Indigenous rituals and practices are often taken out of context, exploited or exhibited for their aesthetic and exotic appeal. In reality, such traditions are rooted in ancient wisdom and a cultural identity that tells a much deeper story. This is a message that contemporary artist Natasha Tontey conveys through her art.
Tontey reclaims her Minahasan heritage in her artwork, seeing it as a tool of resistance. By harnessing her ancestral knowledge, and speculative storytelling, she tears down the wall between tradition and modernity to remind us that cultural rituals aren’t relics of the past, but a living force capable of challenging the status quo. The artist presented this powerful message in her latest solo exhibition at Museum MACAN, ‘Primate Visions: Macaque Macabre’, commissioned by Audemars Piguet Contemporary.
In this exclusive interview, Tontey (NT) speaks with NOW! Jakarta (NJ) about her creative pilgrimage, and why the so called ‘outsiders’ of the world deserve to have their stories heard and understood.
NJ: Your work is deeply rooted in your Minahasan heritage, blending mythology, ritual, and speculative fiction. It often explores the idea of ‘manufactured fear’. How has your background shaped your approach to these themes?
NT: I can now say with certainty that my Minahasan roots have consciously influenced how I explore mythology, ritual, and speculative fiction, particularly in examining the concept of ‘manufactured fear’.
Years of fieldwork and observation have led me to realise that the Minahasan practice of consuming wild game—such as wild boars, macaques, and bats—raises concerns about biodiversity. While these concerns may be difficult for some to understand, they reveal a deeper relationship between the Minahasan people, the forest, and the philosophy of Mapalus. This reflects the belief that forest and livelihood are shared, not owned. In this context, wild game is not just food, but a symbol of ancestral bonds with nature.
The Yaki, or black-crested macaque, is a particularly complex figure in North Sulawesi. It is both hunted and protected, and appears in the annual ritual Mawolay, where participants dress as macaques. At the same time, the Yaki is viewed as an agricultural pest. By weaving these tensions into a slightly dystopian narrative, I aim to evoke a range of emotions—curiosity, discomfort, tension, and kinship—that reflect how the Minahasan people see the Yaki.
NJ: How do you balance your personal identity with broader, universal themes? Do you feel a responsibility to represent Minahasan culture in your work, or do you prefer to keep it personal?
NT: The biggest challenge is staying true to myself while honouring my roots, without falling into exoticism. As an artist, I constantly reflect on my practice and examine my role through the lens of my community in Minahasa. I see my work as a form of solidarity, and a reminder of how indigenous existence is still viewed by state institutions today.
I believe indigeneity can coexist with the contemporary world. Tradition and modernity aren’t opposites, they can complement and support one another.
Spirituality, on the other hand, is personal. Yet I continue to learn—and unlearn—what it means to be Tou Minahasa (a person of Minahasa), even while standing in a Jakarta shopping mall, speaking out about land grabbing. Spirit doesn’t have a fixed form; it’s felt through a magical connection.
NJ: In Primate Visions: Macaque Macabre, you explore the tension between conservation and indigenous perspectives. How can contemporary artists engage with indigenous knowledge without distorting or appropriating it?
NT: For me, working in or about Minahasa is a form of pilgrimage. I approach ancestral knowledge with deep respect, while also maintaining a critical perspective. The people involved in my work are close collaborators, many of them were born and live in Minahasa. The stories in Primate Visions: Macaque Macabre come directly from them.
Each time I create a new work inspired by Minahasan culture, I return to Minahasa to seek permission and blessings through ritual. During one such ritual, I was reminded by the ancestors: “If you want to share Minahasa culture through your work, pursue it sincerely and wholeheartedly. We will be right behind you.”
NJ: You often focus on outcast beings. Do you see a parallel between these figures and your experience as an artist from a marginalised culture?
NT: Yes, very much so. I’m fascinated by the symbolism of stone as an essential inorganic material, and cockroaches as living fossils. Though I’m Minahasan, I was born and raised in Jakarta. I live in an era where I can express my thoughts through art, while many in my family chose to let go of ancestral knowledge. Some even view the Minahasan belief in respecting ancestors through stones and rituals as heretical.
Yet, I find strength in seeing from this ‘other’ perspective. I embrace the space between acceptance and rejection, a shared feeling of being ‘othered’ due to a lack of deeper engagement with our worlds. These so-called outsiders in my work embody empathy and reflection—they hold the same complexity and tension I experience navigating institutions or speaking to unfamiliar audiences. I’ve learned that what’s dismissed as strange can be a powerful source of knowledge.
NJ: What is your creative process like when working with historical or cultural narratives? How do you conduct your research?
NT: Spiritual and historical narratives often appear in everyday forms, rather than written texts. I first saw Yaki skulls at a tribal ceremony in Minahasa where the Kabasaran dance was performed and Yaki was served as the main dish. I’ve also been intrigued by the local phrase ngana pe yaki (“your monkey”), often used to draw humorous comparisons between humans and primates, and by the Mawolay ritual.
Everything becomes part of my storytelling—gossip, bedtime stories, pharmacy shelves, even TikTok reviews. For this project, fieldwork in Minahasa was central. I interviewed ecologists and cultural experts whose insights informed the script for the video component. I travelled across the region to understand how humans and Yaki coexist in different environments.
Beyond fieldwork, I also studied the mechanics of film production, especially how the set mediates reality. I explored how fiction becomes a processed reality, and how narrative and experience intertwine. These combined methods shaped both the emotional and theoretical framework of the work.
NJ: Your work spans film, performance, and visual art. How do you choose the right medium for a concept? And how do you translate rituals into installations or films without losing their essence?
NT: I’m drawn to costume and character design, it’s sculptural, performative, and cinematic all at once. I like combining different elements, even deliberately playing with bad taste to create something new. Rituals are deeply personal and vary from person to person, so I try to invent new rituals that carry different essences. Decisions about medium usually emerge during writing and character development.
NJ: Some artists preserve heritage through their work, others use it to evolve cultural identity. Where do you stand?
NT: For me, working with my ancestral roots is a pilgrimage. I acknowledge my privilege, but I remain critical. Sometimes my work becomes a form of protest—an emotional response to the times we live in.
NJ: Which of your works has had the greatest impact on your artistic and personal growth?
NT: Primate Visions: Macaque Macabre, created with support from Audemars Piguet Contemporary, stands out. It allowed me to pursue ambitious ideas and explore new directions. The creative freedom gave me space to experiment, which has been crucial to the evolution of my practice.
Each work is a long process of reflection. One even led me to therapy. But in many ways, my artistic practice is itself a lifelong form of therapy.
NJ: Do Indonesian art spaces provide enough room for indigenous or alternative narratives?
NT: Not yet. There’s still limited support for young indigenous artists in contemporary spaces. Many of my friends from Aliansi Masyarakat Adat Nusantara in Minahasa create art in the forest and share it online. I’m grateful to have had the chance to exhibit at Museum MACAN, with support from Audemars Piguet Contemporary. It was the first time I could invite my collaborators from Minahasa to Jakarta, to see and celebrate their work.
NJ: Have you ever felt pressured to make your Minahasan identity more ‘palatable’ for a global audience?
NT: Not consciously, but we now live in a digital world. Being Tou Minahasa today means practising its values in daily life—even through screens or in the face of political realities. My work often takes the form of site-specific interventions, and I treat digital platforms as spaces for artistic expression. The internet is an extension of my practice.
NJ: What advice would you give to emerging or struggling artists still finding their voice?
NT: Tear down what came before! Let your imagination defy prevailing systems and narratives, while maintaining a strong connection to your community as a force for transformation. Don’t forget self-care amidst the turmoil of this world.
