I can tell my relationship with Bali is not at its best, from the way I don’t make the effort to stop and take photographs how I did before.
“Done, not done”, is how I describe to myself the feelings I now have. Kinda like when, after a fight with a loved one, there’s a hesitance during further interactions –– unsure if it’s safe to trust, still weary with the memories of what happened.
I’m torn between the things I love about Bali, and the things I don’t align with. And though I know that none of those are personal –– it’s simply just the way things are –– I still can’t help but feel betrayed, as out of place as this feeling might be.
Waking up to the truth, rather than the romanticized ideals that carried me in the past, is painful.
Do I know too much?
What once was a peaceful land with a beautiful people has now become a nuanced place, no different than the city i grew up in, plagued by the same issues of modernity.
In fact, I recently had a moment in which, if I focused my perception just right, I could very well see parts of Mexico in the urban landscape of Bali. Despite the differences in architectural details, lots of buildings are build quite similarly, are left unfinished the same way –– graffitied, unpainted –– next to empty lots with overgrown plants and abandoned construction materials.
As bleak of a visual as this might seem at first, I believe it’s crucial for me to develop a healthier relationship with this place. Looking at it through rose-tinted glasses does nothing but perpetuate the narratives that have caused Bali so much damage since colonial times.
This is in part why I struggle so much with the photographic work I’m doing here, trying to honor the richness of Bali without glossing over the rougher edges.
I believe that, to truly love something, one must learn to love all aspects of the object of our love –– the beautiful and the ugly –– otherwise said love becomes conditional.
I’m deeply aware of my position as a foreigner in this land. As welcomed as I’d like to believe I am, I’m but a guest. As such, for me to point out to my host what’s wrong with their home is nothing short of wrong, even when my intentions feel right. By doing so, I’m perpetuating the centuries-old tradition of privileged elites coming and saying “Bali is over” –– not so different to how the Spaniards did in my own country and the rest of Latin America during conquest times.
If anything, the way I feel about Bali is clearly dictating an ending to my work here. Having accepted this, I now find myself trying to make sense of it all. Releasing the sculpture out of its marble prison, in a sense.
Now that my wife and I are soon leaving Bali, I trust the distance will help provide a new perspective that will help me progress forward towards finishing Strange Visitations.