Fresh Face: Galih Adika Paripurna
Rendering memory and meaning through erasure and trace
A&M's Fresh Face is where we profile an emerging artist from the region every month and speak to them about how they kick-started their career, how they continue to sustain their practice and what drives them as artists.
Galih Adika Paripurna, 2024. Photo by Litha Fidya Fariza.
Galih Adika Paripurna, born in Serang in 1994, has cultivated a practice that interrogates the intimate semiotics of memory. Drawing from a diverse background in art and design, he has worked as studio manager, graphic designer, art director and now creative consultant in product development. In recent years, he co-founded Another Artifacts with interior designer Litha Fidya Fariza, developing exhibitions and spatial projects that bridge artistic thinking with bespoke construction. He was awarded the Bandung Contemporary Art Award in 2024, and will participate in the affiliated international art residency programme in La Rochelle, France, during the summer of 2026.
Influenced by puisi konkret (concrete poetry), Galih is drawn to the idea that the physical shape of words on the page through spacing, placement, or interruption of syntax could enact or embody meaning. He applies this thinking to disposed film negatives he obtains from thrift stores. Galih’s work takes the poet’s sensibility of “cutting, juxtaposing, recontextualising” non-verbal symbols so that they may “speak” for themselves. In the case of his paintings, the images are particular and domestic: a faint outline of a face or head or a window, the suggestion of red calla lilies, the trace of a boutonnière, speckles of dust. Sequenced methodically across the surface, they solicit personal reserves of associations and memory.
Galih Adika Paripurna, Interior, 2023, oil paint, lacquer paint, and polyurethane clear coat on aluminium sheet, 165 x 200 x 4cm. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
His first solo exhibition Kerning (2024) took its title from a typographic term describing the adjustment of spacing between letters to enhance visual clarity and readability. Galih assembled aluminium sheets and painted over them with clinical infrared tones. In Interior (2023), the pale, silvery blues resemble something like celadon in ceramics or the colour of distance when looking out onto a misty river. It occupies most of the field, which Galih conceives of as “negative space”, an equally important element in his work. In painting, as in poetry, absence suggests as much weight as the symbol. Near the bottom of the painting, the blue-grey is interrupted by the muzzy outline of recognisable forms: humans, windows, a doorway, and furniture. As Liza Marcus writes in the curatorial notes for the show, “he does not reveal the hidden personal but renders the ‘impression of personal-ness in general’”. Galih empties the imagery of signifiers that would fix them to a single biography.
In painting, as in poetry, absence suggests as much weight as the symbol.
Galih Adika Paripurna, Conversation in The Living Room, 2025, oil paint, lacquer paint, and polyurethane clear coat on aluminium sheet, 324 x 204 x 3cm. Photo by Lagam Alfaruqi. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
His most recent solo exhibition at ArtSociates in Bandung, Everything Leaves A Trace, consists of 29 new paintings that document a processual evolution of his work. The method employs gestures of erasure through a vapour blast technique to remove primer, paint, and lacquer from several parts of the surface, exposing the metallic aluminium base. In Conversation in The Living Room (2025), the images from film negatives are rendered so indistinctly it appears like smoke, fabric, or memory alighting on the mind before withdrawing back into the thicket. The title paints a scene of domesticity with the furniture of ordinary life.
While Interior (2023) shares the formal grammar of Conversation in The Living Room (2025), his recent works show a deeper correspondence with trace. Much like the discarded negatives that find a second life in his hands, dust as a motif becomes a kind of domestic accumulation or, in his words, “a residue of time”. It is through this trace that Galih seems to reach towards an inquiry or a mode of contemplation on the relationship between our personal histories and the collective.
Interview
Painting Studio at ITB, 2017. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
In 2018, you graduated from Institut Teknologi Bandung with a Fine Arts degree in Painting. Could you briefly describe your experience there, and how it has shaped your thinking?
I learned as much outside the painting studio as I did inside. On campus, I spent a lot of time with friends from other departments such as the sculpture studio. I collaborated with them through courses like public art, experimental art, art publication and even non-academic events like Pasar Seni 2014. Those experiences broadened my sense of what “art-making” could mean.
Painting, for me, is a practice of intimacy. It is a space to slow down and listen inwardly, as well as building closeness and intensity with the medium. Working across other practices, on the other hand, introduced me to collaboration. That contrast shaped the way I think about process: painting builds inner awareness, while collaborative practices build spatial and social awareness.
Being part of ITB’s painting department also gave me access to Indonesia’s mainstream fine art ecosystem. Most of our lecturers are active practitioners, so there was this constant bridge between the classroom and the field. It helped me trust the discipline, not only as a craft but as a framework that keeps evolving.
Who has been a mentor or important artistic influence on your journey?
For me, mentorship did not come in the form of a single figure but it took shape in an environment. I spent five years working as a studio manager at Studio CA3A and that experience was formative. The place and the people affiliated with it, especially artists and founders Syagini Ratna Wulan and Arin Dwihartanto Sunaryo, became my teachers.
Being responsible for the production processes of both Syagini and Arin gave me an embodied understanding of how artworks come to life technically, socially, and intellectually. It was not only about executing ideas but navigating contexts, materials, and people.
Working closely with different kinds of makers and crafters also taught me to see art as a system of relations between concept and labour, thought and material. That environment shaped how I understand art now, not only as an image or object, but as an intellectual product grounded in real-world business or reality.
What was one important piece of advice you were given?
I am not sure if this counts as advice, but I learned something profound by observing the crafters who worked with Handiwirman Saputra. During the Venice Biennale 2019 project, I collaborated with them in realising an installation. Throughout the process, I kept hearing how much they enjoyed working with him.
They often described the experience as nyantri or berguru, like being a student in a pesantren, an Islamic boarding school where learning happens not only through one way communication in classrooms, but through living closely with one’s teacher and observing their way of life. It was said half-jokingly, but my impression was that they genuinely liked absorbing his principles through daily work. It was humbling to witness how an artist of that stature could create such a deep, meaningful impact on the people closest to his practice.
That left a deep impression on me. Being an artist is not only about producing works, but about shaping an ecosystem, making space for others to grow alongside you. It is something I am learning to apply in my own circle.
You balance multiple roles, from your current position at PT Paragon Technology to co-founding Another Artifacts. How do these diverse professional experiences inform your artistic practice?
At least in my experience, being an artist and working in a creative corporate environment overlap more than people assume, especially in idea-making. What matters most is our way of thinking. The mindset of an artist is entirely applicable in a professional setting.
Working in a company sometimes feels like being back in school: sharing a goal with friends, collaborating, and working towards a collective output. That attitude opens access to different kinds of knowledge, like how an idea is debated, how things are fabricated, how packaging is made, or how materials behave in production.
In my current role, which focuses on product development, I have learned to appreciate the manufacturing process as an art form in itself. Achieving something pristine, refined, and ready to reach someone’s hand is a beautiful pursuit. Process is the art of the industry. I enjoy applying the same precision and logic of efficiency in my artistic practice and in Another Artifacts. I mastered colour and material application at Studio CA3A, and learned direction and execution through my time at Eiger Adventure. Those experiences continue to shape how I build both artworks and systems.
What matters most is our way of thinking. The mindset of an artist is entirely applicable in a professional setting.
Galih Adika Paripurna, Thoughts Unsaid Then Forgotten, 2022, oil paint, lacquer paint, and polyurethane clear coat on aluminium sheet, 186 x 168 x 4.5cm. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
You describe arranging images and objects “as if they were words: intact, fragmented, or waiting to reveal meaning”. Could you take us through your process of creating a piece?
I often think of images and objects the way poets think of words. My process is similar to constructing puisi konkret, where visual and linguistic forms overlap. One example is Tragedi Winka dan Sihka by the poet Sutardji Calzoum Bachri.
Much of my early thinking came from watching author Seno Gumira Ajidarma’s video where he interpreted the works of Sutardji and Afrizal Malna. I was struck by how the poem became something physical, no longer just read, but seen and felt. That is how I approach images: as materials that can speak, but also stay enigmatic, open-ended, and slightly out of reach.
Usually, my work begins from fragments. Photos, found objects, or documentation from everyday encounters. Lately, my main “fragments” are sourced from disposed negative films I thrifted at a local flea market. I start by collecting and rearranging them, testing how one fragment shifts the meaning of another. Sometimes the process feels like editing language: cutting, juxtaposing, recontextualising. It is also about pausing, leaving space, letting the image “suggest” a direction on its own.
Sorting negative film, 2025. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
Behind the Scenes for Every Solid Thing Leaves a Trace, 2025. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
Your work employs materials such as found negative films, dust, bent aluminium sheets and lacquer. What draws you to work with them?
I am interested in how humans assign value to objects and images. How meaning is stored, forgotten, and then reinterpreted by others. That is what first drew me to working with found negative films. They already carry traces of other people’s memories, and when recontextualised, those memories start to shift.
The use of dust came later, during my exhibition Kerning, where I was thinking about negative space and gestures of erasure, like sweeping the floor. Dust feels like a residue of time, something that accumulates yet always risks being wiped away.
I used to find canvas intimidating, too formal, too detached from my own sense of touch. I began searching for other materials while still mimicking the format of painting. When encountered in person, my works often feel familiar but slightly uncanny.
My understanding of lacquer paint came from working at Studio CA3A, where I learned to apply it with a compressor and spray gun. Breaking the pigment into fine particles reminded me of coloured dust, fragile but luminous. I am drawn to the tension between the hard, industrial surface of aluminum and the fluid, volatile quality of lacquer. Even the cracks that emerge, which is a quality often found in very old paintings, feel like time made visible, preserved on a static plane.
Kerning, 2024, exhibition view at RUBANAH Underground Hub, Jakarta, Indonesia. Photo by M. Revaldi. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
Galih Adika Paripurna, Who Rules Who, 2024, stainless steel and acrylic sheet, 37.7 x 14.5 x 3cm. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
Tell us about your first solo exhibition Kerning at RUBANAH Underground Hub in 2024. How did the opportunity come about? And what was one challenge you faced?
For me, RUBANAH has this certain charisma. It has a distinct energy that feels both intimate and raw. The opportunity came through Enin Supriyanto, one of the founders, who invited me to participate in the show. I worked with writer Liza Markus who helped me bridge my understanding of arranging objects with linguistic terms, because she noticed my visible attraction to Bahasa.
The title Kerning is borrowed from typography. It is the method of arranging spaces between one character to the other. To me, that “blank” space contains so many meanings and generates different ideas. In one of my object series, Who Rules Who (2024), I made a stainless steel ruler with zeroes etched where the numbers would normally be, because I kept thinking about how zero has that same “blank” quality. It is neither negative nor positive. It just is.
The painting series A Series of Anemoia also began around this time, together with the use of found negative films as image sources. I would arrange the images, paint them, and then “erase” part of the composition. It is as if the images painted beneath are memories, and the fade is surfaced to the top layer of consciousness. Just as in daily life, our activities are the foreground or visible layer, but we are also defined by the past.
Since Kerning was my first solo exhibition, most of the challenges came from within. There were expectations, especially my personal ones, of wanting the show to feel honest and to stand on its own. As I had been assisting, managing, producing for other artists for some years, I had to gather up the courage to be seen. It was not easy to confront the habits of invisibility I had built, to give in to both emotional openness and technical discipline.
Galih Adika Paripurna, Every Solid Thing Leaves a Trace, 2025, exhibition view at ArtSociates, Bandung, Indonesia. Photo by Lagam Alfaruqi. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
In September 2025, you presented your most recent solo exhibition Every Solid Thing Leaves a Trace at ArtSociates. Could you share how you worked with curator Yacobus Ari Respati on this show? What were the key themes or ideas you wanted to explore?
I have known Ari for quite a while. We have worked together on previous projects, so there is a sense of trust and shared rhythm. Whenever I prepare for a solo show, I tend to choose a curator I feel personally close to, so the connection makes the process more fluid and intuitive. In this project, Ari and I worked closely but not always intensely. He was busy teaching while I focused on the production of 29 new paintings and two series of objects in four months. We met a couple of times in person but stayed in daily conversation.
With Ari, it is easy to move between theory and play. He has a sharp conceptual eye, but gives space for accidents, for things to find their own form. He is familiar with my maneuvers and I understood his references. The process felt like a natural continuation rather than something entirely new, where I had to over-explain myself.
Methodologically, Every Solid Thing Leaves a Trace is not too far from my previous exhibition Kerning. Both continue exploring how an image is formed, erased, and redefined; and how the negative space around it becomes just as meaningful as the image itself. This time, though, Ari helped me deepen the way those methods and materials are understood; and to let the traces speak for themselves.
Could you share your favourite art space or gallery in Bandung or Indonesia? Why are you drawn to that space and what does it offer to you and your practice?
Selasar Sunaryo Art Space (SSAS) is one of the must-visit art spaces in Bandung. If we look back at the function of an art space as a site for the distribution of ideas, I think SSAS stands out as a space that takes that responsibility seriously. They elaborate on discourse and make it accessible to a wider, more inclusive public.
Amid the growing busyness of Indonesia’s art ecosystem, where everything seems to move faster and faster, SSAS offers something different. Their exhibitions unfold slowly, often over a longer duration, allowing the ideas to mature and settle. The rhythm feels deliberate and thoughtful. Each show is usually accompanied by a set of public programs that deepens the experience, extending the exhibition’s life beyond the gallery walls.
That pace is precious. It reminds me that art does not always have to compete with time. Reflection and depth can also be a form of progress.
What are your hopes for your local art scene?
Sometimes I miss how the art scene felt back when I was still a student: going to openings with friends, seeing works at artist-run spaces or alternative spaces, reading curatorial texts and feeling moved by them even if I may not completely understand. There was a certain innocence and excitement to that time.
These days, the ecosystem has grown so much, faster, bigger, which is wonderful in many ways. But I hope the growth is not only about speed. I wish for it to stay grounded in curiosity, sincerity, and small joys that made many of us want to be part of it in the first place.
Another Artifacts Studio in Bandung, 2025. Image courtesy of Galih Adika Paripurna.
Are there any upcoming exhibitions or projects that you would like to share?
I will be part of a group exhibition with Nonfrasa Gallery titled Sea Mogul, Calm me, Run due, Talk, Barrel Ear, opening in November 2025 at Titik Dua, Ubud, Bali.
For longer-term projects, Litha and I are currently developing a shared studio and exploration space in Jakarta called Another Artifacts (AA). We imagine AA as a place where art, design, and research can intersect.
In the summer next year, I will be joining an art residency in La Rochelle, France. It is tied to the Bandung Contemporary Art Award which I received in 2024. It feels like the beginning of a new chapter.
This interview has been edited.