The Fluidity of Time: Interview With Jumaldi Alfi

Looking at the paintings of Indonesian artist Jumaldi Alfi feels like stepping into a stream of his subconscious. One enters a dreamy space with floating images of rocks and horses grounded by a background of text. Sometimes a figure is present—looking forlorn, his back is to the viewer as if he is walking away, continuing on a futile journey. Thematically rooted, Alfi’s works contemplate identity and life’s struggles, often using his personal experiences, Greek mythology and history as sources of reference. His explorations into painting have led him to combine various techniques, layering materials to create a collaged surface. ArtAsiaPacific met up with Alfi during his stint in Hong Kong during Art Basel Hong Kong in May, where he was showing with Jakarta-based Edwin’s Gallery. The artist spoke of the Jendela Art Group, being emotionally on edge when he paints and some of the new projects that has lured him out of his studio. 

In Indonesia, you come from a family of poets. Why did you decide to follow a different path of becoming an artist? 

For me it is quite difficult to write, because it takes a lot of focus. From writing your first words to your last, you need to really concentrate to convey a particular meaning. My problem is that when I get toward the middle [of the process], I tend to lose that focus and get distracted. There are more rules and structures that you have to follow in poetry, but in painting you can start anywhere and be inspired by different energy. I enjoy art-making because there are so many possibilities. I can play around with concepts more and stretch my imagination. I find that I can express my opinions better through art. Creating works color by color comes more natural to me than having to write, which I believe is more intense and needs more control. And yet, even though the physicality of my works are different, I find that the essence of my paintings is similar to that of poetry.

Along with your solo practice, you are also a member of Jendela Art Group (Kelompok Seni Rupa Jendela), an artist collective you created with Handiwirman Saputra, Yunizar, Rudi Mantofani, Yusra Martunus and M. Irfan, in 1993. What was happening in Indonesia at the time that led to the formation of this group?

We started the group by coincidence. At the time, the trend in Indonesian contemporary art was “Jogja Surrealism” and “Bali Expressionism” on one side and political art on the other. We tried to follow those trends, but we were not comfortable with it—it really wasn’t us. There were so many rules in painting class, and as a young student you are already quite nervous about your teacher’s comments. I had instances where my teacher would tell me that my works were bad, because I wasn’t painting within the rules. This situation was the same for Handi and Yunizar. We were like the broken-hearted guys, so we banded together and began supporting each other’s works. We began to exhibit in shows, and then after a few years the situation in Indonesia started to change. Mainstream art started to look at us and say that the young artists from Indonesia are not creating political work. We were creating art for the sake of art. We wanted people to talk about the art and not anything else. For us, art is about the connection with your intuition and experiences. If there is anything else behind the work, that is up for each viewer to interpret and add on to. 

When Jendela first exhibited in 1997, what were some of the reactions to your works?

Many people thought that we were lazy artists and that we stole the art from the West. There were many negative comments early on, but we didn’t care. These people were like the same as those lecturers we had in school. We just continued making the art that we loved. 

Many of your paintings, like those from your “Blackboard Paintings” series (2010–14), include a lot of text or repetition of letters. What are the sources of these words?

Some texts are taken from famous artists, poets and sometimes myself, when I feel like writing. At other times, the texts have no meaning. The point is not about the text but the process of writing the word. It’s like a form of meditation where sometimes I forget what I’m actually writing. At the end, I don’t really care about the words anymore—it becomes more about the experience that I undergo. 

Your works tend to be abstract, often repeating motifs such as skulls, stones, cactus plants, masking tape and scribbles. What stimulates your image-making process?

My concepts and symbols always come from experience. Ideas are always there in people’s lives but sometimes when you talk with someone, it triggers your imagination. All of these ideas I explore are things that everyone deals with on some level: being discontent with one’s life or oneself, one’s motivation to survive, etc. These concepts are all quite dark, but I can’t work when I’m happy. When I am happy I want to enjoy and live that feeling because it doesn’t come all the time. But problems of the everyday do come, inevitably, since humans always have difficulties and challenges. If these problems are gone, then you’re simply not living. My paintings become tools that help trigger the emotions or problems everyone goes through. 

You once said that every artwork you create deals with the past. Can you expand on this?

I worry about my past. Muslims are not concerned with reincarnation but sometimes I think I would like to be reincarnated, so I that can redo certain things; especially since now that I can look back, I’m seeing things from a different perspective. There are many things I would do differently, but these past memories are things I’m constantly working through and are often the starting point for my works.

Can you speak about the works you showed at Edwin’s Gallery for Art Basel in Hong Kong?

It was the first time I collectively exhibited works with a horse motif. I’m always a bit hesitant to speak about my works, because I want to push the viewers to think about things they otherwise would not on their own. With the imagery and title, I believe I’m providing enough guidance for the viewers. 

In 2010 you co-founded Artists Collective, Office For Contemporary Art International in Jogja with Fendry Ekel and Astrid Honold. What is the impetus behind this program? 

I started the Artist Collective because, for me, art is not only about making objects but also about knowledge, and I want to share that knowledge. I want to share not because I am better than anyone, but because I would like to pass down information [to others]. I have learned from my own experiences. In school, they can provide information on art history and theory, but there’s no class on how to become a professional artist, or the practicalities of it. Young artists need to learn how to act and understand the system in order for them to be successful. [Artist Collective] is more of a mentorship, where young artists can learn what to do after they make their work: from how to store and document their works to creating publications to promoting their art and exhibitions. But, I have to say that younger artists are lucky these days, because they have the internet. I didn’t have anything and had to learn from books. At the same time, maybe it has become too easy for the younger artists. There’s no filter to the amount of information they receive, which can also be dangerous. So, I guess having access to information can be both a positive and negative thing. Similarly, I’m an organizer and participant of Forum Ceblang Ceblung, which began in 2013 and is a platform for artists to meet, share ideas and create opportunities to learn from one another. For our second project called “Memajang Boleh Saja, Asal Ada Artinya,” which was held from June 6–20, we brainstormed about future activities, such as publishing a newsletter, as well as conducting research and presentations. 

Sylvia Tsai is associate editor at ArtAsiaPacific.