As a self-taught painter, I’ve always been drawn to stories, not just how art looks, but what it feels like underneath. Over time, I found myself wandering into museums and galleries whenever I travel. Some are big and well-known, like the National Gallery Singapore, our homegrown The National Museum, Museum of Contemporary Arts (MOCA) and others are tucked away in quiet, almost hidden alleys that you’d miss if you weren’t looking for them.
But somehow, nothing quite stayed with me the way Sangkring Art Space did.
Tucked away in a quieter part of Bantul, the space didn’t feel like something I was just visiting. It felt like something I was stepping into. I didn’t expect much when I first arrived, but being there gave me this strange sense of depth, stillness, and calm that I didn’t even realise I needed.
The moment I walked in, I knew this wasn’t a typical gallery. It wasn’t just about observing art. It felt like a space meant for breathing, for pausing, for just being. There’s a quiet energy to it that doesn’t demand attention, but somehow holds you there anyway
Founded in 2007 by Putu Sutawijaya, Bale Banjar Sangkring was never meant to be just a place to display works. His vision was something more human. Art as something lived, shared, and experienced together. And you can really feel that when you’re inside. It’s not distant or rigid. It’s alive.
Even the name Sangkring carries that feeling. Something rooted. Something balanced. A quiet inbetween. Between reflection and creation, between solitude and connection.
And then there’s the art itself.
Walking through the space honestly felt like stepping into someone’s mind, but in high definition. Some pieces hit you immediately. Like that girl in blue pajamas, soft and quiet, but carrying this heavy high-functioning loneliness that lingers longer than you expect.
Other works feel more chaotic.
Fragmented portraits, layered textures, graffiti-like tributes to pop culture. Messy, loud, expressive. But somehow, everything coexists without clashing. It just flows.
What stayed with me the most is the honesty. Not loud, not forced, just there. The kind that makes you stop for a second, maybe even longer than you planned.
Some pieces feel like they’re dissolving right in front of you, soft tones, almost fading. Others feel restless, full of movement and tension. But no matter the form, they all do the same thing in the end. They reflect you back to yourself.
Your thoughts. Your masks. The parts of you that are a little hidden, a little messy, a little unfinished.
And maybe that’s why it stayed with me.
Because it’s not perfect. It’s emotional, layered, sometimes chaotic, but also quietly beautiful in the way everything is always changing.
Just like us.
