This document provides an overview of Balinese rituals and the concept of niskala, or the invisible world of spirits. It describes some key aspects of Balinese rituals including sacred masks like the Barong and Rangda, offerings, trance states, and ritual combat. It explores how rituals are meant to show respect for powerful natural forces and strike a harmonic balance between human and divine realms. Photographer Rio Helmi seeks to capture moments when the holy becomes real during complex rituals that connect the seen and unseen worlds in Bali.

1. memories
of the sacred
rio helmi

3. memories of the sacred
rio helmi
Limited Edition

4. For my father, Alfian Yusuf Helmi, who first brought me to Bali when I was eight years old.
He infected me with a love of photography and of our country.

7. 01. A M B U H
G memories
of the sacred
This dance form has apparently
barely changed since it originated in
the courts of Majapahit in East Java
nearly half a millenium ago. Its highly
stylized forms seem in contrast with
many of today’s almost raucous Bali­
nese modern choreography. Perhaps,
it was this that caught the attention
of my friend, the late Cristina ‘Wis­
tari’ Formaggia, an Italian performer
rio helmi
who ended up dedicating the last
2 or 3 decades of her life to perform­
ing and preserving Gambuh. I was
shooting a series on Gambuh for her
foundation at a performance in Batu­
an one night. As I stood next to the
entrance to the stage, this performer
who played the character
Tumenggung, a ‘hard’ and comic
figure, came and stood perfectly still
between two lamps waiting for his
cue—in perfect contrast to his on
stage character. It was also a perfect
gift wrapped set up: these were the
days of film, and shooting at night
was fraught with uncertainty!
The Special Edition Publisher: Lans Brahmantyo
‘Memories of The Sacred’ Project Manager: Cherry Salim
is limited to 100 copies. Photo Editor: Rio Helmi
Writer: Diana Darling
Copyright © 2010. Artistic Director: Chandra Rahmatillah
Creative Manager: Celvie Toramaya
All Rights Reserved. Graphic Designer: Rully Jatmiko
No part of this publication may be Design Operators: Nasrullah & Nasrudin
reproduced or transmitted in any Production: Andri Wirawan & Reza Inovani
form, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopy, recording Paper:
or any other information storage Regular Edition: Matte 150 gsm
and retrieval system, without Special Edition: Garda Pat Klasica 135 gsm
prior permission in writing from
the publisher. Printed by Indonesia Printer
Designed and Published by ISBN 978-602-97507-2-0
Afterhours
Jalan Merpati 45, Menteng Dalam
Jakarta 12870 Indonesia
9 786029 750720
+62 (21) 8306819
info@afterhoursgroup.com

8. This book represents part of an ongoing series of photographs “Bali: Between Gods
and Men” that I have been working on in Bali for the last thirty years. Despite the
rampant over­development and commercialization of parts of the island, a certain
spirit lives on. Many have tried their hand at defining it—spiritualists, psychologists,
anthropologists, artists, hoteliers, travel agents, amateur experts and dilettantes like
myself. I should simply be quiet and let these images which have captured me speak
for themselves. But despite that, I have added a few words describing what I have
seen and understood. It is, of course, just one point of view. The name Bali is said
by some to come from an acronym of batara linggih or seat of the gods; others say it
comes from the term wewalian which means a ritual offering of dance during temple
ceremonies. Ritual here, staged with great fanfare, has as its goal to make manifest
both loyalty to a tightly structured society and devotion to a myriad of gods whose
relationships mirror those of the human realm. In Bali, communication between
gods and humans takes place on a regular basis. During temple ceremonies, held
according to strictly­kept calendars, many temples host ritual trances which serve as
the medium through which this communication takes place. The gods and ancestors
speak through the medium, often with specific messages. Meanwhile the humans
offer not only flowers and foods, but highly stylized performances as well. Visually
elaborate as these events are, the most intense junctures during these moments are
human ones. At some point there can come a shift, a transition from an everyday
identity to something beyond, and from the divine to the everyday. During ceremonies,
the music and the manipulation of ritual paraphernalia build up momentum, creating
a tension which will finally be relieved in the central event around which the whole
event revolves. Tuned in by lifelong immersion in this magical world, the Balinese
have a sense of timing that no watch can measure. And then it happens: wrathful
ancestors arrive into trembling bodies; studied roles come alive; spontaneously
choreographed performers transform into other­worldly tableaux. This link to the
unseen carries over into everyday life, even into the landscape. To this day the visual
proof of the Balinese admission to the divine in every aspect of their lives is alive and
well, a vibrant esthetic unlike any other in the world. rio helmi

9. what you see and what you don’t
The Balinese word for this certain something is niskala, usually translated as ‘the invisible world’—potent
and ambivalent, the big reality behind the surface we see, like some roiling, shimmering electrical milk.
The niskala lurks in trees, rocks, mountains, rivers, the warm earth, and the hungry sea; and the Bali­
There’s a certain something—a wild, spangled nese meet it with a mania for controlling, ordering, counting, specifying, wrapping, situating, naming, and
then venerating it with offerings—in other words, through ritual. Sometimes, the Balinese open themselves
energy—that once saturated Bali as tangibly as its wide for the niskala to come streaming through them; this is generally described as ‘trance.’ Some Balinese
own tropical humidity; something that could catch are said to be able to make niskala weapons; this is generally described as ‘magic.’
The niskala penetrates gemstones and clings to human hair and accumulates in certain man­made
you in its teeth anywhere—on your way into the things. It lingers in wood long after the tree has been felled and the wood shaped into a mask or the walk­
ing stick of a sage. The sounds and letters of the alphabet are charged with niskala power, as are musical
Kuta from the airport, say, as you rode along a sandy tones, the kris dagger, certain drawn shapes (rerajahan), certain hand gestures (mudra), and an uncountable
variety of abstract forms which the Balinese render in cut leaves or colored rice dough and compose in an
track on the back of a motorbike—and rattle your uncountable variety of offerings. The niskala is particularly dense in graveyards, where it gathers naturally,
and in temples, where it is layered through the cycles of the ritual calendar.
heart at the sight of children dancing with the slow The niskala is amplified by water. Spring water is transformed into holy water with incense, flow­
dignity of gods; or that could hit you in the face like ers, and mantra, and tuned to specific functions in the rites of life and death. The blessings of deities are
conveyed in holy water. Lakes are venerated as the nourishing source of the island’s irrigation networks.
a sluice of cold champagne at the sight of clowns The sea has tremendous powers of dissolving physical and spiritual impurities: it is a station in the post­
funerary rites of purifying a soul, and sacred effigies are taken to the sea at special times for cleansing.
jousting in a graveyard, reducing you to a jelly of These are big occasions. In Bali, you don’t just go get spring water, or just take the god statues to the sea.
You put together a procession: music, offerings, parasols, banners, streams of white cloth, palanquins of ef­
laughter even though you don’t understand a word figies, dancers with flowers fresh and of hammered gold in their hair, and hundreds of people, these days
they say; or that could freeze your skin in a cloud of dressed in white. This is the public face of the niskala, with all its attributes and defenses on display, an an­
nouncement of beauty and danger.
chattering cymbals and drums as a corpse is carried For there is an atmosphere of dread in the niskala. You can see it in the demonic figures in temple
carvings and magical drawings, in the themes of war in ritual dance, and in the many terrifying masks in
out to the street through a house gate. ritual theatre; you can hear it in the processional gongs and cymbals. The source of fear is perhaps the
power of nature and the damage it can wreak on human beings, especially those who live (as the Balinese
until recently always have) very close to the earth. When you are armed with little more than a hoe and a
cleaver, you are not in a position to argue with storms, earthquakes, volcanoes, or the devouring darkness
of a forest. Human beings die easily, overcome by snakebite, plagues, the hazards of childbirth. The idea
is to show respect to these frightening powers and to try through ritual to strike some harmonic accord
with them, so that the human being vibrates with, not against, them, and the order of the world hums
on in balance.
It is this flaming out of the niskala that Rio Helmi pursues when he photographs Balinese ritual: the
trigger moment when the holy becomes real. This takes place in circumstances that are almost inscrutably
complex and varied. To appreciate what is happening in the photographs it is useful to contemplate some
of the dominant visual elements in them—such as masks, cloth, weapons, trance, children in ritual—and
then to reflect on the society from which these images emerge.
Masks are instruments for capturing and expressing the power of certain spiritual personalities.
Most conspicuous among sacred masks are that of the Barong—the revered lion­like figure whose guard­
ian power is focused in the mask but whose majesty is so bulky that the creature must be animated by two
dancers, front and back—and the Barong’s consort cum nemesis Rangda, widely described as ‘the Witch’ or
the ‘Queen of Demons.’

10. The Barong Ket (the most familiar of many varieties of barong) is an eminently iconic effigy, uniquely
Balinese. Although it has lately become a flashy component in tourism advertising, this, like all barongs,
Extreme forms of ritual violence take place under
is an intensely sacred creature, and a very local one: a barong belongs to a specific community—usually a trance, that inexplicable state where astonishing
banjar (village association) whose members keep it safely stored, usually in a temple, and attend to its
ritual upkeep. things happen. Here the niskala is at its most
To make a barong is a holy undertaking: the wood for the mask must be harvested on a particular day
from a special tree, often a kepuh tree growing in the grounds of a graveyard, and always with appropri­ explosive, ignited by arcane cues that may be as
ate offerings. The mask is carved only by one who is deemed spiritually qualified. The beard of the barong
is of human hair, preferably that of the virgin youth of the community. The body’s luxuriant coat may be
simple as a melody.
of plant fiber or crow feathers or any number of materials from the natural world. Gilded carved leather
frames the mask in an elaborate headdress, and shapes its grand and saucy haunches. A lively arching tail is
decorated with mirrors. As a final step, the barong is ‘brought to life’ in the graveyard at night with the most
exacting ritual magic. Scholars describe the Barong as chthonic, relating to the underworld. He is a sort of
Weapons and combat play a surprisingly big role in Balinese ritual. The kris is part of a man’s ceremo­
fearless and benign ambassador among the forces of chaos.
nial dress. In the constellation of nine Hindu deities (nawa sanga), each has its own mystical weapon; these
His counterpart Rangda personifies fear, illness, and all that can go wrong in the world; and in the
are sometimes represented as ingredients of offerings. At temple festivals there are ranks (baris) of warrior
Balinese world view, this is precisely why she, too, should be venerated. A Rangda mask is treated with
dancers, also called baris, armed with spears or shields or sometimes leaves. There is one­to­one ritual com­
the same careful dread in her making and maintenance that is accorded the Barong. Like the Barong, she
bat with spiny pandanus leaves and the free­for­all siat sampian where a roiling crowd of young men bash
may be danced only by the spiritually initiated.
each other with figures of woven palm leaves. There is the rite popularly known as perang dewa (‘battle
These two powerfully charged entities spend most of their time slumbering in sacred seclusion,
of the gods’) where temple deities fight each other through the entranced bearers of their palanquins.
shrouded in white cloth in the hush of a temple pavilion, until a ritually prescribed date arrives for them
The cockfight with its bright blood­letting is a part of purification rites. These expressions of violence can
to be aroused. Then they may be carried in procession, semi­dreaming, on ritual visits to various temples.
be viewed several ways. First, they are just the sort of festivity that ground spirits enjoy; second, they may
Or they may be fully awakened—with music, mantra, scented smoke, and animal sacrifice—and allowed to
express an ancient memory of the wars of deified warrior­kings; and on a subtler level they represent the
unleash their vast, weird powers in a public mystery play that culminates in combat. They do not actually
struggle of the soul against the pull of the material world.
fight: they are far too exalted for that. Instead, their battle is carried out through proxies, human beings
Extreme forms of ritual violence take place under trance, that inexplicable state where astonishing
in trance—driven by Rangda to stab their naked chests with kris daggers but protected by the Barong
things happen. Here the niskala is at its most explosive, ignited by arcane cues that may be as simple as
from the knives piercing their skin. Neither side is supposed to win, for this is the real world, after all,
a melody. In Bali, trance is considered to be possession by a deity or some other niskala being, and it is
where the forces of order and chaos are always in contest. This furious psychic exercise is held to be
regularly induced as part of temple festivals, although with a great deal of variety in its local forms, as if
good for the community.
the particular trance ritual is part of the history of a particular temple. This is especially legible at the fes­
Cloth appears in Balinese ritual in a variety of ways: in traditional dress and theatrical costume;
tival of the Pura Dalem Pengerebongan in Denpasar where trance rituals commemorate a force of 18th­
as parasols; as tall banners; and in wrapping almost everything in sight—sacred objects, big stone
century warriors who kept fighting even when their entrails were hanging out—the entrails represented
statues, pavilion posts, even trees. Appropriate temple dress (which is prescribed by convention and
by a long rope of black­and­white checkered cloth. The trance at this temple festival is famous for the
enlivened by fashion) requires that the waist be tied by a sash and that a man’s head be wrapped in a
hundreds of people who, at a flick of holy water, fall into trance and are then helped to circumambulate
temple scarf. It is as if the function of cloth is to bind and isolate the niskala. The waist sash keeps the
the civic pavilion outside the temple. The weeping, shrieking, and self­stabbing of the entranced create a
low energies of the ground from invading the heart and head, while the headcloth protects the head
chain­saw level of tension.
from noisy interference. (Women do not seem to require this precaution, although for certain very sa­
But, not all trance is violent. Some of the most tender dance­trance rites are performed by young girls.
cred ceremonies, all members of the congregation will wear a strip of white cloth tied around the head).
Sanghyang is a generic term for certain kinds of illness­banishing trance possession induced with a capella
Priests dress entirely in white, with the headcloth covering the crown. Parasols indicate the presence
singing, in which the trancer may become, for example, a monkey, a pig, a broom or the lid of a pot. In san­
of deities and accompany the Barong; in former times, parasols were also attributes of royalty. In pro­
ghyang dedari, the incarnating spirit is what is usually described as a heavenly nymph, which is certainly
cession, long streams of white cloth connect god effigies to the congregation. The black­and­white
what the child dancers look like as they move, with eyes closed, in unison under a spell of mysterious beauty.
checkered poleng cloth is warning signal of the magically charged, and is symbolic of the positive and
Children are considered beings of special purity. In the Balinese world view, children are born holy,
negative energies at large in the universe. Certain handwoven textiles, such as the obscure cepuk cloth
incarnations of deified ancestors. They are introduced to the world very gently through a series of life
and celebrated double­ikat geringsing cloth woven in Tenganan, are thought to have special niskala
rites and become fully of the world only upon marriage. Children participate in rituals from babyhood,
qualities in themselves, imbued during the long intimate processes of weaving and dyeing mystical fig­
not only in their life rites but also accompanying their parents at temple festivals and in family celebra­
ures into the cloth.

11. tions. They learn traditional dance in early childhood, perform in temples, and head up processions. Farmers become laborers, and farmers’ children
During the Galungan festival season, when barongs are out on the road protecting the neighborhood,
children mimic these processions with mini­barongs and little gongs of their own. By the time they reach become craftsmen, domestic servants, civil
adulthood, Balinese are so imbued with their religious culture that is integral to their gestures, thought,
humor, fears, and most intimate personal identity. servants, bank tellers, tour guides, waitresses,
Rio Helmi has called this collection ‘memories of the sacred’: although Bali’s rituals are as big and
opulent as ever, the niskala seems to be ever more eclipsed by modern life. To understand the dynamics
graphic designers, public relations managers, fitness
of this, one might look at Balinese society itself, to understand how it is organized in regard to the nis­
trainers, dentists, and real estate brokers—and
kala and to see in what ways it is under pressure.
In Bali, the fabric of life and death is the community, which is comprised mainly of the family and people find it hard to take off a couple of weeks to
the village (whose traditional banjar neighborhoods persist even in towns). To a degree that is remark­
able in the twenty­first century, Balinese society renders irrelevant such existential questions as Who am prepare for a temple festival.
I? and What is my role in life? and What will happen when I die? The community has the answer to all
of these. The family and village define the individual, who in turn nurtures the community with his and
her participation in its many rituals. This interdependence between the individual and the community is
most striking on the occasion of a death, when family and village undertake all the care of the corpse, its
bathing and preparation for burial or burning and then the long series of rituals to conduct the soul back
to the divine source, from where it will extend an invisible thread to the family house temple, and per­ In modern Balinese society, the importance of observing one’s obligations to the niskala is almost
haps eventually to other temples as well. unquestioned. What is under pressure is the context in which these ritual obligations take place. Bali’s reli­
Nearly all the rituals recorded here take place in temples, demarcated plots of sacred ground where gious culture developed in an agricultural and deeply conformist society, where the ritual calendar reflected
various deities are honored. Balinese temples have rather abstract relations to the high classical Hindu the rhythms of the rice­growing cycle and the seasons, where people survived (or not) with what they pro­
trinity—Brahma Vishnu Shiva—who are associated with the three principal temples around which Bali­ duced on their own land, and where there were few demands on their time beyond those of the village and
nese village communities are organized: the pura puseh founding temple; the pura bale agung or pura desa the fields. To keep up the ritual surface of this culture today is ever more at odds with modern reality.
community temple, and the pura dalem associated with the dead. The actual shrines are dedicated to more Under the twin storms of tourism and speculation, agricultural land is being quickly sold and paved
intimate gods, such as deified kings, sages, and founding ancestors, or to powers associated with mountains, over for petrol stations, shopping malls, resort complexes, or simply more housing for the growing popula­
lakes, the sea. These gods are invisible, of course. The Balinese give them visiting places, usually in the form tion—which literally undermines the ground of the traditional culture. Many people now have to pay cash
of a small statue which is kept in a dedicated shrine; and this object—easily adorned and transported in for the materials for offerings rather than harvesting them from their own land. Farmers become laborers,
procession—becomes a point of focus during rituals, which occur mainly on the anniversary of a temple’s and farmers’ children become craftsmen, domestic servants, civil servants, bank tellers, tour guides, wait­
founding. There are also many other types of temples where a Balinese (family) may have ritual obligations: resses, graphic designers, public relations managers, fitness trainers, dentists, and real estate brokers—and
agricultural temples; clan temples of varying types and extent; and pura penataran or ‘state’ temples associ­ people find it hard to take off a couple of weeks to prepare for a temple festival. The labor of making offer­
ated with ancient unitary kingdoms or new urban centers. Temples are major nodes in the social network, ings is increasingly contracted out to specialists, putting a gentle but persistent strain on community ties.
where relationships are concentrated and which burst into crowded activity during periodic temple festi­ Bali’s towns are growing fast, and they are growing ever more cosmopolitan as they are settled by people
vals. Thus the crowds at ceremonies. from other parts of Indonesia. The presence of foreigners, be they visitors or expatriate businesspeople, cre­
Balinese temple festivals (and other major ceremonies such as death rituals) demand the participa­ ates a hugely visible footprint. As Bali becomes more integrated into the national and international world,
tion of entire communities because of the great amount of time and labor involved in the preparation of ideas about society and spirituality are changing, and this also challenges the foundations of the old culture.
the required offerings, which are profuse and complex beyond description. This gloriously extravagant Tourism, whose economic contribution is obvious, presents a particularly complicated challenge.
form of worship seems have evolved from several conditions: the great natural richness of the land with On the one hand, because Bali’s tourist industry brands itself on the basis of its glittering ceremonial cul­
its abundance of rice, fruits and flowers; leisure time during phases of the rice cycle, which gives people ture, tourism is a force of conservation—at least in the sense of perpetuating its most visible forms. Cer­
time to develop an elaborate ornamental culture; the drive for specifying things, which is given expres­ emonial arts, especially music and dance performances, are heavily merchandized into tourism packages;
sion in minutely detailed figures of the niskala; and a sacrificial motive—for animal sacrifice remains an ticketed performances of the ‘Barong Dance’ may be viewed day or night every day of the week. The tourist
important aspect of ritual in order to pay respect to the lower orders of the world. Higher beings are hon­ performance industry is backed up by performing arts academies that assure a steady supply of musicians
ored with all that is beautiful: sweet music, flowers, elegant dances; while the grounds spirits that follow and dancers. Traditional sculpture and painting fill hotels and decorate supermarkets; and there is official
them prefer raw meat, sharp drink, combat, and noise. Whether the scale of the ceremony is modest or pressure for buildings to exhibit at least a token amount of Balinese architectural decorative elements.
royal, there is a concern to include and account for the whole world. Temples themselves become venues of tourist performances, and their festivals are attended by admiring

12. tourists. Ritual costume is available for hire for tourists who would like a Balinese­style wedding. Ritual
paraphernalia, such as masks and parasols, is available for anyone to purchase and take back to their own
countries to decorate their homes.
On the other hand, the commercialization of these cultural elements leads to a hollowing out of
their niskala power, which alarms thoughtful Balinese. Leaders in the government make well­meaning
efforts to preserve formal aspects of the culture by mounting competitions (lomba) of everything from
gamelan orchestras to folk arts; perhaps the most puzzling of these are the ‘beautiful graveyard’ contests
(lomba setra). The annual month­long Bali Arts Festival (Pesta Kesenian Bali), opened every year by the
President of the Republic of Indonesia, provides a venue for the display of both new and traditional cul­
tural performances from around Bali (and increasingly with the inclusion of groups from other parts of
Indonesia and the world). Some argue that while this affirms the prestige of traditional dance forms, it
weakens their sacred character by turning them into a show.
In some quarters, the spirit of conservation is heating up into religious conservatism. This is particu­
larly so in urbanizing south and central Bali, where tourism and all the dynamism of modern Indonesia
have wiped out the old agricultural character of life and are imposing drastic new alternatives. This pro­
vokes an almost defensive attitude, which appears in grand displays of the force of Balinese culture.
The recently coined motto Ajeg Bali means ‘Bali upright and strong’ but has become the slogan of a
rather strident sense of ethnic identity. Curiously, this sometimes finds expression in Balinese Hindus imi­
tating certain Muslim conventions. For example, the Sanskrit prayer Tri Sandhya is broadcast on local radio
and television stations every evening at six, as if Balinese do not want to appear less pious at dusk than their
Muslim compatriots. A certain militancy lurks among young Hindus, who from time to time decry as blas­
phemy the use of Hindu religious symbols in, for example, advertising or an album cover, as their Muslim
compatriots in other parts of Indonesia sometimes do. The notion of blasphemy in Bali is new.
At the turn of the 21st century, Bali suddenly found its traffic being directed by young men in poleng
temple dress and sunglasses, armed with kris daggers. These are pecalang, the new face of order at Bali­
nese religious ceremonies. The term formerly referred to palace henchmen and was nearly extinct until
it was recently revived for community patrol groups and freshly translated as ‘Bali’s traditional security
personnel’. Pecalang, who are not supposed to bully outsiders, excel at enforcing the 24­hour curfew on
the holy day Nyepi (the ‘day of silence’) when the streets of the entire island are to be deserted from dawn
to the following dawn. During this period, no lamps or fires are to be lit, and Balinese Hindus are encour­
aged to refrain from work or entertainment and to spend their time in introspection. The airport shuts
down for twenty four hours. The prohibition from venturing outdoors extends to absolutely everyone
(except the pecalang) including the non­Hindu Indonesian population, foreign residents, and tourists;
compliance is docile and universal. This year in a new flourish of public pietism, the local government
blocked all national and local television broadcasts, prompting outcry from progressive Balinese, who
found this an unfair imposition of their religious values on others.
Progressive and conservative opinion leaders in Bali have been arguing for nearly a hundred
years about the direction their religion should take in response to the emergencies that history hurls
at this little island: Bali did not choose to become a showcase of enlightened colonial policy, or the
killing fields in a Cold War exercise, or the terrain of choice for anthropological aesthetes, or the
world’s favorite tropical playground. Today, it is a society swarming in mirrors. Who wouldn’t be
dazzled by the glare? diana darling

13. 02. GErEBEG
In Banjar Dur Bingin at the end of the
Galungan season for one day the village
virtually belongs to the kids of the vil­
lage. The boys eat in the village temple,
then process around the village with
palm fronds, shouting and having a
good old time. I took this in the Eighties;
nowadays the kids are given to dayglow
face paint and other innovations which
somehow aren’t quite as primal.

14. 03. Ur BINGIN PrOCESSION
D
Back in the Eighties, primary school
uniforms were red shorts and with white
shirts. The shorts ended up being all­
round wear, and as these boys demon­
strate, were perfect for this ceremonial
procession. They were chuffed that I was
photographing them—prior to that no
one had really taken any interest in their
ritual—and seemed just a little extra
boisterous as a result.

15. 0 4 . I T E S O F PA S S AG E ,
r
TENGANAN
When the young boys of Tenganan
hit adolescence, they undergo a
special communal rite of passage.
But because the cost is relatively
high, the community tends to wait
a few years till they have saved up
enough. Consequently, it is relatively
rare to see, and the boys vary quite a
bit in age. They are first shaved, then
led to through a series of specific
rites—for example at the village
blacksmith and so on. They then
enter a completely closed bamboo
confine, which no one else may enter,
for their secret initiation. Quite a
few of my Balinese friends expressed
surprise when seeing these images
as they had never even heard of this
ceremony before.

16. 05. TENGANAN MUDSLINGING
At the end of the manhood initiation
that the adolescent boys of Tenganan
undergo, I saw perhaps one of the
most bizarre rituals I have seen in Bali.
The young unmarried girls of the village
gathered to sit in turn on a platform a
pavilion of a private compound, wearing
traditional ceremonial clothes. The boys
then prepared buckets of mud, which
they then proceeded to sling handfuls
of at the girls who had to sit there with
their backs turned and simply take it.
They had an oil lamp burning; when it
went out everyone had to stop while it
was relit. I never really got to the bottom
of what was behind this ritual.

18. 0 6 . T E N G A N A N G I r L
During the various village ceremonies
in Tenganan the young girls wear the
famous double­ikat cloth—the warp and
weft threads are dyed in special pat­
terns prior to weaving. There are very
few places ion places in the world where
one finds traditional double­ikat, and
the Geringsing cloths of Tenganan are
famous, to the point where some enter­
prising Japanese actually copyrighted
some geringsing designs—the ultimate
cultural theft. Tenganan girls wear them
with pride. During the ceremony, they sit
or stand in the central balé or pavilion of
the village, almost as if on display, fully
aware they are the center of attention.
07. r E J A N G A S A K
The Rejang is one of my favourites, so
slow it’s hardly even a dance, but yet so
elegant and graceful—even when a bunch
of young girls are awkwardly imitating
the leader. And my favourite rejangs are
in East Bali, like here in Asak twenty years
ago when the Seke Dahe (the unmarried
maidens association) perform under
canopy of newly erected jaka palm fronds.
The effect was almost cathedral­like.

19. 0 8 . T H E P OW E r O F WO r D S
A young participant asserts his voice in
an extraordinary cultural event ‘Gerebeg
Aksara Prasada’ which is part of a modern
movement to purify and refocus modern
Balinese culture. The villages of Mas
and Sakah staged a procession with five
high priests escorted by thousands of
participants which closed the main road to
Ubud for hours. Power to the people.

20. 0 9. G A r U DA B I r D
A figure representing a mythical bird
in the story behind the Legong Lasem
performance is played by the ‘condong’
or attendant of the court. I was watch­
ing this performance in the house of
a friend in a village before the days of
easy electricity; the bamboo lamps gave
off just enough smoke to give the feel­
ing that she is flying through the clouds.
Still one of my favourite images.

21. 1 0 . M E PAYA S
In Balinese literally means to decorate or
dress something up. The single neon light
on this young boy’s face being made up
backstage for a performance in the tem­
ple of the dead in Batuan one night made
me think of a mask.

22. 11. KETEWEL MASKS
In the area around Ketewel, there is a set of
sacred masks which are only brought out
during certain ceremonies and are said to be
linked to the wellbeing of the community.
They are performed by young girls who enter
a state of semi­trance as they don the masks,
first covering their faces with the cloth that
the masks are wrapped in as if to breathe in
their essence. This was shot in the late Seven­
ties when the kerosene pressure lamp was the
main illumination in most Balinese villages.

23. 1 2 . L E G O N G D E DA r I
This sacred mask which is kept in the
Yogan Agung temple in Ketewel is only
brought out on specific occasions.
I was lucky to be able to shoot the
semi­trance performance that night in
the late 1970s. I hear that the temple
doesn’t allow it to be photographed
anymore. This was shot by the light
of the once ubiquitous ‘petromax’ or
‘strongking’ kerosene pressure lamps.

24. 1 3 . WAYA N G
An important medium of communication
for Balinese even today, the wayang
kulit is ostensibly the shadow puppet
performance of ancient myths. In reality
the dalang (puppeteer) always incorporates
contemporary social comment into his
story, often picking up bits and pieces of
local goings­on to weave into his story.
The more skillful he (or she) is at doing this,
the more popular he or she is on the circuit.
This dalang Wayan Wija, an old friend since
the 1970s, has always been innovative and
popular. He has even created special optical
effects and new sets of figures, drawing from
a variety of sources.

26. 14. C A K r I N A
Rina was a young boy when he was first
spotted by Indonesian choreographer
Sardono W Kusumo. Sardono included
him on his international tours, includ­
ing one legendary tour to Paris. Rina
grew up to be a nationally­renowned
dancer. When I met and toured with
the him in the 1980s, he was already a
strong creative performer in his own
right. In his defining role in the kecak
of Teges village, a powerful performance
dominated by him and his counterpart
Lunge, finds the troupe literally playing
with fire. This is must­see for serious
Bali lovers. Rina’s presence has resulted
in the Teges group’s performance being
labelled Cak Rina. Many of his moves
and choreographies have been copied,
with limited success, by other groups
around the island.
15. C A LO N A r A N G
When performed in its traditional
setting, at the temple of the dead during
special magically powerful days of the
Balinese calendar for specific rituals,
the Calonarang is riveting, even spine­
chilling. The central character is the
witch Walu Natang Dirah, and is played
by a man. This actor, now long gone,
was famous for his especially powerful
depiction of Calonarang. The eerie
light of the kerosene lamps seemed to
enhance the image even more.

27. 16. DEMANG
One of the ‘hard’ characters of the
Gambuh, this Demang sits and
waits his turn as other characters
dance out their roles in the
Gambuh. This old performer from
Batuan always had a such a twinkle
in his eye, and to me just the way
he sat there waiting for his cue was
already a performance.

28. 1 7. B A r I S G E D E
A troupe of Baris or warrior dancers from
Kintamani perform in the ante­court of the
Pura Batur in Kintamani during the anniver­
sary of the temple (Odalan). As this temple
is important to all the other communities
on the southern and western slopes many
of them come to ngayah or ‘offer their work’
to the gods as well. But the local Baris group
has always had a special place in my heart,
their slow mesmerizing series of stylized
battle dances with various weapons—spears,
shields—and formations punctuated by
war cries. It is especially magical when the
afternoon mist rolls in, which in Kintamani
is frequent.

29. 1 8 . B A r I S B AYA N G A N
The shadows of Baris Tumbak dancers at
a Brahmin priestess’ cremation in Sanur.
Behind the tourist strip of this beach
resort, the traditions of Bali live vividly
on, and stumbling on this cremation in
2009 reconfirmed this for me.

30. 1 9. V E T E r A N O F T H E B A r I S
During high caste cremations often a
troupe of Baris dancers will perform,
taking part of the procession as well.
This Brahmin priestess’s cremation in
Sanur was no exception. This old man,
obviously a veteran Baris dancer, was
the highlight for me. Though reasonably
stout and decades older than the rest,
his sense of style and timing were
impeccable, all accompanied by that oh­
so­necessarry element of Balinese dance,
a perfectly animated face.

31. 2 0 . N G AYA H AT P U r A B AT U r
The Balinese concept of offering covers
not only such things as flowers, fruits,
cakes and so on but also to offer work—
ngayah. Ngayah is especially relevant
when it comes to temple ceremonies,
and for larger regional temples such as
Pura Batur in Kintamani, people from
all over Bali—especially from the south
central part of Bali—come to make their
offerings, and the central courtyards
are a harmonious cacophony of dance,
offerings and prayers all happening
simultaneously.

32. 21. TUMBAK
Baris Tumbak could be translated as
the ‘(warrior) line of spears.’ I have
seen this veteran dancer performing
for years now, and though we have
barely spoken a few casual sentences
to each other without even so much
as a formal introduction, we have
our own dance—he with the spear,
me with the camera.

33. 22. THE TrOOPS
Accompanying a set of sacred Barong
Belas­belasan on an annual procession
which takes place over a few days in
the Tampaksiring area, this troupe of
Baris dancers made an impressive sight.
The entire procession including men,
women and children, end up spending
the night in various temples along the
way before heading back home.

34. 2 3 . T E J A K U L A WA r r I O r
A Baris Gede performer dances in
the courtyard of the village temple in
Tejakula. Located at the foot of the
barren northeastern slopes, Tejakula
hosts a surprisingly active dance and
arts community for all its remoteness.

35. 24 . B A r I S P r E S I
One day in the late Seventies,
I went with some friends up
to the area around Ngis in the
district around Karangasem
in East Bali. We ran into a
temple ceremony in a small
temple whose outer walls were
in shambles. There was none
of the grandeur of the rituals
that I had gotten used to in
the richer southern part of
Bali. But there was a special
feeling to all the proceedings,
it was truly a sacred moment.
And the there was a wonderful
fierceness to the Baris Presi
dance that was offered to the
gods that afternoon.

36. 2 5 . LOT U S S T E P S
During the 2010 Bali ‘happening’ Gerebeg
Aksara in Mas in which various Balinese
high priests, intellectuals and performers
gathered to both celebrate and revive
the sacred in the arts, Bali’s de facto poet
Laureate Cok Sawitri arranges lotuses in
the path of a pedanda Brahmin high priest.

38. 2 6 . S E E K I N G TA K S U
A wayang wong performer in Mas con­
templates the mask he is about to don,
becoming one with the character of the
mask and the role he is to play. When a
character has spirit, when a painting
‘comes to life’ it is said to have taksu,
something akin to divine inspiration.
2 7. WAYA N G WO N G
Taken about twenty years ago in
Mas, the wayang wong (the ‘human
wayang’) performance continues to be
an integral part of the annual odalan
temple ceremony of Pura Taman
Pule to this day. They perform in
anticipation of the arrival of the gods
who arrive in procession. This dancer
for me encapsulated the energy and
style of wayang wong.

39. 2 8 . AG E M
In all traditional Balinese dance, the
combination of gesture and posture,
known as Agem, is most important as
both a statement of the reaction and
as a description of the basic character’s
attitude. When a discerning Balinese
senses the Agem of a dancer is off, it
doesn’t matter how pretty they are
or how glitzy the stage, it just doesn’t
make it. Even if it is a rustic troupe,
if they have that special ingredient of
inspiration, then it pleases.

40. 2 9. S U T r I
The temple attendants of Samuan Tiga
temple perform the sutri dance at each
of the shrines in the temple prior to the
main ritual, a slow rhythmic dance that
is slightly hypnotic, alternating with
almost anti­climactic pauses before
picking up and moving on.
30. SAMUAN TIGA
The sutri dancers, elderly female
temple attendants, dance their way in a
slow, undulating serpentine line across
the courtyard of Samuan Tiga temple
in Bedulu. Each time they come to one
of the shrines in the entire complex,
they stop and dance especially for the
deity therein. They go around the
whole temple three.

44. 31. PErANG SAMPIAN
The temple of Samuan Tiga is so called as it
was here that 10th century warring parties, in
disagreement over religious beliefs, finally came
together to settle their grievances and forge
peace. The pact basically revolved around the
agreement to worship the three principal deities
Brahma, Wishnu, and Shiva (Tri Murti) hence
the name Samuan (from pesamuan or coming
together) Tiga, meaning three. At one point
during the commemorative ceremony, all the men
in the temple congregation break out into a wild
frenzy reminiscent of the war, bashing each other
with the sampian dried palm leaf offerings.
32. NGrEBEG, MUNGGU
In the village of Munggu, this raucous Ngrebeg
ritual commemorates the return of Munggu’s
soldiers who had been conscripted into the
royal house of Mengwi’s victorious army in a
war with Blambangan in East Java. The soldiers
march proudly around the village with their
spears, and at given spots stop, put their spears
together and fight a mock battle, each side
trying to push the other down. During the
Dutch colonial times, the spears were replaced
with sticks by government decree. But, no
one ever managed to put a stop to the rowdy
spontaneity of the young men re­enacting their
ancestors’ victory celebrations.
3 3 . K E r AW U H A N
The intensity of the trance during the
Pengerebongan ceremony in the Pura Petilan
of Kesiman gets a great much of its spark from
the participation of several Rangda and Barongs.
There is a moment when the Rangda performers
explode into violent trance, and somehow it
triggers the rest of those who go into trance.

45. 34. TrANCE
During the Pengerebongan ceremony
in Kesiman, the tension reaches a
fever pitch which pervades the inner
sanctum of the Petilan temple. When
these young boys became possessed,
it was a spine tingling moment. I felt
as galvanized as they were, and started
shooting that same split second.

47. 35. PENGErEBONGAN
Despite the Pengerebongan ceremony
being classified by some as Bhuta Yadnya
or sacrificial ceremony for the lower
realms, there is a large part of it which
revolves around ancestor ritual, as
in many such ceremonies in Bali.
Here priests enact the role of various
figures from the past related to the event
that Pengerebongan commemorates, even
donning the costume of the time.
3 6 . K I N TA M A N I S H A D OW
Pura Batur, or Batur Temple in
Kintamani, being one of the most
important temples on the island, has
a huge inner forecourt. To access it,
one has to pass through an enormous
Candi Bentar or split gate. This was one
of those magical moments that caught
me as I stumbled into the temple just
as these women were carrying their
offerings to the inner court. Sometimes,
I think this picture just took itself.

48. 3 7. K I N TA M A N I E L D E r
For me, the people from the Kintamani
area in the mountains of the northeast
are, in a word, intense. When I was
shooting a ceremony up on the peak­
top temple Penulisan, these men came
out shoring up this one old pemangku
priest. For one long minute as this old
man stared at me, it was difficult to tell
which one of us was the stranger in
this world.

49. 38. BELANTIH CErEMONY
On the ridges running south and south
west from Kintamani are a series of villages
whose traditions and beliefs are older than
south central Bali’s Majapahit­influenced
culture. I happened on this village ritual in
the area of Belantih, and to be honest never
really got a proper explanation. But what
really struck me at the time was all these
mountain girls wearing rembang shoulder
cloth which traditionally comes from an
area called Rembang in Central Java. As this
was taken in the early 1980s, my conjecture
is that it had some specific history other
than someone buying bulk fake rembang
from some enterprising travelling salesman.

51. 3 9. A L A S S A r I
Tucked into a small but thick patch
of secondary forest right off the busy
highway from Tampaksiring to Kintamani,
this temple and its ceremonies are still
mercifully unknown to the stampede of
tourist buses that charge up and down that
route. The pemangku priest whose matted
hair is bound up in a kind of turban,
though still young, seems plays a special
role here as some kind of intermediary
between the divine and our world. Here
he hands down the sacred Barong Belas­
belasan masks to be donned by devotees
who will head a procession that will
tour the area for a few days, blessing the
villages they pass with their presence.
4 0 . B A r O N G B E L A S - B E L A S A N
Up in the mountains of west Bali during
the month of Galungan, the sacred Barong
masks, including the multi­character
form called Barong Belas­belasan, travel
through the area, staying at various
community temples on their journey.
The purpose is to both bless the region
and, secondarily but importantly, to
collect donations. At this gathering, in
which all the barongs from the entire
traditional area come together, this lone
human face almost blends in with the
other characters.

52. 41 . A r O N G B E L A S - B E L A S A N
B
S E B AT U
Closer to my home in Ubud, in Sebatu
a set of Barong Belas­belasan marches
through the town, inserting a touch of
the sacred into what has become one
long row of tourist shops. I was just
as intrigued by the grizzled face under
the mask as I was by the mask itself.

53. 4 2 . A r O N G L A N D U N G
B
S I N G A PA D U
Obviously the most anthropomorphic of
all the forms of Barong on the island, the
Barong Landung (literally Tall Barong)
come in the form of a pair: a dark male
figure representing a Balinese king and a
white female representing the daughter
of a Chinese advisor to the court who
became the king’s second wife after his
first wife passed away. They never had
any children—some legends say because
she was barren, others because they spent
so much time discussing philosophy that
they never properly consummated their
marriage (I’m a little sceptical). Whatever
the case, it is said that she brought joy
back into his life. Somehow they are
always bringing a bit of joy into the lives
of people with their slightly comical dance
when they tour villages.

55. 4 3 . PA DA N G DAW E
Up in the mountains around Apuan
and Padang Dawe during the month
of Galungan, the sacred Barong and
Rangda, representing good and evil,
go on a special tour through the
area, staying at local temples on their
journey and blessing the region. Here
they all come together at Padang Dawe
for the final ceremony. I was lucky
with my timing this particular time
about twenty years ago—it was an
impressive sight to see this kilometres
long procession come marching into
the ‘finish line’ at Padang Dawe.
44. PUAKAN PrOCESSION
A procession of gods makes its way
down through the village of Puakan
back when there was no asphalt.
The lulls in the gamelan music where
filled in by the sharp clacking of the
barong’s teeth. This particular barong
is in the form of a tiger. Once upon
a time, a century or so ago, tigers
roamed the mountain forests of Bali.

56. 4 5 . A r O N G I N
B
THE rICE FIELDS
A village Barong procession makes
its way through rice fields near the
Tirta Empul temple in Tampaksiring.
Though nowadays people tend
to hire trucks to take their local
barong to ceremonies, for some
village Balinese who are still fit and
nimble it is still more convenient,
and perhaps even faster, to simply
cut down through the valleys and up
the other side rather than try and
organize people to get into the truck
and drive the long way around.

57. 46. PENULISAN
Several gamelan troupes, distinguished
by their uniforms, converge on the
hundreds of steps on the way down
from Penulisan temple. One of the
most animated forms of Balinese music
is any kind of procession music with
drums thundering away, interspersed
with crashing cymbals and persistent
handheld gongs. Despite each one
seeming to be in their own world,
Balinese musicians pride themselves
in the precision of their syncopation.
47. S A K E N A N
In the days before the causeway
linking the mainland to the island
of Sakenan, popularly known to
tourists as Turtle Island, the annual
procession to the temple there was
scheduled according to the tides.
We will probably never see this sight
again, nor the boats laden with
devotees making their way through
the mangrove.

60. 4 8 . B AT U K A r U T r A N C E
At a certain point during the
annual odalan at Batukaru temple,
the forecourt erupts into mass
trance. To the onlookers, it has
all the trappings of wild party as
various spirits and gods possess
the trancers. A whole spectrum of
emotions emerges, from ecstatic
dancing to fierce displays of wrath,
and famously even animal trance.
4 9. AT U K A r U r E F L E C T I O N
B
Women perform the pendet in
the mountain temple of Batukaru.
This greeting dance, offered to
gods when they are ensconced in
temples during rituals, is reflected
in a puddle after massive downpour.
They reminded me of birds taking
flight after a rainstorm.

61. 5 0 . B ATA r A T E D U N , B AT U K A r U
The most important figure during the
Batukaru festival is when this particular priest
is possessed by one of the ancestral gods who
represents a kind of leader of the local gods.
His arrival in the forecourt triggers a wave
of trance amongst the devotees present. At a
given point, once seated on the main pavilion,
supplicants come forward to ask his advice on
important matters concerning the community.

62. 51. TrANCE
A young woman erupts into trance at the
village temple of Tejakula in northeastern
Bali. Curiously enough, most of the people
present were almost blasé about it, and
finally turned to her as she began to collapse
to prevent her from hurting herself. In
general trance seems to be more of a south
and central Bali phenomena, although of
course it’s not unknown in other parts of
Bali. I was just surprised that she seemed so
isolated, nobody else had followed suit.
5 2 . E D U N ,
T
TA N DJ U N G B U N G K A K
This temple in Tandjung Bungkak in what
used to be the outskirts of Denpasar has long
had a reputation for being spooky. It was not
until I attended an odalan ceremony there
that I understood why. The trance I saw
built up over a couple of hours (although not
on the same scale as the one in Pura Petilan,
for example) had deep intensity to it, all
the more so as it happens at night. Women
dance around the courtyard carrying incense
burners as a group of temple priests sit on
the main bale dressed in period costume,
invoking the ancestors until suddenly they
arrived, possessing not only the priests but
some of the devotees as well.

65. 5 3 . PA K S E B A L I
Every Kuningan in Paksebali, history is
re­enacted with a brutal emotional reality
that reflects the pride of what was at once
an agrarian but also martial culture. The
palanquins bearing ancestral gods are first
brought down to the river to be ritually
bathed, then on the way back there is a
frenzied battle outside the temple. With
dozens of men shoving and pulling each
jempana or palanquin, things get out of
hand quickly. Getting into the fray to
take pictures has its own risk. I paid for
this shot when someone shoved me from
behind and ended with the bamboo pole
grazing my nose and just missing my eye.
Though the wound was very slight, the
blood flow was impressive—my offering to
the spirits for this shot.
5 4 . P E r A N G D E WA
During the frenzy that accompanied the
perang dewa trance in Paksebali, some
really archetypal images flashed before
my eyes. I couldn’t resist this Christ­like
moment as the dusk started to swallow us
all up—the watchers and the actors.

67. 55. TWILIGHT TrANCE
During the Perang Dewa ritual some of
the men in trance put up a huge fight,
resisting being pulled into the inner
sanctum with inhuman strength. It can
take up eight people to drag and shove
them in. It took about five tries to finally
get this possessed bearer in the gate.
56. THrOUGH
During the Perang Dewa, there are certain
designated men who bear krisses. Though
not violent, they are in trance nonetheless.
Fortunately they enter into the jeroan
inner courtyard of the temple on their
own steam.
5 7. L E M PA D ’ S A S H E S
Part of the rites for dead in Bali will
always include a moment when the ashes
of the deceased, or in another phase of
the rites the ashes of his or her effigy,
are gathered and crushed by the family.
For a while in the early 1970s, i lived in
the pondok (outlying hut) in the rice
fields where Lempad used to get away
from the hustle and bustle to draw. These
were the hands of his family—and the
watch was my favourite; the fact that it
didn’t work was ultimately symbolic to me.

69. 5 8 . K I D ’ S C r E M AT I O N G A M E
Balinese children learn by imitating,
and they have fun doing so. Back in the
1980s children didn’t have lots of fancy
toys; they made do with what they had.
My own children did the same—they
would disappear after school and come
back at sunset, but the neighbourhood
always knew where they were. And we
always knew they were being creative,
making toys and inventing games.
What a privileged childhood they had.
5 9. B AC K O F T H E B U S
This is one of the earliest images I shot
in Bali. In the 1970s, this bus was the
only regular transport between Ubud
and Denpasar. It was slow, with plenty
of time for conversation. It is now
gone, along with many memories of
another time, another spirit.

71. acknowledgements
This book spans over three decades of work in Bali, and I fear that I will not be able to mention all of the many
friends, both Balinese and not, who over these last thirty years have encouraged me, given me insights, pro­
vided information, and who have simply made it possible for me to be at the right place at the right time. To
mention just a few: I Gusti Made Sumung (son of Lempad) who not only provided my first real dwelling in
Ubud but also many mischievous insights into Balinese character; John Darling whose love of the “real” Bali
was infectious and dragged me up to Batukaru my first time, crammed into an old bemo with three quarters
of Gusti Made Sumung’s clan and their offerings; Lorne Blair who shared his lenses and vision; Ketut Budiana
whose persistent awareness of the unseen was always so delightfully balanced by his wry humour regarding
the visible; Diana Darling for not only pointing out my favorite Calonarang to me that night but also for giving
me valuable feedback (and proofreading); Made Wianta who got me up to Padang Dawe and Apuan and always
believed I knew what I was doing with my cameras; my old boss at the Bali Post, the late Raka Wiratma, who,
with a big smile, gave me my first media job and plenty of rope after I spent half an hour pointing out the faults
in the English edition of the Bali Post in 1980, the job gave me a great excuse to go out and shoot and shoot Bali;
Cristina Formaggia who lived and breathed Gambuh, inspirational to the very end; Gusti ‘Pekak Balian’ of Ta­
man whose doses of fiery medicinal arak and bone crunching adjustments were always accompanied by mirth­
ful tales of witches and warlocks; Made Wijaya whose passion for the drama in Bali made those underpaid days
at the Sunday Bali Post so interesting; to the team at Afterhours who kept the faith but stayed practical too.
There are many more of you who have helped me, and if I have not mentioned you all it is solely due to a failing
memory and not a lack of appreciation. To you all, and especially to the people of Bali, this book is our book.
rio helmi
Born in Switzerland in 1954 to an Indonesian diplomat father and a Turkish mother, Rio’s childhood and
youth was spent living in the various countries where his father was posted: Switzerland, Australia, and
Germany as well as visiting many countries in Europe and Asia. After finishing school, more voyages lay in
store: Rio traveled across Asia by land, and lived in India for a year. After several years in Australia where a
childhood interest in photography was rekindled, Rio moved back to Bali, Indonesia in 1978. He now divides
his time between Bali and India.
Rio has been capturing images of Asia since 1978, constantly adding to a richly textured portolio that cel­
ebrates the region’s people and places, contemporary lifestyle and Mahayana Buddhism. Now one of Asia’s
leading photographers, his work is often seen in books, magazines and documentaries. Shows of Rio’s
still photography have been held in Bali, Jakarta, Madrid, Miyazaki, Palo Alto, San Francisco, and Sydney.
From 1978 to 1983, Rio worked as a photographer/writer and associate editor in the Indonesian media (Bali
Post, Mutiara, Sinar Harapan). Most of the stories focused on isolated ethnic groups and remote tribes from
around the Indonesian archipelago. From 1983, Rio has freelanced for many regional and international mag­
azines (Asiaweek, Geo, Harper’s Bazaar, The New York Times, Seven Seas, Tempo, Time, Vanity Fair, Vogue and
others) as well as providing commercial material for a wide range of clients (aerials, hotels, fashion, industr,
etc.) including the Aman group, Bulgari, John Hardy, Hyatt International, and Ritz Carlton.
Since the late 1980s, Rio has been involved in book publishing. These include amongst others, Borobudur: A
Prayer in Stone (Times Editions, Singapore), Malaysia: Heart of Southeast Asia (Editions Didier Millet, Singa­
pore), Offerings: the Ritual Art of Bali (INI, Bali), Bali Style [sole photographer] (Thames & Hudson, Times Edi­
tions, Singapore), River of Gems: A Borneo Journal (INI, Bali), Made in Indonesia (Equinox, Jakarta). Currently,
he is working on a retrospective portfolio of Bali over the last twenty years. He has a gallery in Ubud, Bali
exhibiting his private work.

73. Memories of the Sacred is a photographic
essay of ineffable moments in Balinese
ritual. Compiled over decades, many of
these images document scenes that live
only in memory, as modern development
changes the physical face of Bali.
Rio Helmi—an Indonesian photographer
who has lived closely within Balinese
society since 1978 and is fluent in the
Balinese language and intimate with
ritual lore of the island—says of Balinese
religious ceremonies, “Visually elaborate
as these events are, the most intense
junctures during these moments are
human ones. At some point there can
come a shift, a transition from an
everyday identity to something beyond,
and from the divine to the everyday.”
It is these moments that have been his
research as a photographer and that give
this collection its special power.