Sam & Joel: Famous again

If I was Cikgu Sam (Sheikh Shamsudin Salim) of the United States Gayong Federation and his student Joel Champ, I'd be sore because I wasn't invited to attend the martial arts performance which had my face on its marketing material.

I found this advert in Harian Metro a few days ago, which only goes to show, that pose is amazingly famous by now. I've seen it on websites, powerpoint presentations and now, an advert. The demonstration, which is part of a larger event took place (did it actually? I don't know) at Plaza Larkin in Johor Bahru.

I was actually tempted to call Mr Shahariel (phone number listed in ad) and get him to send me pics of the event. Not so much now, though. In any case, congratulations Cikgu Sam. You've proved that a well-planned shot can take you places :)

Hidden articles

Well, they're not really hidden. I've been wondering what to do with my collection of silat-related articles, which were originally put up at SilatMelayu.Com. Since that site is now on hold, I've decided to post them here.

Some of them are past news or feature articles, and others are excerpts from books or other websites. But since I've always wanted this blog to be seen to be updated daily, I'll be posting these articles in those day 'gaps' that exist within the blog.

It also helps that many of these articles are posted with the exact dates they were originally published in the newspapers. The first one to be posted is titled "The Keris Master" and is post dated 30 July 2006 (its publishing date).

I can already hear groans from readers, but isn't it exciting? Now you can go treasure hunting, wondering what articles you haven't read yet! Apologies for those who're starting to hate me right about now.

The Azure Keris: The Ride Home (4)

Pensive. That’s how Pak Din described me in the drive home from Ulu Tiram. I moved back to my kampung only a few days ago and already I get three surprises, none of them pleasant.

I discovered that the only man closest to me other than my father has kept a scandalous secret. The man who almost killed me when I was a child is now hale and healthy and married to Azizah, the very woman whose wedding he crashed. Surprise number one.

I discovered that Kak Azizah was Pak Din’s training partner in the mysterious silat style known as Silat Tapak Sendeng in 1969. She was 14 years old at the time while he was 24. They were the only two students accepted to study the art, or so they say. Surprise number two.

I discovered that Pak Rashid and Kak Azizah had been married for almost 20 years but never had any children, even though doctors agreed there was nothing wrong with them. They were now too old to conceive, but the third and biggest surprise is what Pak Din said about it to me.

“Rashid had always wanted to apologise to you, come and find you in Kuala Lumpur, but he was too afraid of your father. Rashid heard about what your father swore after he was put away. That’s why he never came back to the kampung. He knew that your father would make him pay for what he almost did to you,” Pak Din explained.

“But most importantly, Rashid believed that their childlessness was his fault, that your family, your father, had cursed him and his lineage. Azizah never knew he felt this way, only that he was remorseful,” he continued.

“What? That’s rubbish,” I cried. “My father isn’t a… wasn’t a… bomoh or something. I mean… what kind of…,” I stopped and looked at Pak Din.

“It’s not true, right? All this mumbo-jumbo is just fantasy, right?” I asked for reassurance.

Pak Din looked sympathetic. Maybe he felt that he had just burdened me with the responsibility of the couple’s unhappiness.

“I’m not a bomoh, nor am I a doctor. All I do know is that, he carried around a mountain of guilt for two decades, and for me, that can mess up a man’s brain and his biology. When I married Mak Jah, my business wasn’t doing too well, and we could never seem to conceive. But a couple of years later, when the business picked up, then we got Aminah, and then Amran. Less stress, I suppose,” he said, trying to calm me.

“Anyway, it’s a moot point now. Thanks to you, Rashid is now a happy man. Just be content in the fact that just by standing there, you gave a man his life back”.

I sighed and just drove the rest of the way home in silence.

The fulfilment of a dream - Mohammad Din Mohammad

An artist’s long-held wish comes true after his death. An art lover celebrates the occasion by remembering his life.

My earliest visual recollection of the late Mohammad Din Mohammad is a photograph of the two of us taken at the opening of an exhibition in Kuala Lumpur, in the early years of my decade-long formal involvement in visual art in this country.

In the photograph, he is immaculate in his suit, with his trademark curly hair touching his shoulders, and his instantly recognisable impish grin on his face. That grin was always there, even when he was being all earnest and serious.

I cannot recall exactly when I first met Mohammad Din, but I think it might have been at a dinner party in Singapore, many years ago. It was a gathering of people involved in art and culture, so he would have been on the guest list because he was active in the Singapore art scene. Very active: he was practising many facets of artistic endeavour, making visual art, acting, and (as and I later found out), offering the art of traditional healing to those in need.

Mohammad Din, who died last year at 52, was born in Kampung Gangsa, Durian Tunggal, Malacca, in 1955. At the age of two, he was taken to live in Singapore, which was still part of newly independent Malaya then.

This modest space in Malacca is a dream realised, albeit too late, as Mohammad Din died before it was completed. But with its recent opening, the arts community can celebrate the life and works of a passionate soul.

He received his formal art education at the highly respected Nanyang Academy of Fine Art in Singapore. However, the reality was that Mohammad Din had been studying various forms of art from a very early age, from his first experiment in ceramics at the age of five, in fact, when he collected clay and fashioned cups.

As was the norm for many young men at the time, his formal education was augmented with the study of traditional art forms: the Melayu martial art of silat was one discipline he studied to the level of mastery, when he was able to teach others.

And, as was also quite common among people who study traditional Melayu art forms, Mohammad Din was also gifted with the knowledge of the art of traditional healing.

Fitted in among his studies was travel in the pursuit of knowledge and experience that would help shape his visual art. And shape it they did.

Much has been made of Mohammad Din’s mystical leanings in his art, but is that really surprising given this sort of nurturing and conditioning?

This modest space in Malacca is a dream realised, albeit too late,
as Mohammad Din died before it was completed. But with its recent opening,
the arts community can celebrate the life and works of a passionate soul.

In addition to an upbringing rich with experiences with and exposure to the many Melayu art forms, there was that Western-style formal art education. There were also sojourns in several other parts of the world: he studied the mystical world of the Sufis in France (of all places!), he painted in the streets of Vietnam, he painted in solitude of his home studio for international art exhibitions ... Mohammad Din seemed to have done it all.

The thread that ran through all his experiences, all his works, was Mohammad Din’s thoughts and feelings about the meaning of life. Through his art, he continuously engaged with the voice within him – the inner voice that urged him to question his very existence and all that it represented.

Mohammad Din painted with a strength and energy that at times seemed unusual. Hampered by the inadequacy of the brush to convey his sense of the Divine Benevolence, the Divine Greatness he perceived around him all the time, he resorted at times to using his palms and fingers to transfer his spiritual energy onto canvas.

The result is a collection of calligraphic and abstract paintings that are laden with ideas and questions about man’s reason for being, and man’s relationship with the Creator.

Several years ago, at the opening of one of his solo exhibitions, Mohammad Din told me of his dream to build a gallery. The profusion of art galleries in rural Bali that he discovered during his visit there added another dimension to his dream. He dreamt of a wide open space in which to make his art. He dreamt of having artists from both Malaysia and Singapore making art in his rural gallery.

He told me that he had found the perfect location for it.

Last year, his wife Hamidah called one evening out of the blue to say that Mohammad Din had died. It was exactly a week after his 52nd birthday.

Last week, I drove to Kampung Gangsa, Durian Tunggal, Malacca, for the official opening of the gallery Mohammad Din had spoken about. He had started construction three years ago; his family continued the project after his death.

An idyllic kampung setting, adjacent to a tributary of Sungai Melaka, buffalos grazing in the open fields around, the blue sky bright and cheerful ... it was a perfect day.

The opening was a celebration of a lifetime of work and the achievement of a dream. Other than a slight pause and a wobble in Hamidah’s voice as she gave her welcome speech and thanked everyone who helped make her husband’s dream a reality, the mood was joyful, and at times reflective.

The gallery currently displays Mohammad Din’s paintings and sculptures. There are plans for exhibitions by other artists.

There are also plans to run residency programmes to enable artists (who tend to be, on the whole, urban creatures) to make art in a rural environment. And, no doubt, to develop their own interpretation of the meaning of life, just as Mohammad Din tried to convey through his art.

By Mas Zetti Atan

Galeri Mohammad Din Mohammad is in Kampung Gangsa, Durian Tunggal, Malacca. Visits are by appointment only; call 06-553 1726, 012-246 2769, or 017-614 1842. The gallery is closed on Fridays.

Mas Zetti Atan studied Political Science and Kesenian Melayu (Malay art) at university where an encounter with a painting by a local artist ignited a passion for modern Malaysian art. She has been involved in organising art exhibitions for almost a decade.

Sourced from http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2008/7/6/lifearts/1506024&sec=lifearts

Sunset warriors

For more of these pictures, please visit http://irwandy.fotopages.com

Art of the Keris

He is a third generation keris maker and he may be the last as none of Pak Mazin's sons shows an interest in learning the craft, writes WILLIAM THADDAEUS.

Pak Mazin forging seven types of metals to make the blade.

Rising above the banks of the Sungai Perak is a village called Padang Changkat near Kuala Kangsar. Here lives a diminutive little man plying an art that has been passed down three generations — the art of keris-making. Mazin Abdul Jamil, in his early 50s, is one of the few masters in this traditional art.

The keris was a weapon used by warriors in the old days, but it gradually became a symbol of royalty or nobility and a part of the royal costume.Nowadays, anyone can buy a keris but be prepared to dig deep into your pocket because they don’t come cheap. That’s because the making of a keris takes at least a month, depending on the design, size and type of materials used. Sometimes, it requires the work of several artisans to put together a keris.

For instance, if you require silver or gold inlays, then a gold or silversmith would work on this. Prices range from RM500 to RM3,500 depending again on materials, size and design. The most expensive types of keris are those with a handle and casing carved out of ivory.

Family Tradition
Mazin comes from a long line of keris makers. His grandfather, Pandak Mamat, arrived in Kuala Kangsar from Sumatra in the later part of 19th Century. The family has Javanese roots and his grandfather was said to be a royal swordmaker in Sumatra. When he died, his son, Pandak Mat Yunus, continued his craft.

Pandak Mat Yunus has many sons, but Mazin is the only one who has carried on with the family tradition till today. Fondly called Pak Mazin, he started learning to make keris at the tender age of 12. A few years later, he was already making miniatures under the watchful eye of his father.

By the time he was 25, he had acquired all the skills needed to not only make keris but also other types of weapons like lembing (spears) and golok (machetes), the specialty being the ceremonial “golok Perak”.

In the 1980s, when Sultan Azlan Shah was appointed Sultan of Perak, Pak Mazin and his father were commissioned by royal intermediaries to produce 16 pieces of keris. He was also requested to display 45 of his keris at the Pasir Salak Museum.

Pak Mazin has also made the keris for other royal families but today, his business comes mainly from avid collectors who acquire them not only for the beauty of the art but also to maintain and upgrade their collections. His customers come from all over the country and include foreigners, especially Europeans and Americans.

Between 1973 and 1980, he was invited by the National Museum, University of Malaya and Genting Highlands to give demonstrations of his skills and to showcase his products. Sadly, none of his children is keen to follow in his footsteps. However, that does not stop him from teaching the art to others. In fact, there is a steady stream of students from various universities and other learning institutions who come to learn under his tutelage.

Painstaking Process
According to Pak Mazin, making a keris is a very compartmentalised operation, starting with acquiring hardwoods from the jungle for the sarong (casing) and ulu (handles). Kemuning, sena, petai belalang and surian are some of his favourite woods. Then begins the process of carving and polishing them, but probably the most difficult part of the whole process is the making of the bilah (blade). For this, he has to forge seven types of metals over a hot fire in his workshop and to hammer the blade into the required shape.

Pak Mazin lives in the village with some of his 12 children. In recognition of his skills, the government has, recently, helped finance the building of a small showroom next to his house where visitors can view his works or make a purchase.So the next time you visit Kuala Kangsar, make a detour to Padang Changkat to visit the master keris maker.

Text and Pictures by William Thaddaeus
Sourced from http://www.nst.com.my/Current_News/TravelTimes/article/HeritageCulture/20080428151018/Article/index_html

Silat: The Deadly Art of Indonesia and Malaysia

You are minding your own business, buying a newspaper at your local convenience store, when a belligerent drunk decides to take a punch at you simply because you met his stare for a second too long.

What the drunk doesn’t know is that you are trained in the Indonesian martial art silat, and you are therefore able to move easily into close range where your big guns—the knees, elbows and head—can be brought into play. This range is referred to as the “battleground” by Indonesians.

Now that you’ve entered the battleground and are literally in the drunk’s face, you can begin the “tranquilizing process”—a vicious combination of elbows, knees, finger jabs, head butts and kicks to his groin, shins, thighs, eyes or any other vulnerable target. If he is still a threat after your initial salvo of blows, your combinations must continue. Can you sweep him to the ground? Can you elbow his spine? Can you stomp on one of his feet and force him off-balance? These are just a few of the possibilities available to an accomplished silat stylist.

What Is Silat?
Roughly speaking, silat means “skill for fighting.” There are hundreds of different styles of silat, most of which are found in Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, southern Thailand and the southern Philippines. Common to all of these styles is a combat-oriented ideology and the use of weaponry.

In Indonesia, there exist hundreds of styles of pentjak silat, as well as many systems of kuntao, a form of Chinese boxing that bears many similarities to silat and is found primarily within the Chinese communities in Indonesia. There are also many systems that blend pentjak silat and kuntao.

“Chinese fighting tactics have had positive influences on the development of pentjak silat,” says noted martial arts historian and author Donn Draeger. Malaysia is home to a style known as silat, which can be divided into two forms: pulut, a dancelike series of movements intended for public display, and buah, a realistic combat method never publicly displayed.

Silat is also found in the southern Philippines, as well as langkah silat, kuntao silat and kali silat. Silat techniques vary greatly, from the low ground-fighting postures of harimau (tiger) silat to the high-flying throws of madi silat. One particularly vicious madi throw involves controlling your opponent’s head, leaping through the air, and using your body weight to yank him off his feet as your knee slams into his spinal column.

A typical harimau takedown involves coming in low against an opponent’s punch, capturing his foot with your foot, and forcing his knee outward with a strike or grab to the inside knee to effect the takedown.

Rikeson silat focuses primarily on nerve strikes, while cipecut silat makes extensive use of the practitioner’s sarong for throwing and controlling the opponent. A rikeson silat stylist might take an opponent down with a finger-thrust attack to the nerves situated in the crease between the upper leg and torso.

Cipecut practitioners will deflect an attack with their sarong, then wrap it around the opponent's head, utilizing the significantly improved leverage to yank him to the ground.

Bukti negara pentjak silat, as developed by Paul de Thouars, relies on a sophisticated leverage system to achieve almost effortless throws.

In this self-defense sequence, silat stylist Terry H. Gibson (left) scoops (1) his opponent’s jab and simultaneously traps (2) his foe’s other hand in place. Gibson is now free to deliver (3) an elbow to his opponent’s face. Gibson then grabs (4) his adversary’s hair with both hands and pulls (5) his head into a knee smash. (Photos courtesy of Terry H. Gibson)

In Philippine silat, it is common to trap your opponent’s foot with your own foot while controlling his head and arm, then spin him in a circle. The opponent’s body rotates 360 degrees, but his knee and foot remain in place, causing severe injury.

The sheer number of silat styles allows practitioners a tremendous amount of variety, as well as a certain amount of freedom and self-expression. By researching a number of silat systems, you can add tremendous diversity to your combat arsenal.

Weaponry
Virtually all silat styles, particularly Philippine silat, emphasize weapons training. In the areas where silat originated, carrying a weapon, usually one of the bladed variety, was for generations a fact of life for the general male populace. A silat practitioner will normally be skilled with a knife, stick, sword, staff, spear, rope, chain, whip, projectile weapons or a combination thereof.

The keris, with its wavy blade, is one of the most common weapons in Indonesia and Malaysia. Another wicked weapon found in Indonesia is the kerambit (tiger’s claw), a short, curved blade used to hook into an opponent’s vital points. According to Draeger, the kerambit is used in an upward, ripping manner to tear into the bowels of the victim.

Most silat systems emphasize low, quick kicks, primarily because of the likelihood the practitioner will be confronting an opponent armed with a bladed weapon. A good rule of thumb is to never try a kick against a knife-wielding opponent, unless the kick is delivered at close range and is used as a support technique.

When facing an opponent who attempts (1) a roundhouse kick, silat stylist Terry H. Gibson uses his knee to jam the kick at the shin, then counters (2) with a hard kick to his opponent’s knee joint.(Photos courtesy of Terry H. Gibson)

Silat Components
What comprises a good silat system?

The following are some of the key components:

• Efficient entry system.
The style must have techniques that allow you to move quickly and efficiently into close range of your opponent. It must also include training methods that will hone your timing, precision and accuracy when employing those techniques.

• Effective follow-up techniques.
The system must have effective punching and kicking techniques. Heavy-duty techniques such as head butts, knee smashes and elbow strikes must be highly developed. “Finishing” techniques are more effective if your opponent is properly “tranquilized.”

• Devastating finishing techniques. After you have entered into close range and applied a “tranquilizing” technique to your opponent, the next step is to apply a “finishing” technique, such as a throw, sweep, takedown, lock or choke, to end the confrontation. Locking maneuvers will break or render ineffective an opponent’s joint. Choking techniques will produce unconsciousness. Takedowns, throws or sweeps will slam the opponent into the ground or other objects with enough force to end a confrontation.

• Reatistic weapons training.
Most silat systems emphasize weapons training at some point. This training will include realistic contact-oriented drills rather than forms practice and will greatly improve your reflexes, timing, accuracy, rhythm and precision. It’s amazing how quickly practitioners improve when facing a bladed weapon traveling at a high rate of speed.

Silat theory, then, is simple: Enter into close range of the opponent, apply a “tranquilizing” technique such as a punch or kick, and then “finish” the opponent off with a heavy-duty technique such as a lock, sweep, choke or throw.

Silat in the United States
Suryadi (Eddie) Jafri was one of the first to teach pencak silat in the United States, conducting seminars throughout the country in the 1970s and ’80s before returning to Indonesia several years ago.

The well-respected de Thouars teaches silat publicly at his Academy of Bukti Negara in Arcadia, California, and also conducts seminars across the United States each year.

Defending against an opponent’s left jab, silat stylist Terry H. Gibson (left) parries (1) the blow and simultaneously strikes the biceps. Gibson blocks a right cross, countering (2) with an elbow to the biceps. Gibson then applies (3) an armbar maneuver, finishing (4) with an elbow smash to the spine.(Photos courtesy of Terry H. Gibson)

Another fine instructor is Mande Muda pencak silat stylist Herman Suwanda, who divides his time between Los Angeles and his home in Indonesia. Mande Muda is a composite of 18 different silat systems. Dan Inosanto of Los Angeles uses his weekly seminars as a forum to spread silat, as well as other martial arts. Inosanto has studied with de Thouars, Jafri and Suwanda in Indonesian pentjak silat.

He has also worked with John LaCoste, who taught Inosanto kuntao silat, silat, kali and langkah silat of the southern Philippines. Inosanto also trained under Nik Mustapha in Malaysian bersilat. There are actually only a few qualified silat instructors in the United States, and most of them are not easy to find.

If, however, you have the good fortune to undertake the study of silat under a competent instructor, prepare yourself because you are in for an exciting, invigorating exploration into one of the world’s richest and most effective martial disciplines.

By Terry H. Gibson
Sourced from http://www.blackbeltmag.com/archives/585
About the author: Terry H. Gibson is a Tutsa, Oklahoma-based martiat arts instructor who teaches various styles of silat, muay Thai and jeet kune do.

This article first appeared in Black Belt Magazine, 1993.