Ricky Yeo uses botanical materials to make installations and arrangements. “Nature meets art” is central to his practice. His works are wabi-sabi, free-form, exuberant, with the intention to offer viewers surprise, beauty, joy. His creations, by nature of the medium, are ephemeral, impermanent – encountered in a singular experience, then long after the work is no more, exist in visceral memory.
Rooted in Southeast Asian impetus, Ricky uses ingredients grown in tropical gardens, fruit and green grocery from local farmers’ markets, equatorial floral from suppliers; and assembles them into a clay vessel or onto a tampah (split-bamboo tray), made by Asian craftspeople.
Ricky has been a journalist-editor for 25 years. He pivoted to the botanical practice, thus fulfilling his ikigai, in 2017. He was resident artist at Dastaangoi farm, Islamabad, Pakistan, in 2023. Ubah Rumah is his second residency.
@ricky_yeo, @kebun.ijo.flowers
[I]
South China Sea lures
to archipelago, Sons
of Nusantara.
[II]
Past, present, future
Then, now, for eternity
Moored to mother’s land.
[III]
Upon calm-wave cove
Boats, barges, sampans plying
Goods, cargoes, peoples.
[IV]
Bitter *belinjo
Fiery chillies, tart **salak
Taste buds tantalized.
*gnetum gnemon, **salacca zalacca
I wrote the quartet of haikus in 2023, following a sojourn in Tanjung Pinang, municipal city of the Riau archipelago, Bintan. The town has deep memories for me having visited the place since age six, when my late mother returned to visit her father, my maternal grandfather.
The ancestral residence on Jalan Merdeka, in the heart of town, still stands – but is in disrepair. Back then, uncles, aunts and cousins would gather at the house, welcoming us with warmth, laughter and food. Today, the house is silent.
I go to Tanjung Pinang periodically to observe the stevedores at the docks; explore the labyrinth of houses on stilts; survey the bazaar, marketplace and pasar tani (farmers’ market); enjoy the local food and seafood; stock up on sun-dried provisions; and in recent times, visit the hipster cafés and restaurants.
The stay at Ubah Rumah will add a new chapter to my repository of Riau Islands stories. The experience, whilst informed by the distant past, will be current in attitude, fresh in point of view, contemporary in outlook.
During my residency with Ubah Rumah, I plan to collaborate closely with Nikoi Island’s staff to explore the rich diversity of botanicals across the island, including crops from the main island's Kebun Reja, riverine, estuaries, wetlands and intertidal zones. This involves collecting botanical samples, foraged materials, and natural detritus to study their character. I aim to prototype receptacles using coconut husks and bamboo stems, and identify suitable locally-crafted vessels and wares. I will make botanical arrangements and installations, incorporating traditional crafts of coconut-palm leaves created by staff, for guestrooms, dining areas, and central spaces. With the support of Nikoi’s staff, I plan to document the work-in-progress.
I hope to conduct botanical workshops for guests of all ages, using responsibly foraged materials to spark creative engagement with nature. I aim to create installations on Nikoi Island that offer both staff and guests an immersive botanical experience, highlighting indigenous flora. By sharing creative approaches to familiar botanicals, I seek to inspire joy and new perspectives among the staff while supporting local craftspeople in using locally made receptacles and wares.
In responding to the residency’s “art of hosting” theme, I hope to lead a shared experience with staff in preparing nasi ulam, the Peranakan herb rice. I aspire to build meaningful connections in fostering friendship with the staff, and forging a longer term relationship with the island.
Taking up residency in Ubah Rumah appeals to me for two reasons: that it isn’t far from Singapore; and that it is situated on an island. The prospect of encountering botanicals in sea-surrounded forests and on rocky littoral fringes, enthralls me. I am to discover the gifts of Pulau Nikoi are bountiful and beautiful.
Upon arrival, I lose no time in swapping city life for island life. But it is no walk in the park. The residency is intense, hard work, requiring observation, purpose and soupçons of serendipity, if only to make the most of the two-week stint. To be sure, I was “in my zone”.
The materials found, foraged and gathered are assembled at Rumah studio. Here, I observe, experiment, prototype, juxtapose, mix up, photograph and take notes. Some specimens are swift to decay, attracting ants and flies. Others remain robust, holding out their form and colour against perishability. Three discoveries stand out for me: the spiny, globular fruit of the Pandanus dubius; the shaggy, sienna roots of the coconut tree; and a cluster of wild, epiphytic, endangered Aerides odorata.
My remit as resident researcher is to share my observations and experience with the staff of Nikoi Island. I host them at Rumah, handing out candies and butter cookies, as they view my botanical installation extempore; memorabilia of Tanjung Pinang (the municipality of the Riau Archipelago); and listen to my stories (my late maternal grandfather was a native of Bintan).
I lead two workshops in-situ: in a restaurant for crews from Dining, Kitchen, Bar; and in a guests’ villa for crews from Housekeeping, Spa and Management. Participants are unanimously surprised with the plethora of botanical detritus in their backyard, and eager for the possibilities of using the ingredients in arrangements and installations in their respective premises. The results of the team challenges are delightful, demonstrating the staff’s unsung talent and hidden creativity.
The individuals working on the Island come from mainland Bintan, and also from across Indonesia: Flores, Java, Medan, Nias, Sumba, Sumatra. I find myself reaching out for Google Maps and Images, to fill in my modest knowledge of the country’s geography. People of different creeds, beliefs, identities – unified in Indonesian nationality – work on Nikoi Island, in this corner of the country “most tolerant of differences”, as I am informed, and have witnessed.
Within days of my arrival, we forged an understanding, that led to rapport, and flourished into friendship. For a senior person with mild anomia, I brace myself to recall the names of over 50 people at any one time. I shan’t recount the egregious moments when I don’t remember names. At Nikoi Island, I occupy a liminal status, somewhere between “guest” and “transient staff”. To my hosts-colleagues, I am “Pak Ricky”, an honorific I bask in, and miss, now as I write.
As participant-observer, I am incidental witness to the daily operations of an island resort. The off-loading of food supplies/equipment/laundry from motor-boat to becak (three-wheeled bicycle for transporting cargo); raking the sand (“goro-goro”) to smoothen the grounds at restaurants and bar; illustrating “Cocktail of the Day” on the chalkboard (which I have volunteered to do one time); living out “unreasonable hospitality”, one small act at a time.
At the bar counter, in the staff dormitory, over Bintang beer or Kapal Tanker kopi, we chat, spontaneous, meandering. Veterans regale stories of the Island’s early days; young parents share their concerns for family and vocation; the youth express their hopes and aspirations. Pak Ricky is privileged to listen to you.
To acknowledge the Island workers, I procure 20kg of jahe asli (ginger) and assemble them into a sculptural form, at the staff quarters. “Kado Tanah Kita” (“Gifts of Our Soil”), a table-top installation, is dedicated to the Nikoi Island team.
Chef Dika’s reputation precedes him, even before one meets him. Why, in “Island Life: Recipes From Nikoi & Cempedak Island” (Barrington Investments, 2024), he is the main character providing content for the book. So it is with trepidation that I propose to him to prepare a meal for staff: to ask his help in procuring some ingredients from mainland Bintan; to request permission to forage herbs from the Island’s gardens; and to use the kitchen. To all my requests, he accedes – even offering Chef Ibu Sandri to assist me.
“Why nasi ulam?” Chef Dika booms, his stern eyes looking at me over his reading glasses. “Because I do it with confidence,” I hear myself say. I learned the recipe from my mother, and over years of practice, I acquired the sure hand to do it well.
I have proposed to prepare the Peranakan nasi ulam, if only for the experience of foraging herbs fresh from the garden, and bringing them to the table. In my rose-tinted glasses, this is how nasi ulam may have been prepared in the past. I shan’t be shy about saying the nasi ulam is a hit with staff. My mum’s love language was to feed her guests. That day, I suspect she is smiling – from heaven.
For place memory, the soft power of music cannot be underestimated. I have researched and prepared a playlist of Nusantara music before my trip: resplendent instrumentals, vintage 4/4-beat ditties, irreverent raps, contemporary R&B and jazz. “Love Letters to Pulau Nikoi” is compiled and published on YouTube. I play the music and set the mood when visitors come to Rumah studio.
During my sojourn, I keep my ears peeled to the music the youth of Indonesia listen to. The discoveries and recommendations are many, such as this serendipitous episode: I am departing from Cempedak Island, as a guest, waiting for the boat to take me to mainland Bintan, when I hear in the corner of the bar, the first delicate, spellbinding riffs of the guitar. Off-duty Christian, a tourism intern, is playing the intro to “Untuk Perempuan Yang Sedang Di Petukan” by Payung Teduh. The song is now an earworm for me.
Having read about it before my residency, I request not a day trip, but an overnight stay at Kebun Reja, in Kawal, Bintan. To my joy, Hendry Sianipar, farm manager and newly-minted head of sustainability of Nikoi Island, agrees to host me. I pack a happy camper’s overnighter bag, hop onto Hendry’s motorbike, and wend our way pass charming kumpung-kumpung and desolate sand-mining wastelands, to arrive at Kebun Reja.
Lunch awaits us. A spread of kumpung fare is prepared for us: deep-fried fish with sambal cabe ijo (green chili sambal); stir-fry chicken liver and gizzard; winged beans and pucuk melingo (Gnetum genemon leaves) soup; sambal jenkol (Archidendron jiringa); coconut water and kernel slices in palm sugar syrup on ice. The meal is scrumptious, hearty. Thank you, Ibu Maimuna.
Kebun Reja is a permaculture farm seven hectares (10 football fields) big. It grows vegetables, herbs, spices, fruits; and supplies them to the kitchens in Nikoi and Cempedak Islands. The property also has chicken and quail, raised for eggs and meats. Goat husbandry, to make cheese, is being planned, Hendry tells me.
With his consent, I forage the fruit of the Etlingera elatoir (locally called asam cikala), flowers of the papaya, and a cluster of Manilkara zapota (chiku). In a bamboo vessel, I assemble a bouquet causal, imperfect – but a perfect personification for the style, spirit and motivation for my ikigai: Kebun Ijo Flowers.
That night, lying on my hand-made bed fitted with fresh, laundered-fragrant sheets, I listened to the chirps, whirrs and murmurs of nocturnal insects, stared into the inky darkness, and felt thankful for providence.
When you have a chance to visit Ubah Rumah, look out for the structural driftwood pillar with a kakehana (hanging bamboo vase). Pak Rasi, the Island’s carpenter, has made the vessel for me using recycled Phyllostachys nigra, commonly known as black or purple bamboo. In it, I have put a cluster of corn cobs folded from coconut leaves, that Pak Yogi, of Kids’ Club, has made. I finish off the arrangement with roots of the coconut tree, letting them cascade freely to the ground. I cannot imagine having better collaborators, nor having a finer coda to my Ubah Rumah experience.
Meeting Asti Lalasati in Singapore, only days before I leave for the residency – is kismet. The Tanjung Pinang native, film-maker, lecturer, cultural/environmental advocate offers a contemporary perspective to fabled Riau Archipelago. History, heritage, hipster cafes? Ask Asti. She was of immense help to me, in translation, elucidation, and filling the gaps so that my dormant knowledge of Bintan is revived to present-day.
Post-residency report completed: 6 March 2025
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Ubah Rumah is an art residency and archive inspired by stories of our region.
