renovation stage 1

When we began building our house in 2005, the situation was very different to today. Materials were hard to get, skilled builders were rare, we were on a minuscule budget, and our land was held under a handshake lease.  Tom claims he wanted no more than a thatched squatter's hut, whereas I was hoping for something a little more, shall I say, concrete. Nothing fancy like running water or electricity. Just a roof high enough to stand under, a clean floor, and a wall to hide behind when washing out of a bucket.

Today we "own" our land (as far as possible in Indonesia) and feel safer to invest a little more, knowing we won't have to walk away in ten years.  The old toilet has already gone and been replaced by the glorious flushing number, and we have big visions for a full reno of the kitchen/living. 

Stage one began last month. A local friend was knocking it down for free, in return for keeping the bricks and rubble to build a new bathroom at his house (recycling at its best). The work was a bit tough and he only lasted two days. Tom borrowed an angle grinder and made two cuts to isolate the walls, then found a willing worker down the beach, who for an exorbitant price bashed away for the afternoon and brought the lot tumbling down. 

We are now left with a bomb site out the back; so close that we can't get the door fully open. The salvage process is underway, with a pile of bricks relocated at the front gate.  Given the island pace, we have agreed to give our friend fuel money to "borrow" his brother's car, and collect the rubble in one busy bee afternoon.  Hopefully some time before Christmas.

first wall down, one to go

for god's sake

The church bell (a length of metal pipe hanging from a tree) started ringing at 5am, calling all able bodies to help with the task of pouring a suspended slab for the new church. Here was a chance to notch up a few frequent flyer points on god's airline. Almost every person in the village participated in some way, rotating between roles as heat and fatigue took their toll. Tea, water and fried bananas were in continual supply, and a free lunch was served for all. We could hear the yipping and yooing all day, like a twelve hour grand final.  There is no doubt religion has a way of instigating action and forms a strong communal spirit, but the rebuilding of the church to make it grander, and therefore greater in the eyes of god, is a scandalous waste of money in a village that lacks basic services. There is an inter- village rivalry over who can have the most lavish church, and our congregation are determined to have more air conditioners than the neighbours. The alternative could have been a well designed open air pavilion that captured the breeze, but that doesn't speak of wealth, power and progress.

It is estimated to take another five years and billions of rupiah to complete the vision. The cathedral is being built over the top of the old church, and by the look of the watery concrete mix used, it will be danger of collapsing before it is finished. The scaffolding has been up for over two years, and locals volunteer on a rotating roster to slowly erect their monument to the big fella.  

island interior style

Alaia wooden surfboard shaped by Aquaman last summer : see the process here.

Busroll painted by me : I love original busrolls, and although they have become an overused design item, now printed on tea towels with your choice of destinations, the sheer irony that we could ever have a bus with an actual timetable was enough to paint one of my own. 

Sunburst mirror by me : driftwood on ply, made back here

A changing collection of beach love. Plate from Jengalla ceramics outlet, Bali. Antique doily from the op shop in Busselton.

Striped cushion cover made from a tea towel that I burnt a hole in, screenprinted with a teak leaf design and machine stitched. Grey paisley cover from Haveli Interiors, Bali.

Welcome sign found on the road side, tossed into the bush after a village dispute over boundaries.

Moka pot and coffee tin from Venice.

Ceramics from Dayana, Bali

Timber mozaic by me, made from canoe pieces.

Meditation seat beside a collection of beach finds.

Bolster cushion cover screen printed and quilted by me over a few art society afternoons.

Mosaics I made from broken tiles found on the beach, stuck onto driftwood.

Silver boxes (my favourite storage) from Bali.

Hand printed card by Saraswati Papers, Ubud, stuck onto driftwood. Small dish from Jengalla, Bali.

Ceramic butterfly from Erice, Sicily, beside a Balinese hand painted offering box. Painting in the background by Tom.  Kerosene lamp (for regular blackouts) from the local shop.

Assorted photos and cards on my studio peg board.

There is always a creative project on the go in our beach house. Almost all of the furniture and decoration is made by us, or local craftsmen, using found materials and native timber.  Any item brought in from Bali or Australia requires careful consideration to pass the "do I really want to lug this" test.  The closest shop stocking any kind of furniture is over an hour away and specialises in plastic everything, while the nearest Ikea is on the next continent. It is rewarding to create a space that reflects our creativity and life on the island, and we value the time and peace we have to engage in play and artistry. The only challenge exists between our varying desires for minimalism and ornamentation. Tom has told me the new shed is out of bounds for doilies.  

how many men...

...does it take to hang a door?

The architect is on site in his safety boots, high vis and hard hat, offering a little advice on fitting the door jam for the new board room. 

The frame is up and awaiting the delivery of tin for the walls and fly roof. The tank stand is looking on very nervously, aware that it may be overshadowed by the new structure. I am back in Australia for a short visa and hardware run, hoping the toilet will be ready to flush on my return.

office hours

It isn't easy getting work done in a surf camp. There is a continuous stream of "interruptions", starting at 6am with the walking veggie pedlars, then a banana delivery, the building team, and neighbours keen for a cuppa. The kettle is always on and the bamboo blinds open, as every hour is ripe for a casual drop-in.  The idea of work interrupting social interaction or surf is ludicrous. Tides, wind and waves are what matters; just ahead of cold beer (or frozen fruit in our case). The other expats are retired or on short stay holidays, and we wouldn't dare ask "do you mind coming back later, we're working."  It just wouldn't be cricket. Or surf.  

Not that we like to take the whole work thing too seriously. There aren't many offices in the world where you can conduct a meeting where both the architect and client are shirtless, and seated under a coconut palm with an ocean view. The overheads are very low, and the secretary doubles as the tea lady. 

Tom's latest project is a two bedroom, two bathroom villa on an epic headland location. The owner is a young guy of Indonesian/Euro descent, who has freed himself early from the jaws of a mercantile world and joined our evolving community of surf bums. The site is 10 kilometres south of our village, and has a private beach with all day swimming pool. The landscape is wild and rough, with native scrub and sharp limestone rock instead of ordered coconuts and white sand. I love visiting, just to kick around in the leaf litter and pretend it is autumn. Sometimes I even get to hold the smart end of the tape.

art society

The Art Society has recently held its third gathering, and it is anything but an ordinary meeting. Bring your own project, afternoon tea provided.  If you dress to match the colour of your paint you get extra creativity points. The society has a founding band of two, with a guest appearance this week from Mumma Aquaman; a most talented and experienced quilter, seen here hand sewing painfully small triangles into dainty squares.  A local friend was most puzzled as to why anyone would cut up brand new fabric, only to sew it back together again. Fair call I say. I am screen printing new bolster covers, using a mini screen from textile artist Louise Snook, and Linda is drawing coral.  Dad is wandering around the outside, afraid to get too close to secret women's business.  

I began this quilt two years ago and on the odd cold night I have been using it in its half finished state, much to the disgust of my mother-in-law.  She couldn't bare going home without seeing it completed to her exacting standards, and I was more than happy to hand it over. In the absence of an iron, dad was roped in to "finger press" the seams flat before the wadding and backing fabric were pinned on.  I would have skipped over that part, such is the nature of my casual craft.  Thanks mum. 

false start

Remember that beautiful semen minyak layer the boys poured over the slab last week?

It didn't stick.

Aquaman had a lovely time chipping it off, and in the process he created enough texture on the slab for a second attempt. 

dad's little helpers

Like the goats and pigs, the village kids are free-range, roaming around with their friends and siblings, unconfined and safe, with a neighbourly eye never far away.  When the building team were here last week, the kids often called in for a visit, a play in the sand, and if it was market day, a special treat from Mrs Sally, the tea lady.  These are the first generation to grow up with foreigners living nearby, and it is lovely to see them develop each season and gain confidence with the strange white folk in funny houses. 

the new pad

As Aquaman is incredibly busy chasing waves and designing a resort, he contracted our usual building team of brothers to pour the the pad for our toilet and boardroom. There are no building standards here, and water proofing a slab is unheard of. They make them rough and ready, filled with rocks and a weak concrete mix to stretch the expensive cement further. Ours is a hybrid between an Aussie "raft slab" and a local rock footing, mixed by hand and poured one bucket at a time. They don't screed the slab, but trowel it in with string line guides as they go along. It doesn't make for a very neat job, so the final surface is a watery slurry of grey cement and water (semem minyak  : cement oil). It is poured on and troweled lightly, one cup at a time. They continue to smooth it as it dries, progressing to a paintbrush, and a final polish using the paper cement bag.  We are going to seal it with savon noir, a French soap made from the hulls of black olives. Once only reserved for villagers that couldn't afford tiles, the semen minyak technique is being adopted by upmarket villas and restaurants in Bali as trendy "industrial chic".  Remember, you saw it first in our toilet.