Musings

Just thought I'd catch you up to date on what life in Bali is like for our little family. Less than 2 months for go before we reenter the land of Bush, something both Bill and I are dreading (not coming home, but the new Republican era). This week was Nypei, the Balinese New Year, which starts their 210 day calendar off. It is one of my favorite holidays, of all the religions I like to hitch hike on. It starts off with a huge celebration - a wild party - the night before with a big parade of larger then life creatures (much like in Where the Wild Things Are) carried on bamboo stretchers by about 40 young men. They carry the Oga Oga around (about 15 or so different ones in our village) much like the Macy's Day parade, with the intention of making as much noise and hoopla as possible to lure out all the evil spirits for one big party.

Laura Cohn, '88. The Peregrine, Newsletter of the College of the Atlantic Association The privilege to make art full time rarely exists for artists. The need for food, housing and materials requires consistent funds on which an artist must depend during his or her working hours. As a budding artist, I subsidized my art-making by waiting tables. I worked many a moon fearful that diners would notice the cerulean blue Winsor Newton oil paint under my fingernails as I placed broiled lobster delicately before them. Only far away, in Southeast Asia, did I discover a place where I could call myself an artist without feeling the need to justify my words, or be obliged to subsidize my income with a second, distracting job. Also, in Indonesia there were more artists than tourists - and no lobsters.

I want to write about how Indonesia, batik, painting, selling art, living a foreign solitary existence, so many elements of my life have fit together into a harmony right now that has allowed me to produce a body of work that sings.

Laura Cohn '88. The Peregrine, Newsletter of the College of the Atlantic Association, Fall, 1990 I am awakened by urban sounds of children playing, booming Indonesian pop music, televisions blaring, fighting cocks crowing, and the heat and brightness of the equatorial sun. It is a typical work day, with a morning routine similar to that of one of my peers in the United States. I bathe, dress for the office, then sip piping hot coffee as I read the daily paper, struggling with the printed Indonesian word and the minimal four inches of English copy about global events.

Laura Cohn '88. The Peregrine, Newsletter of the College of the Atlantic Association, (date unknown) In the archipelago-country of Indonesia sits the province of Bali, a small volcanic island eight degrees south of the equator. To reach Bali, I fly halfway around the earth, 12 hours back in time, across the dateline into tomorrow. For the third consecutive year I am preparing to leave our Eden to spend the winter and spring on this other, comparably magical and stunning island. My choice arouses people's curiosity and I am constant bombarded with “why Bali?” There is no easy answer.