Crafting a culture: Ari and the art of Javanese puppets

In the south of the lush island of Java, Indonesia, lies the spiritual and artistic city of Yogyakarta. It is a Wednesday morning, and the streets pulse with life beneath the awnings of Jalan Malioboro , the Malioboro Market. People wander from one end of the tent-lined path to the other, searching for food, clothes, perfume, and jewelleries. Heads held high, hands full, silhouettes zigzag through the shops, walking up and down busy and hurried. The vibrancy of the scene fills the air and slips through the cracks of the walls of Keraton Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat , the Royal Palace, reaching these cluded laboratory where Ari, and all the other artisans and artists preserve not only art, but the spiritof the region itself.

The sun is at its peak. Cobblestones press against the soles of visitors’ shoes, the heat burning through as they seek shade beneath the sloping roofs of the secluded laboratory, waving their freshly bought hand-made fans to stay cool in the burning sun of the tropical island. A man hums softly to the notes of an Indonesian reggae song, setting the rhythm of this quiet corner of the palace. Though it lies within the royal grounds, this place feels like a world of its own.

Western tourists visiting the country often limit their attention to Bali, remaining largely unaware of the rest of Indonesia; yet beyond Bali’s reputation for talismans and surf culture, Yogyakarta stands out as a major centre for visual arts. Wayang , “puppet,” making and performance have been alive in Yogyakarta for centuries, and are still proudly preserved by artists and creatives who have dedicated their lives to the craft. Every Wednesday and Sunday morning, when the clock strikes nine, a wayang performance is held in the Keraton Palace, and people like Joko – a singing coach and performer who moved from Bali to the city to pursue his dream career - keep the tradition alive for locals and tourists. 

During these performances, traditional Batik clothes are worn, accompanied by folk songs and dances. The puppets themselves serve as storytelling instruments, conveying narratives rich in symbolism and moral meaning. These are unique kind of puppets, far from what western tourists usually expect to find: made from buffalo leather, they are flat, carved and coloured to represent narratives and portray didactic tales.

Discovering a passion and developing a talent: the story of Ari.

In a secluded corner of the laboratory, a man keeps his head low, fully absorbed in the coarse piece of leather before him. Sweat wets his forehead, droplets falling on the worktable where scraps of skin lie scattered like crumbs. His movements are repetitive yet precise, as the sound of carved leather dictates the pace of his day. Ari is a man in his fifties, with long, curly hair framing a face that tells a completely different story. His hands bear the marks of labour and devotion, and his bright expression suggests that every hour spent here has been time and energy willingly - even joyfully - given to his craft. He is working on his wayang, the puppets characteristic of the city.

Born in Yogya, Ari Bowo grew up breathing art, observing his grandfather create puppets right from as early as his kindergarten years. Just as the Javanese concept of Jodoh represents a connection between two people, drawn to one another long before they truly know each other, Ari seems to have found his own destined bond in the craft.

His interest began to bloom at the age of six. Every day after school, he would return home and spend three full hours seated right next to his grandfather, observing his swift and precise hand movements, watching his creativity unfold, and absorbing traditional techniques through careful attention. After three months, recognizing the sincerity and strength of his commitment, his grandfather finally allowed him to participate. He began by working on leaves, gradually progressing to thin paper, then thicker paper, and eventually to cow leather (of lower quality than buffalo hide) as his skill and confidence grew. And as his technique evolved, his dream of holding his own exhibition took root alongside.

Shapes and colours of the Wayang tradition

 The creation of a wayang puppet unfolds through two distinct processes: carving and colouring, with each phase of the process that typically takes three to four days, depending on the size of the puppet and the experience of the maker. “Artisans often dedicate their lives to mastering only one stage of the work, focusing either on shaping the leather or on bringing it to life through colour,” Ari teaches. And he makes no exception: every day, for over 20 years, he has arrived at work at 10 a.m., just as tourists begin to wander in, and remained until 3:30 in the afternoon, when the last visitor leaves, dedicating himself daily to perfecting his carving craft.

While carving, the texture of the leather becomes especially pronounced. As the pointed hammer strikes its surface, the material gradually loses its pale, faded beige tone, transforming into a brighter cream colour. Once the carving is complete, sandpaper is used to prepare the leather, allowing it to better absorb pigment. The colouring process follows, with four types of natural pigments applied to both the front and back of the puppet. Gold, bronze, blue, and black - the main colours - are derived from tree resin and mixed with other natural substances, such as turmeric. Finally, a preserving compound is applied to protect the finished work and ensure its longevity. 

Once completed, the puppets take on different roles. Some are sold to tourists, others are crafted specifically for performances, while a select few are preserved as cultural relics or offered as gifts to universities and political figures.

Beyond what the eyes can see: the meaning of the puppets

 Growing up alongside the craft, Ari gradually learned the traditions and symbolic meanings embedded in the puppets, coming to embrace their significance beyond visual aesthetics alone.

Holding a puppet in his hands, Ari lifts his arm proudly to allow the camera to fully capture the beauty of his work. This puppet does not represent a single character, but rather a setting and concept: it is called Gunungan , “Tree of Life.”

“The work represents the course of life - how we’re born, how we grew up making choices for ourselves, and how we finally all come to the same end,” Ari explains.

Within the Gunungan, every animal plays a role, and every detail carries symbolic meaning. The balance between femininity and masculinity, for example, is embodied by two dragon-like faces positioned opposite one another, locked in a silent gaze. The bull represents our physical strength and power, while the tiger is our inner strength – the voice of our inner monologue: much like Javan tigers that inhabit the rainforest near the volcano, the tiger embodies the spirituality of the mountain, anchoring the puppet’s symbolism in both nature and belief.

An intertwined story: how Yogyakarta and animism developed alongside

With over 240 million Muslims, Indonesia is known as the country with the largest Muslim population in the world. However, not all regions of this vast archipelago conform to this statistic. Bali, for instance, is famously the only island where Hinduism is the majority religion—a legacy of populations who migrated there to preserve their beliefs during the spread of Islam across the area. Yogyakarta stands out in a different way, shaped primarily by its cultural and historical uniqueness.

Despite early Dutch intervention in the region beginning in 1602, and later periods of British and Dutch control, Yogyakarta consistently played a central political role, and, unlike many traditional monarchies in Nusantara that faded with colonialism, Yogyakarta adapted through the years. In response to Dutch interference in Javanese politics, Sultan Hamengkubuwana I relocated his court from Kota Gede to Mataram in 1755, founding and renaming the city Yogyakarta. Although the Sultan was later deposed and exiled when the British captured the city in 1811, the city continued to function as a capital on multiple occasions. When the Dutch colonial rule was firmly re-established by 1830 following their repossession of Java, Yogyakarta, together with Surakarta, became part of the Dutch Vorstenlanden - semi-autonomous princely states under colonial supervision. Even after Indonesia's capital was moved to Jakarta, Yogyakarta was granted the status of a Special Region within the Republic of Indonesia, maintaining its cultural significance and traditions over time. This prolonged autonomy allowed Yogyakarta to cultivate a strong and unique cultural identity, preserved and reinforced over the centuries. Home to internationally renowned university and library, and separated both politically and ideologically from the rest of the region, it became a place where local traditions were not only protected, but deeply embedded into everyday life.

In this context of culture and spirituality, the belief of animism developed. As defined by Katherine Swancutt, animism is a way of relating to the world that understands humans, animals, plants, spirits, places, and even objects as sentient beings, emphasizing a relational and respectful coexistence rather than a strict divide between nature and humanity.

“Animism isn’t necessarily a religion,” Ari explains, “it’s more like an ideology. We believe in the spirit of nature, and we are deeply connected to it.” Within animism, nature is understood as a powerful force, a source of support and a wellspring of energy from which humans can draw.

Yogyakarta’s geography helps explain the persistence of animism in the region. The city occupies a strategic position within a landscape shaped by powerful natural forces: the volcano Mount Merapi rises to the north, the Indian Ocean lies just an hour to the south, and fertile plantations and gardens surround the area. Fire, water, earth, and air are not abstract concepts here, but visible and ever- present elements of daily life. In this context, Yogyakarta assumes the role of a central, beating heart—suspended between opposing natural energies.

The relation between animism and nature: a sustainable solution?

As Ari became a professional puppet maker, opportunities for exhibition to show his projects started to emerge. Yet, as his technical skills developed, so did a new mindset deeply rooted in animism.

The artist’s first close encounter with animism beliefs came, once again, through his grandfather, who thought him that every being has a spirit, and therefore must be respected. “In animism, the rivalry between humans and nature needs to be calmed,” affirms Ari. Humility toward nature is a fundamental principle: nature is not something to be conquered, but a source of balance and vitality.

“The conflicts in the world today are rooted in a rational and active misunderstanding of how nature works,” the artist reflects. “The pressure of the wealthy gives them too much power, allowing them to prioritize the wrong things in life. These decisions affect everyone and everything, including nature and our relation with it.” In his view, however, everyone has a chance to reconnect with nature. The process begins by engaging with one element at a time: walking through forests, tending plants, interacting with water. In giving care and attention to the natural world, one symbolically gives life back to nature, allowing nature, in return, to restore human energy. Through this exchange, humans become part of the earth’s continuous cycle.

In Yogyakarta, the breath of the volcano and the pulse of the ocean reinforce a worldview rooted in respect, balance, and interdependence. “Believing in the spirit of nature teaches you how to live, or how not to live,” he explains. “For example, the concept of community is inspired by the relationships within the animal world.” Nature is not something to be dominated, but something to be listened to and engaged with. As Ari affirms, peace and calm are found through reconnection: “You can go to nature, dip into water, restore your connection, and you will be pacified.”

Animism in the puppet artistry

Wayang puppetry is deeply connected to this worldview, particularly in Yogyakarta. Over time, as Islam, Buddhism, Christianity, and Hinduism reached the island, the craft was absorbed and reinterpreted within these belief systems; however, the animist emphasis on a positive and harmonious relationship between humans and nature allowed wayang to remain especially rooted in animism. “It’s a way to respect the local tradition, which is mainly animist,” Ari says.

Within animism, puppets carry a deeply spiritual essence. Their creation is inseparable from emotional, symbolic, and meaning-making narratives that help explain life and the human condition through parable. “My art isn’t only about aesthetics,” Ari explains. “It’s mainly about ideology—the culture and the connection with nature that I share through aesthetics.” In fact, what he loves most about his work is the act of transmission: sharing culture through art, embracing the lives of his ancestors, and carrying their knowledge forward as a bridge between generations. “Puppets are about spirituality, philosophy, psychology, and nature.”

A career as a culture crafter

The steady rhythm of the curved knife striking the leather sets the pace of the conversation as he drifts into his thoughts. “I dream of sharing my knowledge and understanding of the world with everyone, from curious tourists to politicians,” the crafter affirms. Yet, his primary concern remains his compatriots. Historically, widespread illiteracy in the region meant that animist teachings were passed down visually. Puppets became an accessible and powerful educational tool.

From a young age, Ari dreamed of holding an exhibition of his own. As he grew older, numerous opportunities presented themselves, yet, shaped by years of reflection and practice, he consistently declined them. “I don’t want my art to be seen only as something to look at,” he explains. “I want people to understand what my art speaks about—what it carries, and what it means.”

With this perspective, Ari believes that personal interpretation of traditional patterns is not a threat, but a necessity. Each puppet carries meaning; every trait plays a role in the final composition. While shared patterns form the foundation of the craft, every artist leaves a personal imprint, allowing tradition to evolve through lived experience. Creativity meets tradition, and project after project, culture continues, renewed through the aesthetic choices and skilled hands of puppet makers working in the quiet backyard of the Sultan’s palace. “If done respectfully, keeping in mind the meaning of traits, symbols, and features, creativity is the way to carry forward what my family and ancestors began,” Ari says.

Through his art, and through his identity as an artist, Ari finds his source of happiness. Recognising his passion early on, and holding tight to the dream of having an exhibition fully focused on the culture and meaning intrinsic in his work, he transformed the craft into a profession. “Crafting these puppets doesn’t only connect me to my ancestors and my culture,” he reflects. “It also connects me to nature, and to a life of constant learning.”