I have always made line drawings. In pen and ink I drew the streets of New York and London, Istanbul and Paris. I drew the faces of my neighbours in Ununio, a fishing village on the East African coast. I drew truckers and tribesmen in the southern Sudan, holy men in the temples of India, children and elders in the markets of Mexico, Guatemala, Peru and Ethiopia. I made a visual record of concerts and parties, marches and meetings, weddings and ceremonies.

And when I came to long for color, I found the place where line and color meet. I found batik or batik found me. In my small guesthouse in Bali, the host family, including the children, were all painting a batik sarong with dye. The white fabric was stretched out on a frame two meters long, A picture of fish had been drawn in golden wax.  I asked to join them and was handed a stick with a piece of foam tied on with string, the brush. I dipped it in dye and touched it to the cloth. The color spread across the rayon and was stopped by the wax line. It was magic and I knew that I had to learn all about it.

I first studied the art of batik painting in Solo, Java, with Umar Hassidin. For 17 years I have been making batik in the workshop of Ketut Sujana in Ubud, Bali. Now I translate my line drawings into images of California hills and rivers, tropical gardens and forests, horses and fish, flowers and trees and the human form.  I am inspired by the sacred spring and holy mountain of Ashram Lemboh Bayan.