joanie's web log

“Sources”

An Exhibition of Batik Painting

Joanie Mitchell in collaboration with
Barbara Ivan and Ketut Sujana

also by Joanie Mitchell

Travel drawings, watercolors & photographs

Visual notes on Joanie’s journeys

Volcano Garden Arts

Volcano, Hawaii

December 9-21, 2005

Opening reception December 9 5:30 to 8 PM

From the press release, "Joanie is a world traveler whose studio resides in Bali. For over 30 years, her work reveals a poetic respect for living art, and is expressed though colorful imaginative batiks, drawings, and watercolors. Her inspiration comes from the diverse spiritual and cultural communities she encounters throughout her international travels."

“Beji”

Ubud Aura

Ubud, Bali

August 2005

“Spirit of Wellness”

Wellness Center

Northern California Woman's Herbal Symposium

Laytonville, California

September 2005

“Peace in Production”

Earthdance Festival

Black Oak Ranch

Laytonville, California

September 2005

Two years ago my house in northern California burned to the ground. After that event I took to the life of the road and become a sort of sadhu, a spiritual seeker who wanders with no fixed home and is sustained from the charity of others.

Real sadhus traditionally possess only a bowl and the cloth they wrap around themselves, usually orange in color. I had more stuff than that, but not more than I could mange by myself. I put my belongings in a small wheeling case given to me by my land partner, Evan. It is a fine little suitcase, guaranteed for life, and I have put it to the test, dragging and pulling it and carrying it to Australia, England, Wales, Bali, Java, India, California, Oregon, and of course Hawaii.

Since I did my batik show at Volcano Garden Arts last November, I have visited four continents. I have visited great cities and small villages, farms and suburbs. I have made pilgrimages to see old friends and spiritual masters, living and dead. I have made a temporary home in ashrams and hotels, and in the homes of generous friends.

Three of the cities I visited, Denpasar, New Delhi and London, were the target of terrorist bombs either a few months before of after I passed through them. I did not escape history’s sour breath, but everywhere I went I was received with courtesy, generosity, compassion, humor, courage and joy. I was not asked during these journeys to explain the actions of my president or taken to task for the follies of my country. I was loved and understood and respected. For this I am profoundly grateful.

Every place is its own world with sounds, smells, climate, music and jokes of its own. The energy of a pace, the sum total of all that it is, envelopes the traveler. There is no escape. Open hearted acceptance is essential. Once in a place, we are subject to its particular laws and customs, to its extremes of weather, to its food and water, to its’ ways of getting about and to its celebrations and ceremonies, to its subtle heart.

Small addictions seem inevitable, devotion to different forms of food and exercise. Attachment to breakfasts of farm fresh boiled eggs and whole wheat toast with marmalade in Wales can quickly change to a temporary craving for oatmeal and raisins in California, watermelon and papaya salad in Bali, masala dosa in south India. Walking in London streets and across Welsh hills is exchanged for yoga classes in Bali , or a gathering of beloved friends to follow Cindy Cawford’s new exercise routine in northern California. Parking is so difficult in Oakland, even the lazy may prefer to get about on a bike. A lumpy pad on the floor becomes a queen size bed with a duvet. But every destination requires consciousness and attention. And for every destination that it was my privilege to visit this year, I feel a great, a profound gratitude.

The last descendant of the last King of Ubud was cremated in a huge ceremony on the 24th of July 2004

I learned to batik in Java. It came about this way. I was a tourist in Solo, Java, staying in a hostel for international travelers. The hostel sponsored bicycle trips around the city, visiting a tofu factory, a gamelan factory, a goldsmith, a traditional weaver. One of the stops was to see Umar, a friend of one of the tour leaders, making batik. Umar was demonstrating on his front porch. His long delicate hands, the hands of one who has done batik from childhood, moved the wax tool, the chanting, across the fabric. The wax flowed out and a drawing appeared on the cloth. I was seized by a desire to do make my own drawing in wax. I left the tour then and there and started making batik with Umar.

I fell in love with Umar's neighbourhood, and with the city of Solo. I still love it today. More than ten years have gone by, and the world has changed greatly. Tourists used to flock to Java, but now many are afraid to visit. I was a little afraid too when I decided to go back to Java this year. But Solo opened its warm heart to me and made me glad.

Java is Indonesia's largest island and one of the most densely populated places on earth. Now 90% of the people in Java are Muslim, but Islam was preceded by long periods of Hindu and Buddhist domination, and the traditions and arts from these times still influence life in Java today. The city of Solo is a center for mystical practice, a center for batik art, and a wonderful loving city where young people play music for donations on the public buses and turn the streets into gentle impromptu parties after the sun goes down. There are lots of trees and gardens and little lanes too narrow for cars, which preserve the quiet life of past times.

I went to visit Yulia, who is Umar's niece. She lives with her dad and stepmother and two little brothers and the latest baby, named Febriani because she was born in February. It is the same house where I first met Umar on the porch, except the porch is gone, converted to living space. The well, shared by many families,is still there, and the communal toilet also shared by many, and the little street that leads to the Muslim graveyard where Umar and I painted batik and where batik is still painted today.

This small suburb of Solo is devoted to batik, two thousand pieces used to be made in a single week and shipped off to Brazil and Spain, but the batik industry has declined now so many have little work.

There are a great many children. Here is Koman Daudi. He is Yulia's cousin. Since he was conceived in Bali he has a Balinese name and because I was asked to have a say in his name, he also is called Daudi after my son.

Here are Koman's Daudi's cousins. The village is filled with children. The batik life is hard, these children are poor. But laughter, joyful laughter, is the sound of this place.

Here are Yulia's relatives and friends off to a wedding. I once went to a wedding in this town, the marriage of Yulia's sister. I was made up for the wedding in traditional clothes, but there was no kabaya, the traditional blouse, big enough for me in the bridal rental shop. All the village women came to see if they something that would do and at last a suitable blouse was found. Now I have my own kabayas, and predict that this graceful style may someday become popular in the west.

We made batik, of course, Yulia and I and her dad, and if you want to know about this, check out batik process, and you can see how we did it and in the gallery you can see how it came out.

If ever you would like to go to Solo and meet Yulia, she will welcome you. Write me a letter and I will try to arrange a visit. I am so grateful to her and Wawan, her finance. They want you to know the heart of the people of Solo, Java.