Donald
Friend in Bali
John
Moyle
Being
from Adelaide, I had not heard of Donald Friend until I arrived in Sydney
in early 1971. There was nothing unusual in this, as Sydney had a charm
school, while Adelaide had a dull school. But this ignorance was temporary
as contemporaries, such as Martin Sharp, Peter Kingston, Richard Liney
and Gavin Wilson, were busy extolling the virtues of the charm school
artists, and of one in particular, Donald Friend.
There
was a romantic aura about Friend, which was amplified by the rumours of
his regal lifestyle in Bali. This was before Australians had begun flocking
to Bali in any numbers, but stories of the island’s beauty, culture and
sensuality fuelled the imagination.
There
seemed to be a popular perception that Donald Friend was an exile, either
banished for some indiscretion, imaginary or otherwise, or, perhaps even
worse, Australia had failed to live up to his expectations as a place
in which to create great works. This was also at a time when anyone who
left Australia for any length of time was regarded virtually as a deserter.
But
the notion of Donald as an exile is far from reality. From early in his
life he had been a seeker, precociously aware of his genius, and the burning
need to let it shine. While many great Australian artists, including Tom
Roberts, Sidney Nolan and Brett Whiteley were to do grand tours to the
art houses and museums of Europe for inspiration, Donald Friend always
sought his own path to the holy grail of art. Firstly to the Torres Strait,
then Nigeria, where, typically, he found his way into a royal court and,
after the war, to Sri Lanka. It was there in the great hotel and garden
creations of the brothers Geoffrey and Bevis Bawa that Donald first saw
how traditional tropical living spaces could be reinterpreted for western
life styles, while maintaining the essential integrity of design .
Donald
first set foot in Bali in 1966, on a stopover to Greece where he planned
to meet his lover Attilio [Guarrancino], and fellow artist, Justin O’Brien.
Making his way to the artists’ village of Ubud, he was appalled by the
cheap mass-produced tourist art. But this bleak outlook was soon to change.
His friend Mitty Lee Brown arranged a meeting at the Sanur house of a
Manadonese architect, Wija Wawo-Runtu. Wija was originally from the north
of Sulawesi, but had moved into the Sanur area in the early sixties, establishing
a house and a small bungalow hotel, called the Tanjung Sari, along the
coastal strip. Wija’s home was crammed full with antiques, terracottas,
bronzes, cloths and Balinese paintings, and for Donald, this was an epiphany.
That day, at Wija’s house, a collector was born in the artist.
Sanur
was where tourism first developed in Bali in the 1930s. It was very low-key,
with a few expatriates and artists living in simple beach bungalows. At
this stage it was very much their own private paradise. The occasional
steamship would dock at Singaraja and tourists such as Charlie Chaplin
would then motor down to Denpasar, staying at the Bali Hotel. A quick
run around the temples, a few photographs, and they were gone.
The
word about the allure of Bali began to filter through with the publication
of George Krause’s book, Bali Volk, in 1926, his outstanding photographs
revealing a culture that had remained virtually unchanged through centuries.
By the 1930s there were documentaries such as ‘Island of the Demons’ and
‘Goona Goona’, which played heavily on the stereotype of beauty and culture,
with a smattering of bare breasts. While the audience for these works
was limited, this was soon to change when, in 1937, Vanity Fair artist
Miguel Covarrubias published his authoritative work Island of Bali.
Filled with astute observations gleaned from his nine-month stay in 1930
as a recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, his stunning illustrations
and photographs by his wife Rose were to capture the imagination of an
audience weaned on National Geographic. It was Covarrubias who
was to make the observation that ‘everybody in Bali seems to be an artist’,
a construct that lingers to this day.
Continuing
his journey to Greece, Donald must have been excited by the prospect that
he had a new friend, a new passion and, at last, a place in the world
to call home. Before leaving Bali, Donald gave Wija some money to purchase
a block of land, but this was to fall through. Returning in 1967, he managed
to secure another block at Batu Jimbar, located between the Tanjung Sari
Hotel and the Bali Beach Hotel, and set about building his house. The
design was outwardly along the lines of traditional Balinese domestic
architecture, with the kitchen in the south, the temple in the north-east,
and his bale in the west.
Inwardly
it was built to accommodate a studio and grand living space, and later
a museum to house his work and growing antique collection. Watching the
progress of his house being built, Donald was inspired by the achievements
of the skilled Balinese craftsmen and the re-shaping of traditional Balinese
form. But primarily he was there to work, especially to create major canvases
that would assure him of his place amongst Australia’s great artists.
There
was nothing unusual for the people of Sanur having an artist in their
midst. Artists had been living in the Sanur area since the early part
of the twentieth century. In the 1930s, Belgian impressionist painter,
Adrien la Mayeur, settled there and built an elegant Balinese style house,
which still stands just north of the refurbished Bali Beach Hotel. La
Mayeur immersed himself into the local culture, eventually marrying the
famous Balinese dancer Ni Polock, and did not leave the island until the
mid-fifties, when he returned to Belgium for cancer treatment.
There
was also nothing unusual in a gay man living in the community, as there
had already been a long tradition of homosexual artists taking up residence
in Bali. Known locally as ‘The Group’, artists such as Walter Spies, Rudolf
Bonnet and Auke Sonnega were to exist there for long periods, living a
thin line between acceptance and scandal. In the 1930s, Bali was known
in gay circles as a place tolerant to gay lifestyle and where a little
money could buy a grand lifestyle. New York at the time even boasted a
gay nightclub called ‘The Sins of Bali’, but just whose sins they were
celebrating is not clear. While Balinese culture does not officially recognise
gays as a separate lifestyle, they do recognise that sexuality is fluid
and manifests itself in many forms. This tolerance was historically evident
in the Indo Malay courts of Java.
Donald
arrived in Bali just two years after Indonesia’s greatest political crisis
to date—the coup against President Sukarno, which unleashed an orgy of
bloodletting throughout the islands against suspected communists, ethnic
Chinese, and anyone that somebody else did not like. Conflicting with
their stereotypical image as being a peaceful people, this carnage also
impacted on Bali. Out of a population in 1965 of around one and a half
million, tens of thousands were killed. Before that, in 1963, the sacred
mountain Gunung Agung had erupted, killing many and destroying entire
villages. The Bali that met Donald was racked with the aftermath of immense
social unrest, natural disasters and rampant inflation. These were conditions
that were to work favourably for Wija and Donald in their acquisitions
of property and antiquities.
That
Donald and Wija could get the beach land at Sanur for the Tanjung Sari
and Villa Batu Jimbar was due to the fact that the land had little value
in the eyes of the Balinese. It was only used for grazing cattle or growing
coconuts, and did not even come under the control of the village council
called the banjar. This was because it was near the sea and looked
over to the island of Nusa Penida, where the one the most evil spirits
in Balinese cosmology, the Fanged Demon, Djero Gede Metajaling lived.
Unlike most island cultures, the Balinese looked inwardly, the mountains
being where the gods lived, and the sea being the place where demons resided.
As outsiders,
Donald and Wija paid little attention to how the locals viewed the land.
Much to his delight, Donald was known in the area as Tuan Raksasa, or
Lord Devil, so it was only appropriate that he felt quite at home on the
Devil’s land. The race for the beach was on. In 1963 Suharto’s New Order
had decreed that Japanese war reparation money was to be spent building
a concrete bunker called the Bali Beach Hotel, on the beach to the north
of Villa Batu Jimbar. Its position and height was in total disregard of
local sensitivities. Completed in 1966, from the start the people of Sanur
regarded the hotel as cursed, a sentiment that was later reinforced when
it burned to the ground. Meanwhile Donald and Wija were busy in a joint
venture, extending the Tanjung Sari Hotel and acquiring new leases along
the coastal strip, including the land where the Hyatt is now. This was
made easier because the Sanur beach strip was not owned by aristocrats
but by cash-strapped families from the area and inland Denpasar.
By
the time the sixties stopped swinging, Sanur was becoming a focus for
a new international set of expatriates and artists looking for their slice
of paradise. Made up of well-heeled professionals from the United States
of America, Singapore, Europe and Australia, they were particularly eager
to lease any beach land. The tenor of Sanur was still low key and discreet,
which suited everyone as a way in which to conduct business and to live.
Many from this group were to start small businesses, mainly aimed at the
growing tourist industry. The social life for this set was to centre around
the bars of the Tanjung Sari and La Taverna Hotels, with Donald’s house
in the middle becoming an increasingly important part of the social scene.
As the villagers lived some distance from the developing coast, there
was little contact with the locals other than those employed in domestic
work. The foreigner enclave along the beach was quickly becoming an island
within an island. The air was charged with sexual electricity.
In
contrast, Kuta was just being put onto the map. Sanur was too expensive
and too exclusive for them, and besides, the surf was lousy. Kuta was
only a few kilometres, but a whole world away, from Sanur. The thriving
tourist industry that was to centre around the hippy trail and surfing
was still some years away. Just as the Kuta set did not venture into the
elegant gardens of Sanur, neither did the Sanur set venture into the poor
fishing villages of Kuta and Legian.
The
other centre where expatriates gravitated to was into the mountain village
of Ubud. This was the home of Lempad, an 116-year-old artist who was regarded
as a master of architecture, sculpture and pen and ink drawing. In the
early seventies Lempad was the subject of the film, Lempad of Bali,
made by John Darling and Lorne Blair, both residents of Ubud at the time.
It was also the home of Arie Smit, an artist who had started the ‘Young
Artists’ school of foreigners in Bali, and who became a close friend of
Donald’s. Each of these enclaves existed separately and independently
of each other, with social divisions as strong as any found in the Balinese
caste system.
By
now, the daily routine at Villa Batu Jimbar was organised to serve Donald’s
needs. This was an extremely productive period in the life of someone
who always worked hard. Donald knew that he was ill and that this would
be the last chance for him to make his name as an artist. Works were methodically
recorded before being freighted back to Australia for exhibition. Those
that did not meet his standards were disposed of to the ever increasing
tourist trade that ventured into the studio. Attending to his diaries
and writing books such as Donald Friend in Bali and Bumbooziana,
also took an increasing amount of time. The fact that the diaries arrived
back in Australia in such good condition is an indication that Donald
meant they were to be also to be considered as one of his major works.
In
the early days, Donald would mount expeditions to places such as Singaraja
and Karangasem, exploring the landscape and immersing himself in the culture
and traditions of the island and its people. However, as life became more
complicated with efforts to keep Villa Batu Jimbar running, these forays
became fewer.
Besides maintaining
an enormous output of work, much of Donald’s day was now taken up with
adding to his collection. His reputation as an astute buyer of bronzes
and cloth had now spread outside Bali, bringing dealers from across Indonesia
to his door on almost a daily basis. Some of these pieces found themselves
in the newly enlarged Tanjung Sari which, by now, was regarded as one
of the great hotels in the world.
He
established a network of regular contacts, which included Pandi, who operated
a home stay that also doubled as an art gallery and thriving antique centre.
These two were to develop a rivalry, common amongst people of similar
interests, but this did not prevent Donald and Wija from attending Pandi’s
parties in full Balinese regalia. When Donald had begun trading, there
was little interest in South-East Asian art outside some of the major
international museums and private collections, such as that of New Yorker,
Sammy Eilenberg. The goods were cheap and plentiful, and there were no
restrictions on getting them out of the country. Trading antiquities now
provided an essential secondary source of funds to keep the work and lifestyle
going.
In the late
sixties the Gorton Government set up the Commonwealth Art Advisory Board
to collect South-East Asian pieces for Australia’s National Collection.
The job was given to artist William Dargie, to source collectors in various
parts of South-East Asia and Papua New Guinea. Donald’s passion and growing
knowledge, combined with his extensive contacts across Indonesia, made
him an obvious choice to start adding to the fledgling collection. Before
the National Gallery was built, works intended for the National Collection
were stored in the basement of this building. Whether coincidence or not,
it was almost 30 years ago exactly that the first major Australian exhibition
of Asian art was held here. The 28th International Congress
of Orientalists was chaired by the then National Librarian, Mr Burmester,
at the National Library on 6 January, 1971. Curated by Pam
Gutman, the show included a number of Madjaphahit terracottas from Java,
and a magnificent Balinese kris and scabbard collected by Donald. The
hilt of the kris just happened to be in the shape of the demonic figure
Raksasa, the Demon that was Donald’s Balinese namesake.
The
fame and notoriety of Villa Batu Jimbar soon spread to a new generation
of Australian artists. Donald was always welcoming and supportive of those
who showed industry and skill, but would be instantly dismissive of any
deemed boring. His diary entries for the early seventies note the arrivals
of Tim Storrier, Van Weiringen, Shane Sweeney and Brett Whiteley. He was
particularly taken by Brett’s Orphan Annie hairstyle. The compound also
attracted Balinese and Indonesian artists such as Kay It, who was introduced
to Donald by the architect Kerry Hill. Kerry Hill at the time was working
in the Sanur Beach Hotel and commissioned Donald and Kay It to produce
decorative tiles for the entrance.
Donald’s
interest in architecture and garden design had probably been fired from
the time that he stayed with Geoffrey and Bevis Bawa in Sri Lanka. As
Wija’s hotel developed, and new ones were built, Donald had considerable
influence in evolving what was to become known as the ‘Sanur Style’, exemplified
by low-rise dwellings inter-relating with meticulously designed gardens.
Australian architects Peter Muller and Kerry Hill, and landscape architect
Made Wijaya, were to spread the style through Bali and Asia, even to the
Mustique home of David Bowie.
By the mid-seventies,
Donald was recognising that his time in paradise might be over. Ill with
the effects of TB and emphysema, in the 1975 Australia Council film biography,
he felt that even though he wanted to keep living in Bali, it was changing
too fast, saying, ‘it won’t last another 20 years’. He was, after all,
a classically educated nineteenth-century man, who was watching the one
place where he felt at home being taken over by tourism and cheap commercialism.
By now he was also having constant problems with officials over visa extensions
and doubts were setting in about his commercial arrangement with Wija.
His diary entries for the period show that there was an extremely acrimonious
feeling between Donald and Wija’s wife, Tati, to whom he refers to as
a witch consuming his soul. Donald knew only too well the story of the
battle of good and evil that was played out at nights across Bali, in
the dance between Rangda, the witch, and the Barong, exemplifying good.
Donald was
now needing to make more frequent visits back to Australia due to ill
health. Eventually his health collapsed to the point where he had to move
back permanently. Unfortunately, his worst fears about Villa Batu Jimba
and other investments were realised when he failed to get compensation
from Wija. Villa Batu Jimba was the one thing that Donald could not take
with him, and this bitterness was to remain with him until his death.
His silence as a partner was not recognised by Indonesian law. Like all
giants, Donald had eventually outgrown his environment and his time. What
Donald leaves us with is a rich legacy of art, writing and awareness of
cultures that were pursued energetically and passionately. Most importantly,
he was never boring. He was a great Australian artist who fully embraced
the world.
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