Loyal artists: For the past 46 years, Wayan Renbyok and wife Ni Ketut Asti
have worked together making traditional Bali Aga jewelry.
A goldsmith family from Budakeling in Karangasem, Bali, may be further evidence of the existence of genetic memory.
New scientific research suggests events of the past can be locked into DNA; for this family, history may be handed down in their fingertips.
For centuries, the family has crafted the gold relics used in Hindu religious practices, and while they have tried to teach outsiders the skills, “the hands of the smith are different because we learn in the womb — it’s in our genes,” says Made Lestu.
Since his birth, Made has heard the rhythmic tok-tok of his father’s goldsmith hammer beating into silver and gold the filigree flowers symbolic of his religion. He watched in awe as his father prayed and sought auspicious days to begin making the golden crowns of priests, while nearby his mother magically formed golden flowers used in temple dances and cremations.
Made’s parents, 76-year-old Wayan Renbyok and 65-year-old Ni Ketut Asti, are master goldsmiths, who, like their son, learned at the knees of their fathers and grandfathers.
In Wayan’s hands are the delicate goldsmith tools of a master, crafted last century by his grandfather and passed down generation to generation. One day they will come to Made.
For the past 46 years Wayan and Ni Ketut have, seated side by side in their family workshop, maintained the goldsmithing traditions needed by the Bali Aga of nearby Tenganan village.
Ketut had met her husband in their village and set up home. His family were comparatively new to the area, arriving in Budakeling little more than a century ago.
According to cultural law, Bali’s ancient Bali Aga communities must use solid gold jewelry in their religious practices, and each design follows a form that dates back more than 700 years to the Majapahit empire.
The goldsmith families of Budakeling have been crafting these religious relics for hundreds of years, explains Ni Ketut.
“My mother sold the jewelry in the market and I learned from my father. Our family was sent by the King of Kamasan centuries ago here to Budakeling to make the religious jewelry. The people here did not have goldsmiths and every area needs us,” says Ni Ketut, whose family was one of the earliest to leave goldsmith center Kamasan for Budakeling.
Working with solid gold, rolled out almost pastry-thin, Ni Ketut forms the flowers and butterflies worn in headdresses, each flower atop a tiny handmade spring that allows it to dance with every movement.
“I like making the flowers — that’s my specialty. In the past, I have made rings and necklaces, but only sample pieces. My husband, Wayan, does the fine detailed work. Mine are the flowers, traditional bangles and headdresses for the Bali Aga in Tenganan,” says Ni Ketut.
Beside her is her workbox, an Aladdin’s cave in miniature, filled with shimmering gold flowers and precious stone-laden headdresses worn in Bali Aga ceremonies and handed down generation to generation.
However, all that glisters in her workbox is not gold. A thin layer of gold foil is rolled and pressed onto the headdress and bangle brass backings, inlaid with flower motifs. “This is to keep the price down. Because these are for religious use, the gold must be pure — we can’t use gold plating for these pieces —but we can layer solid gold foil over brass. We do that for the bracelets and headwear,” says Ni Ketut of the weighty bracelets that if solid gold would cost a king’s ransom.
The crowns or mahkota of priests are another matter entirely; these are pure gold cast into the shape of wings that fly from crowns that stand almost half a meter tall and weigh more than half a kilogram.
“I have to pray for the difficult or holy work before I begin. If the praying is good and the aura is good the result will be perfect,” says Wayan of the crowns that can take two months or more to craft.
It seems strange that even after centuries the Bali Aga are dependent on outsiders to craft their precious jewelry used in weddings, religious practices and ceremonies.
Works of wonder: The workbox of goldsmith Ni Ketut Asti is a miniature treasure trove.
“The people of Tenganan never learned to make the gold jewelry. In Bali, we have villages of specialists to make this called Pande Mas — or goldsmith village. People here are the masters.
Other people don’t have the skill,” says Wayan, who, despite being almost blinded by cataracts, can still feel his way around a delicate silver bowl, tapping out in intaglio the symbols of Hinduism.
“In the past we took people to Tengenan to make the jewelry, but no one wanted to learn. Our village is close enough that it’s not needed and they don’t have the hands for this work.”
The evidence of his former sighted skill is in the jewelry worn by Ni Ketut. On her fingers are the rings made by Wayan; his earrings adorn her ears and she wears one of her favorite pieces, a ruby necklace, with pride. “Yes, I have made her surprise gifts of jewelry over the years,” smiles Wayan, the romance of their half-century together still twinkling in his eyes.
Ironically, Ni Ketut and Wayan rarely wear gold, “because we see it all the time — it’s work,” says Wayan, who is currently waiting for cataract surgery so he can again take up the goldsmith tools his family’s genetic code taught him to use long before he was born.
Photos by J.B. Djwan
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