ProjectMy Second Life in Tibet
an unlikely collaboration shows how art can cross all borders,in the interests of environmental sustainability
By Arahmaiani Feisal

A young monk in Yushu, China, 2012. Photo courtesy Arahmaiani Feisal.

I never dreamed of visiting Tibet. If not forthe 2010 earthquake in Yushu, I probably
would never have visited the place where
I met the Buddhist monks and lamas withwhom I would then collaborate. Yet, as aconceptual artist with an approach thatemphasizes process rather than product,
creating works that are often dubbed“experimental,” it has become more common
for me to work with disaster situations andminority or marginal communities, rather
than with the art world.
Being Indonesian, brought up in a hybrid
culture—Islam assimilated with earlier
animism, Hinduism and Buddhism—I do
not find it difficult to interact with othercultures or faiths. Living as a nomad overthe last 28 years, moving to various culturesand countries, has obliged me to respectdifferences. So, since 2006, I have beenworking on the “Flag Project,” a long-term
community-based art project already being
implemented in Indonesia, Australia,Malaysia, Singapore, the Philippines, Japan,
Thailand and China. This is what broughtme to Yushu.
The “Flag Project” is designed to study
and develop collective creativity. I implementan “open art system,” in which art is definedas broadly as possible, to break throughrigid discourses and established values,engaging in democratic dialogue, but also
taking a critical approach when needed.
During this process, outcomes—artworks
or other forms—are produced collectively,collaboratively or individually. Another aim isto create and maintain a network that enables

the exchange of ideas and experiences, ordevelopment in the form of collaborations.
In 2010, four years after beginning thisproject, I found myself stranded in a tiny
remote village, situated around two and a half
hours by car from Yushu, which historicallywas in the Kham region of Tibet but is now
part of China’s Qinghai Province, from where
three of Asia’s largest rivers—the Yangtze, theMekong and the Yellow River—flow through
China and Southeast Asia. I was courteously
met there by around 500 Buddhist monks,
several Geshes (Tibetan Buddhist “professors”)
and lamas. Although they seemed taken
aback at first by the unexpected visit of afemale Indonesian artist, uninvited and notworking for anyone except myself, there wasevidently a rapport between us, and sincethat day we have been collaborating. On my
first visit I could not stay there overnight, as
the rules prohibit women from doing so, but
by my second visit I was invited to live inthe monastery.
Following interviews with Khadeng Lama,
Geshe Lharampa Sonam Lobsang and monk
Sonam Rinchen concerning the teachingsof Buddha about the natural environment,
I mustered the courage to offer suggestions
to address the challenges facing theenvironment around the monastery. When I
arrived I was in awe of the dramatic natural
beauty of the place, but soon I was sad anddisappointed because there was garbage
everywhere, even in the small creeks thatvillagers use for their daily needs.
After only a few days I had already
requested that the monks clean up the area’s
Essays artasiapacific.com

garbage! I nearly reduced Sonam Rinchen
to tears from embarrassment. Of course thiswas not my intention, but I felt compelled tomake that place clean, safe and comfortable.
However, this idea proved problematic.
Initially, Sonam Rinchen suggested that laypeople be paid to do it instead, because therevered position of monks in Tibetan society
made it difficult for them to accept the ideaof cleaning the garbage up themselves.
But, I had my own argument: the need toawaken an individual consciousness andinstill a sense of responsibility concerning
the environment. The issue had yet to beresolved when I left, but two weeks later
I received a text message saying that themonks would personally remove the garbage;
they even sent photographs of themselves atwork, from their mobile phones.
The monks also accepted my suggestion
to plant trees, and at the beginning of spring,
60,000 pine trees, with some medicinal
herbs and flowers, were planted across thesurrounding slopes and valleys. Actually,
this was nothing new: around 100 years
ago Jamyang Lobsang Gyatso, the 13th Lab
Rinpoche, planted poplar trees around Yushu
and in the monastery grounds. Inside thecomplex there remains a kind of monument
commemorating what was perhaps the first
Tibetan “green movement.”
Ten months later, I was at last able tovisit the area again, staying for one month.
I was so happy to see that the monastery,village and creeks were free of garbage. A
waste management system and recycling
program had been implemented and thetrees had begun to grow. We used the time
we had together to share ideas and develop
more programs: obliging monks to use cotton
shopping bags and personal, reusable waterbottles; an idea to cultivate more edible andmedicinal plants; protecting rare plants andanimals to safeguard the area’s biodiversity;and a book project featuring edible andmedicinal plants, and traditional organic
food recipes.
I dream that this village and monasterywill serve as a pilot project, an information
center for environmental issues on theTibetan Plateau—which provides water for
more than 2 billion people in Asia. Print anddigital information, including audio andvideo, are urgently needed and will require
distribution. Specific attention must also
be given to carbon-free energy as the area
develops. Indeed, the local government hasalready begun to introduce solar energy.
This region is crucial for global
sustainability, yet 70 percent of the forests
here have been felled and the glaciers andpermafrost are melting extensively, causing
floods and mudslides. If we believe thatmutual dependency is a fact of life, thathumans are a part of nature, we shouldbear the responsibility of conservation andsustainability, for future generations.
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