Diyanto is one of the most remarkable Indonesian artists today. He has consistently worked uncompromisingly -- let me emphasize: uncompromisingly -- and belongs to the minority of those artists who are not artistically corruptible. Even in phases of great material need, he rather chose hunger than catering to the public taste by painting decorative surfaces.

He has remained true to himself and his themes, subject matter which so often at the first glance irritate and shock. For the majority of Indonesian collectors he is still too “difficult.” Thus it's no wonder that he has more often than not found buyers for his work abroad, with one remarkable exception -- an Indonesian woman whose collection contains numerous Diyantos, namely Ibu Dolli. We owe her a great deal of thanks for her efforts in making this exhibition possible.

I first met Diyanto briefly in 1990 here in Bandung. I had heard only that he produced impressive works in large formats. I hadn't yet seen them.

In 1992 we met in Germany during his stay there as an assistant for stage design at the City Theater, Augsburg. He told me at that time about his teacher and friend Sanento Yuliman and a project they were planning for Bandung. A few days later I learned from TEMPO [an Indonesian magazine of culture and politics] of Sanento Yuliman's death. When I told Diyanto on the phone of the news, he was stunned and deeply disturbed about it. Later I saw some of Diyanto's works on paper done shortly after this event. One of these I purchased. It is present in this exhibition and has special significance. This small format work with the title “Memento Sanento” is to be understood as a homage to an important and uncompromising Indonesian art critic, artist and university lecturer. Here on this spot, just a few days before his death, he gave a talk at the opening of another art exhibition. In this context it should not go without mentioning that Sanento Yuliman had well noted the then very young artist Diyanto in an article in TEMPO, 1988 .

Because this exhibition covers only a very short time frame of Diyanto's work, I would briefly like to sketch in the beginning periods when his search for artistic identity resulted in impressive paintings. Speaking critically, however, it should be noted that these paintings might well have been done by German expressionists passing through, artists such as Emil Nolde, Max Pechstein, or Karl Schmidt-Rottluff. It seems certain that Diyanto had been confronted with the works of the German movement “Die Brücke.” Following that is the unmistakable influence of Sujana Kerton. Characteristic of this early period is that the works are beautiful to look at but lack the artist's unique touch.

Soon after -- though stylistic elements borrowed from expressionism are still apparent -- original themes and subject matter are foregrounded and the artist's unique style begins to develop.

He produces large format series, oil on canvas -- titles such as “Korban,” “Victim” and “Kazidah Izrael” that were first exhibited in a solo exhibition at the Institute Françoise Bandung in 1990. These works one sees as alienated representations of a brutal world in which no human being exist.

Perhaps stemming from this early period as he was forming his unique artistic direction, he has been repeatedly characterized as belonging to the group of artists whose main concern is sociopolitical. But I would argue that this is not so. It would be too simplistic to categorize Diyanto's works in this way. Despite strong means of expression, tonal nuances can be perceived. He never lets himself get caught up in the agitprop machinery of patent sociopolitical statements. His means of expression have other roots.

Diyanto is strongly rooted in theater. I experience his works as moments in theater scenes. His relation to the world of theater was mentioned earlier: on the basis of a grant from the Goethe-Institut Bandung he assisted with stage design at the City Theater, Augsburg. Augsburg is the birthplace of Bertolt Brecht, whose social criticism impressed Diyanto and whose theses on the so-called Epic Theater interested him. Nevertheless, Diyanto does not give himself over completely to theater á la Bertolt Brecht, who often is too simplistic and dogmatic. Brecht, an incontestably important figure, stages and dictates according to his dogma in the manner of a smug teacher. Brecht and Diyanto don't fit together. Diyanto goes beyond Brecht.

Those who have experienced the results of Diyanto's joint work with Teater SAE, Bandung, know that Diyanto has ignored the Brechtian world of social-critical theater.

In his “Working Concept” Diyanto writes about himself and the importance of texts in his work. He mentions the name of his friend Afrizal Malna, a protagonist in Indonesian theater of the absurd and absurdist poetry.

To expand on the idea of experiencing Diyanto's paintings as theater scenes, it is specifically the theater of the absurd. In European terms Diyanto has entered the image world of Samuel Beckett.

I ask you to follow me, enter his paintings with me. Let's assume that each is a stage set and we walk onto the set. Don't be shy. Let us walk together onto the stage of Diyanto's theater of the absurd.

At first perhaps confusion, disorientation -- the stage area is often cluttered and overcrowded. There's no transparence. The range of repeating objects can be confusing. Large plastic bowls filled with water, disconnected telephone receivers torn from their devices, and we are surrounded by symbols of violence: hammers, stones, body limbs separated from their bodies, corpses in heaps. We encounter the living with protective breathing masks that seal their mouths. And then the recurrence of mundane objects -- chairs, again and again chairs, often turned around. The sun is usually absent, replaced by a beam of light from a glaring spotlight or from a flashlight, sometimes hinting at the erotic or sexual. But there is more than the oppressive to experience on Diyanto's stage. As in Beckett, godfather of the theater of the absurd, we find humor in Diyanto's work -- for example in “Pertumbuhan di antara kursi dan strika” (“Growing up between a chair and an iron”).

If I've spoken too long, I apologize. I hope I haven't bored you with this general introduction to Diyanto's image world. I invite you now to set out on your own through this exhibition of works, and if it's necessary don't be timid about pushing through the narrow bars to discover Diyanto -- don't be afraid of the confrontation with Diyanto's theater of the absurd. One last word: although the title of this exhibition is “Batu Yang Tak Sampai Padamu” (“Stones That Don't Hit You”) there is no reason to fear. Diyanto has indeed an affinity to stones -- he lifts them but throws them hesitatingly! I can assure you that these stones are unlikely to strike you physically.

(Translated from the German by G. Crabb)