I attended the Roots exhibition in Bali, followed by a documentary screening and a powerful panel discussion. The evening traced the legacy of Walter Spies, a German artist who lived and worked in Bali in the early 20th century, and whose influence on Balinese art continues to ripple across the island today.
Michael Schindhelm’s docu-fiction film ROOTS (impression) doesn’t shy away from complexity. One phrase stood out: Spies preferred “Bali Mama over Euro-Papa.” He left Europe behind, searching for something else, perhaps refuge, perhaps inspiration. But as the documentary and discussion made clear, he didn’t leave behind his Western gaze.
A poignant example is his role in transforming kecak, a trance ritual once embedded in ceremony, into a staged performance for tourists. He even encouraged solo dancers, shaping how kecak would evolve as a spectacle. You could say he enabled creativity. But also, it reflects a colonial logic: decontextualizing spiritual practice, separating it from its sacred origins, and repackaging it for foreign consumption. That tension, between exchange and extraction, is one of the central questions the exhibition raises.
Cultural scholar Prof. Wayan Dibia emphasized the importance of further researching Spies’ influence, especially through archives in Europe. “To complete his contribution,” he said, noting that understanding how Westerners have shaped Balinese performance is crucial, especially now. With Bali under pressure again, this time from mass tourism, and more recently Russian influence, it becomes more urgent to understand how foreign presence works, and how to stay rooted through it.
Generational nuance in the discussion
Artist Made Bayak, one of the curators, reflected on how this project made him revisit Spies not just as a historical figure, but as a kind of new energy, one that artists today must reflect on critically. “We can’t just romanticize the past,” he said. “We also have to think about how to keep Bali alive.” That includes environmental concerns, like the island’s water sources, and historical ones, such as acknowledging the trauma of 1965, when members and supposed sympathizers of the Communist Party of Indonesia (PKI) were targeted and slaughtered. He noted how few artists dare to speak of this taboo.
There was a noticeable generational nuance in the discussion. While Prof. Dibia and ARMA founder Agung Rai offered spiritual, integrative perspectives, the younger panelists, Bayak and activist Gus Dark, spoke more urgently and critically. They weren’t in disagreement, but perhaps more insistent. “We don’t need more discussion,” Gus said. “We need more action.” He spoke about how development, especially post-pandemic, is spinning out of control. His plea: to preserve places like Spies’ old studio in Sidemen, where artists once gathered. “Without protection,” he said, “it will vanish. And it’s not just about memory, it’s a cultural fingerprint.”
And yet, the atmosphere was not defeatist. All panelists agreed: Bali’s roots are strong. The question is: how long can they withstand global influence? “We need to give those roots good soil,” said Bayak, “and come with the right attitude.”
The process of balinization
Prof. Dibia’s words echoed that spirit: “We don’t want a frozen tradition. We want a culture that is alive without rejecting outside influence.” He described this as balinization: a process of transformation, not imitation. It reminded me of one of the most generous gestures of the evening: the idea of naming a street in Ubud after Walter Spies. Not to glorify him uncritically, but to acknowledge the complex exchange between local and foreign that has long shaped Balinese identity.
Agung Rai’s reflections were also striking. He spoke about building the ARMA Museum after traveling the world and realizing what Bali needed wasn’t a high-rise or global luxury, but a space for local cultural continuity. “If something is missing, create it,” he said. That praxis, turning awareness into action, is a beautiful decolonial gesture in itself.
He also spoke about the deep knowledge passed down through home education, rooted in self-awareness, family, and ritual, not just formal schooling. In a world obsessed with speed, quantity, and linear progress, this commitment to depth and ancestral wisdom is quietly radical.
And Gus ended with a Balinese perspective on karma. “We are welcoming to others because of karma,” he said. But he also reminded us: when needed, Bali can respond. He pointed to the backlash against the 2020 pornography law and the swift response of local artists and the government. “We have experience facing global change,” he said. “We adapt, but we do not lose ourselves.”
In a world where coloniality still shapes how stories are told, resources are used, and cultures are consumed, this event reminded me that real resistance doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it listens, holds complexity, and grows new roots from old soil.
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