Eko Nugroho: Linguistic and Visual Transgression

If one day you find yourself frivolously googling the term ‘daging tumbuh’, you are bound to encounter a range of different terms—especially in the articles written in English—that people use to translate ‘daging tumbuh’ into English: growing disease, tumor, growing tumor, growing meat, et cetera.

More mind-boggling, however, are the titles of each Daging Tumbuh comic compilation. Say, for example, the titles of “Menggergaji Es Jeruk” (Sawing the Orange Juice, Vol. 03, 2001), “Merobohkan Kelenjar Hari Libur” (Knocking Down the Vacation Gland, Vol. 05, 2002), “Tendangan Maut Nanas Muda” (The Deadly Kick of the Young Pineapple, Vol. 06, 2003), “Infeksi Ganda Minyak Tanah” (Multiple Kerosene Infections, Vol. 07, 2003), “Tidak Ada Ganteng di Antara Kita” (No Handsome among Us, Vol. 08, 2004), and “Ditampar Pabrik Kulit” (Smacked by the Leather Factory, Vol. 09, 2004). You are bound to discover another, longer, list of various peculiar and weird terms and sentences once you open the pages of the comic compilation.

Eko Nugroho deliberately created and chose the name of Daging Tumbuh (which actually is the Indonesian term for malignant tumor) as the name for his comic compilation that he has been regularly publishing since 2000. At least he has admitted he was aware that the term did sound weird, peculiar, disgusting, and had nothing to do whatsoever with the comic compilation that he published. In today’s common parlance among the Indonesian youth, Daging Tumbuh is totally “gak nyambung”—irrelevant, incongruous—with the compilation’s form and content. Daging Tumbuh is simply a book with pictures and words, reproduced using the photocopy machine, distributed from one hand to another, from one friend to another.

I think it is precisely due to this issue of “incongruousness” that Eko Nugroho—whether he realizes it or not—has touched upon a highly strategic matter in the world of the contemporary art, that art as a transmitter of human’s creative manifestations is still able to strike and expand the boundaries of our cognitive capability. Whether accompanied with the intention to be a forerunner or not, avant-garde or otherwise, contemporary art has inherited the essence of modern art, which indeed is able to inject the transgressive power to its entire body that constantly proliferates in a wild manner. Transgression, in art, constitutes the effort to punch, challenge, and even knock down everything that is conventional, established, common, normal.

In the domain of language and literature, for example, what Eko Nugroho does clearly shows his success in shaking the linguistic conventions, making use of the licentia poética venerated by the bards. Every effort of literary “rejuvenation”—especially in poems—will invariably begin and conclude in this following domain: the effort to explore linguistic plasticity and elasticity to the furthest extent possible, which will then test the limits of our cognitive ability to accept and comprehend it. In the Indonesian literary realm today, I can point out Nirwan Dewanto’s latest poetry collection, Jantung Lebah Ratu (The Heart of the Queen Bee, Gramedia Pustaka Utama, Jakarta, 2008), as one example of a poet’s effort who intends to put to test a new approach in using the literal and figurative aspects of the (Indonesian) language.
Meanwhile, in the contemporary art realm, many artists have also made use of language, with different reasons, objectives, and, naturally, achievements. Barbara Kruger and Jenny Holzer, for example, are two female artists who have significantly made use of the power of the language to hone the messages in their works. As female artists, they seem to be acutely aware of how language has been manipulated to blunt the awareness among women regarding the social realities that are discriminatory toward them. They try to dissect the issue by using language. We are stunned by the cynical messages in Kruger’s works, such as “I Shop Therefore I Am” or “We Don’t Need Another Hero.” Or, by the series of sentences projected on the walls of various inner-city buildings, in Jenny Holzer’s work Projections, which she has presented in a number of occasions in the last few years. During one projection, Holzer can launch a range of sentences, for example: “A man can’t know what it’s like to be a mother,” “Men are not monogamous by nature,” “Money creates taste,” and “Enjoy yourself because you can’t change anything anyway.”

In other cases, a number of artists have cleverly used the poetic aspect of the language as a wrapping for their works. The art work that is entirely visual and formal in nature is thus strengthened; its power to enchant the audience is multiplied with the literal power of the language. This is evident in the titles of works by Damien Hirst, for example. For the work consisting of the shark carcass floating in the formaldehyde liquid, he gave it the title of The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living (1991). For another work, a piece of human skull covered by thousands of diamond pieces, Hirst gave it the title of For the Love of God (2006). For his solo exhibition in 2008, which was controversial as it also served as an auction by the Sotheby’s in London, he gave it the title of Beautiful inside My Head Forever.

What Eko Nugroho does with the play of language in the Daging Tumbuh comic compilation, as well as in his other works (paintings, mural, embroidery, video animation), is something that is entirely different from what these previous artists have done.

In the works by Barbara Kruger or Jenny Holzer, for example, we find the language that is being used as a means for “propaganda”, proffered as slogans, packaged in the form of aphorism or even truism. In the works by Damien Hirst, as I have previously mentioned, the poetic aspect of the language is used as a wrapping or frame that precisely makes the work function not only on the visual and formal levels, but also on the literal level. All these artists, however, are still playing within a safe zone. They make use of the language within the limits of the existing convention. They use the language using the existing grammatical order, with the conventional line of reasoning that can be immediately and clearly accepted.

With the works by Eko Nugroho, however, I think that he has shown us, by means of his playful attitude, that one can force the language to follow a crooked, distorted, and “impertinent” line of reasoning, without losing its ability to stir up our power of imagination while simultaneously striking it with surprises. In other words, Eko Nugroho has shown us how the language has an adequate flexibility to follow non sequitur, or incongruous line of logic—which might be a source of concern or even hatred among the highbrows who worship the principles of logical and linear thinking. And it is precisely because of this that Eko Nugroho is able to create some elements of surprise or highly disturbing lures, or to unsettle our logic when the sentences he has written reach our brain.

I think, it is this non sequitur logic—this is a contradictory term—or the “incongruous” logic that is also at work when Eko Nugroho depicts a variety of forms, objects, and characters in his works, the place where humans, animals, machines, plants, and a variety of abstract and geometric forms can interact and even become fused. Eko also treats his materials and media with the same attitude and logic: canvases become walls, walls become canvases; pictures in the comic pages become a series of scenes in video animation; comic pages become embroidered pictorial pages or carpets; animation scenes become wayang scenes; comic characters become sculptures; the sculptures become robots riding on trolleys equipped with motors; and so on and so forth. God knows what will appear next in Eko Nugroho’s works.

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On the origin of Eko Nugroho and Daging Tumbuh

Enin Supriyanto (ES): When did you start participating in exhibitions or art activities?
Eko Nugroho (EN): Since 2000. I participated in exhibitions through Daging Tumbuh.

ES: When did you establish Daging Tumbuh?
EN: Well, in that year, too, 2000. The first edition of Daging Tumbuh was published in June 2000.

ES: When were you enrolled at the ISI (Indonesian Arts Institute)? When did you graduate?
EN: I was enrolled at ISI in 1997, and graduated in 2006.

ES: So, you have been actively participating in exhibitions prior to graduation, haven’t you?
EN: Yes.

ES: How many people were involved in Daging Tumbuh when it was published for the first time, and who were they?
EN: There were thirteen of us. Wedhar, Codit, Anta, Joko, and many others… Some were from the painting department, some from the prints, photography, et cetera. They were in the initial edition of the comic book.

ES: All of them were from ISI, then? From different years and departments?
EN: Only one of us wasn’t from the ISI. It was a friend from another school. He had been making comics for a while. I invited him through a friend. He joined us in the first edition. The rest were from ISI.

ES: So this is a rather loose community, isn’t it, not an organization with a rigid structure?
EN: Yes, it’s open to anyone. And, actually, this is not really a community of comic artists, either. The original idea was about the photocopy method itself, the means of producing and distributing works. We can create works and multiply them with the photocopy machine.

ES: Who came up with this idea, this Daging Tumbuh?
EN: I did. Well, it’s like this… I’ve told you before, haven’t I. This started when I failed to form the band, the music group. We haven’t even had the chance to practice when we went our different ways. [chuckled] My friends backed down. They said they were apprehensive and uncomfortable with the name of Daging Tumbuh that I proposed.

ES: Who were the members of the abortive band?
EN: Yunus Erlangga, Andi, and I.

ES: It was a trio, then?
EN: Yes, a trio. Our cartooning hobby brought us together. The beginning was our interest in cartooning. I’ve been making cartoons, comics, for the newspaper since junior high.

ES: Which newspaper?
EN: Yogyakarta newspaper. Kedaulatan Rakyat, Sunday edition.

ES: You are originally from Yogyakarta and grew up there, aren’t you?
EN: Indeed.

ES: So you’ve been making comics even when you were still in junior high?
EN: I have. It was because I liked it. And when the comic was published, I received some fees. Then, in senior high, I was enrolled at the art school. So, I went on, naturally.

ES: Enrolling at the ISI (Indonesian Arts Institute) had been an obvious choice, had it not?
EN: Yes. Well, there was a time when I wasn’t sure I could go on studying, though. My parents were no longer able to support my studies. My father told me, “Well, you’re an adult now, you’re our first child, and we’re not rich, we can’t afford supporting you through university. Now that you’ve finished senior high, you need to find a job to help us.” At the time, it so happened that I took part in a cartoon competition. I think it was “Kotak Katik Kota Kita” (Tinkering with Our Town). There was a magazine by that name, too. It was held by an NGO. I won the first prize. I used the money to sign up at the ISI. The important thing was to enroll at the ISI. I didn’t know how I could support my studies later on. Well, that was my choice, anyway. I wanted to do it, I did it, end of story. Then they accepted me and I was enrolled at the painting department. During the study, there was always a way… I had a scholarship and other sources of funds.

ES: OK… So, there was the intention of establishing a band, but failed. How did the name Daging Tumbuh become the name of a community of young artists who were making photocopied comics?
EN: Well, the idea to establish the band had been there even in 1997. As for the Daging Tumbuh community… well, it was like this… I was enrolled at the ISI and studied there. At the time, there were various groups in the campus. So many groups, each holding exhibitions using their respective choice and method. So I decided to do it, too.

ES: I see. There were quite a large number of groups, weren’t there? There were Jendela, Apotik Komik, Taring Padi, and many more…
EN: Indeed… The group could be the start to establish a network and offer an art movement of sorts, the kind that we want. Well, what I sought to develop at the time was for Daging Tumbuh to become an interdisciplinary community; there would be people from the painting department, photography, sculpture, and others… At the time, every time we submitted an exhibition proposal to a gallery or art space, we invariably failed. They would all turn us down. We had only a few choices at the time (in Yogyakarta): there was either Bentara Budaya or the Vredeburg Fort. Apparently, they only accepted exhibitions with, we thought, well-known artists. We tried submitting proposals everywhere for three years; we never succeeded.

So, after three years, the group gave up, we disbanded. One day, I invited my friends to participate in another project, another activity. I told them: If we went on thinking that we could only hold exhibitions in a gallery, it’d be difficult for us, we would fail. There were only a few galleries, and so many people, so many artists were trying to grab the few opportunities. So, I thought, why didn’t we make one of our own? A space of our own, in our own way. That would serve as a legitimate space to present and publicize our works. I told my friends I was ready to set up the publication space. But it wouldn’t be in the form of a building, but rather an activity that would give us the opportunity to create works, and then the works could be presented and accessed by the public.

That was thus the idea I proposed to my friends at the time. Thirteen of them responded and joined me. Then the first edition of the Daging Tumbuh comic was published. Officially, we published only around fifty copies in photocopied forms. Everyone whose works were published there chipped in. This was the same with holding an exhibition, anyway. When you hold an exhibition, you chip in, one million or what have you, for building rental and such. Well, we were like that, too. Everybody chipped in. Only Rp20,000 per person, though.

I promised my friends that the works would be published and the book would be distributed to other art communities, to artist friends. So, I distributed the comic compilation, and my friends and I started exhibiting our works that way. I felt challenged and wanted to continue. But, in the following edition, my friends who were involved in the first edition didn’t want to be involved all the way, not as a group anyway. They wanted to remain free, doing their own activities. I thought, well, that’d be even more interesting. It meant this could be open (for anyone), like a gallery.

Now Daging Tumbuh has been going for… Ummm… Nine years. It turns out that the community, as well as its publication, has established a distinct taste or character. This made Daging Tumbuh more intriguing for me. Even better, it has inspired other young artists to hold such activities or create their own “movement”. They are willing and dare to work with their own media, their own means of publication, and their distinct visual style, presenting all what they can achieve. All with the help of the photocopy machine.

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On “the Art of Eko Nugroho”

ES: You received your formal education in the painting department. Have you decided early on that you refused to adhere to the basic rules and limitations of painting?
EN: Yes. In the beginning, when I was studying at the uni, I learned about a variety of painting techniques, all the conventional ones. But as I started the fourth or fifth semester (the end of the second year at the uni), I started to think, “Gee, if I keep on doing this, I wouldn’t grow…” I had to find other challenges, study other things outside (uni). My studies couldn’t keep up with my activities, though. I was busier doing other things outside uni.

ES: So, other than the activities at Daging Tumbuh, you yourself were searching for your own way, weren’t you? Which exhibition, or which work, did you consider important, one that signified the birth of “the art of Eko Nugroho,” as it were…?
EN: In terms of the visual… it’s rather difficult to determine when I achieved something characteristic or distinct for me… but in terms of the exhibition, I can say for sure that my 2002 exhibition at the Cemeti gallery, “Bercerobong” (With Chimneys), signified the beginning of my career as an artist with all my artistic approaches.

ES: OK. I still remember some of your works from the exhibition… Ummm… In general, there are still similar visual elements to be found in your works today, aren’t there?
EN: Indeed…

ES: The characters, or human figures, in your works look like mutants, with body parts merged with other objects or forms. This is the dominant character in your works. How did it begin, how did it end up become your visual language of choice? We remember that in the late nineties or beginning 2000s in Yogyakarta, the dominant paintings were those with socio-political comments or ones with a strong realism tendency, in which the human figure was the main element. There were also some that moved away from that tendency in a rather extreme way, for example your colleagues in the Jendela group.
EN: I suppose I was lucky. In 1997, everything was changing (including the sociopolitical conditions in Indonesia). Since my high school years and on to the university years, I’ve had many artist friends who were keen on using comics as their main medium. There were numerous communities of comic artists who wanted to create non-conventional comics at the time. In uni, I met them all. Perhaps that was my luck. When I was enrolled at ISI, the situation had changed; it was different (from the previous years). Everything… everything seemed to be turned upside-down, knocked down. The limits for art have shifted.

ES: I see. Perhaps, at the time, ISI as an education institution was no longer able to offer the benchmark for art, wasn’t it? There were Apotik Komik, Jendela, Taring Padi… all were emerging and gradually asserted their respective role.
EN: Indeed. I think that year, until 1998, was the peak of such artistic movements. It was terrific. After that, nothing came near. The competition was huge at the time. Everyone tried to do and offer something new. I felt terribly lucky to have had that experience at the time. As a new student, I entered such a dynamic domain…

ES: So, when you were going to start Daging Tumbuh using your own way and approach, you felt you had no burden?
EN: Nothing. None whatsoever.

ES: To return to the previous issue… How about the figures with all the objects merged into one? Did you have some specific idea that started all this?
EN: I began presenting such figures specifically in 2002. But, actually, I’ve done it before in drawing, in terms of my attitude, I just wanted to play around with visual elements. It was just like what I did with the texts. I wanted to explore things. Basically, I like cartoons. I was a teenager growing up in the eighties alongside characters from the (Japanese) films such as the hero Megaloman and the like. They dominated my fantasies and my imaginations. I think, that was what, by chance, reigned over my visual fantasies, and it still does to this day. So, sometimes I suddenly remember such characters: the arms, the hands, the helmets, the costumes… I remember the scenes that I think are rather absurd; humans merged with machines, robots, who help one another. Well, what do you know, today it’s a reality, there’s a robot that acts like a human. If I think about it now… I think at least that was that… Something stuck in my mind. So, yes… I moved from such visual experience. It was only after 2002 that I came to a description, a definition that what I was doing was combining two different worlds; that of animals and machines. Humans have both; we have the potential to become machines or animals or both. With this idea, I began to explore the visual elements with a clearer and stronger vision. Previously, I only tried to explore things, being influenced by a range of comics. This included my tendency to draw only in black and white; that was also from comics.

ES: Another thing now. When I came to your studio, I mentioned to you about the texts or, to be precise, the play of language, in your works. With your experience of creating the funnies for the paper, I imagine you’re used to employing the verbal and visual elements in concert to convey your message. How did you then make the leap to use, in your later works, the language in such a carefree attitude, playing with linguistic conventions, making the messages all unclear—instead of communicating to convey some meaning in a clear and convincing manner? Such a play of language has already appeared, if I remember correctly, even in the first Daging Tumbuh comic book.
EN: For me, the play of the language was there since I proposed the name of Daging Tumbuh. The beginning was my friends’ refusal to use the name for the band, you see. People, even my own friends, couldn’t accept the name. They preferred to follow what others generally thought. My desire to rebel began from there.

That was why I made Daging Tumbuh that way. I was going to give it a name that was uncommon, surprising, to challenge the (common) logic. So, with Daging Tumbuh I actually wanted to… Ummm… I tried to encourage people to turn upside down the entrenched, structured logic. When my proposal for the band’s name was flatly rejected, I had the idea to rebel using texts, using language. I wanted to play with it… (To me) this is like a therapy, too. If I hold on to a rigid, fixed logic, I’d grow old quickly. [chuckled] I try, with my own method, to use what I have and treat it with upturned logic. If it then turns out to be offering cheeky, intriguing, or novel messages, that wasn’t the intention. I didn’t think about it.

ES: So, your interest has been to find a way out of the trappings of the routine and rigid thought patterns?
EN: Yes. I tried to escape the trappings. That’s what I like. Sometimes, because of such leaps, there’s always a surprise, and I like it. I realize I’m not someone who can stand still.

I don’t know how my subsequent works will look like. What I’ve done so far and how people respond and accept it, well, I’ve never predicted it anyway.

I’m also someone who’s reluctant to know about things in details. I try to maintain a distance. If I know more, I’m afraid I’ll come to a dead end. [chuckled] So there… The bigger the distance I maintain, the better I can express the wild side of me, which will then enable many more things to enter into my works.

ES: Your play of language seems to be in keeping with your play of a range of elements in your visual art works. Is this deliberate? Or does it come naturally, simply flowing where the current takes you?
EN: I think it comes naturally. I don’t have any clear structure. Sometimes I have works that appear only in visual forms, with no text or word. Sometimes there are only the texts, only words, and I find it difficult to find the visual elements. Sometimes both are there. Nothing comes first. There’s no clear structure.

ES: Some suspect that your works, visually, show elements that can be taken as your effort to convey some messages regarding the environment, the social and political conditions, et cetera. Is this spot on, do you think?
EN: Gee… Ermmm… OK… Well, I remember there was a discussion at Cemeti gallery. It was Asmudjo (Irianto), during a discussion about his solo exhibition. Everybody was asking him the whys and wherefores for his works, why he made such works. If he was forced to explain the works, well, he could. He then offered some explanations about his works, but only jokingly so. Eventually, I, who was a student at the time and felt that I needed the explanation, realized that, well, “If you’re forced to explain your works, you can, but that won’t be the only explanation possible.” So, if I’m forced to explain my works, I can. But don’t take my explanation as a formula or the only allowable explanation about my works.

About the chimneys, for example. To me, well, the chimneys can represent our era, as we’re used to the language of the industry, factory, work, pollution, and chaos. That’s for us. For me, who was born and grew up in this era, I see rivers that are dark and murky, dirty. I then think that rivers are indeed murky. For my grandfather, it’s not like that. For him, rivers are clear, clean, you can see the stones on the riverbed. But I can’t exchange my experience with his. To me, the chimneys represent my experience. They’re amid all this. They’re like the pattern of life of people (today): the routine. But… see, this is interesting, I once made works with many chimneys and exhibited them. Someone said then, “Wow, you’re depicting corals, aren’t you?” That’s what I meant. I took it as something, then someone else took it as something totally different. It was an intriguing input for me.

ES: Doesn’t it bother you? don’t you think, “Gee, my message didn’t get through…”?
EN: Nope. That’s not what matters, not the message. To me, if I include some messages or criticism about today’s situation in the work, well, the work can be confronted with situations in other places, other times.

I like to play around with what I have (now). For example, everyone now has a TV set and the like, so much so that they’re able to accept just about anything. It’s more difficult for us now to screen the information that we are receiving. That situation gave me the idea… that the TV is alive, it exists in our midst, and many things have changed accordingly. That’s why the TV set has become a visual element in my works.

ES: You also depict human figures with potentials for violence. They carry weapons, or sharp objects that they can use to harm others…
EN: Well, it’s like this… Everything in my works… Ermm… If it’s a wayang performance, then I don’t want the audience to judge the characters or the forms. Do not say, for example, that this character is a good or evil character, or view his gigantic stature. Consider the entire story. It can be that there is no good or evil character. Or that the one with a simple, round figure, looking all soft, turns out to be evil.

ES: That would destroy the rules of wayang characters, though. I mean, in the traditional wayang performance, there are the stereotypes: the Kurawas are evil, the Pandawas are good.
EN: It’s not like that in my play. It all depends on the story. OK… That’s also why… Why I always give masks or hood for my characters. So, we don’t judge people from how they look, the color of the skin… What we see is only the surface. If now I make my characters harsh and carry sharp weapons, they can be anyone… My neighbor, our neighbors. It can very well be that someone we know, or someone who seems good, isn’t actually so.

ES: OK. Next is the question of when you started to use a variety of media for your works. You make mural, comics, even embroidery, et cetera.
EN: I’ve been making murals since 2000. There was the “Galeri Tembok” (Wall Gallery) in Yogyakarta, a project by my friends at the Apotik Komik. As for other media… painting… that’s been a while. But, actually, since 1998, whenever there was a chance to exhibit my works outside (the uni), I didn’t want to present paintings. That was really because I didn’t like to be the same. That was why I made comics, founded Daging Tumbuh. Well, that was part of the rebellion (against the situation) in the uni at the time: it was always “Must, obliged, must…” Outside the uni, I could make anything. It was much more fun for me.

ES: But now the Indonesian public recognize you and your works as works of embroidery. What about that? Perhaps today if another artist is creating embroidery works, he or she might be seen as your epigone.
EN: [laughed] I’ve been making embroidery works since 2002. Aside from the mural, I like to glue things on the street. Initially it was the stickers, which I made myself. Then there was this naughty idea to make embroidery works. I tried to order some. That’s usual, isn’t it. People are used to ordering embroidery works for uniforms. That was what I was experimenting with. I made embroidery works, small ones, and I glued them along the street. After a few days, they were all gone; people took them. That was what made me think to make some more.

It was only lately that I realized something interesting (about the embroidery works). When I was in senior high school, I had seen youth gangs, going around in groups with uniforms, in denim jackets with their logo embroidered on the jacket. I used that for my idea. I linked the embroidery works with uniforms. There were also the police, the civil servants; they wore uniforms and there were embroidery works on the uniforms. From then on the embroidery works have become even more interesting to me, and I like it more and more.

ES: So, you still want to experiment, explore other media?