“That is called charcoal,” my father's low and heavy voice whispered behind me; his strong, sharp eyes stabbed my pupil, “and don't use them to draw on the cement floor.  Clean all the marks you have made in your grandmother's backyard then wash your dirty face.”  He walked away to continue his visit with my grandmother.  After he disappeared from the edge of my sight, I looked at both my hands. With the black, dirty hands and sweaty fingers soiled by the porous wood charcoal, I rubbed my itchy face and tied back my long, troublesome hair.  Under the guava tree, a sunburst's shadow was stirring the cement floor.

One hour before mother calls me for lunch, I knelt down again and continued to draw more shadow on my charcoal bubbles.  I was 4 years old when my left hand explored this projected pattern and discovered the contrast of light and the effect of shade.  I advanced to a blackboard and chalk after my father introduced me with basic mathematic problems. To discourage me from drawing on the wall with the chalks, my father used to hide them after each lesson.  Yet, I could put my imagination on that small blackboard every afternoon, before my nap time.  I distinctly remember where my father hid them and how I wished that one day I would grow tall enough to grab them from his upper bookshelf.

In kindergarten, my mother bought me my first children's magazine. By the time I was able to finish reading it, I won some awards from poetry reading and writing competitions in my school. Soon I discovered the ancient Javanese script, Hanacaraka, which we had to read and write in class. These elegant and curvy letters inspired me; I began to incorporate them as drawing subjects. I often observed how my mother was really good at drawing and painting with watercolor. When she wasn't around, I used to admire every stroke of her drawings, which she kept in a book tucked away under her bed. From the beautiful lilies and roses to the colorful mountain views, it was representing her passion for arts and our country. Yes, I was born in East Java, Indonesia - under the morning sun of Saturday. I am proudly educated from a country with hundreds of languages, appreciable amount of islands, and thousands of cultures - an indefinite breathtaking wonderland.

17 years passed by, and my passion for reading the contemporary literature, history, and philosophy was incontrollable. I had a hunger for collecting books to fill my book shelf and cover my bed more than anything else. From the delight and encouragement of Chicken Soup for the Soul to the heavy thought of The Story of My Experiments with Truth: An Autobiography by Mahatma Gandhi, I noticed that they eventually strike for their own room to grow. I was continuously trying to balance my interest between painting, reading, and writing. Slowly, reading became integral part of my daily habit, but somehow I spent less time to do creative writing and leaned more towards painting. My wild imagination grew every time I saw a huge white canvas. The urge to fill them with colors, the appetite to study patterns and abstractions were overwhelming my left brain.

Another period of time brought subversive transformation in my early adulthood. My insatiable hunger of new challenge needs a greater offering. After holding my first undergraduate degree in Clinical Psychology, I flew to Japan to seek more education. When life slowed down to the completely cadaverous and bleak point, one day I heard my friend say, “Try to use this, it's not that hard and I promise you will enjoy it.” I looked at him trying not to blink, “This one looks very intimidating.” Both my hands were holding tight the Nikon N90 like it had its own will to drop to the ground. It wasn't long until I realized I had piles of prints on my desk. Once again experience had given me an unforgettable cognizance, “passion”. Flying back from my capricious interlude, I have decided to leave my neuropsychology career behind and am now expanding my fine art and editorial photography skills.

Time took me through a detour of unconventional disciplines before I was convinced to follow my passion. Whether the concept is the methodological approach of Ansel Adams, the casual street photography style of Robert Doisneau, or the great modern digital arts of Satoshi Matsuyama, many of them have refined and ameliorated my photography style. Slowly the mixture of traditional art and photography became a new way to elaborate abstractions, accelerating the realization process of my unconscious, without excogitating the accepted rules that define exquisiteness and stereotyped beauty of art. I explore the moments as a self measurement to find balance in my efficacy. In the end, photography is an impregnation and reflection of mind to foster resilience of a positive self portrayal.

Currently, I am residing in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada and working on my first book, The Diaphanous Verve of Sepia. I am also a proud member of the Canadian Photographic Arts, Professional Photographers Association of British Columbia and the Lions Gate Camera Club. I honor all my instructors, authors, and fellow photographers who have taught me through their workshops, books, magazines, and inspirational images. I would also like to thank my wonderful family and friends for their endless support, especially the person who helped me uncover my passion.