Drawing class and the Bone Carver

UBUD, BALI
April 1, 2004
DAYTIME


I was delayed for my first drawing session in town, because I haggled in the rice field with a wandering bone carver. I ended up with three of his lovely and intricate wares; two ivory colored lizard sculptures and a genuine Bali frog button. I felt slightly embarrassed at the touristy acquisition impulse, but they're gorgeous, impressively ambitious, and I smile every time I see them.

This however, was only one in a string of delays. First there was the ongoing hand wash to set out to dry, and then there was the connect-the-numbered dots thank you drawing I did for the compound's children. Then there were the lovely rows of morning stream side floral and incense offerings I just HAD to take a picture of. I suspect this Kodak moment was what gave the bone carver the que that I might be a buyer. After our good natured business transaction, yet another hopeful wanderer in waiting hoped I'd part with my money. This small dark man with bad teeth demonstrated his available services by lamely massaging my shoulder while grinning "Good for you!". The hairs on my neck raised, and I declined and ran as quickly as politeness allowed.

The heat and my lateness, prompted me to finally take up the offer of "Transport!" service from one of the sea of roadside locals that annoy me every few yards with shouts of "Hello! Hello! Transport? Where are you from? Taxi? Hello!" The driver essentially picked me. He was the boldest and the best looking of the bunch. Pleasant and good humored, he was willing to take a low but still respectable price. His excellent English made for a nice chat, and he knew exactly where the gallery was.

It took a little work to find the drawing session behind the gallery. Like magic, the facilitator opened the door as I approached. Open hearted, and with a welcoming grin, ponytail, and spectacles, she cheerfully ushered me to a floor pillow. It turned out to be an extremely chatty and informal group of expats and Bali frequent flyers. People continued to trickle in. While I quietly focused on drawing the model with my crude tools, others socialized. There was a long stream of appeals to report burglaries to the police, offers to share paperbacks, updates on cancer victims and survivors, and discussions about hard to get artist materials and Visas.Two of the women were from the bay area, and still living there. One had done her line drawings on a large fabric sheet, for a later batik. How lovely, to have the confidence and nonchalance to commit random freehand drawings to the same canvas! I admired how several people in the group had their own personal process, and many would integrate these drawings into later projects.

I was about the youngest woman in the group and quite inspired by the vitality of these women. Several of us went out for lunch afterwards. It was hot, so we wandered till we found an outdoor warung with enough breeze to cool our sweat. Aparently, the electricity was out on that street so fans weren't working. I enjoyed the camaraderie and the women were generous with advice and stories about life in Bali. The oldest, and shakiest, woman in the group glowed as she joyfully confided that it was a great place for a person her age because there was always something to do day or night, and with a huge expat community to socialize with. Apparently, she and some of the other members were expat veterans of the world... and a discussion ensued about how sad that the longtime Katmandu expats were forced out by increased violence. She spent about 8 months in Bali, and 4 in Australia with family. I thought about how much nicer Bali was than an old folks home. If one were to get in a bad way, there's always cheap Indonesian companion/caretakers and emergency airlift services to modern Singapore! Expats seem to check on the most vulnerable in their circles... I can't say that about people in my country.

Later that afternoon, I met a rather paunchy middle aged Frenchman who'd been living in Bali for about 6 years. He owned the high speed internet shop that I was using, and proudly told me that his rent for the next 8 years was prepaid and that they were comfortable. This was part of the pitch for the "no expiration date" membership card. Eventually, he showed me the picture of his stunning young Balinese "princess" wife, and told me how his love life improved when he came here and found someone who takes oh so much better care of him than his French (working) girlfriends ever did. So at the end of a long hard day of work, instead of a can of cassoulet and fend-for-yourself attitude, he gets a proper home cooked Indonesian meal, drawn bath and scrub down, clean clothes laid out, and sweet talk. "And" he proudly announced "she loves me!" Hmmmm... I wonder what she gets out of the relationship, since he's not home much?