Conversations with Iwan

Remembering the late Iwan Tirta, a great designer and brilliant mind.

By Bruce Emond

Photo by Adi WahonoIwan Tirta was never at a loss for words. On topics from the art of batik – his forte – to pop culture and politics, this witty and erudite (but certainly not pedantic) raconteur always had a thoughtful, often wry comment.

Such knowledge came from his education, which included stints at the University of Indonesia, the London School of Economics and Yale Law School. He described himself as a “voracious” reader; on one visit to his home, I spotted on his nightstand a biography of 18th century adventurer Lady Hester Stanhope, the diaries of waspish photographer Cecil Beaton and the writings of an  Indonesian politician.

The importance of education was instilled in his childhood. In the biographical section of his 1996 book Batik: A Play of Light and Shade, Iwan described his childhood environment as almost “Victorian”, in which children were seen but not heard, especially when his father was around.
His was a well-to-do family – “I was born with not exactly a silver spoon in my mouth, but at least it was silver plated” – with his father’s job as a judge allowing the family to vacation  within Java and to own a car.

Iwan’s father, who would eventually become a Supreme Court justice in Jakarta, made it a rule to eat alone: He told his children that they could dine at the same table as him when they had earned their university degrees.

“In the younger years of my parents, education was the key to social mobility ... the Indonesian elite came up from the lower middle classes [through education]. And, of course, in the land of the blind, you’re king,” he told me.

This emphasis on the importance of learning turned out to be the key to Iwan’s success, enabling him to travel, move easily between contrasting worlds and carve out a reputation as the most knowledgeable man in his field.

Over the course of 10 years, I interviewed Iwan at least five times, and met him on many other  occasions. We often dined together, a couple of times eating at his home, always enjoying the conversation as much as the food.

He had a who’s who of friends and acquaintances – from Indonesia to the US and Europe. Asked what  made him feel fortunate, he said, “That I have friends the whole world over. That is why I am often alone, but I never feel lonely.”

He also was a great reader of character. He knew that lack of education makes fertile ground for the “one-eyed king syndrome”, where slick-talking smooth operators can parlay their dubious talents into stunning success. “Oh, honey,” he said with an arched eyebrow when I mentioned a designer known for his all-consuming efforts at self-promotion, including furnishing an accolade-heavy CV.

He was honest, sometimes a bit too forthright for his own good. During our first interview, he confessed that his worst trait was “My impatience with people who are not intelligent. … It’s wrong because I realize not everybody is born equal.”

Nevertheless, he was proudest of his ability to move in different milieus, from small-town Java to  the ritzy salons of New York City, where he kept an apartment with his longtime partner and hobnobbed with the rich and famous. “I’m comfortable in my own skin,” he said.

Travel was one of his hobbies. “You not only get to broaden your horizons, but you also get to know people. You appreciate what you have and it keeps you humble – humility is so important.”

In the last few years of his life, he traveled the world: a cruise to Alaska, a jaunt to Cambodia, and also to India, the place he always wanted to visit. When he was 65, he went to Spain, and as always he veered off the beaten path, sneaking off through Seville’s backstreets with pioneering journalist Herawati Diah, herself then in her mid-80s, to find a plate of genuine paella.

Iwan’s knowledge, scholarship and worldliness came together in his understanding of batik. He could put the cloth in context: its origin – Surakarta, Pekalongan, Madura or even Jakarta – how the motifs were derived, how they reflected the communities and the people who created them. His books on the subject are well written and enjoyable.

He also knew how to take batik out of its traditional domain and onto the world stage. Before a trip abroad, he would pull out all the cultural stops, whether bringing the best examples of his works or posing, canting in hand, for publicity shots.

 “You have to clobber them with all the finery you have,” joked Iwan, borrowing the expression used by then president Suharto when discussing his approach to dealing with political dissenters in the early 1990s.

Toward the end of his life, his only regret was that he had not been born in a later generation, afforded the vast choices of today.

“Why I am not 35 instead of 65?” he lamented.


For Iwan had so much to offer, and as the world changed, it was passing him by. The young strong Iwan, who took up bodybuilding in his 40s to buck the stereotype of the fey designer, would have made the most of today’s opportunities.

“That the greatest thing people can do is continually reinvent themselves,” he said of what he wished he had known at the age of 21. “I was skinny, introverted, precocious and very unpopular ...

“I also now know that beauty is important but you also need brains ... And that it’s important to share your knowledge with others so they can have their place in the sun. I want to share my knowledge with people because, well, you can’t take it with you.”

Iwan lived a full and rich, if sometimes difficult life, especially with illness and financial  difficulties toward the end.

He was not a hypocrite – something he detested in others, “it goes along with dishonesty” – and told me bluntly of his past vices, “You name it, I’ve done it.”

But he did not commit what he considered the greatest sin of all, to waste one’s life: “When they  have looks, money, but they don’t do anything for themselves or for anyone else.”

At one point, we talked about writing his memoirs, and sat down for a few taped sessions. But illness and other stumbling blocks got in the way, and he was reticent about coming out (he did, however, in 2009, discuss sexuality on a TV program).

“You know, there is my cosmopolitan veneer, but I am still Javanese,” he told me once. “For Javanese, we don’t mention what is in our hearts, especially not in writing. It is like showing our underwear to the world, like opening all the windows to your soul. And that simply is not done.”

In the last years of his life, he took stock, carefully working to preserve his legacy. Asked about how he wanted to be remembered, he said: “As a person who tried to save batik, as well other Indonesian crafts. As someone who contributed something, not just took.”

Iwan, who died on July 31 aged 75, did that in many ways, for me and the many other people he touched with his knowledge and keen wit. He will be missed.

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