How to create a ‘generous’ as our exhibition space? a term lend by prof Tom Callebaut ( https://research.kuleuven.be/portal/en/project/3E140208). His inspiring talk about a generous space is a place that allows people to transcend themselves. It arises from trust, grows with imagination and strives for interconnectedness. A generous space is a place that brings people into motion. It aims to inspire people to make life richer by adding more nuances and layers. It provides safe and free in-between spaces for both touch points and differences. Evolving spatial interventions challenge action and interaction. Making a space more generous is going beyond the constraint of necessity in order to take the freedom to realize a dream.
This project was a reciprocal practice to share our knowledge, between disciplines and between borders, inspired by the spirit of lumbung. Like the communal rice barns in Indonesia, where surplus harvest is stored for the common good and future well-being of the community, our collaboration aimed to build a shared repository of ideas, insights, and creative resources.
Together, we explored different views from Belgium and Indonesia about climate change / community / colonialism / art and spaces.
The results of these cultural exchanges are brought together in this collaborative exposition. It is a space to slow down, reflect, take your time and interact – a space where our collective effort is shared and can continue to grow. So we welcome you in our common, nonkrong space.
“Nongkrong is an existential process.” 1
This statement, delivered both playfully and seriously by an acquaintance of mine in Yogyakarta’s art scene, has become something of a beacon in navigating and understanding the social process of nongkrong. 2 At surface level nongkrong—an Indonesian term meaning, essentially, “hanging out”—seems an unlikely activity to spark philosophical mining of the depths of human existence. I’ve been told that in literal translation the word nongkrong approximates “squatting by the side of the road with a cigarette” or “sitting around because you’re not doing any work”. In this unexpected equation of existential philosophy and hanging out, intellect appears easily embodied, almost shrugged on. In such a situation, questions about the unfathomable nature of being itself could arise slowly, mysteriously, and hover in the mind for the duration of a cigarette, maybe two, then dissipate like smoke. As my friend went on to explain, if you are feeling deeply and existentially alone, you can always nongkrong with friends to lift your spirits.
For many of Yogyakarta’s artists, nongkrong is an essential aspect of how both their art practices and communities function and flourish. In the city’s many art spaces groups of friends cluster amoeba-like, around overflowing ashtrays, coffee cups, and plates of fried snacks. They sit, lean, or lounge at various angles, getting up to wander about and return in a fluid orbit. Yogya’s inexpensive rents and relaxed pace of life make such collectivism possible on a practical level, and distinguishes its contemporary arts scene from those of other prominent centres for the arts in Indonesia, such as Bandung and Jakarta. Known as “the city of students”, Yogya is both a nucleus for creative and intellectual pursuits and a syncretic hub for a hybrid mix of traditional Javanese culture and contemporary popular culture. Yet for all its diversity, Yogya upholds its reputation as Java’s quintessential “slow city”.
In terms of etymology, the word nongkrong itself has multiple meanings and functions. It is related to a body position (squatting), a social act (hanging out with a group of people), and a particularly transient relationship to time. The term angkring, like nongkrong, also correlates with a body position—that of a seated person with one leg drawn up on the bench and an arm slung over their bent knee. Angkring itself means “a temporary landing place”, like birds on a wire who alight for a while, then move on again. This is the root word for angkringan, the ubiquitous mobile food and coffee vendors who roll their carts out every morning and evening across Yogyakarta, find a good spot to set up then unfold the tarpaulin roofs, set out benches and fire up their gas-powered stove on which water for coffee and tea are boiled. These temporary landing places themselves then play host to any number of clients throughout the day and night who wish to come, take a spot on the bench, have a snack, some coffee, and chat with whoever happens to be there. While today there are also cafes and malls and convenience stores that all play host to friends in need of a hangout, the angkringan are the historically favoured tongkrongan (locations for nongkrong). They continue to proliferate in Yogyakarta as they are simultaneously being forced out of style in other major cities such as Jakarta, where the government’s “normalisation” programme has declared angkringan and other street-side vending to be interruptions to the city’s constantly thwarted attempts at streamlining and modernising.
https://parsejournal.com/article/nongkrong-and-non-productive-time-in-yogyakartas-contemporary-arts/
warung x nongkrong x projection screen