Critically Bali at Gajah Gallery

The exhibition “Critically Bali” at Gajah Gallery aims to reconsider Balinese art by stripping away the exotic lens through which international audiences often view the island. This shift is particularly significant given that the “exotic filter” has a long history: rooted in colonial art—with European artists of the late 19th and early 20th centuries fascinated by “simple” local life and tropical nature— this perspective was further consolidated by various art collectives throughout the 20th century. Curator Arif Bagus Prasetyo does not seek to reject tradition, but rather to offer an alternative narrative that moves beyond naïve styles, naturalistic subjects, and, above all, the colonial and touristic gaze.

By showcasing the work of 14 artists across different generations— by both Balinese and foreign residents—the exhibition demonstrates how Balinese art has evolved and how tradition can be used as a powerful tool to research, analyse, and critique the present. The oldest dated works of the exhibition are two untitled wood sculptures by I Nyoman Tjokot, from late 1960s. The rest of the exhibition focuses on the 1990s onward, with a heavy concentration of works from the 1990s and the 2020s. We can find names of famous international artists, such as I Nyoman Masriadi and Made Wianta, as well as emerging artists.

The first objects the visitor sees when entering the gallery are the two small sculptures by I Nyoman Tjokot (1960s), with the painting Horizontal Colour: Green #3 (2026) by Tantin Udiantara in the background. While these three works are aesthetically harmonious, they are opposites in almost every other way. They represent the chronological bookends of the exhibition. Tjokot’s sculptures are anthropomorphic, carved in-the-round with grotesque animal details; Udiantara’s painting is a minimalist abstraction of green shades on horizontal planes. Their biographies are equally contrasting: Tjokot was a self-taught sculptor born in 1886 to a farming family, while Udiantara, born nearly a century later in 1976, studied at the High School of Fine Arts in Bali. This initial juxtaposition immediately establishes the breadth of the exhibition’s research and the variety of alternatives to the mainstream Balinese narrative.

Significantly, the exhibition features Ashley Bickerton, the Barbadian-born American artist who called Bali home from 1993 until his passing in 2022. In his work, Bickerton often reflected on Bali’s touristic exploitation, a theme most evident in his “Blue Man” series. These paintings depict a blue-skinned man in holiday attire, flowers behind his ears, lounging with girls, drinking, and riding motorbikes—portraying him as part dull tourist, part exploiting alien. Interestingly, the works selected for this exhibition do not feature this character but instead focus on Bali’s lush nature: Double Helix Hammerhead (2022) is a black, bronze statue of two life-sized, twisting hammerhead sharks, while Octopus Shark White (2021) features two sharks entwined with an octopus and marine elements like an anchor and whale vertebrae. Are these merely high-end souvenirs of Bali’s diving spots, or a contemporary reflection on the island’s naturalistic and touristic traditions by someone who truly loved the place?

Satya Cipta impresses with the delicacy of her three contributions: the sculpture Memento Mori (2024) and two big paintings, Rainha Boki Raja (Queen of Ternate) (2025) and Moon Falls Quietly on my Hands (2026). These works share the iridescent colours and botanical precision characteristic of her style. Memento Mori, a meditation on death, is poignantly placed near the portrait of Rainha Boki Raja, whose struggle against patriarchy and contribution to Indonesian independence was profound, yet largely forgotten after her death, since this queen’s life has left behind very little documentation. This oblivion seems to be the true subject of the portrait. In fact, the only element that can be reconducted to the queen is the strand of long black hair in the central part of the painting hanging from a fruity branch on the left. The hair looks like roots and a bunch yellow narcissus started growing at their base as well as blue dragonflies and red fruits are populating its surroundings.

At first glance, Merayakan Kemenangan (Celebrating Victory) (2023) by Mangu Putra appears to be a vintage black-and-white photograph, but it is actually an oil painting. It depicts a crowd of armed men exiting the door of what could be a destroyed temple and stopping in front of the (supposed) camera. Some men are still on the stairs outside the temples, but the group become more numerous as it expands on foreground. These men wear a XIX century uniform and wide-brimmed hats. While they resemble a colonial Dutch army, their moustaches give them the look of Mexican or American frontiersmen—perhaps representing an army of any time or place. Despite the title, there is no joy. No one smiles; the bayonets point upward against a sky of heavy, dark clouds. It is a message about the true cost of victory.

These are only some few examples of the artworks chosen by the curator to represent Bali’s art out of the prevalent narrative. I think what emerged is the variety and richness of the panorama outside the usual narrative. Although the main intent (fulfilled) was to reconstruct a new history of Balinese art, giving more space to its diversity, the curator didn’t present the works in chronological order, as we may have expected, but chose to combine the works to facilitate some reflections and to multiply the meaning of the works.