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APRIL-JUNE
2005
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Bali
The Heart of the Architect
By

Balinese architects share their ideals, aspirations and concerns about the development of the island they call home.


I believe in what I do
POP DANES

As a child, he’d follow his father to construction sites and watch, fascinated, as the workers transformed mundane materials into human habitations. When he was five years old, he watched his father build the family home, subsequently creating his own interpretations and plans for the houses that he, too, would like to design. By the age of eight, he had read all about the great contemporary architects, and knew exactly what he wanted to do for a living.

Popo Danes went on to pursue his passion, majoring in architecture at Bali’s Udayana University. With over 70 completed projects to his credit since 1986, he’s now one of Bali’s most prominent, most acclaimed architects. In 1993, he formally established his own design firm, Popo Danes Architect, and he has designed private residences, restaurants, boutique hotels, villas and resorts both on his beloved island of Bali and in other locations around the world.

For Popo, it’s unthinkable that architecture should be a profession that focuses on profit alone. “This island,” says this advocate for the long-term future of Bali, “has the potential to become one of the most beautiful tourist destinations in the world.” But he fears that its natural radiance is being destroyed by a lack of planning and a disregard for the environment. His commitment to safeguarding Bali’s precious ecology, magnificent landscape and unique customs isn’t merely a political stance, it’s a personal crusade.

On the property business
“There are two different realities within the property business. The regulations state that a foreigner cannot own land; but, in practice, we market property very freely, with the involvement of numerous international agents. I find this confusing. Foreign investment is good for the economy, but the law about foreigners purchasing land was established to protect the Balinese. Without effective law enforcement or protection, this practice could be a disaster for everyone — the Balinese, foreign investors and the island itself.

“As an architect, I am someone who can benefit from property development. However, I have to balance this with my beliefs. Too much development would kill the reason for coming here. Many of the Balinese farmers who are selling their land have no idea how to reinvest the money, so some sort of financial education is essential, otherwise in years to come the Balinese could resent the foreigners who own land and property on the island. Likewise, continually increasing land prices might lead a farmer to believe that he had been cheated or robbed by the foreigner who had purchased his land for such a cheap price 10 years earlier.”

On tourism, foreign investment
and “vision without awareness”
“We are so open to tourism these days that we can no longer claim to be a Third World country. Being ‘exotic’ is not enough. Many people may argue that Bali’s lack of adjustment to modernity is an element of its charm, but essentially Bali must be able to perform as an international destination in terms of infrastructure, medical facilities, environmental control, sanitation, pollution, water quality and more. I’m really not sure whether the government is aware, or cares about, the position of Bali within the global market.”

On architecture, design and public facilities.
“Bali is becoming very free in the area of building design, and the building regulations can be very ambiguous. Some designers are aware of the weaknesses within the regulations, and therefore manipulate and abuse the system. I’m not against modern architecture — I love modern architecture — but modern architecture without any type of control would be a disaster, on this cultural island. So there has to be some kind of a body to control and oversee property development. If, for example, a 10-storey building is sanctioned within a certain zone, who is there to ensure that high-rise developments don’t happen in other areas? In the meantime, local government should consolidate and improve the regulations currently in force. The first thing we need is a better system of control in respect of building security, disabled facilities and safety factors such as handrails and fire exits.

“So many of the building regulations are unclear, or not enforced. For example, there should be a ratio of car parking spaces per number of seats in every new restaurant. Lack of car parking facilities has an impact on everything around. Look at the damage that traffic congestion causes to the environment. How many restaurants in Kuta have a parking area? If an issue like this is not

YOKO SARA
In Pursuit of Balance

Anak Agung Yoka Sara’s approach to architecture has the ring of a manifesto about it, though it isn’t something he shouts from the rooftops. It’s distinctively Balinese in character, but it’s also very personal — after all, this is a man who quit his architectural studies just prior to graduation because, as he puts it, “I didn’t find anything there that I was looking for.” Eighteen years on, and with a portfolio of more than 100 successful projects behind him — from private homes to villa developments to entertainment venues — you might say he has been vindicated. Nevertheless, he’s still looking for something.

At an age where most children can barely scribble, Yoka was already able to draw a perfect circle. His parents were not unduly surprised. After all, three generations of the family had been artisans of some note, producing elegant stone carvings and traditional pura (temples) and puri (palaces) the length and breadth of Bali. Indeed, the Denpasar home that Yoka grew up in had been designed and built by his great grandfather, Anak Agung Ketut Gde, and was filled with carvings and sculptures in stone, timber and gold. “I really admired the work of my ancestors. To me it was perfect — the hierarchical design of the house, moving inward and upward to the tempat suci (holy place) at the highest point; and the statues and carvings, even the look on their faces and their movement.”

There has never been a class of architects as such, in Bali. Instead, builders and craftsmen adhere to certain rules of form and orientation that are tied up with Bali’s unique hybrid of Hinduism and animism. The erection of buildings is almost as instinctive as the Balinese sense of direction. As famed 1930s ethnographer Miguel Covarrubias points out, usually the work is started without a drawn plan; the master builder simply has the design and the proportions already worked out “in his belly”.

While Yoka admires his predecessors’ creations, he seeks something other than the perfectly captured iteration of traditional styles. “To me,” he says quietly, “there must be imperfection there. Nature is like that, and I get my inspiration from nature. All materials should be used honestly — wood as wood, stone as stone, glass as glass, and the play of different elements and materials should be visually pleasing. What is most important to me is balance.”

Yoka decided to study architecture after high school, but with little idea of what it entailed. “Actually, I’d always imagined myself being a painter,” he remarks wryly. Of his course at Udayana University, he says very little except that it acquainted him with building materials that were quite foreign to his island’s tradition of building, where the longevity of a structure is of no great importance. But the course itself failed to inspire him and, in 1987, he left before graduating to set up his own practice.

Yoka’s designs are very different from each other, from the primitivist structures he conjured for Waka Gangga — a back-to-nature villa retreat (1999) — to the palatial Kama Sutra, an Indian-styled nightclub-cum-restaurant in Kuta (2002) or the luxurious private home he built for a Malaysian client in glass and timber with pale Jogjakarta stone cladding (2003). Yet his creative process, from vision to realization, has a clearly delineated structure to it. “I have to see the site first, to absorb it and get a sense of the different elements at work there. The relationship with the client is also very important; there should be good communication, trust and a shared vision.”

For Yoka, architecture should adhere to universal principles expressed for the Balinese in the concepts of tri hita krana and rwa bineda. The latter is similar to the yin and yang notion of complementary opposites, while the former expresses groupings of three that can be applied to almost anything. Opposing forces are joined by a third balancing principle. As Yoka puts it, “When I come up with a design, I’m using architecture as the mediating principle between human beings and nature. Any structure I build is really an elaboration of a space that is already there.”

Clearly, Yoka’s design philosophy has a strong ecological intent behind it and one that goes beyond mere abstract theorizing. This is eloquently illustrated in one of his latest projects, a high-concept, eight-unit villa complex soon to emerge from the undulating coastal plain of Canggu. The Sungai’s integration with the surrounding environment is both aesthetic and practical: built on multiple levels with a predominantly curvilinear approach, it reflects the stepped rice paddies that surround it, despite its futuristic appearance.

The private home Yoka built for a wealthy Malaysian client in the exclusive Damansara Heights development outside Kuala Lumpur is a strong illustration of his imaginative rendering of space. “Many of the houses up there are just square boxes with cars lined up in front of them,” he remarks. “I designed a house where front and back are not important — built in an H formation, it’s visible from all angles. As you drive up the hill, you see one side, but you actually enter from the other side. The central axis of the house is built predominantly of glass, housing a living area with sweeping views across the valley.”

When Yoka talks about the various elements at a given site, he literally means the elements: sun and moon, wind and rain,

MANGUN & BOBI
Skin versus Core

Carisuda Mangun and Made Bobi Cahyadi may have traditional Balinese names, but their design philosophy owes more to modern international architecture than to their island’s old temples and homes. “We don’t want to bring ornament into our houses,” says Bobi. “It gets too crowded.”

“We design from the context,” says Mangun. “In Kuta, Kuta style; in Karangasem differently.” Their Jalan Legian shop for Edward Forrer is as fashion-conscious as the shoes it sells, while villas for Bali Hai Cruises on Lembongan Island mix the modern with the primitive to create a 21st-century castaway feel. Their new Villa Pantai in Candidasa draws its inspiration from the forms of the cliff behind the village and the waves crashing on the beach.

Since forming their own practice, Arah Garis — with partner Resik — Mangun and Bobi have often worked as local consultants for designers based abroad. In the process, they’ve learned a lot. “Mangun has an amazing capacity to suck up every bit of information possible, especially when it comes to contemporary design,” says Australian designer Graham Jones. These days, Arah Garis have more opportunities to put their own concepts onto the ground, yet they still enjoy working as part of a team. “It’s globalization,” says Bobi. “And some foreign designers have a lot of respect for Bali.”
Mangun agrees. “Some foreign architects are very clear — they work with the core of Balinese design, not just the skin.”

On regional diversity
Mangun: “In the past, each region in Bali had its own style. But that’s disappearing.”
Bobi: “I’m really sad about the north. Buleleng’s traditional stone carving was very artistic — carvers took ideas from their surroundings and their lives. In a temple in my mother’s village, there’s a wall with an aeroplane. In a new temple, you’d never see that. Nowadays, they just copy from drawings. I ask my northern relatives, why don’t you explore your own traditions? But they say that’s not the trend; nowadays the trend is to be like Gianyar, like the Ubud area. Temple artists used to work for the gods. Craftsmen aren’t allowed that creativity anymore. These days they work for the contractor.”

Mangun: “Everywhere’s becoming the same; that’s something very recent. We’d like to go to those old villages, record those buildings. It’s something Made Wijaya’s tried to make people aware of — his book’s full of examples, but many have already disappeared.”

On development pressures and design
Bobi: “It’s a dilemma. Sometimes we feel the speed of development is good because we have work, we have money. But sometimes it feels hopeless. A few years ago I saw green beauty all around me. Now I see so many big, ugly buildings. And land prices here are the same as in Jakarta; yet to foreigners, that’s still cheap. Bali’s a small island. Bali is land. But take Jimbaran — now all the beachside belongs to Jakartans or foreigners.”
Mangun: “Yet for us Balinese, the sea’s very important. Many religious rituals must be held on the beach. And people are reacting to this situation. There’s a media campaign now — ajeg Bali — to maintain what’s Balinese. But because we’re losing out, we’re reacting against the modern. If you don’t wear a white sarong and shirt to the temple these days, you’re not ajeg Bali. It’s become something like that. Or if you go to the banjar every day, you’re ajeg Bali; and, if you don’t, you’re not Balinese. So we’re confused now — are we Balinese or not, Bobi? We have to go back and find out what that really means. In architecture, language, culture, art — we like to claim certain things. Like Balinese dance. But what is real Balinese dance? These days it’s mainly about dress.

It’s the same with architecture. We need to rethink what is Balinese architecture? Is it just about skin? Is it about zoning? What does it really mean? For example, at the heart of the Balinese home is the natah — the open centre. That’s not happening anymore.”
Bobi: “That’s not in the regulations. The real essence of the old traditions just isn’t there. For me, Balinese architecture means thinking very carefully about internal zoning — the layout of a house. In Bali, a bedroom must be to the northeast, that’s the tradition. It’s rather like feng shui.”

Mangun: “But in traditional architecture we don’t have models for a mall or a hospital, so how can we make those in Balinese style? A hospital needs lean, simple detailing — it needs to be hygienic, easy to clean.”
Bobi: “Form should follow function. But nowadays in Bali we have function trying to follow form.

On the future
Mangun: “Bali isn’t ready for what’s happening. The masterplan places commercial, industrial and residential uses in different areas, but sometimes development’s faster than the masterplan. And we’re not always strict in enforcement.”
Bobi: For example, height restrictions — no building should be higher than a palm tree — but you can already see buildings
like that.”

Mangun: “Green belts: that’s a good regulation. We should have more green belts. But in fact, our existing ones are falling apart. People can change the regulations with money. Another problem is infrastructure. It

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