Indonesian performance art club shocks and startles with confrontational shows not all will enjoy
- Established in 2016, 69 Performance Club puts on shows that are impossible to ignore – think an almost nude man slapping his body for 10 minutes
- The performances are meant to break down ‘the wilderness of ignorance’ that mainstream culture lives by, using the body as a medium to deliver a message
Slapping their bodies and running in chaotic circles flailing their limbs, members of Jakarta’s controversial 69 Performance Club create confrontational shows that aren’t always easy to enjoy, but are impossible to ignore. The collective, whose members range in age from 17 to 50, have staged a number of startling productions, with scenes that can make an onlooker feel uncomfortable – as is sometimes the intention.
“Performance art in Indonesia is a branch of art that is still quite ‘sexy’,” says Dhanurendra Pandji, a 22-year-old oil painter and maker of art films, meaning that it is a type of art still relatively new in Indonesia that piques the curiosity of the audience and intrigues prospective performers. “This sense of newness often gets thought of as ‘weirdness’ because people here are not used to it yet. For me, it gets to the essence of performance art, which is utilising the body as a medium to deliver a message.”
Dhanurendra comes from Temanggung, in Central Java province, and his most commanding work for the club is The Worshipper. In this performance piece, he carries an empty glass bottle in his teeth and crawls around the room at a dramatically slow pace for close to 10 minutes. Oblivious to obstacles, he actually bumps into audience members in an almost animal-like way.
Established in 2016, 69 Performance Club was set up by members of the Lenteng Forum, a creative community focused on film, literature and fine-arts discussions that was founded 16 years ago and is still active today.
Like the forum, members of 69 Performance Club consist of students from a colourful range of disciplines including international relations, communications, criminology, archaeology, philosophy, economics, journalism, fine arts and film. As something of a homage, the club took the 69 in its name from the Lenteng Forum secretariat’s building number.
All members have taken a class at the forum called “MilisiFilem” (Film Militia), which focuses on experimental filmmaking and visual arts, closely correlated with performance art. But not all club members are performers; some joined to study their fellow club members’ performance art or simply to observe.
Prashasti Wilujeng Putri, 27, who studied criminology and has been involved in traditional dance since she was a child, says that although the creative process for performance art may look straightforward, it actually takes a lot of time to craft and develop.
“In the club, we learn about the body, objects, space, time and the audience,” she explains. “Learning the art of performance is not possible without the actual practice of performing, so we engage in a public presentation once a month as a form of practice, a form of class.”
The performers then gauge the audience’s reaction and explore it in their regular discussion sessions to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Prashasti describes these sessions as “intense”, as members read and critique each other’s notes.
Her own performances embrace her experience in traditional dance and the Japanese dance theatre form of Butoh. Her work evokes a sense of mystery and beauty, mostly using a large monocoloured cloth to cover her entire body. The fabric slides and ripples as her body moves. The titles of her pieces (Misogyny and Complexity of Adulthood) are descriptive – the works explore young adulthood and femininity in a male-dominated society.
The audience is positioned relatively close to the artists for most of the club’s shows, lending a sense of confrontation but also collaboration with the production. In Blackbox: Autoplay, for instance, Dhanurendra moves around the audience’s seats while pulling off pieces of tape stuck to his body.
First-time audience members might find that these performances aren’t always easy to watch, let alone enjoy. The artists expose and do things to their bodies, sometimes in ways that seem close to self-harm, that can make audiences feel uncomfortable.
In terms of Plague, I wanted to showcase how the way that each part of our body is constructed results in a different sound [when slapped]. Being naked was a necessity
Arriving at a deeper understanding of what the performers are trying to achieve is usually easier than might be expected. Not only are the artists often very approachable and ready to discuss their performance, but the format of the presentation becomes clearer as the audience gets used to watching more of the club’s events. Understanding that the act of self-objectification is a calculated display is key to appreciating the performances.
Many of the club’s sessions take place in what is dubbed the Representation Room, a medium-sized space that is separated into sections by black tape stuck to the floor.
Reality and imagination is divided by those lines. Dhanurendra describes the bodies working the room as “brushes” and the room itself the canvas.
“For me, art is not just about self-actualisation [fulfilling one’s own potential],” he says, adding that performance art “has flexibility so that its scope is endless; the possibilities offered by this form of creative expression are what personally drive me.”
The club’s discussion and experimentation sessions are mostly curated and led by Hafiz (who like many Indonesians only has one name), a senior artist and one of the co-founders of both the Lenteng Forum and the fine art collective Ruangrupa.
During rehearsal sessions, Hafiz often directs members to move around in the room simultaneously without regard to the other people there. The goal is to develop an ability to fully focus on one’s own presence.
Nugraha says a performer using his or her own body makes for a vivid viewing experience that is difficult to forget. In his last piece, Plague (Electron Edition), he stood almost nude on the stage and began slapping various parts of his body with his open palm, while a microphone picked up the sound of the slaps. In this performance, he wants to remind us of the human origins of the electronic devices that now consume our daily existence.
Though his near-nakedness may appear like a spontaneous decision, Nugraha says everything in his performance piece is deliberate. Plague is an exploration of humanity, he explains.
“I ask myself whether the nudity is required, and if it is, in what way is it important?” he says. “What am I trying to communicate? In terms of Plague, I wanted to showcase how the way that each part of our body is constructed results in a different sound [when slapped]. Being naked was a necessity.”
The marks of the slaps on his skin are also symbolic of the decaying nature of these electronic and human processes, he adds.
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Nugraha points to older artists such as FX Harsono, Arahmaiani, Melati Suryodarmo, Tisna Sanjaya and Reza “Asung” Afisina as forebears of the performing arts niche in Indonesia. Like those artists, he says, club members share a sense of how effective their performances are in directly and thematically addressing personal and political issues.
According to one of Lenteng Forum’s co-founders, Otty Widasari, 69 Performance Club exists to allow for the birth of performances that, if consistently produced, will create a “culture” of the club’s own, breaking down “the wilderness of ignorance” that mainstream culture lives by. She calls the performances works of knowledge that are a “beautiful gift for the future”.
Dhanurendra sees the primal nature of the club’s art as its core strength. Regardless of all the body contortions and interpretative movements, he says the shared human experience is what brings it all together for both the performers and audience members.
“Performance art is about this most basic of human experiences,” he says. “It is framed in a different way, but it is about speaking of everyday issues.”
