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The Beauty of Line: February 2013
The Beauty of Line: February 2013
February 2013
There is also a studio in the hurly-burly center of Ubud that offers twice weekly life drawing sessions for
the regal sum of 20,000 Rupiah, the Indonesian currency. That works out to two US dollars. Comfort
is not the criteria here. You bring your own gear, grab a pillow to sit on and join the crowd of Balinese
and expatriate artists for three hours of intense life drawing.
Working with sharpened sanguine
conté on a quarter sheet of Fabri-
ano Ingres drawing paper I quickly
established the arabesque of my
Bali laundress.
The likeness of a portrait is significantly determined by its overall shape. Many artists refer to this as
the contour. I prefer to use the term arabesque as it also denotes rhythm and the beauty of line.
The tragedy is that most artists cannot accurately strike a shape. Yet this is a skill that is easily acquired.
Spending as little as a single month focused on your arabesque striking skills will set you heads and
shoulders above the vast majority of artists. The first two hours of my Beginning to Draw Workshop
does just this.
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I met a remarkably spry elderly gentleman at the Ubud drawing sessions. Ben [not his real name] was
a widower and former English university professor, and WWII veteran who was amongst the thousands
of very young men who stormed the beaches of Normandy in 1944, who had retired to Bali.
His meagre pension allowed him to live adquately in Bali and to pursue his art. He didn’t drive a car,
he rode an antique bicycle that he confidently merged into the chaotic maelstrom of honking scooters
and trucks and errant pedestrians that is the traffic of Ubud. Even more astounding was that to get to
his house in Penestanan, a community of expatriates living amongst the rice paddies, he had to climb
107 steps (I counted them all. Several times.) up a steep incline carrying his bicycle, groceries and art
gear.
Ben was 83 years old and didn’t look a day over 70. If anything Ben was a testament to the benefits of
a mostly pleasant tropical climate and the courage to live his life his way.
My next decision, drawing and
painting is really a series of deci-
sion making – good and, some-
times, bad, is to sketch in the
various folds and twists of the
headdress.
Almost everyone travelling to Bali and Indonesia requires a visa. The most common visa is the 30-day
Visa on Arrival which you get at the airport for $25 USD. My preferred mode of travel is a modified Paul
Thoreau (the somewhat testy travel writer) approach. What that means is: travel light. As an artist I have
to make a choice between taking my 1.2 box French easel packed with art materials and clothes.
I opt for the former which can garner a few pointed questions from immigration officials. Clothes wear
out quickly when travelling and I prefer to buy my clothes as I go along. A couple of $3 shirts and $5
short pants . you don’t need socks in Bali . and I’m set and, better still, I don’t stand out as a tourist.
Finding a taxi is never a problem in Bali. Avoiding the constant pleadings from drivers is altogether an
other issue especially for someone like me who prefers to walk everywhere. You take the good with
the bad . $3 taxi rides and $5 one-hour massages balanced against constant sale pitches. There are
massage salons everywhere offering manicures to a good Balinese thumping to ease the stress of a
day of painting. The most popular and cheapest massage salon in Ubud is Eve fs which is just off of
Monkey Forest Road near the Three Monkeys Restaurant (another favorite of mine).
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Most visitors to Bali stay at the resort hotels at Sanur and Kuta. Sanur is the quieter place and offers a
more auhentic experience than Kuta and its immediate environs.
For my first visit to Bali I obtained a two-month visa and rented a small house in Penestanan which also
came with daily housekeeping. Alas the house didn’t have laundry facilities, barring the bathroom sink,
and I quickly tired of the constant hand washing of my clothes that is required in a hot, humid climate.
A little down the road was a shop that offered laundry services and I quickly become one of their best
customers.
The laundress was an elderly Balinese woman, her name is Made, who not only thoroughly hand-
washed my clothes but also ironed and folded them for only a few thousand rupiah. (One US dollar
equals about 10,000 rupia.) One afternoon, however, my laundry had not dried in time which put me in
a small fix. I travel with a very limited supply of clothing and the logistics of having fresh shirts requires
Now that I have a solid foundation
I can add the flourishing touches
such as the focus of the eyes,
wisps of hair and further elaborate
upon the roll of money that Made
carried in her ear lobe.
a delicate sense of timing. There was nothing for me to do but sit down and join my laundress in watch-
ing a boxing match on a static-filled television. It wasn’t long before we cheering on our favorite boxers
and downing a copious, at least for me, amount of Bintang beer which is the local brew. Well my boxer
was knocked out in the ninth round and I was on the hook for a case of Bintang.
Over the course of a few weeks of more boxing matches and far too much Bintang I ventured to ask
Made if she would sit for a portrait and she readily agreed.
Made is representative of Bali’s recent, and regrettably, lost past. On the one hand the tourist industry
provides many Balinese with employment and an income, albeit small, other than agriculture but it
comes at a price. Much of the land that the resorts were built on were stolen or bought by force by the
former Suharto dictatorship from the Balinese.
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by how to best set up your work station and proceed with striking the all-
important arabesque and continue with blocking in and working up the
forms with cross-hatching.
The roll of money that Made carries in her ear lobe is a quixotic confluence of an exotic and innocent
past and a modern cash economy. Friendly and apparently guileless and unaffected by numerous
bottles of Bintang Made was an excellent model, I wish the same could be said for me: hot tropical
afternoons, Bintang and betting on losing boxers made it extremely difficult to concentrate on my draw-
ing.
Near the end of my stay in Bali it was while eating my supper at a local Warung (eatery) and watching
a boxing match on the television that was blaring in the corner of the room that I realized I had been
duped out of those cases of Bintang. The boxing matches that Made and I had watched and betted on
were replays that Made had seen several times before.