Presented during the Indonesia Bertutur 2024 programme, AMRTA is a multimedia installation set against the backdrop of the serene gardens of the Museum Puri Lukisan in Ubud, Bali. The installation is structured around a bamboo framework, incorporating a mechanised system that channels water through hollow bamboo tubes into bamboo arms. These arms, as they fill and empty with water, rise and fall, striking traditional Balinese instruments — the reong and rindik — producing a soundscape that is at once cyclical and atonal. The sound, seemingly random, echoes the complex tonalities of gamelan music, where dissonance and rhythm are traditionally used to deepen the engagement with the unpredictability of the natural world. In AMRTA, the water does not merely flow — it composes and performs. It is playing the music of the Gianyar River.

At the core of AMRTA lies a technological system that monitors real-time environmental data from a river in Gianyar, Bali. This data-tracking the river’s pH levels, carbon content, and temperature — is rendered in the installation’s activity and visible on a vertical screen at its centre. The screen displays a figure from the Calonarang dance, a traditional narrative deeply rooted in Balinese mythology. The dance recounts the story of a widow who manifests in both the human form of Matah Gede and the demonic form of Rangda, the queen of Leyaks. These two polarities in Arsyad’s work mirror the dual potential of the river itself: a source of life and sustenance, yet also a harbinger of danger when it becomes toxic or disturbed by human activity. This duality is not abstract; it reflects the tangible environmental challenges that Bali faces today, exacerbated by rapid development and the erosion of traditional practices like Subak, which is also the theme of this year’s Bertutur festival.

The figure on the screen moves in a dream-like manner, leaving behind traces and echoes of their gestures — sometimes sharply defined, at other times dissolving into the screen’s ephemeral depth. This ghostly presence, accompanied by the intermittent sound of a Balinese chanter, does more than add an eerie layer; it transforms the installation into a site of ritual. Here, in this shamanic, mesmerising whirlpool of sound and movement, we encounter a vital message: Bali’s natural world is fragile, and its cultural fabric demands not only respect but urgent preservation.

For many visitors, accustomed to experiencing traditional Balinese dance as a commodified spectacle in hotels and restaurants, it is easy to forget that these performances are deeply embedded in the spiritual life of the Balinese community. They are not merely aesthetic but are fundamentally acts of cultural and religious significance. As this year’s festival curator, Melati Suryodarmo, points out, transplanting a ritual onto a stage strips it of its inherent meaning. The very allure that draws people to Bali is being eroded by this enchantment-without-understanding.

This erosion has implications that extend far beyond Bali. The preservation of ritual and magic is not simply about maintaining tradition for tradition’s sake; it is about safeguarding the frameworks that allow humanity to orient itself in an increasingly complex and disorienting world. In his seminal work Il Mondo Magico, anthropologist Ernesto de Martino articulated the concept of the "crisis of presence" — a state in which the continuity of self, threatened by the denaturalisation of the world through scientific and technological advancement, begins to fragment, with trees, birds, and subaks slipping away from our reach. De Martino argues that this continuity can be restored through acts of memory, both individual and collective, which are often mediated through ritual and magic. These practices serve as mechanisms for reconnecting with the cultural and historical contexts that give life its meaning — a process that remains a given in Balinese culture but has been largely lost in the Western world.

In AMRTA, Arsyad makes this connection explicit. Moreover, she ties magic inextricably to technology. This relationship is far from a simple juxtaposition. Arthur C. Clarke’s third law — arguably the most well-known of the three — posits that "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”. This law reflects the idea that when technology advances beyond the understanding of contemporary society, it can appear as "magic." We know that magical terminology is embedded within machines themselves, with “wizards” guiding us through unfamiliar software and “daemons” ensuring that programs run smoothly. In the end, the magic of machines and the natural world isn’t so different. Both remain unknown to us and, at times, frightening in their unpredictability, leaving us feeling a profound lack of control.

It is clear that the technology that tracks and visualises the river’s data does not function as a mere tool; it becomes a part of the ritual itself, a medium through which the natural world is looking back at us, demanding to be heard and understood. In this light, the line between the technological and the mystical blurs, revealing a deeper truth: nature’s creations — whether technological or ritualistic — are driven by the same fundamental need to make sense of the world, to find our place within it.

Reflecting on this work, I start to wonder: what if the magic of computers could truly correspond to the magic inherent in nature? Imagine a different kind of computer — one attuned not to the logic of ones and zeros, the binary logic of our, human, vision, but to the systems that govern mycelium networks, bird migrations, and volcanic eruptions. Such a computer, with its new awareness, could recalibrate our understanding of both nature and ourselves.

In this vision, Arsyad’s shaman, dancing to the river’s rhythms, might symbolise a convergence of these worlds, acting as a bridge between humanity’s technological advancements and our need for the deeper understanding of nature. Through this synthesis, we might begin to rethink our relationship with both technology and the environment, considering a future where technology is not merely a tool of control but a means of deeper engagement with the natural world. We can dare to envision a form of technology that could learn from nature's wisdom, integrating its principles into a new kind of digital harmony, and perhaps in doing so, bring us closer to a more sustainable way of living.

Bibliography:
1. Tenzer, Michael. Gamelan Gong Kebyar: The Art of Twentieth-Century Balinese Music.
University of Chicago Press, 2000.
2. McKean, Philip. Tourism, Cultural Identity, and Cultural Survival: The Case of Bali. Cornell
University Press, 1989.
3. Melati Suryodarmo, “Indonesia Bertutur 2024: In Conversation with Artistic Director Melati
Suryodarmo”, Plural Art Mag, August 14, 2024.
4. de Martino, Ernesto. Il Mondo Magico. Bollati Boringhieri, 1973.
5. Clarke, Arthur C. Profiles of the Future: An Inquiry into the Limits of the Possible. Harper & Row,1962.
6. Bridle, James. New Dark Age: Technology and the End of the Future. Verso Books, 2018.
7. Tsing, Anna. The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins. Princeton University Press