Following my enlightening visit to the "Prasasti Penciptaan Batuan" exhibition at the Agung Rai Museum of Art (ARMA) in Ubud, Bali, I found myself drawn deeper into the world of Balinese artistry. The exhibition, which showcased three generations of Batuan artists and paid tribute to the legendary I Nyoman Ngendon, had ignited a spark of curiosity about the techniques and traditions behind these mesmerizing works. It was this newfound fascination that led my sister and I to participate in ARMA's exclusive cultural workshop on Balinese painting, a two-hour journey that promised to immerse us in the very artistic practices we had so admired in the museum's halls.

Setting the Scene

The workshop experience at ARMA turned out to be even more immersive than we had anticipated. Instead of being tucked away in a separate studio, we found ourselves seated at a table right outside the museum itself, our creative space seamlessly blending with the exhibition environment. This unique setting transformed our workshop into a living, breathing extension of the museum experience, almost as if we were becoming part of the exhibition ourselves.

Painter outside ARMA, Image by Rhiannon Piper.

As we settled into our seats, the boundaries between observer and artist began to blur. The gentle Balinese breeze carried with it the subtle scents of tropical flora, while the sounds of visitors exploring the nearby exhibits provided a soft backdrop to our artistic endeavors. Natural light bathed our workspace, reminiscent of the luminous quality we had admired in many of the paintings inside the museum.

My Sister and I at the Balinese Painting Workshop, Rhiannon Piper.

Our position outside the museum offered a constant visual connection to the art we were attempting to emulate. Visitors would occasionally pause to watch our progress, their curious glances reminding us that we were now part of the living tradition of Balinese art, not just spectators. This unexpected public aspect of our workshop added an exciting dimension to the experience, as if we were performing a kind of artistic ritual for an appreciative audience.

Our instructor, one of ARMA's senior artists, seemed perfectly at ease in this open setting. His presence, much like that of Agung Rai himself in the museum, highlighted ARMA's commitment to breaking down barriers between art, artist, and audience. As he began to introduce us to the materials and techniques we would be using, the connection between the centuries-old traditions we had witnessed in the exhibition and the living, breathing practice we were about to engage in became palpable.

This unique setup - art students working in the shadow of masterpieces - embodied the essence of ARMA's mission: not just to preserve Balinese artistic heritage, but to keep it alive and growing. As we picked up our pencils and prepared to begin, we felt a profound sense of connection to the artistic lineage we were about to explore, our simple table transformed into a bridge between past and present, tradition and creation.

Choosing Our Subjects

Our journey into Balinese painting began with a choice that felt both simple and profoundly significant. Our instructor, a master artist whose passion for his craft was immediately apparent, presented us with a selection of his own sketches. Despite the language barrier between us - his English was limited, and our Balinese non-existent - his enthusiasm for the art form transcended words. Where verbal communication fell short, his expressive gestures, demonstrative actions, and the sheer love for his craft evident in his eyes bridged the gap, creating a unique form of artistic dialogue.

Instructor’s Sketches, Image by Rhiannon Piper.

This wordless yet profound communication reminded us of the universal language of art we had witnessed in the exhibition. Just as those paintings spoke volumes without uttering a sound, our instructor conveyed complex artistic concepts through demonstration and expression. His approach, reminiscent of the "master copies" technique I was familiar with from my background in oil painting, struck me as a beautiful bridge not just between languages, but between traditional teaching methods and the unique aesthetics of Balinese art.

As we perused the options, I found myself drawn to a dynamic figure of a male warrior. The sketch captured a sense of movement and strength that I had admired in some of the exhibition pieces, particularly those depicting scenes from Balinese epics. My sister, perhaps influenced by the graceful female figures we had seen adorning the museum walls, chose to recreate a serene Balinese woman. Our choices, though personal, felt like they were connecting us to the broader tapestry of Balinese artistic expression, linking our small efforts to the masterpieces we had admired in the exhibition.

The Art of Sketching

Armed with pencils and a newfound appreciation for the complexity of Balinese art, we began to transfer the outlines of our chosen subjects onto paper. What at first seemed like a simple task of copying soon revealed itself to be a nuanced exercise in understanding form, proportion, and cultural aesthetics. Our instructor, ever-present and keenly observant, guided us with a gentle hand and an expert eye. His approach was not to dictate, but to suggest and refine, allowing us to discover the essence of the style through our own efforts.

The Artists’ Sketch (Left) and my start on the sketch copy (Right), Image by Rhiannon Piper.

As we sketched, the air filled with the soft sounds of pencils on paper and our instructor's insights into the cultural significance of various elements in Balinese art. He pointed out how the tilt of a head could convey emotion, how the curve of a hand might tell a story, and how the intricate patterns adorning clothing and headdresses were not mere decorations but symbols laden with meaning. With each stroke, we were not just drawing figures; we were learning to see through the eyes of Balinese artists, understanding the balance between realism and stylization that gives their work its unique character.

The Instructor explaining his corrections to my sketch, Rhiannon Piper.

The instructor's corrections, though subtle, were transformative. A slight adjustment to the angle of an arm, a minor refinement of a facial feature – these small changes breathed life into our sketches, slowly bringing them closer to the artistic tradition we were striving to understand. As our pencil lines took shape, so too did our appreciation for the skill and cultural knowledge embedded in every authentic Balinese painting we had seen in the exhibition.

Defining Details

With our pencil sketches refined and approved by our instructor, we moved to a stage that felt both exciting and slightly daunting: inking. The transition from pencil to ink marked a shift from the realm of possibility to that of commitment, a step that echoed the dedication required of traditional Balinese artists in creating their masterpieces. Armed with fine-liner pens, we began the meticulous process of tracing over our pencil lines, each stroke now permanent and purposeful.

Instructor’s sketch (Left) and my copy (Right), Rhiannon Piper.

This phase of the process demanded a level of concentration and steadiness that took our engagement with the art form to a new level. As I focused intently on maintaining a steady hand for precise lines, I began to feel a cramping sensation in my fingers and wrist. This physical challenge was unexpected but enlightening – it gave me a newfound appreciation for the endurance and skill of Balinese artists who create intricate, large-scale works. The realization that they could maintain this level of detail and precision for hours on end, often working on much larger pieces than our modest attempts, was truly humbling. It underscored the incredible dedication and physical stamina required to master this art form, adding yet another layer of respect for the masterpieces we had admired in the exhibition.

Instructor’s sketch (Left) and my copy (Right), Rhiannon Piper.

We weren't simply outlining our figures; we were adding layers of intricate patterns, delicate ornamentations, and fine details that brought our drawings to life in a distinctly Balinese way. The flowing lines of fabric, the elaborate headdresses, and the stylized facial features all required a careful hand and an eye for detail that gave us a new appreciation for the works we had seen in the museum. Each line, despite the physical strain, felt like a testament to the commitment of generations of artists who had refined this technique.

Our instructor moved between us, offering guidance and encouragement. As we worked, the connection between our small efforts and the grand tapestry of Balinese art we had witnessed in the exhibition became ever clearer. Each line we drew felt like a thread connecting us to generations of artists who had refined and preserved this unique artistic language.

Ink and Water

The next stage of our workshop introduced us to a technique that seemed to embody the fluid grace of Balinese dance: ink shading. Equipped with two calligraphy-style brushes and a traditional Chinese ink stick, we watched in awe as our instructor demonstrated the method. With seemingly effortless strokes, he laid down lines of opaque ink, then magically transformed them into subtle gradients with a water-laden brush. The effect was mesmerizing, bringing depth and life to the two-dimensional surface in a way that felt both ancient and fresh.

The Instructor demonstrating the technique on my copy, Rhiannon Piper.

Our instructor showed us how to use the ink to create a gradient effect, starting with darker outlines that gradually lightened towards the center of each form. This technique, we learned, was crucial for adding depth and dimensionality to the flat surface of the paper. He demonstrated how to carefully curate certain sections, leaving them darker or lighter to enhance the overall shading and create a sense of volume. The interplay between the dark outlines and the brighter centers brought our figures to life, giving them a subtle but powerful three-dimensional quality.

My copy with ink shading, Rhiannon Piper.

As we attempted to replicate this technique, the true challenge of Balinese painting revealed itself. The ink, once placed on the paper, had a life of its own, bleeding and blooming in unpredictable ways. For me, an oil painter accustomed to the forgiving nature of slow-drying paints, this was initially terrifying. My first attempts were hesitant, too light-handed, as if I were trying to hold back the tide. Eventually, I found my rhythm and settled into the flow of the ink.

A Glimpse into Colour

As our two-hour journey drew to a close, we found ourselves wishing for more time, our enthusiasm for the art form only growing with each passing minute. Our paintings, while complete in their monochromatic beauty, were missing the vibrant colors so characteristic of the Balinese works we had admired in the exhibition. Sensing our eagerness to learn more, our instructor gave us a glimpse into the next stage of the process.

Traditionally, he explained, diluted acrylic paint washes would be applied over the ink work, building up layers of transparent color to create the bright and rich tones seen in finished Balinese paintings. He showed us examples of completed works, pointing out how the ink underpinning provided structure and depth to the colorful overlays. The precision required in this stage, he noted, was equal to that of the inking process, with each layer of color contributing to the overall harmony and symbolic meaning of the piece.

Though we couldn't experience this part of the process ourselves due to time constraints, the explanation gave us a newfound appreciation for the completed works we had seen in the museum. We could now imagine the painstaking process behind each vibrant scene, understanding the layers of skill, patience, and cultural knowledge embedded in every authentic Balinese painting.

Reflections on the Experience

As we reluctantly cleaned our brushes and admired our creations, I couldn't help but reflect on the journey we'd just undertaken. In just two hours, we had been introduced to centuries of artistic tradition, guided by the skilled hand of a master practitioner. The workshop had transformed our understanding of the exhibition we had visited, bringing to life the techniques and traditions behind the masterpieces we had admired.

The experience offered more than just a lesson in technique; it provided a window into the soul of Balinese culture. Every line we drew, every shade we added, connected us to generations of artists who had practiced and perfected this art form. We had not just observed, but participated in a living tradition, guided by those who know it best.

My sister's copy (Left) and my copy (Right), Rhiannon Piper.

As we left the workshop, our ink-stained hands clutching our newly created artworks, we carried with us not just paintings, but a newfound appreciation for the skill, patience, and cultural richness embodied in Balinese art. The workshop had deepened our connection to the island's artistic heritage, making the exhibition we had visited feel even more meaningful and alive.

For those visiting Bali and seeking a deeper connection with its artistic heritage, ARMA's cultural workshop on Balinese Painting is an experience not to be missed. It's an opportunity to not just observe, but to engage with a living tradition, to feel the weight of centuries of artistic evolution in one's own hands. As we stepped back into the warmth of the Balinese afternoon, we felt enriched not just as tourists, but as participants in the ongoing story of Balinese art, a story beautifully told through both the grand exhibition halls and the intimate workshop spaces of ARMA.