Bagus.

In his story, Bagus gets up earlier than anyone else in the village. He climbs the mountain while the dew is still on, which is when the grass gives up its scent, and comes down loaded before the sun starts to bite. He carries no list: he carries his nose, and by smell alone he knows which slope to walk and which bark is useful. Hence his reputation as the apothecary who gets it right without asking. The Asian elephant has an extraordinarily fine trunk for this kind of thing, but that part of the job stays outside the frame: what you get here is his face, the face of someone who smells before he looks.

There's something about Bagus almost no one sees: on a back shelf he keeps little jars with seeds from the trees that are almost gone from the mountain now, labeled in small handwriting. He collects them just in case, he says, because the mountain keeps shrinking and he doesn't trust it. He leaves a copy at the botanical garden in Liwa, in case his own shelf doesn't hold out. None of that fits in a portrait, of course. What this framed piece brings you is his face, ready to hang in a kitchen or a studio, no more effort needed than a single nail. His whole story is in his biography.