A bulul is cut from one block of narra heartwood and set inside the rice granary: seated, knees drawn up, hands on the knees, the face pared back to a few blunt planes. In the tunod rite, hands wet with chicken or pig blood are laid on it.

Decades of that, plus rice wine and food offerings and cooking smoke, build a thick greasy crust. The figure reads almost black in the dark of the alang, and the red wood only shows where handling has worn the crust away. This system is built on that contrast: mass against emptiness, warm red flashing out of near-black.