Primitive Travel Log

#1 - "PREFACE" Glen Joffe

2009-06-23T20:50:00Z

We invited two of our employees – Joe and Suzanne - to join us on a buying trip in December. The trip was tentatively scheduled to bring us to Nepal, India, Indonesia and China. Tibet made it in there unexpectedly before the four of us met up in India.

The following blogs were written by Suzanne. They capture the spirit of a buying trip, and hopefully some of the charm and allure behind PRIMITIVE.

And so I begin...

"OUR MUSE WONDERING WHAT THE TRIP WILL BRING"

#2 - "FIRST ASSIGNMENT" Suzanne Willey

2009-06-23T20:47:00Z

January 2, 2009

This time of year, Delhi is enveloped with fog. It hangs in the air all day, and at night enters into the hotel lobby. Like Chicago, it's winter, but it's not a Chicago winter. The evenings are cool, not bitterly cold, and the four of us wear jackets.

I only arrived yesterday, New Year’s Day. Glen, Claudia, and Joe had begun the trip much earlier. Glen left for China. Claudia and Joe traveled to Kathmandu and Tibet. We all met up in Delhi and plan to stay here for a few more days.

Today, Joe and I received an assignment and we set out for Old Delhi. It was created before the British invaded and has remained untouched, growing organically through the centuries. Our destination within Old Delhi was an area called Chandi Chok.

"WINDING OUR WAY THROUGH OLD DELHI"

Old Delhi is the antithesis of everything Western, a jungle of narrow streets and piles of buildings. If you squint to narrow and blur your vision, it could be Venice on a cloudy evening; but it’s not. Our attempts to get directions were thwarted by a lack of language and street signs. My first day on the job and we were lost.

"LOST"

#3 - "GLEN JOFFE ON FINDING NICE THINGS"

2009-06-23T20:46:00Z

January 3, 2009

"PLAQUE AMULETS"

“We’ll just have to look harder.”

We’re looking for a feel. Or, is it, we’re feeling for a feel? We are sorting through hundreds of silver plaque amulets in one of Delhi’s obscure markets. Claudia notes, “They’re not as good as they used to be.” Glen looks up and adds, “We’ll just have to look harder.” After a long time, we end up picking out 147 for further consideration.

Joe, now a Primitive sales associate, used to be Mr. Dudak’s restoration assistant. He has been temporarily re-routed to his original position and polishes the amulets with powder toothpaste so we can examine them more closely. Surrounded by ropes of coral and turquoise, gems begin to emerge.

With heads bowed we all mumble “Yes,”“No,” “This is nice,” “Do you like this? I don’t.” It is a religious exercise. We believe in this material and our selections reflect our deepest sentiments on beauty. I feel honored to be entrusted to such a task.

#4 - "THE QUESTION" by Suzanne Willey

2009-06-23T20:44:00Z

January 3, 2009 Afternoon

"SERIOUSLY HEAVY BLING"

Later, in Old Delhi I am wearing diamonds so big and heavy I announce, “I need to go to the gym so I can lift my ring.” Claudia laughs and says, “That’s going in the blog.” Over lunch (chicken masala, dosas, and rice) we see bag after bag of diamonds. Without warning the power goes out and Glen, smiling, rhetorically asks, “Who would think this is possible?” I understand. Here in Old Delhi, two worlds converge. Outside of the cramped, gem flooded room where we’ve become holed up; a buzzing world is going about its daily business.

Here, rich and poor walk the same streets. It’s possible to gaze upon intense poverty and unimaginable wealth in the same instant. My eyes see what my head still fails to comprehend.

"WHAT'S HAUNTING YOU?"

At night, I am exhausted. Only Glen has the energy to go outside the hotel for dinner. When we retire to our rooms, it’s late. Before closing my eyes I attempt to reinvent the day’s happenings. I ask myself, “What was unforgettable?” I’ve learned to ask the question from Glen. Sometimes at dinner or during long car rides he’ll ask, “What’s haunting you?” So far, this question remains unanswered.

#5 - "LEAVING DELHI" - Suzanne Willey & Joe Rudy search for Pichvais

2009-06-23T20:43:00Z

January 4, 2009

I swear we spend close to half our energy making travel arrangements. Today, the team has been divided. Glen and Claudia left early this morning for the Himalayas in northern India to investigate the possibility of a Primitive bottled water brand. Joe and I remained in Delhi for a leisurely breakfast. Afterwards, we flew to Rajasthan, one of India’s most colorful states, hot on the trail of a collection of paintings called Pichvais.

"THAR DESERT: SUN, SAND AND NO SURF"

Rajasthan is home to the Thar Desert. It’s dry and warm, vastly different than Delhi. During the taxi ride to the hotel, we rolled down the windows to let the wind kiss our cheeks. It was a far cry from the crowded corridors of Old Delhi. Despite the litter, I kept thinking it’s beautiful here.

"I THINK IT'S BEAUTIFUL HERE"

#6 - "KNOWING WHERE NOT TO LOOK" - Claudia Morgan reveals secret

2009-06-23T20:41:00Z

January 5, 2009

"A PICHVAI SHOWING KRISHNA THE GOD OF LOVE"

I’ve learned things rarely go as planned, especially on buying trips. Joe and I searched for Pichvais all day and returned to our hotel with nothing. We went where we were directed and came up empty-handed. The only thing that remains conclusive is we are in the wrong place.

"KNOWING WHERE NOT TO LOOK"

Claudia reassured me over the phone that this sort of certainty is not without value. “Now, we know where not to look,” she said. I agree; however, the heroic, romantic part of me wanted to report to her triumphantly.

"JOE ASKING A SADHU IF WE ARE IN THE RIGHT PLACE"

Scouting is an art that contains more than just a good deal of luck. One has to be brave, confident, relentless, and perhaps stubborn at times. I believe the necessary attributes are not inborn; they are practiced until they become natural. I must still be in the conditioning phase. I hope my turn comes soon.

"SUZANNE SURVEYING HANDMADE COPPER VESSEL"

#7 - "FOR 500 RUPEES: WHAT IS AUTHENTIC?" - Glen Joffe answers, "It matters."

2009-06-23T20:38:00Z

January 6, 2009; Udaipur, India

Sitting at a vendor’s in Udaipur, I started my personal collection. Among shelves of knives, I spotted a pair of brass tweezers with a peacock on top. It was used to pull wicks from oil lamps so one could avoid getting their hands dirty. I was led to believe it was a tool used and made for royal ladies. While Joe chatted at length with the owner about Damascus steel, I continued to peruse the shelves. I encountered a lidded spoon that was intended to hold charcoal for eye makeup. The lid had a quarter sized mirror attached to the reverse side. I slid the top open and mimicked the way I thought an Indian queen would apply charcoal to her eyelids. Some objects have a way of making it natural to play pretend with the past. When I was about to purchase my find, I asked the vendor if this particular pair of tweezers was actually used by royalty. He scoffed, “Of course not. This was used by someone else. ” My heart sank. I still bought it, but not with the same enthusiasm with which I had found it. Something, something I still can’t define even after reflection, was lost when he told me that. The beginning of my collection was now marred because this piece was not touched by royal hands and did not reside in a royal household. But did this make it an imposter piece?

"AUTHENTIC TAG"

I see now the purpose of Primitive’s “authentic” tags. If you go to the store, you can’t miss them. They are attached to items that have been certified authentic. They do not ensure the use of something by a particular someone. Instead, they give certainty that the piece was not merely created to be sold. The tags state that the object was used or created with the intention to be used by the indigenous people. The majority of the tags have been put on by me. When I started doing the inventory, Glen insisted I do this. I couldn’t really understand why, but I did it because Glen’s the boss. What role did use have in determining authenticity? What does something need to lack to be considered fake? What do those words mean anyway?

"HEY WANT TO BUY A ROLEX?"

I don’t intend to answer my questions, but I do know now it does matter. Something changed in me when I discovered my tweezers had not touched an Indian queen’s hand. But was I any worse for the realization? The piece still looked the same. It was still old. It was still created for the same purpose. In fact, the only thing that had changed was my perception of the owner, but owned it still was. Did the fact it had not pulled wicks in a royal household make it any less meaningful to the person who used it, even if she was not a queen? Was it any less beautiful?

"AN AUTHENTIC CROWN"

"AN AUTHENTIC BELT"

There is a quality to the objects at Primitive that speak to this. They do allow someone to play pretend with the past. Their existence documents the passing of time. In handling one, a person touches history. In owning one, a person owns a part of history. Acquiring such an object allows one to associate them self more firmly with that past, and more so, to carry it into the future. Authenticity and ownership are linked; but today I am unsure how to untie the two.

#8 - "ONE SENSIBILITY VERSUS ANOTHER"

2009-06-23T20:34:00Z

January 7, 2009

"A MAKRANA STONE CARVER"

Today we are exploring carving made from Makrana stone. This is marble which comes from the quarries in Makrana, India. Claudia pointedly notes a difference between Indians and Americans. Because most Americans have not been exposed to this beautiful, pure white marble, they generally don’t understand its rarity and value.

"JOE DELIVERING MAKRANA STONE SLABS"

Makrana marble has three quality levels. The highest grade is pure white and the lowest has dark veins and spots which run through it. The middle is somewhere in between. While many Indians focus on the quality differences in the marble itself, Americans seem to be more concerned with the carving— for example, the fineness of a face or the accuracy of hands.

"MAKRANA STONE"

Generally, I don’t see the beauty in the pure white stone either. I was taught by my mother that flaws are what make things unique and beautiful. Flaws make character. Perhaps Claudia’s theory is right. I am an American. However, if I had to choose between a great carving in pure white Makrana versus the same carving in second or third grade, I’d be at the pure white.

"MAKRANA STONERS"

#9 - "LATE NIGHT STEREOTYPES"

2009-06-23T20:33:00Z

January 8, 2009; Delhi, India (late night blog)

There is a trick to eating alone. Tonight, I learned fast. One must appear confident and more than comfortable. One must be at home. No one tells you that buying trips, along with heavy (i.e., weighing a lot), can also be lonely.

It wasn’t until Sandeep, Glen, and Claudia called me from Jaipur. It has to be confessed, there is something inexplicably lonely about dining alone, especially dinner. Then everyone knows that you’re going back to an empty hotel room. However, I have one saving grace: my age. I’m twenty-one, but can pass easily for eighteen and get mistaken for it constantly. So tonight, instead of invoking sympathy or pity, I merely collected curious sideways glances. That’s fine by me. Buying trips insist that one have a thick skin—for the eyes in restaurants and also for people staring because you look different. Glen and Claudia explained to me, “You’re young, you’re a girl, and you’re a westerner.” It makes sense. Here, I stand out.

"SUZANNE ATTEMPTING NOT TO STAND OUT"

Being a westerner is an isolating factor here. It tends to make new vendors pad their prices and old ones occasionally try to pull a fast one. Glen and Claudia must bargain twice as hard to reach reasonable amounts. Oftentimes, to vendors and the assorted gawkers we seem to attract, where we come from acts as a symbol of our ignorance. Yesterday, when we were buying statues at the carving studios in Jaipur, Claudia, talking about Glen, told a bunch of young vendors, “He won’t accept these prices. He’s like an Indian.” They laughed. They know the stereotype, not only of the naïve westerner, but also of the stubborn, stingy Indian. Sure enough, Glen didn’t accept the prices. He walked away when they wouldn’t budge. Too bad for them, we wound up buying 33 from someone else.

"GLEN WASN'T THE ONLY THING THAT WOULDN'T BUDGE"

#10 - "THE JOURNEY"

2009-06-23T20:29:00Z

January 8, 2009

Joe left to go back to Chicago at 2:00 AM. Right now, he’s probably flying over Europe heading towards Zurich, his layover. Now, without him our biggest problem is: Who will carry the camera? Claudia’s newest Canon gadget weighs about what a three-year-old should. It starts to feel like one too. It constantly needs attention. “Where’s the camera?” “Does it have its lens?” “Has it been downloaded?” “What’s its battery life?” It is the biggest burden Joe donned on the trip and arguably the most important.

When I tell people about my buying trip adventures with Primitive everyone automatically blurts out the same response, “Oh my god! You are so lucky!” And I reply with, “Yes, I am. I know.” But I do believe few people understand the weight of a trip. Not just of the camera or of our bags, but the mental weight too. Yesterday, when we were in Jaipur buying statues, a gang of kids surrounded us and voluntarily became our entourage. They performed for us wanting only high-fives and pictures of themselves in return. They delighted at the sight of their own image reflected back at them. That moment was great. It might emerge at the end of the trip as one of the highlights.

"YOUNGER KIDS"

Afterward I thought about those kids. I’m not sure where they went, but their image will forever be fixed in my head and locked into digital film. And that night, in my hotel room, I reflected on the human side of the story told by the objects presented at Primitive. It is not always evident. Typically, it is left to the viewer’s imagination, but it is there nonetheless if one chooses to imagine. Like a digital record, each and every object tells its story in an endless series of impressions, yet all say the same thing. They have been on a journey. In fact, they continue to be, and so do I.

"MORE KIDS"

#11 - "THE GAME CHANGER"

2009-06-23T20:26:00Z

January 10, 2009

I am surrounded by lingams in a man's house in a centuries old village called Bakawa on the banks of the Narmada River. You can't get here by car. We have come to see how lingams evolve. The man’s name is Sataram and lingams have been his family business for over 400 years. He lives with his wife, two daughters, and a son who is away at school.

"SATARAM'S FAMILY BUSINESS IS OVER 400 YEARS OLD"

His house is simple – an outside kitchen, open family room, and covered bedroom. We climb up to the roof of the house to look out upon the river, the birthplace of lingams. Then we’re invited to see how they are refined.

"VIEWING THE NARMADA FROM THE ROOFTOP"

Walking from Sataram’s house we arrive at a few huts on either side of a path. Sitting on the ground in front of the huts, women polish lingams by hand in long sweeping motions. Inside, men refine their forms.

"THE OLD FASHIONED WAY - BY HAND"

As we walk farther, the village's children begin to collect around us. They hear the clicking of Claudia's camera and soon they are trailing behind. She has become the Pied Piper.

"SURROUNDING ONESELF WITH ONE'S WORK"

Making it down to the banks of the river we climb into a long, flat wooden boat and take seats on simple wooden planks. We are going to the “lingam island” 100 meters from shore to see lingams in their natural state.

"LINGAM ISLAND"

Onboard, Sataram brags, “You can drink this water. The only river in India.” Then he scoops a cup with his hands to quench his thirst. We all politely decline his offer to test the water ourselves.

"YOU FIRST"

The boat pulls up to a rocky shore and is moored by the boatman holding onto the rocks. Two old women and a man get off the boat with their belongings, and although the island is small, within moments they vanish. I ask myself, where did they go and what did they have with them? No one lives on the island. Wondering what to do next, we spot a small hut on the banks of the island off in the distance. Someone is inside.

"CHANTING ON A DESERTED ISLAND"

We decide to investigate and set out to traverse the island. It is difficult as the landscape is a sea of crags. It is like playing hop scotch on mini-mountains with many jagged peaks to be avoided. As we come closer to the hut a sound begins to gather from low among the rocks. We press on.

Sitting cross-legged on bare ground in a lunghi (a simple cloth wrap) and a piece of faded string, sits a Sadhu, a holy man, the sole source of the sound coming from the rocks. He does not move or acknowledge our presence. He just emits a steady drone in a language known only to him. It does not wax or wane or vary in pitch. The words of whatever he chants blend together to produce a single enigmatic sound. Locked in the moment, my head bowed in reverence, I spot a natural lingam half buried in the ground. The marking is exceptionally clear. It is a circle on a rock - my rock! Sataram helps me dislodge it from the earth and with a smile announces what I already know. “A natural lingam,” he proclaims.

"GANESH AND A NATURAL LINGAM"

We come back to Sataram’s house for food. Although Sandeep accepts the fare, the rest of us decline. It’s too dangerous. If we get sick, we could lose a day. I understand, but my stomach is churning with hunger. Eating here is a noisy affair. There are no utensils, just hands. Sataram shovels rice and dal together with flat bread and slurps it up. The noise is impolite but it is still a pleasure to watch him eat. He notices me staring, but doesn't stop.

"SATARAM'S OUTDOOR KITCHEN"

The women, his wife and two daughters stay inside for the feast, but come out for pleasantries at the end. In the meantime, I wonder what it would be like to live in a village. Before departing, Claudia and I go to the bathroom in a blue brick cube in one corner of the family room. Inside, there is no toilet, not even a hole; just a gutter along the side. I am nervous the door is going to fall open so I put my hand on the blue wall for balance. Upon finishing, I notice the paint has rubbed off. I’m not sure village life is for me.

"VILLAGE LIFE"

The car ride back is rocky. I lie down in the back seat, face up. We don't know where we're staying tonight—Indore or Delhi. All of us have secret hopes that we'll get on a plane tonight. I have my doubts. Then Glen discusses the monumental discovery of the day. The government is damming the Narmada River.

"A POTENTIALLY OMINOUS SIGN"

That means the low season will not come again. Lingams will be lost, and the people who depend on them will have to conjure up creative methods to retrieve them from the river. The entire village of Bakawa is being uprooted and sent to higher ground.

"AN OFFICIAL ASKS, 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?'"

Lingams, which I thought were plentiful, which make up part of the bread and butter of Primitive, may become rare. In fact, they will become rare.

"THE DAM"

Glen notes, “This changes the ball game.” And I’m reminded of something I’ve heard him say on numerous occasions: “The magic words in this business are ending or ended.” Lingams I’ve discovered, are somewhere in between.

"RIDING THE LINGAM TO HIGHER GROUND"

#12 - "IN THE KNOW"

2009-06-23T20:23:00Z

January 12, 2009

We are hunting for lingam shrines. We are taking pictures of every one we spot, and there are dozens. Glen and Claudia are doing research for a book they want Primitive to publish on lingams.

"3 COBRAS + 2 GOATS = ?"

A large portion of it will be photos, so the three of us plus Sandeep, Sataram, and our ill-equipped driver are trying to spot every single one we can find along the road.

"ROADSIDE ATTRACTION"

In my journal, I have notes from fifteen shrines and temples where we have stopped. The notes have details about location, inscriptions, and interesting characteristics.

"ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME?"

Each shrine is individual. Some are more elaborate like the pair in Beherogat. It seems like they get a lot of visitors.

"ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD WE FIND THE SECOND HALF TO BHERON"

And then there are the more hard-to-find ones (because they aren't the size of a Volkswagon). I am humbled by their simplicity. These shrines are a part of everyday Indian life. Some are tiny and sweet:

"A SWEET ESCAPE"

We encounter a few that are under the careful attention of a priest. It's comforting to know that even though there are so many shrines none are forgotten.

Others find protection under the shade of trees:

And some even are trees...

#13 - AND THEN WE WERE THREE

2009-06-23T20:20:00Z

January 14, 2009

"SUNSET OVER THE NARMADA RIVER"

The India leg of the trip is over. Glen, Claudia, and I said farewell to Sandeep at the airport.

"A GOODBYE EMBRACE"

I can’t say I feel melancholic about leaving India behind. We’ve gained a few extra pounds and a ton of baggage. A portion of the weight is from the rich Indian food, but there's also the baggage from recent acquisitions, some warm clothing from Claudia’s jaunt to Tibet, literature, receipts, and a few lingams from the Narmada River. And then the heaviest of all: the weight of the experience.

"WE HAVE MORE BAGGAGE THAN SAMSONITE"

We're going to Indonesia, a brand new place for me. I have no idea what I’ll find there even though Glen and Claudia have briefed me. I've seen photos but am astute enough to know that pictures don’t always tell the truth. An adventure excites me. It’s what I need right now to shake me out of my Indian stupor. I’m thankful to have a clean slate, the promise of warm weather, and the unknown.

"GLEN PLUNGES INTO THE ABYSS"

#14 - "IT’S A TRANCE ISLAND"

2009-06-23T20:18:00Z

January 16, 2009

10:30 AM
I showered outside this morning. The air is warm and there’s a light breeze. What could be better? I love this place and am excited about what the day will bring.

"BALI'S BEAUTY"

9:10 PM
After covering a lot of groud, we came back to our villa and were greeted by a bat and a cat. The bat flew in circles around the roof, and the kitty sprawled out on the limestone floor. I was surprised. I’ve never seen a bat so close before that wasn’t in a zoo. I was nervous that it might take a nose dive for my head, but it was a courteous bat and just did a few loops.

"A DRAGON KITE COMING IN FOR LANDING"

Things are different here. Like any good beach town, the island is full of bare-chested and barefoot civilians and lots of scooters.

"BARE-CHESTED BALINESE SOLIDERS"

Life moves at a slower pace. Natives take the time to smile and offer warm-hearted greetings. Taxi drivers close and open doors for you.

"GLEN EXHIBITS THE NATIVE'S POLITE CUSTOMS"

The island is gorgeous too. Gardens act as walls. Their gigantic leaves pop out, robust and varied. The plants stand tall as totem polls.

Their magenta, violet, and yellow flowers are the garden's highlights. Glen and Claudia warned me,“Bali is a trance island.” Sure enough, last night we went shopping for my first sarong after dinner.

Bali’s product is different. My eye had to adjust. I traded marble for lava stone, Hindu for Buddhist, city for jungle, and unimaginable crowding for a more maneuverable environment. Life is easier here--perhaps too easy. One has to remind oneself that after a day of vendors, work still needs to be done. It’s difficult to come back to the villa and not immediately jump in the pool. The air is hot and sticky, but we must answer e-mails, write blogs, download photos, review what we’ve seen and plan before we sleep. Nonetheless, I vow that I will use the pool tonight.

Later, while I'm surrounded by the pool's warm water and the night time's chorus of toads and crickets, I don’t find myself preoccupied with the differences between Bali and India. Instead, my mind reflects on the treasures we encountered today.

"A HYPNOTIST DEMONSTRATES
HOW TO WRAP A SARONG"

#15 - "THERE’S ONLY ONE TRUE INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE"

2009-06-23T20:16:00Z

January 17, 2009

These trips are about stamina and perseverance. It takes time, desire, wherewithal and creativity to find or create good things. Right now, we’re in search of a winner in Batubulan. Claudia and Glen know where to look.

"UNVEILING A WINNER"

They’ve covered this area many times before. Their energy astounds me. It’s hot, sticky and frankly uncomfortable under the beating sun, but we keep going. “Drink plenty of water,” Glen says. It’s a common sense mantra.

"GLEN GETTING BEAT BY THE HEAT"

Buying is like hunting. One has to stalk their prey. When we find something we pause, becoming lions in the grass – staring, staring, staring – evaluating every aspect of the piece.

"CLAUDIA GETS IN TOUCH WITH HER INNER LIONESS"

The questions keep coming. Some answers are measurable, some are not. Is the piece in proportion? Does it have heart? So many questions are asked it becomes dizzying but all are designed to help answer one other question, perhaps the most important we can ask: is this something we can and want to present?

If the answer to the above is yes, then it’s time to pounce. Some times an acquisition can happen immediately; some times it can take days. Regardless of time frame, it always seems to be a well rehearsed dance involving price, payment and schedules.

"CLAUDIA MASTERMINDS THE SHIPPING"

There are so many languages involved – some verbal, some not – that it can become confusing. At one point I asked Glen, “How do you know what he’s saying?” “There’s only one true international language,” he responded, “the calculator.” After watching him, I agree.

"EVEN THE BUDDHA SEEMS TO UNDERSTAND"

#16 - "SEEING VS. BELIEVING"

2009-06-23T20:14:00Z

January 18, 2009

This is getting tricky. It’s hard to not get emotional about some pieces, especially when your eyes tell you something is special. Sometimes, even an underdog will stick in your mind.

"AN UNDERDOG"

You’ll dream about it at night and when you look in the mirror the next morning you’ll vow to your reflection, “We’ll get it. I’ll fight for it.” And you remember that promise. Glen always asks, “Is there anything haunting you?”

Some pieces speak louder than others. They are ‘haunting.’ Their voices can also be annoying. Most of the time, however, when I hear them talk it sounds like my grandfather speaking old, proven wisdom. I have to be careful not to insert my own desire in their voices. I want their message to be pure, unadulterated. I don’t want to embrace them if they’re unwilling. Yesterday, the voices let me down...

We were on our way to see some stone statues for the second time. Each of us had a piece we wanted to see again. While on the way, Komang, our driver, took a short cut on winding back roads when Claudia spotted something unusual. “Stop, stop, stop!” she screamed, and we got out of the car to investigate statues surrounding a roadside house which looked strangely familiar, almost identical to the statues we were going to visit.

Pressing my hands up against a metal gate I yelled, “Hello?” When there was no response, Glen slid the gate open, and we entered the yard. Statues stared at us like the intruders we were. When I peeked into the house’s window I saw more faces. They all wore the same expression. Glen instinctively went to the end of the yard and swung open a flimsy bamboo gate to discover what we all secretly feared – moulds piled high like sarcophagi – wombs from which these statues had sprung.

When we returned to see the statues we had seen before, we did not approach them with our usual enthusiasm and anticipation but instead wore expressionless masks.

"CLAUDIA'S MASK OF DISILLUSIONMENT"

Claudia and I immediately headed for pieces we had secretly given code names, Rocket Launch and Bootylicious. We had even made up songs praising their beauty and uniqueness. Claudia beckoned me close. “Find a nail or something metal and sharp,” she said.

I returned with a chisel. Flashlight in hand, Claudia tilted a statue on its side and chipped away at the bottom. The noise was gritty and light. Slowly, the material turned to grey powder with silver flecks as opposed to chips, what one would expect from stone. I wiped the powder with my fingers. It was clearly too fine to be stone. It was something else, some mixture of materials which had gestated in a mould.

We called Glen over. He repeated the same exercise. I didn’t know what his reaction would be, but he calmly confirmed our finding. Did I feel triumphant? No. Instead, I felt an extreme sense of disappointment the statues had not really come from someone’s “hand.” The voices I had heard may have been memorable, but they were not exactly truthful.

I was also angry my eyes had betrayed me. Glen must have sensed this because he said, “Just be glad we’re not presenting these things. You can be happy we discovered the truth.” Claudia nodded in agreement, and my expression turned into a wiser, more experienced grin.

"SECRET TELLING STATUES"

#17 - "LONGING FOR VALIDATION"

2009-06-23T20:12:00Z

January 20, 2009

"A GREAT EXCUSE FOR A PARTY"

Today, Senator Obama becomes president. People in Indonesia know about him—he lived in Java for awhile. They are excited about him becoming President. They want to know about it, if we are excited to have him as president. Here, half way around the world, there are congratulatory signs in windows and bars are throwing inauguration parties. American politics has become part of popular Indonesian culture.

I will be able to see the inauguration on You Tube or CNN, but that doesn’t compare to being home in Chicago.

"ACCEPTANCE SPEECH IN GRANT PARK, CHICAGO"

Even though I would see it on TV at home, I’m here, and it feels superficial because I’m so far away. In fact, I’m so far away if I go any further I’ll be returning home. I feel like I’m missing one of the biggest events in recent American history, and it won’t happen for another 14 hours.

"STANDING ROOM ONLY,GRANT PARK"

Travel plays with time, while distance plays with longing. Although I’ve adjusted to time differences, my longings have become more complex. I long for the obvious – friends, family, and home – but I also find myself longing to know how people will react to what we’ve purchased this trip. It’s a dilemma – you acquire what you believe is worthwhile and hope the market reacts positively.

I’m scheduled to be home on February 1st, in twelve days. The goods we purchased earlier are beginning to trickle in and although the early response is good, the bulk is yet to arrive. Senator Obama was elected to a great extent on the basis of hope. As his inauguration approaches, I find myself hoping my efforts this trip will not be in vain. It’s a longing, I think, for validation.

"A NEW DAY IN AMERICA"

#18 - "BEING THERE"

2009-06-23T20:09:00Z

January 21, 2009

Caffeine helps. It makes me alert while buying. My eyes dance across objects. My body tells my mind I’m awake. It feels good to be stimulated because the heat is sedating.

Sweat forms on my upper lip, but it’s not from the caffeine. It’s the heat. I have a glittery water moustache. Glen’s shirt absorbs as much moisture as it can before its navy blue turns to black.

"DANCING EYES"

Glen and Claudia move in tandem. Each nod and give consent and updates on where they are. They have developed a well rehearsed rhythm. Glen states, just as often as weather reports, “This is where I am.” ‘Where’ is not a geographic location. It’s a financial, emotional, aesthetic, and at times, metaphysical place. Where is a way to start a dialogue, sometimes a negotiation. Glen and Claudia can be in completely different places, but ultimately, they want to meet at the same ‘where.’

"MOVING IN TANDEM"

I come into the mix and can either act as a chord of discontent or of reconciliation. It varies. It can take days for their where’s to meet, but once they do, or even if they don’t, they must take their collective where to there – the vendor. Where is as tricky a location to get to as anywhere – especially there.

"STILL IN TANDEM"

Where are we right now? We are all staring at a 200 year old painted, carved wood wall. It has scale. It’s complex. It has amazing patina, presence and heart. It belonged to a Toraja family from Sulawesi for 11 generations. We know this because carved into the panel are family names like Pandan, Pongmang and Dadi Lamma.

"CARVED ON A BEAM"

Each generation who lived there had their names carved into the panel and then lived with it for as long as they occupied the premises – a collective total of at least 275 years if you figure each generation at 25 years. Each of us, from the moment we saw it, was there.

"THE WALL"

#19 - "FOR 10,000 RUPIAH: WHAT’S IN A PAW PRINT?"

2009-06-23T20:05:00Z

January 22, 2009

"SOME INDONESIAN PAW PRINTS"

We are flooring it - running to see new people and walking away just as quickly. Two more days and there are still a ton of things to accomplish. We have people to pay, deals to finish, and we’re still opening up “new boxes” as we close old ones. And in the meantime, the mosquitoes are out of control.

"HARDENED MOSQUITO EATERS OF BALI""

We have bites that have turned into welts and sores. Everyday our legs collect more spots. This morning Claudia asked me if I had devised a defense. I answered definitively, “Yes. I sprayed myself naked.” It’s the only chance I stand against them. I must coat my entire body after I shower or I’m doomed.

For dinner we found ourselves at a Japanese restaurant. We were the first customers of the night. Around here, people eat late and we get hungry soon after the sun sets, as soon as there are too many mosquitoes out to continue buying. Our waitress, Mini, immediately knew we were a different breed.

"MAKING AN OFFERING BEFORE SERVING"

Glen asked her what serene translated to in Indonesian. He asked because I wanted to know what he would name the villa he wants to build here. She let out nervous giggles but couldn’t understand our over-emphasized English: “SIR-EEEEIIN” we said slowly, “like calm, tranquil, SIR-EEEEIIN.”

Our food arrived. Plates of eggplant, sea weed, Japanese plums, nigiri, and sashimi collected on the table. We noticed a cat nearby. It was what Claudia calls a tordy – black and brown like tortoise shell. One cat soon turned into three. They slowly collected around the table, patiently looking up with big eyes.

Glen and Claudia gave them some calamari. I sprang up, “Stop that! They’re going to get sick. The staff is going to kick them if they see them begging for food! Oh my god, you guys are terrible!” I had every excuse until I leaned over the opposite side of the table and looked into their eyes. I melted. I couldn’t let them go hungry.

"CHECK OUT THE SMILE ON THIS CAT"

A few hours earlier Claudia made a comment about the cats in Bali: “They all look so tall.” I replied, “I think it’s because they’re so thin. Their legs are skinnier and look longer.” She nodded in agreement. Now, I waited for the staff to turn their backs before attempting to fatten up this small group.

The staff was on to our plan so I discretely passed my last piece of salmon off to Glen. He asked us to misdirect the staff by pointing elsewhere, and as we did he said, “Watch this!” He shot the salmon out from behind him like a discus thrower. It quickly flew through the air and landed directly on a table behind us. We all laughed.

Later, back at our temporary “Villa Serene,” I thought about those cats and began to dwell on the paw print in the Primitive logo. It belonged to Glen’s cat, Margie. He has steadfastly refused to drop it from the logo. He calls it “our good luck,” but I think it’s emblematic of something else that’s quietly evident at Primitive.

The objects presented at Primitive - whether proprietary or original - are treated sensitively, respectfully, reverently, and in a strange way, almost kindly. It’s what I’ve seen this trip and witnessed in the store; however, this attitude extends to our customers as well. I like to think that’s what Margie’s paw print really represents.

#20 - "IT TAKES TALENT"

2009-06-23T20:03:00Z

January 23, 2009

We watched Made “J” mix color for stone. He was giving us a lesson in how to restore damaged pieces. He mixed peka, gambir, and tea in a bucket and added water – his own special mixture of exotic ingredients. The mixture turned plum purple.

"MADE J AND REPTILE"

He took a stone sphere and coated it two times. After the second application it turned brown, charcoal, green, and honey all at the same time. It was obvious this recipe was not made on a whim. It was created and perfected over time. There had probably been dozens of trials until the correct tones with highlights and twinges and tinges had been achieved. This was not an amateur’s achievement. It was the culmination of real artistic experience.

The question now was how we were going to get this information as well as the ingredients home to our restoration department. Made J’s had set up this demonstration specifically as a favor to us, but his English was broken and although we appreciated his willingness to share a lifetime’s experience, he was difficult to understand. His son did his best to translate for us. He explained that the concoction needs to rest at least a day so that it can ferment and become strong. Frankly, we were still lost among the ingredients. His son said he will include instructions along with materials in our container. It’s our only hope to bring this secret to our restoration department.

We left Made J’s workshop and headed north to Mas. It wasn’t a far drive, but it was long enough for Glen to bow his head in the front seat and rest his eyes. He must run on a different battery. He is up later than Claudia and me every night writing e-mails, evaluating material, and talking back home. Occasionally, he’ll ask for a word with a question. One night he asked, “How would you feel if you passed up a Toraja panel and then a few years later realized that you couldn’t get one anymore?” Claudia answered in a second flat, “Haunting regret,” and me, “Disappointment.”

"HAUNTING REGRET"

We understand what Glen means. Toraja house panels are becoming harder to find, not just at Primitive, but in Sulawesi The Torajans themselves are tearing their houses down in favor of more modern structures. When the buildings that are standing are finally weathered away by wind and rain, they will cease to exist. These house panels – in fact, all the architectural details from these houses - lead a life that will soon fade away. Glen does not hesitate to point this out. The value he places on artifacts increases when he knows that their time is limited, especially if they’re meritorious. where they originate.

"ORIGINAL TORAJA HOUSE"

Arriving in Mas, we see our other friend, another Made (naming is a peculiar thing in Bali), who makes tables. He has a sensitive approach to wood and produces works mainly in Suar wood, which is known for its beauty. Its grain swoops and swirls on the surface of the wood. Sometimes it looks like tie dye or a Doppler affect, but one particular table struck Glen as something different: “This table looks like a rib eye steak,” he said. It did. We bought it. It’s astonishing. I have never known wood to have so much soul. I suppose it makes sense. People relate to and feel so strongly about trees; why would a slab from one be so different? This is especially true for Made; he does not consider himself a carpenter, rather, an artist. The name of his workshop appropriately translates as “heart touching wood.”

"ONLY GOVERNMENT FELLED TREES ARE ALLOWED FOR USE"

We had dinner with Made and his wife. She is Japanese, and although she graduated with a Chemistry degree in Tokyo, she has become a well-known textile painter. She used to paint extraordinary kimonos exclusively, but several years ago the kimono market crashed in Japan. Now she is considering other types of textiles, and Glen and Claudia are exploring how to incorporate her talent into the business. We have bought other things from her before, mostly for ideas. Now, everyone wants to move forward by creating exclusive designs.

"MASTER TEXTILE PAINTER"

The couple brought along their youngest son, and we drove to a nearby Chinese restaurant. We passed food around a central tray which zoomed in circles. I was getting slightly drunk from the beer and the swirling tray appeared more vivid because of my altered state. I am not sure if the beer can also be held accountable for my quickness to view these strangers as friends. Perhaps it was the conversation, which was witty, insightful and enjoyable. When they dropped us off at the villa, Made’s wife gave me a hug, smiled, laughed and said, “I love you.” She looked as surprised as I felt. We continued to smile. “Thank you,” I replied, and bowed. Today has been filled with people who are not only extraordinarily talented, but beautiful. I’m sure whatever they produce in Primitive’s name will reflect this too.

"BEAUTIFUL BALINESE GIRL"