir Sathya Viku
“You are much more spiritual than you think,” I said to Kuncir. He admits how deeply rooted he is in these old traditions, “it’s still in my DNA”, but at the same time he is super sceptical about ‘spirituality’ so corrupted by Western mass tourism, but also sceptical from within Balinese belief. So he is a romantic disbeliever.
Work in progress by artwork by Kuncir Sathya Viku, Juli 2024
There is still a world of interwoven spirits in his work. It is an It is an out-of-balance balance. Reconnecting. Dissolving. Reconnecting. “My generation struggles with anxiety. I think it’s a result of capitalism.” The power of foreign money devalues local identity. “So it is no longer sacred. I like to make fun of it.”
To Live Means to Act
Young people in Bali are now looking for jobs on cruise ships. “To live means to act, we can’t just stay under the Bodhi tree like Siddharta Gautama.” The new generation is changing, “and they are becoming consumers”. Inspired by Hieronymus Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights” he created the Garden of Edan series. Edan means crazy in Javanese language. “In Hinduism, this era where we are living in is called Kaliyuga, the last and the worst in the cycle of the world”.
Every time Kuncir tries to cut his strings attached to tradition, he renews them in a strange, unintended way. His work explodes with a different kind of spiritual energy. Sorry, mission failed – in a good way for an artist.
“Natural Stupidity (last stage before advent of artificial stupidity)” , artwork by Kuncir Sathya Viku, detail
Playing God an Act of Creation
And a little bit dangerous. “The artist is like playing God….There is nothing wrong with creation,” he says. . So he is a kind of dalang. The puppeteer who does all the voices and moves all the characters. “There’s nothing wrong with creation”: that’s why they had to flee to Bali in the first place, a few hundred years ago. Exile on the island of a thousand gods. Coming home.
“I leb myself” – artwork by Kuncir Sathya Viku
Kuncir Sathya Viku was born in 1990 in Tabanan, where he now has his studio. His gallery is in Jakarta and he regularly participates in the Jogyakarta Art Fair.
Fancy a dip in the pool after coding? The Onion Collective was founded in 2012 in Ubud as the oldest co-working & co-living space in Bali, just as the digital nomad lifestyle was being born. It’s soul nourishing roots go back to the 70’s with love, peace & happiness.
While other co-working spaces have become more business-oriented, Onion remains an inspiring place with a mission beyond making money.
Networking magic happens at the Onion Café at night – travellers & creatives from all over the world meet here. I have never met so many wonderful artists and travelling soulmates in Ubud as at this place.
Budiana lives in a typical Balinese family compound in the old royal village of Ubud – pavilions in a garden full of intricate handmade art, including a family temple.
In 1969, at the age of 19, Budiana began studying art in Denpasar. At that time life was still very traditional, there was no electricity on the island until the mid-seventies, and the first telephone was installed in 1985. Not far from his home lived the legendary artist I Gusti Lempad, born in 1862, who was 116 years old when he died in 1978. Budiana also learned briefly from Rudolf Bonnet (1895-1978) in his later years, from 1975-77. Along with Walter Spies, Rudolf Bonnet was one of the most influential artists in Bali in the early 20th century.
Sekala and Niskala, the visible and the invisible world – Budiana’s art is a journey into the Balinese cosmos of belief, mythology and spirituality with interwoven cultural roots. Creative dualism: light and darkness are always part of our lives, the dynamic movement of our karma, as Budiana explains in “Whirling”, the title of a recently published catalogue of some of his major works.
“Heading towards release” is the title of the painting above in the Arma Museum. Based on the Mahabharata epic, it depicts the final moment when, after all his struggles and challenges, the hero Pandava is marching towards heaven – with one last obstacle to overcome. The guardians of heaven welcome him, but not his dog. “I will not enter without my dog,” the hero replies – proving his pure heart by being willing to go to hell for his dog.
Below is an excerpt from a larger painting he has just completed in his studio, celebrating the meeting of Balinese and Chinese cultures in a dynamic relationship. The good spirit Barong (partly of Chinese dragon origin) and the witch Rangda meet in different manifestations.
Budiana has also been a mask maker (topeng), a sculptor of sarcophagi for cremation ceremonies (bull, lion, etc.), architecture and artwork for temples – involved in a lot of community work. He also has a passion for teaching.
Since his childhood he has loved the Moneky Forest deeply, he told me. Many of the sculptures in the Monkey Forest were made by him. He always enjoyed visiting the Monkey Forest, connecting with the nature there and creating sculptures inspired by the spirits of the place.
I have been visiting Bali for many years and have always been touched by the sculptures in the Monkey Forest, long before I knew who made them. The sculptures are perfectly in tune with the place where sacred temple and wild animal meet, very specific, also full of humour and joie de vivre.
Budiana masters and brilliantly combines a wide range of techniques and traditions, such as the sensitive, clear-lined black and white drawing style below…
….narrative opulence in expressive black and white …
…ranging to abstract techniques…
….combining it all….
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He likes to paint at night, he told me. Outside life calms down, a meditative atmosphere. Closer to a dream world, it seems.
His grey-walled studio keeps out the harsh sunlight. It’s quiet and peaceful, like a retreat, modest, no bigger than necessary. You can sense the atmosphere of very focused and disciplined work, but also the deep connection to family life in the compound outside – traditional Balinese architecture at its best, garden-like and rich in art, full of life with his children and grandchildren.
Budiana told me about his four children and twelve grandchildren, even some great-grandchildren. Now 69, he still looks as young as he did in his early fifties. He practices yoga to keep fit – and enjoys life.
Kynan, a 14-year-old filmmaker from Kalimantan (Borneo), was one of the stars of the festival, supported by a powerful grassroots movement of a new generation of media activists using all possible media to communicate with local and global audiences. From Papua New Guinean filmmakers taking risks on political issues, to Ibu Onet using an orang utan puppet as an Instagram star to communicate with local audiences, to international productions such as Small Island – Big Song, showing the interwoven Austronesian culture from Madagascar to Easter Island.
Emmanuela Shinta, founder of Indigenous Film Festival
Emmanuela Shinta, a young activist from Kalimantan who has just spoken at the UN, founded the festival with David Metcalf.
Co-founders David Metcalf (New Zealand) and Ado-Kaliting-Pacidal (Taiwan) present “Musical Healers of Land”.
Getting organised: The force behind the new grassroots movement is organisations like the Ranu Welum Foundation in Kalimantan (founded by Emmanuela Shinta) or Wapikoni Mobile in Canada, which provides media technology and knowledge to indigenous communities in Canada and supports emerging filmmakers like Craig Commanda and Jani Bellfleur-Kaltush, who presented their films at the festival.
Craig Commanda and Jani Bellefleur-Kaltush in Q&A about their films and Wapikoni
Rizal Lanni comes from a mountainous area of Papua New Guinea that can only be reached by plane – he is one of Papuan Voices, an initiative of videographers in Papua – check out Rizal’s YouTube channel here. Yonri Revolt is a filmmaker and activist in Papua who also promotes archiving and presentation programmes (more here).
director Ado Kaliting Pacidal, director of “Musical Healers of Land”
Sometimes nothing is more powerful then the spoken word – as special guest Miliwanga Wurrben, grown up in the outback of Australia, showed in her welcome speeches. It all comes back to basics – an open heart – Thanks for a great festival.
Dojo co-working in Canggu on Bali quickly became famous after founder Michael Craig started it a few years ago, inspired by Hubud, Balis award-winning co-working space in a bamboo architecture close to nature similar to Green School. Michael loved to bring this co-working spirit to the beach at Canngu. Located just steps away from the beach, Dojo quickly became a vibrant and inspiring place for creative people.
Haren is one of the welcome spirits at Dojo. The Japanese word Dojo goes back to buddhist martial art practicing court, a place for intense learning and meditation .
Community spirit as a key issue at Dojo, so it’s a great place to find support, feedback, collaborators.
The founder Michael Craig invests a lot of money in a superfast internet on the island, where high-speed internet isn’t a standard.
Dojos in-house pool is one of the cool features
Sometimes its getting pretty crowded. I met a lot of hard-working, very focused e-commerce people there, attracted by the weekly Meet-Up discussing e-commerce, dropshipping, FBA.
Hosting photographer & filmmaker Meet-Ups myyself, I enjoyed to connect to the creative crowd in Canggu as well as in Ubud.
March 2019 the two most famous co-working spaces on Bali , Hubud in Central Bali and Dojo at the West Coast merged. For one membership you’re free to benefit from both places.
Prices are still affordable and I hope it stays that way. Canggu is perfect for beachlovers and surfers, but missing a bit traditional local culture you’ll find more in Ubud area. So by the merge you get the best of both places as a member.
+++ Update 2023 +++ Dojo closed down. The pioneer time of co-working spaces is gone and more commercialized now. Canggu changed (in my opinion) into an aggressive western enclave of fortune seakers with no connection to Balinese culture at all, continuing the destruction of Balinese culture which started with Kuta decades ago and spreading along the western coast line North
