Archive for October, 2011

Living Bali

Monday, October 24th, 2011

Contained within the concept of life,  if one examines the word itself, the thing (noun) is not really what one may assume. A look at the origins of the word, takes you back to a Germanic root, which actually means leave, or more to the point: to remain. Taken yet to a more finite point of purpose in definition, to live, is to OCCUPY, a space, time and place. In living, we fill a space with our heart, mind and spirit.

Here is the story of the Bali Nine.  A group of individuals cut off by country, and set adrift in a waking dream that was an interminable journey towards a new death.



Joanna Witt is a Canadian. Sort of. Married to a Balinese man for many years, she and her growing team of collaborators and artisans have become sort of the “it” suppliers of Silver artisanship in Ubud, Bali. She is one of Donna’s go to people, and watching the two of them creating together is very inspiring. Joanna and Ketut (her talented business partner and husband, with whom she was eying a marital separation) set a very high bar in the practice of the craft and art. They also run silver-smithing workshops for  tourists and other interested people.

So in the midst of a pending large shift in her marriage,  while raising two children, opening new stores, and I am sure, trying to figure out what the future may look like, Joanna found herself drawn into the prison which housed the cast off souls of the Bali Nine.

She and Nyoman, one of Studio Perak’s lead artisans, took a good look around and decided to throw these people a life line. Maybe they might grab ahold…. They called the endeavor which features a unique collection of works fashioned by members of the Bali Nine,  the Hope Project. You can find the collection at Studio Perak locations on Bali.

I understand a bit about prison life. As a young Bible student, I got to go into one of the Federal Penitentiaries a few times with a man who had a prison ministry. It was a great lesson in serving. I would bring surfing and ocean video and tales, and hang with the inmates and talk about what may lie ahead and how to grab the lifeline. We would just be there, a break from the routine and a window to a free life.

As Donna and I sat in one of Joanna’s shops and recorded the story, her account communicated the utter despair she found. I understood exactly what that meant.

In the struggle of building and tutoring these people in silversmithing on a weekly basis, she did something very important. Joanna and Nyoman put souls back into motion.

The significance of that is something which makes my eyes tear up. It is kind, brave, and all manner of strong. It is living.

On Bali, life is Art. My friend, Joe Cardella has a saying: Art Saves Lives.

Yes indeed, it certainly does.

The gallery below is what life looks like here for Donna and I right now, as we steadily meet and engage as many people as possible. Much to do, and we only get to live here for a heartbeat. But we occupy, thanks to these people and the grace of this place, this community.

“Onward”  Joe Cardella

Waking Dream

Sunday, October 23rd, 2011
Waking Dream

Waking Dream


Ever have one of those mornings where you awaken to an exceptionally pleasant reality? The scenario could be anything. But everything in your emergent diorama, is as a sensory massage.


A persistent tap-tap-tapping drew me as a man on a rope, to emerge from a rich and multi-hued pool of color, which slid warmly across my skin, as head to toe, my body emerged into the dimness of a small room.


I have dreamed in color for a long time now. It is no coincidence that in my craft as an image maker, the principle endeavor is to recreate what I experience via dreams, in the reality of a world that often, does not (nor should) reveal things in the light of my inner vision.


Eyes adjusting to the dimness, overhead in  grey smoked dark, I could discern the blurry, whirling, form of a large fan. White 4 foot long blades reduced to motion, as they stirred the humid dankness. The whop whop whop noise as the white blades cut shadow in the recesses of the mahogany stained wood crafted ceiling, just within eye reach: that had been the tapping noise.


Accounts of death suggest that hearing is the last sense to leave. In dreams, sound can be a sub psychic trigger, a subliminal suggestion. The process, is not unlike that which a hypnotist would use. I have found that many creatives experience that thing known as a waking dream. As one matures, the ability to bring substance into the shadow reality which is inhabited by the conscious light of day, (our workaday lives) can grow.


I have often suspected much of what we see around us in culture, is a result of this process, that of the waking dream,  which is suggestive of new potential and possibilities. The famous names who gave this account as being part of their process is impossibly long, from Inventors, to Philosophers and every pursuit of man that lies between the two. In deeper spirituality, you will find people who have learned to induce that state, as a tool.


The scent of clove and prayer, mixed with wood smoke. In a synchronous response,  several cocks crowed in unison. I was on Bali. In the stillness, soft breathing and a cocoon of warmth lay turned towards me. And slowly, I slid out from under a cool sheet, and in the dark, found clothes, camera and lenses. In moments I was roof top 40 feet above all else around our home stay in Ubud, Bali.


Ubud is a hilltop city. Our building was one of the taller ones apparently, which offered an aerie from which to peer out on East, West, North, and Southern, horizon points. From that spot, it seemed as if you could reach the firmament visually. Roughened concrete under foot, the weight of my Canon 5DM2 and L series lens hanging from my apish human form, I moved into a waking dream, and watched.


As the eastern horizon began to lighten slightly, the flow began, as all creation within a 360 degree sphere were considered as elements for a possible composition. Imaging is not much different than creating music. It is probably just how mankind was wired originally: to assemble and focus energies.


And for two hours, I played in the swirling light,  read the shifts, and saw what I had in my dreams. Onto a digital palette it went, a waking dream.




I have no illusions about myself, nor what my role is in the world.


As I finished up under the weight of the morning chorus, a work written as a result of experiences in Seychelles, came to mind. Such was the experience this daybreak. Michael Kew is am amazingly perceptive writer. His words follow….


[“You defiled your sanctuaries by the multitude of your iniquities….” (Ezek. 28:18)]


[And He said to them, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.” (Luke 10:18)]

Anachronistic Tableau

Anachronistic Tableau


Pulsating, it rose in crescendo and veered to a different timbre. The melody soaked into the scene, resonating from the light with hues more potent than the notes themselves. Lifting, dropping, coalescing in vibrancy like a climactic omen. The place quivered in unison before and beneath. Instantly, a small vestige of shadow appeared in the color.

Bright white burst into silence, and all fell in awe as He exhaled…expelling the source of that orgasm of sound. The seething flameball arced through the heavens, swift as lightning, rolling in a thunderous shriek of anger, shock, and pain. Its source reeked of a new emotion: hate.

Writhing and steeped in spite with remnants of glory and brilliance, spinning off into the darkness, strata of divine obedience and empyreal beauty redeemed from Lucifer’s being. His transgression? No tempter for him, no blame—only one to account for and to. And his body touched the cold dirt of earth, raped of the light of praise, strength, solace, love.

Black, hollow, empty. A shell of what he had been, Satan slithered into the inky depths of his new found netherworld. Leering to the heavens, the night flickered with sparks, which faded, one by one, as a third of all God’s siblings followed in Satan’s fate.


[And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being. (Gen. 2:7)]


(From the story “Bridge to Eden”, by Michael Kew)


Pushing open the intricately carved wooden doors of our bedroom, in seconds, I was undressed and sliding in between plain white sheets, arms slipping around the nude, soft, sleeping form of the woman I had flown around the world to be with.  As I softly kissed her neck, she stirred. “Welcome to Bali, David”.


Garden Dreams

Garden Dreams

Waking dreams are powerful things. Everybody is made for a purpose, and would do well to come to the understanding of where they fit, within the context of a more grand architecture. When that occurs, the dim understanding of how life works: brightens. That is a good thing to have happen in this existence. It is the essence of true creativity. This world is all about entropy. We are architected to be agents purposed with averting that. Those are the marching orders of creation. You see it wherever you look.

Best thing on can do really, be looking.

It informs the heart.




Here is the trailer from an interesting little film starring Robin Williams. A Waking Dream come to us through the artistry of Cinema, that is the melding of multiple Arts.

Below is a little gallery of images from my first few days here on Bali. Hope they create a tableau for you.




© 2009 David Pu'u. All rights reserved.