Proceedings of The International Conference on Traditional Textiles of Indonesia:

Today and In The Future

National Museum of Indonesia Jakarta, November 21-22, 2007

Edited and Compiled with an Introduction by Jonathan Zilberg, Ph.D.

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Contents Preface 3 Opening Remarks 4 Introduction: Notes on Irwan Tirta and Concrete Steps in Developing Batik as National Culture Jonathan Zilberg 5-7 Another Kind of Conservation: Revitalization of Minangkabau Songket Bernhard Bart 8-14 Design Metamorphosis in the Ikat Cloth of East Nusa Tenggara: East Sumba Hinggi Motifs. Past, Present and Future. Biranul Anas 15-31 Conservation, Display, and Storage Techniques for Indonesian Textiles in South Australia Kristin Phillips 32-40 The Naga’s Breath: An Introduction to Motifs and Organic Production of Lao Traditional Silk Textiles Mdame Kommaly Chantavong and Melody Kemp 41-46 Durable Traditions: Inspirational Textile Legacies in Stone in the National Museum of Indonesia Jonathan Zilberg 47-78 Traditional Ikat and Textiles of the Dayak Benuaq in East Kalimantan Herwig Zahorka 79-94 Oral Tradition, the History of Ikat Woven Designs and Traditional Curatorial Practices Novia Sagita 95-105 Concluding Remarks Suwati Kartiwa 106-107

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Preface

It was a great pleasure to hold this fifth in a series of international textile conferences at the Museum Nasional Indonesia in Jakarta in 2007. The goal of this particular conference was to again discuss and share experiences about traditional textiles in Indonesia today and in the future. We are enthusiastic about how these proceedings add to the The International Conference on the Diversity of Nusantara Ikat Weaving (2003). This next conference in 2007 considered Indonesia textiles more broadly especially including batik, songket and ikat. It provided us with a view of the past and present towards the future and documented something of the challenges as well as the vibrancy of our diverse textile heritage. We are grateful to the Indonesian Heritage Society for assisting in the conference and for bringing together these proceedings in this form. Special thanks go to the 17 presenters and the committee members from the Museum Nasional. I sincerely hope that this publication will provide a meaningful record of the conference itself and stimulate future such publications, to stimulate improved management and preservation of textile collections in Indonesia. Ideally it will provide students and others to develop an ever deeper interest in the meaning and history of our textiles. In addition, it will be useful for individuals working in the textile industry in that it contains information which could be used to improve the quality of their products in order to support the government’s plan for supporting creative industries and increasing exports.

Dra. Retno Sulistianungsih Director, Museum Nasional Indonesia

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Remarks and Official Opening

On behalf of the Government of Indonesia, I welcome our distinguished guests to the Museum Nasional. Traditional textiles are a manifestation of local wisdom and local culture and they should be further developed so as to be better recognized nationally and internationally. Indeed, textiles are an essential part of the history of human civilization and do far more than fulfill people’s basic needs. They are the living vehicle for traditional technologies and an integral part of our traditional culture. The constant changes in our world influence creativity such that our past informs out present and thus future. In an effort to review and manage the understanding of traditional textiles so as to enhance the cultural heritage of Indonesia, the Ministry of Culture and Tourism welcomes and fully supports this international conference to bring forth local wisdom and develop creative industries for the benefit and prosperity of our people. Indeed, textiles enhance national pride and national identity and should be better appreciated by all levels of society. This conference can thus play an important part in our efforts to preserve and develop traditional textiles. Ass’alum Alaichum Wahibrachatu

Drs. Hari Oentoro Drajat, MA Minister of Culture and Tourism by Director General of History and Archaeology

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Introduction

Jonathan Zilberg

These collected papers from the international conference “Traditional Textiles of Indonesia: Today and Tomorrow” held at the National Museum of Indonesia on November 21 and 22, 2007 represent one of the many ongoing collaborative efforts between the Indonesian Heritage Society and the Museum Nasional Indonesia. This was the fifth international Indonesian conference on textiles, the first having been held in Jakarta in 1994, the second in Jambi in 1996, the third in Bali in 1999 and the fourth in Cisarua, West Java in 2003. Significantly, this collection adds to the publication produced after that last conference, The International Conference on the Diversity of Nusantara Ikat Weaving (Museum Nasional 2003). We hope that it will provide further impetus for a tradition of providing a record of the proceedings of these conferences so as to share the results of the research with scholars, lay people interested in Southeast Asian textiles and particularly with those creating and producing the textiles themselves.

The content of the following proceedings is organized in the same sequence as the conference itself and each paper is preceded with the author’s original abstract. All of the presentations have been included except for those by Thomas Murray and Sandra Sardjono, Bridgit Wallach, Aryandin, Melody Kamp and Fiona Kerlogue. The conference was opened by Drs. Hari Oentoro Drajat, MA Minister of Culture and Tourism by Director General of History and Archaeology with the opening keynote speech given by Iwan Tirta, an elder statesman for batik and innovator and producer in his own right.

Tirta set the tone for the conference by providing a highly personal overview of the historical development of batik as a national culture, an important discussion considering Indonesia’s current diplomatic initiative to have batik declared as a UNESCO heritage icon (duly achieved in 2009). Tirta described how batik has been politicized so much so that with the current drive for export and interest in creative industries there is currently discussion underway to introduce legislation which would formally make batik the national dress. He described how batik has been thought to have been produced in Indonesia since the time of the Kediri kingdom in 13th century and how batik had been used first in Java and then Sumatra as a form of court dress with highly symbolic motifs indicating the wearer’s rank in the court hierarchy. Today, as he continued, many provinces are attempting to invent their own batik traditions at the risk of neglecting their indigenous weaving traditions. He criticized the lack of knowledge about batik amongst Indonesians producing and wearing the cloth and provided some insight into the facts for instance that each character in the Mahabarata and in the wayang shadow puppet lays wears a distinct pattern reflecting his personality, character and temperament. For instance, the figure of the high priest from Cirebon wears white cloud pattern batik outlined only in indigo as these symbolize chastity and thus purity, something which he emphasized is not documented in the literature.

Interestingly enough, Irwan Tirta took a highly critical and arguable controversial stance towards younger designers who simplify patterns for today’s market and argued that the fashion industry does not understand the essence of batik. This in ironic as it was Tirta himself who was the designer who had originated this tactic of simplifying complex batik into bold patterns separated by plain space that stand out at a distance. It must be said that though in his opening remarks he emphasized that “quality is disappearing” and while that may be the case in certain

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sectors of the market, if anything the leading batik workshops have long been creating stunningly refined batik. Moreover, a less Catholic approach to quality is necessary to understand the practical dimensions of the mass versus elite market and sufficient recognition of the strong revival well underway across the entire archipelago and particularly across Java. Indeed, as some of the papers in these proceedings document, and as the substantial audience commented upon, the commercial incentive and the different market sectors, if anything is providing a diverse, competitive drive rather than the opposite. All this makes the expanding batik industry specifically, and the textile imdustry in general, an enduringly fascinating area for research.

Speaking very much for the continuance of the elite court tradition, Tirta expressed his personal feelings about the ever more rapidly expanding batik industry. He argued that the industry needs to be reformed in his vision of the old court traditions of Central Java. Yet to the contrary, highly refined textile revivals have for many years been underway and are fast gathering across the archipelago. Batik of the highest quality as well as affordability are easily available and sought after by both Indonesians of all classes, and by foreigners either resident in Indonesia or visiting as tourists and collectors. Tirta also criticized the claims being made by Malaysians on batik and batik designs. He proposed that the solution is for Indonesia to become more proactive about supporting, protecting and nurturing batik, so much so that he proposed that the Bandung Institute of Technology should create a chair in batik studies. In addition, deeply critical of museums, particularly in terms of management, curation and education, he called for the professionalization of Indonesian museums and the opening of a costume museum. By and large his comments were a call for action.

Thus inspired by Tirta’s opening speech, a vibrant discussion followed. It began with Ibu Kartiwa noting that “the first step is to know about the history and the philosophy of batik” and that education is needed for this as Tirta had emphasized. Moving the discussion onto specific textile related issues, Suzie Johnston from Bali commented upon kain panjang and its potential for revival. Tirta answered in his characteristic and personal way: “A beautiful custom. I was invited to Mangkunegoro. At my age, I was thinking about logistics. It’s difficult to run to the loo if you are my age! In a hotel, it is different. You can still run while wearing a batik with pleats but that way of wearing cloth was suitable for an age and era, when you could just sit there and look beautiful. Try sitting in a car with a dagger in your back. You have to sit at the tip of seat. Perhaps someone can invent a costume that is beautiful and practical!” The discussion then turned to keeping the philosophy and design of batik alive with an emphasis on efforts towards sustained research and documentation, particularly in Yogyakarta. Tirta emphasized that there was no shortage of talent but a lack of Indonesians with the capacity to document, analyze and write about batik and other traditions. He noted that the new museum in Pekalongan is working towards improving the situation and to this end Asmoro Damais is requesting book donations to improve its library. Tirta added that it is important that even women in the village write down their stories “as once they are gone, it is gone.” In this, he praised the Indonesian Heritage Society for its work saying: “You are the ones who are supposed to save things!

The next question concerned the future support of the textile industry. As the audience member said: “You’ve made a survey of shortcomings and a plan for moving forward to understand history and design. But who is responsible for moving forward – government, private industry or public organizations? It’s all well and good to talk about short comings and plan to revive the traditional industry but how?” To this Tirta answered: “The private sector is more useful and helpful. Kadin has helped the museum in Pekalongan and supports all their

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exhibitions. In addition, Kadin is trying to make ambassadorial residences abroad showcases for Indonesian art and artisans. We have to rely on private sector and young patrons rich enough to support the industry. For instance, there is to be a batik summit in April next year, funded by private money, but as usual we will have the problem of being asked to organize a huge conference with two weeks notice.” Indeed, such issues of planning and management remain a major source of difficulty facing Indonesian museums.

The next comment from the audience noted that in Holland there is revived interest and activity in such things and that this indicates the importance of the next generation taking a more active interest in textile heritage. Tirta answered with yet another characteristic comment considering the very high quality and price of textiles for sale in the new up-market gift store in Grand Indonesia - Alun Alun: “The new generation is energetic, but they have no money though Mari Pangestu is a patron and willing to underwrite such efforts. Alun Alun is a showcase but is a glorified bake-off. The problem there again is that the owner claims to have the best batik for sale, but they do not have a strong, knowledgeable team of buyers. It is like having a painting by Picasso next to an unknown artist. They don’t know what they have, the young buyers do not know and no one gives them refresher courses.”

To be fair, though this is Iwan Tirta’s view, it is important to note for the record that these are highly partisan views by one esteemed elder member of the Indonesian batik community. It is certainly the case that one can buy the highest quality batik at Alun Alun from each of the top named batik producers and in any event we are all one large family of batik lovers with our personal individual preferences for particular styles, designers and other textile forms as well as our individual judgements as to which of those designers works are of quality.

Finally, Ibu Kartiwa, concluded the keynote speech by thanking Iwan Tirta and emphasizing that first one has to have an understanding of the essence of batik and of Indonesian textiles in general and then pass on the philosophy and history to the next generation. On that note, ending this introduction with gratitude to all and especially to Ro King for having gainfully recorded, transcribed and collected the papers and power points from each of the participants, it remains to thank the National Museum of Indonesia as always. I personally hope that the simple compilation of these proceedings for the Indonesian Heritage Society, the Museum Nasional and the participants will play a small but important part towards the longer term emerging record of the complexities of the revivals and development of Indonesian textile traditions. Finally, I thank each of the contributors who chose to provide their papers to the organizers which has resulted in their inclusion in these proceedings.

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Another Kind of Conservation: Revitalization of Minangkabau Songket

Bernhard Bart

Museums are the keepers of tradition, of history. They collect objects considered to be important to testify to the cultures of the past. Otherwise, not only the object would be lost, but also the knowledge about it: about the object itself and about its traditional values. Many of these objects are offered to the museums, often with very little background information or none at all. So, a lot of time has to be invested for research about these objects − some times too much time − and meanwhile the tradition has been lost before it could be fully investigated.

The Studio Songket ErikaRianti that I founded two years ago has a different approach. We try not only to preserve the knowledge of tradition, but also the tradition itself and we try to bring it back to life when it has been lost already. Of course, this would not be possible without the "keeper" work of the museums, where I could get a lot of information about old Minangkabau songket textiles. Years ago, when I saw the richness of the old songket textiles, the fineness of their material and the complexity and variety of their patterns and compared them to the poor quality textiles available on the market, I knew something had to be done in order to keep alive the knowledge about this old artistic handicraft. This work was initiated not only by the poor quality textiles available on the market, but mainly by the beautiful old textiles I could admire at museums, and above all by the acquaintance with Hajah Rohani of Tanjung Sungayang and a couple of Balai Cacang, Payakumbuh. These three weavers still knew about the traditional way of songket weaving and were living proof that it was still possible to weave songkets of high quality.

Songket weaving in West Sumatra almost completely stopped with the Japanese occupation in 1942. After Independence, the production started again, mainly in Pandai Sikek, but the fineness and extreme variety of the old motifs was never reached again due to the loss of know-how of the old techniques. Too much time had elapsed and the knowledge about traditional patterns and pattern arrangements was already almost lost. To illustrate this, take the following example: The original selendangs from Pitalah have a patterned selvage, mostly showing the motifs paku gerai (ripples of fern), saluak laka (interwoven rattan) or saluak barantai (interlocking chains), batang pinang (trunk of pinang palm tree), bada mudiak (fish swimming upstream) and saik galamai (ceremonial cake). The principal motif in the border often is the balah kacang gadang (large split peanut) and usually the motifs in the border are not separated by stripes of the ground weave. The body is empty except for a few small diamond shaped patterns adjacent to the border.

Most motifs from Pitalah are still woven today. They have been taken over by weavers from other regions, especially from Pandai Sikek, but they have been very much simplified and there is usually no pucuak rabuang (bamboo shoot) or another dominant motif in the border. And whilst in Pitalah (as said above) the cloth was structured and only the borders showed motifs, in Pandai Sikek the whole cloth is patterned and no typical arrangement can be seen. This was the

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situation I encountered when I came to West Sumatra in 1996 and started investigating Minangkabau songket weaving. Only three types of songket were still woven: the Pitalah patterns by the weavers in Pandai Sikek, the kain basa hitam (a typical cloth of the region Sungayang, Batu Sangkar) by Hajah Rohani, the last weaver in Tanjung Sungayang and the selendang gaba (a typical cloth of the region of Payakumbuh) by the last two weavers in Balai Cacang. But where was the abundance of patterns once known in all regions of the Minangkabau country? Where were the typical patterns once woven in, for instance, Muaro Labuah, in Padang Magek or in Koto Gadang?

Pattern Templates

I began to collect data about Minangkabau songket − the patterns, the pattern arrangements, the materials used − wherever and whenever I could. At first, the main task was to photo-graph the old patterns and to transform them into computer patterns which could then be used as templates for the weavers. Up to now, more than one thousand old Minangkabau textiles (woven before World War II) have been photographically documented and more than eight hundred patterns have been computerized and are ready to be woven again.

The degree of difficulty a weaver encounters in weaving a songket cloth depends on the number of different supplementary weft threads its patterns consist of. In Koto Gadang, where the most sophisticated motifs and most intricate patterns were woven, patterns of up to 180 different supplementary weft threads existed, and the pucuak rabuang motif consisted of 80 to 100 different pattern threads. After Indepedence, when people in West Sumatra resumed weaving (especially in Pandai Sikek), the patterns have been simplified and the biggest ones reduced to about 35 different pattern threads only − as it happened, for example, to the once dominant pucuak rabuang motif − thus making the hand picking easier and speeding up the weaving process. For the same reason it became routine to weave the cloth with its right side up in the loom. Nowadays, patterns with about 5 to 20 different pattern threads are most common and a comb of usually 30 to 35 reeds per inch is used. ErikaRianti − in its efforts to come as close as possible to the original − has its looms equipped with combs of 35, 38 and 40 reeds per inch, according to the fineness of the threads. To draw a parallel: in Pitalah combs of up to 35 reeds per inch were used, in Koto Gadang combs of up to 43 reeds per inch (for a fully patterned cloth), in Batu Sangkar and in Payakumbuh combs of up to 48 reeds per inch (but only for a sparsely patterned cloth).

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A New Technique

Since the hand weaving of such refined patterns is very time-consuming, it was essential to find a way to quicken the weaving process. For the customer, the long time spent on weaving a cloth is no longer affordable and the weavers themselves cannot afford it and are no longer ready to invest so much time on one single cloth. Therefore, a time saving system, a weaving technique formerly not known in Indonesia, had to be introduced: the pattern saving system used in Laos, the pattern heddle (karok motif).

A system to save the hand picked warp ends for the supplementary weft has been known to the Minangkabau weavers for a long time. But this system is limited in two ways. Usually, the weaver saves the hand picked warp ends with a thin palm leaf rod (lidi) in the back part of the warp. A normal loom has the capacity of saving 60 to 80 lidis. It is possible to save significantly more, over 500 lidis, as it is seen in Silungkang, for example. But this can only be done when the warp is lengthened, up to four meters or more. This method is neither efficient nor economic since it requires more room and additional manpower. The other thing is that, even though half of a symmetrical pattern can be saved and the opposite half can be woven with the help of the saved warp ends, the same warp ends have to be hand picked and saved anew, whenever the pattern is repeated.

The vertical pattern heddle system is based on the same principles as other saving systems and is still done by hand only. Even when a pattern heddle is used, the motif must just as well first be hand picked with a bamboo blade (bila pancuki). The paper template of the motif is drawn in such a way that the warp ends can easily be counted by the weaver. A hand picked motif is saved in the pattern heddle as follows: the string heddles which are connected with the warp ends passing over the sword are pulled forward, the ones which are connected with the warp ends running underneath are pulled backwards, thus creating an opening in the pattern heddle corresponding to the shed in the warp. In this opening a pattern string (occupying less space than a lidi) is placed in the upper part of the vertical heddle system and fixed at its frame. This procedure is repeated for each motif line until the whole motif is saved.

For a symmetrical motif as, for example, the saik galamai (which has a rhomboidal form), only half of it has to be saved. With the aid of the pattern heddle the other half can now be woven: with the last pattern string the opening in the string heddles is made. The front string heddles are then raised by hand, thus raising the corresponding warp ends in order to obtain the shed in the warp to enter the shuttle with the pattern thread. The used pattern string is placed in the lower part of the vertical heddle system. Again, this procedure is repeated until the other half of the symmetrical motif is woven and all pattern strings are put in the lower part of the vertical heddle system. To repeat the motif the process is done vice versa. It is sufficient to hand pick and save only half of a symmetrical pattern in order to weave it repeatedly according to the design of the cloth. Motifs have to be saved only once and can then be woven again whenever wanted without it being necessary to hand pick them anew. A pattern heddle can even be stored away and later put on the loom again to be used for another cloth.

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In a vertical heddle system with a length of 80 cm, about 250 to 300 pattern strings can be stored, which is very useful when complicated (e.g. round forms) and complex motifs consisting of more than 50 different supplementary weft threads have to be saved. The motifs of a whole cloth with up to 300 different supplementary weft threads can be saved in one pattern heddle. Hence, the two limitations described before are eliminated. The vertical pattern heddle is a unique solution to save very efficiently the hand picked warp ends and to quicken the whole weaving process. Working with a pattern heddle is a great help to the weavers. They save a lot of time and can, therefore, concentrate better on the weaving process; this enables them to turn their attention to the improvement and refinement of the songket motifs, thus improving the quality of their work.

Another thing that had to be introduced − or rather re-introduced, since it was done this way in earlier times − is, that the cloth is woven with the reverse side up in the loom. This requires higher skills from the weavers since they have to work with a negative image of the motif and do not see all its threads. The scattered (bertabur) patterns on a cloth are clearly circum-scribed when woven with the reverse side up. When woven with the right side up, the loops which form upon turning the weft thread are seen on the right side and the outer lines of the patterns are blurred. To avoid this problem, in Pandai Sikek most of the songkets are woven balapak, that means with continuous pattern threads reaching from one side to the other. Or even the scattered patterns are woven with a continuous weft (as in Silungkang), so that long floats are seen on the reverse side of the cloth. When you look at old songkets from Koto Gadang and at songkets woven by ErikaRianti, you see that the weft thread on the reverse side spans not more than 6 to 7 reeds.

Expert Weavers

Artistically talented and expert weavers are absolutely necessary for Erika Rianti's project. In other weaving centres the weavers know their repertoire of motifs and only a few skilled weavers are able to copy old patterns relatively accurate to the original. A weaver is doing both, saving as well as weaving. At Erika Rianti, only the best weavers carry out the hand picking and saving of the motifs. The other weavers are solely weaving and, therefore, can concentrate on the complicated motifs and can comply with the higher technical requirements, such as weaving with the reverse side up and with the finer comb.

Materials

Minangkabau songket is brocade composed of a ground weave of silk, cotton, ramie

(Boehmeria nivea) and other natural fibres and the pattern weft of metallic thread in gold or silver or sometimes of differently coloured silk. In the Minangkabau region this brocade was known as kain makau (Makau cloth). The name songket is from Malayan origin and in use only since World War II. Makau is a former Portuguese seaport in South China. I assume that in this town or nearby a centre of production of metallic threads existed (besides Surat in India) and the

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brocade cloth was named after it because the best quality of metallic thread was imported from there. According to Jasper (1912) nine different types of metallic threads were obtainable in West Sumatra. Looking at his list, we notice that they can be classified in a group of cheaper (2.5 - 4.74 guilders) and a group of more expensive threads (11 - 15 guilders). I think that the cheaper ones were imported from India (Surat in Gujarat) and the more expensive ones from China (Makau).

The price difference is explained easily by the different ways of production. The metallic thread produced in India usually has a core of yellowish cotton or sometimes of yellowish silk. Metallic, gold or silver coloured, thin strips (approx. 0.2 - 0.3 mm) of copper alloy are wrapped S-wise around this core. The metallic thread produced in China has a core of yellowish or of reddish silk and only occasionally one of cotton. Paper lined with real gold-leaf is cut into strips of approx. 0.6 - 0.9 mm which are then wrapped Z-wise around the core (Indictor, 1999). To vary the colour of the gold and to make the expensive material last longer, the wrapping was not joined closely together but with some space in between. On account of the costly precious metal and the painstaking way of production this thread was of course more expensive than the one from India.

Because of its superb quality benang makau (thread from Makau) has become a synonym for metallic thread, even though only thread from India is used today. The import of benang makau − and probably its production as well − ceased with the cultural revolution in China (1966-69). It is difficult to say when the thick gold thread used today appeared on the market. Two or three dealers in Singapore have the monopoly and the same thick thread is used everywhere in Indonesia: in West Sumatra and Palembang as well as on Kalimantan and Bali. The latest development is a so-called "gold thread" with a core of rayon wrapped with gold or silver coloured polyester. Erika Rianti has found its own sources and imports very fine metallic threads directly from India and from France. Today, all metallic threads from India and France have a Z-wise wrapping.

For the ground weave cotton, silk or ramie was used; today many synthetic materials like polyester and rayon are used as well. First, Erika Rianti tried to use processed silk from Indonesian production but delivery was very unreliable and often not possible. Now, we purchase raw Tunggal silk which is processed on the premises, or Chinese silk thread already processed. Nevertheless, the difficulty to obtain threads (metallic and silk) of the same high quality as in earlier times makes it hard to produce an exact replica of an old cloth. We are still searching for ramie, abbacca (a banana plant) and other natural fibres.

Economy

History has had its impact on the traditional songket weaving in West Sumatra. As mentioned before, with the Japanese occupation one or two generations of weavers were lost; the knowledge about patterns and techniques was no longer handed down from generation to generation. Later the ATBM (alat tenun bukan mesin) was introduced which is not suited for songket weaving. Then there were several economical crises and today the market is flooded

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with cheap Thai songket. Indonesia is just beginning to recover from the economical crisis of 1997. Yet, the financial situation of a country is very important for a project like the one of Erika Rianti. People have to have the financial possibilities and have to be willing to spend a little more on such high quality products as Erika Rianti is producing in order to keep alive the traditional handicraft of songket weaving.

Adat

The uniqueness of the old traditional Minangkabau songket lies therein that every motif contains a philosophical meaning using a symbol taken from nature. Yet, used in another region, the same motif serves just as an ornament. Thus, the Minangkabau songket is a medium of cultural wisdom. At ritual processions and traditional ceremonies, the songket cloth is very important. It does not serve as clothing only for the participants of the ceremonies, but through its meaningful motifs it also shows the function and status of its wearer within the family and within the clan of the community. Minangkabau songket is a form of art and at the same time a medium of communication to convey the message of the adat (social structure and codes of behaviour) ruling the life of the Minangkabau people.

According to Bagindo Fahmi (2005), a well known Minangkabau cultural observer, every motif has three meanings: a literal, an implied and a hidden one: tersurat, tersirat, tersuruk. To illustrate this, let's take a closer look at the motif itiak pulang patang (ducks going home in the afternoon): the ducks walk home in a straight line, none of them straying from that line. Obviously, this is a symbol of discipline and obedience, of following the teachings of the adat. This is the literal meaning. The implied meaning is explained by comparing ducks and people: in the morning, when the ducks are hungry, they stray in all directions, each one by itself, searching for food. In the late afternoon, when they had their fill, they walk home together. Human beings behave in the opposite way: in difficult times they look for friends and partnerships, they ask for help from other people, but when they are successful they pursue their way alone, not wanting to share their success.

Very few people still know that there is a hidden meaning behind this motif, as explained by Bagindo Fahmi: the Minangkabau people ought to behave like the ducks. In difficult times they have to leave their home in search of a better life, each one on his own. This is called pergi ke rantau (to migrate), a very common feature in Minangkabau society. Having been successful they return to their community or at least support it. This can best be observed at Hari Raya Idul Fitri (day of celebration after the fasting month Ramadan), when it is a must for every Minangkabau to return to the mother’s house - a custom called pulang basamo (going home together) - and/or send financial help to the community. The community of the ducks is very strong, and so is the Minangkabau society.

Another interesting motif is the simple pattern bada mudiak (fish swimming upstream). This usually is interpreted as a symbol of courage and determination, since it requires courage to swim against the current. Also, the fish are doing this in a swarm, which obviously means that difficulties can be overcome more easily by acting together as members of the commu-nity. This

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is the literal meaning. But what is the reason the fish are swimming upstream? On its way to the sea the river gets contaminated, therefore, the most clear water is found at its source. This implies that in order to solve a problem you have to find and examine its source. This is the implied meaning. However, very few old Minangkabau people still know that there is a theological meaning hidden behind these values, namely that in the search truth, you have to go back to the supreme source which is the truth of God. There is a danger that the knowledge about these meanings is getting lost. People might have no connection any more to the significance of the Miangkabau songket motifs and not only the knowledge but the tradition itself will be lost. When motifs are no longer woven, meanings are no longer known and then tradition itself is no longer alive.

Conclusion Templates of old patterns, improved techniques, expert weavers, the right materials, a prospering economy, a strong adat − all these requirements have to be met in order to revive and further develop the traditional handicraft of songket weaving at the same high level. When I started this project together with the Studio Songket Erika Rianti, the purpose was to prove that it was still possible to produce songkets of the same high quality and as fine and complex as they were woven centuries ago. Having reached this goal, yet another task is to create fashionable, contemporary and high quality songkets still using the traditional Minangkabau motifs, thus bringing their philosophical meaning into a modern context. As long as the adat is the basic foundation of the daily life of the Minangkabau people, as long as certain textiles are worn at certain occasions, and, above all, as long as people are conscious of the meaningfulness of these textiles, our conservation concept can be successful and the art of weaving sophisticated Minangkabau songkets will endure.

Bibliography

Jasper J. E. and Mas Pirngadie: De Inlandsche Kunstnijverheid in Nederlandsch Indië, II: De Wefkunst, p. 23. 'S-Gravenhage, 1912. Bagindo Fahmi: Personal communication to Alda Wimar, Padang, 2005. Wimar, A.: Mengamati Sebentuk Motif, Mencermati Untaian Makna Filosofi. In: Bart, B. (ed.): Revitalisasi Songket Lama Minangkabau, pp. 27 - 49. Padang, Penerbit Studio Songket ErikaRianti, 2006. Indictor, N.: Metallic Threads in Minangkabau Textiles. In: Summerfield A. and J. Summer-field: Walk in Splendor, pp. 201 - 237. Los Angeles, UCLA Fowler Museum, 1999.

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Design Metamorphosis in the Ikat Cloth of East Nusa Tenggara: East Sumba Hinggi Motifs. Past, Present and Future

Biranul Anas

Abstract

Throughout its history Indonesia’s traditional textiles has always been under constant change in many of it aspects. Aesthetical, functional, and technological aspects, features that determine the appearance of the textiles, were perpetually modified and altered, sometimes partially or in many cases entirely and radically, in endless variations. Batik is one monumental example, especially those from the north coast of Java, but it happens elswhere as well, from the songkets of West and South Sumatera, the gold thread embroideries of Lampung, the prada fabrics of Bali, the doyo weavings of Kalimantan, till the ikats of East Nusa Tenggara. Internal culture, for centuries the only offspring of the existence of traditional textiles has in recent times seemingly given way to another powerful fenomena, the external market. Since then many traditional textiles has been transformed from fabrics solely made for serving the customs of its makers e.i. the local community, into paraphernalia for the outside world. One outstanding example can be found in the ikats of East Nusa Tenggara, in particular in a textile that functions as a part of a mens traditional attire called hinggi. Produced in the north coast region of the eastern part of the island of Sumba the hinggi has been through a century of changes in design, theme, technique and function, especially in the three latter decades of the 20th century due to the rise of Indonesia’s international tourism at that time This article will discuss the changes in the aesthetical features of the fabric which reciprocally affects its utilitarian and technical aspects.

Hinggi of East Sumba-techniques and functions

Hinggi is one form of material culture of East Sumba traditional art product that is

important in the aspect of both spiritual as well as secular life. Hinggi takes the form of a sheet of

cloth, a rectangle measuring ± 250 x 120 cm and is made by the warp ikat technique, which is

used for designing motifs of cloth by dyeing bundles of cotton threads where certain parts are

covered with a dye blocking medium. In the local Sumbanese language, it is referred to as hondu

hemba (hondu=ikat; hemba=warp). The main materials consist of manually spun cotton threads

and natural dyes. Finally, while in East Sumba the ikat weaving technique is used for making

various kinds of traditional cloths, it is mainly used for making hinggi.

Hinggi has a central position in the customs and traditions of the East sumba people,

placing the cloth to have both symbolical and practical functions. Both functions are interrelated

as shown through its different uses, both in religious context as well as the socio-economical

ordinance within the communities. In this context, hinggi is oriented to the customs and

traditions of East Sumba and with regards to this paper it will be referred as to as the ‘traditional

hinggi’ or hinggi. Referring to the views of Gittinger (1990) on the cultural roles of Indonesian

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textiles, the existence of traditional hinggi in East Sumba culture is concerned with its multiple

functions as apparel, a symbol of prestige, a ceremonial object, a present in the gift exchange

system, and a communication media for conveying messages. Besides those functions, hinggi

also functions as a media for aesthetic expression (Anas, 2006: 145-8).

Considering its most important function as apparel, hinggi is the main component of men’s

traditional clothing. For this function, hinggi appears in a pair of identical sheets of cloth, one is

wrapped around the hips and the other is slung over the shoulder. The complete traditional suit is

worn when people go to important events, such as wedding, and burial ceremonies, or

agricultural harvesting celebration.

The function of hinggi as a symbol of prestige is seen in the context of gender and social

hierarchy. It is symbolically related to supernatural powers (marapu) and reincarnation, namely

descendants of the aristocrats (maramba). Considering also the strict traditional requirements in

the weaving process, all these features has made the hinggi highly valued, at the same time, also

confirmed the distinguished status of its owner. In this context, the high status given to hinggi

departed from the customs and traditions in East Sumba, placing cloth in the realm of women.

Woven cloths represented the ability and responsibility of women, in developing the idea, social

ordinance, production process, as well as the end products. Therefore, woven cloths, including

hinggi, symbolize the dignity and wealth of women, both morally and materially (Anas, 2006:

133).

Hinggi has two adhering functions in the gift and exchange system, namely in their

connections to traditional ceremonies and as materials for exchange with the necessities for

living. Traditional gifts and exchanges are particularly seen in wedding and burial ceremonies. In

wedding ceremonies, hinggi became one of the things brought by the bride for exchange with the

things brought by the bridegroom. In burial ceremonies, apart from being a symbol of respect for

the deceased and family, hinggi also presented as a provision for the spirit of the deceased

person (man) for his journey to the afterlife. All the presented cloth will be reciprocated with

equal gifts in the future (Anas, 2006: 134). As capital goods, hinggi is bartered for farm produce,

forest products, jewelleries, metal objects, ivory, and other necessities.

With regard to its communication functions, hinggi plays the role as a message

carier. The message is covered in the form of conveyance of respect, confirmation of authority

and social status as well as possession of wealth. Respect is revealed through bestowal of high

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quality hinggi at traditional ceremonies. Authority and social status are emphasized by the use of

high quality hinggi. The message of wealth is expressed through the number and quality of

hinggi a person has.

As a ceremonial object, besides functioning at marriage and burial, ceremonies such as

explained earlier, hinggi is also used in traditional process of transporting gravestones to the

burial location. Hinggi is installed on the gravestone, usually a large tablet, just like a sail of a

boat in its trip to the afterlife. The other function of traditional hinggi is as a media for aesthetical

expresssion is based on grounds of idealisms of the East Sumba people where quality of cloth is

appraised based on the the technical skills and aesthetic sensitivity of the weaver. East Sumba

weavers use some materials, tool, and techniques, and certain decorative elements as medium in

the production of hinggi. Accumulation in skills of spinning of fibers and in weaving, expertise

in collecting and processing of dyestuffs, mastery in tie and dyeing of threads, and sensitivity in

selecting and designing the pattern and motifs, all determine the quality of a particular sheet of

hinggi. Hinggi cloths meeting these qualifications will bring respect to the weaver or owners and

are highly valued in the East Sumba customs and traditions.

The visual aspects of hinggi concern its design or motifs, which are presented in various

configuration levels and kinds, ranging from the simple blank sheet of cloth with no patterns to

complex motifs appearing on the woven cloth. Complex motifs are seen on hinggi having a red

color tone (hinggi kombu) and hinggi having a blue tone (hinggi kaworu).

Hinggi is a long-established customary product growing in the East Sumba culture since

old times. Its motifs are not only unique, but they also show great variety of qualities originating

from East Sumba’s cultural environments as well as foreign influences. The motifs are

impressively shown in distinct and large configurations distributed symmetrically on the x-y axis

throughout the cloth surface (Adams, 1969; Larsen et al, 1976; Warming and Gaworsky, 1981;

Forshee, 1996). The entire motifs are arranged in a division into three horizontal planes based on

a quadrant structure. Two of the three horizontal planes (A) have identical motifs arranged in

diametrical positions with the third patterned horizontal plane (B) in the middle (Figure 1).

Two color tones, namely red and blue, are used as basic colors in the hinggi

motifs. Both color tones can appear individually or mixed together, the latter is done through a

layering or multiple dying techniques to produce the third group of color tones, ranging from

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dark brown, deep red, to dark purple. The mixed coloring style is usually found on the hinggi

kombu, whereas hinggi kaworu usually have blue color tones.

Adams (1969) divided the hinggi motifs into three large groups, namely the figurative, the

schematic, and the foreign influenced groups of motifs. The figurative group departs from living

creatures (fauna, flora, and human beings) and natural objects (non-living) in stylistic styles

(Figure 1) This group is only based on ideas of East Sumba local ecology and cultural resources.

The schematic motif group has a basic geometric shape of lacework, of abstract style (Figure 1).

The motifs are inspired from local cultural sources and maybe foreign culture as well

(Portuguese?). Motif groups with influences of cultures outside East Sumba, are particularly

connected to cultures from China, India , and the Netherlands. Just like the other configurative

motifs, the shape and styles of foreign motifs are also based on figures of human beings, flora,

fauna, animals of mythology, and natural objects, and are of stylistic style. Chinese influence is

seen on the presence of dragon motifs. This motif appeared through a process of adaptation of

similar designs of Chinese ceramic products entering Indonesia. Dutch influence appears in

shapes of lions and shields (Dutch coat of arms), crowns, as well as three colored flags (Adams,

1969). Influences of India are shown in motifs of elephant figures with stylistic styles and the

patola ratu motif which take the abstract geometrical style. Another Indian influence is seen in

the overall composition of the motifs showing similar features of the patola, an Indian silk

double ikat cloth that was once highly valued by the Indonesian people. Portuguese (?)

connections are seen in the openwork schematic motifs with semblances of crosses an badges

used by noblemen or knights (soldiers).

Apart from the figurative, stylistic, and abstract designs, many of the hinggi motifs have

symbolical meanings based on the people’s beliefs in supernatural powers, with the king as

representation on earth. Some of the famous symbolical motifs are the skull-tree (andung) motifs

symbolizing power and strength, human (tau) motifs symbolizing ancestors, horse (njara) motifs

symbolizing masculinity, dragon motifs symbolizing aristocratic status and souvereignity, and

crocodile (buya) motifs symbolizing powers of the king. All the above explained designs of the

hinggi and meanings of its motifs have placed the cloth basically as a ceremonial object and

referred to the production era between the years 1900 – 1912, named the ‘standard period’

(Adams, 1969:95).

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Hinggi design development between the years 1900-2000

Growing interests for hinggi are motivated by diverse factors which are basically of

promotional nature, and particularly those related to the fame of ‘primitive’ arts and development

of various lectures about them among the western communities as well as international tourism

(see Anas, 2006: 248 – 53). Indeed the development had caused the hinggi and the producers to

be directly exposed to the foreign public, continuously and for a long time already, factors that

spurred the penetration of external influences. Placing the developments in time frames, then, during the period between the years 1900 to

2000, process-wise, hinggi was in a continuum of changes on its aesthetical, technical, physical

and functional aspects. In general, the time span can be divided into two large periods, namely

prior to 1900 up to 1970 and from 1970 –through 2000. These divisions of periods (and the sub-

periods discussed below) are not deterministic, they rather indicate the eras where the certain

styles in design and motif configurations were introduced. Nevertheless, this period is more

precisely comprised of three sub-periods, namely between the end of the 19th century to 1912,

from 1913 through 1945, and 1945 through 1970.

From the End of the 19th century to 1912: The ‘Idealistic’ Track and Early Symptoms of Change

This time span was colored by hinggi made especially for internal cultural

needs and as stated earlier is called the ‘traditional’ hinggi. During this time period,

the aesthetical appearance of hinggi had not experienced significant changes, although

physically, many of the products had started to use machine spun threads and synthetic dyestuffs.

Likewise, in its functional aspect hinggi is used as a traditional object. Therefore, as viewed from

the context of change, the alterations in hinggi in this period were still in the early stage. Hence,

the hinggi cloths produced during this time were considered to be at the ideal quality level. For

that reason this type production line of hinggi is called the ‘idealistic’ track, explicitly indicating

their position as reference for the production of hinggi in later periods with various other

qualities and external influences caused by cultural contacts between the East Sumba people and

outsiders progressing along with the modernisation of Indonesia.. Hinggi’s placement as a

traditional object confirmed its role in the internal culture of the East Sumba community.

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The external market for hinggi during this period seemed not to grow in the context of

commercial or international trade activities as comprehended nowadays but more due to

individual interests and undertakings. It started in the end of the 19th century, when

ethnographers and the Dutch Museum began to collect hinggi and made continuous efforts to

introduce the cloths to the Dutch and European public through various publications and

exhibitions (Adams, 1969: 1, 98 – 9). The popularity gained by hinggi enhanced a growing

interest for them, especially the Dutch communities in Java and Europe, which initiated the

business activities. However, most of the commercial activities were still within the limits of

local trade areas. The marketing to Java and overseas countries at that time was still relying on

inter-island transportation.

1913 – 1945: The ’Pragmatic’ Track, the Reduction of Motifs and

the Development of Realistic Styles

Fluctuations in increased and reduced hinggi production were happening during this period.

Increased production was due to the growing external markets, along with the opening of the

Waingapu harbor in the inter-island sea transportation line of the Koninklijke Pakketvaart

Maatschappij (KPM) in year 1913 (Adams, 1969: 96). This event had increased accessibility to

Sumba with the outer world, both regionally as well as internationally when compared to the

earlier periods. This development had also given rise to new phenomena on hinggi with

promotional and productive implications that impacted indirectly on the motifs.

Promotional wise, hinggi was getting increasingly popular along with the traffic

flow of people entering and going out from (East) Sumba. The market had spread beyond the

geographical boundaries of the source area, especially to Java, and henceforth, also indirectly to

overseas countries, European countries in particular. Implications of such promotion had

reciprocally triggered the globalization or internationalization of the hinggi external market.

Production wise, the making of hinggi developed on two different tracks, each with its

respective characteristics and target users (see Wielenga in Adams, 1969: 99)

The first track, beforehand the only one single track, namely the ‘idealistic’ track’, which is

standard and ideal in terms of quality. This is the production of ‘traditional’ hinggi, i.e hinggi in

the scope of the cloth’s rightful existence and its functions as a traditional object with reference

to the traditional qualification standards.

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The second track is the production of hinggi for the external market after year

1913. This was a commercial market and therefore, had induced various changes concerning the

designs, raw materials, techniques and functions. The design had experienced simplification and

enlargement of the motifs as well as a reduction of color tones. Simplification is indicated by the

absence of motif details and reduction of the use of different colors. Enlargement is obtained by

increasing the motifs’ sizes, including spacing them farther apart. More and more machine-spun

yarns (benang toko, yarns bought from the shop) are used, as well as synthetic dyestuffs

(wenter). Production was usually done simultaneously to obtain maximum efficiency. Such

hinggi design had also gained additional motifs and styles. This was especially seen in the use of

new, foreign designs, among others, various shapes of ocean-going vessels (Figure 2), women’s

faces (queen Wilhelmina from the Netherlands, 1890 – 1948) and of daily things (for example,

bicycles), while the earlier are,mentioned earlier, Dutch flags and coats of arms, the patola ratu,

and the Indian elephant motif, as well as the Chinese dragon motif. Presumably, development of

these motifs was also due to information flow from the outside world into Sumba (Sejarah

Daerah Nusa Tenggara Timur (History of East Nusa Tenggara) 1977/1978: 107).

The shapes and styles of the motifs indicated a tendency of realistic motifs (Forshee, 1996:

72-3) (figure 2), whereas beforehand, they were only limited to abstract and stylistic motifs. In

connection with this development, in the context of this discussion on hinggi, the term ‘realistic’

hinggi will be used for the realistic motifs style.

The use of realistic styles on motifs of hinggi was allegedly due to the intention of meeting

the European market tastes. Changes on the design also include the reappearing of old and

already vanishing motifs. Reappearances of these motifs among others, was due to the objective

of serving the demands of the interested buyers to imitate the hinggi motifs available in the

museum catalogs or magazines circulating in the Netherlands or Europe.

In spite of the various changes, the ‘realistic’ hinggi could still be functioning in the

internal cultural society of the producers’ community since basially the motifs are still showing

certain characteristics that refer to traditional conventions, especially the diametrical

configurations. Considering this matter, obviously the changes shown in the ‘realistic’ hinggi are

still of a partial or limited nature. The changes are not great in the sense that they do not change

the design themes and principles as well as functions of hinggi. Substantively therefore, the

‘realistic’ hinggi is of pragmatic nature. They appeared with two contexts at the same time,

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namely for the sake of customs and traditions, as well as for the interest of the external market.

Referring to this nature the quality level of the hinggi cloths produced during this period of time

can be regarded as pragmatic and therefore are regarded suitable to be classified in the

‘pragmatic track’

Reduced hinggi production for the external market took place during the Japanese

occupation in Indonesia (1942 – 1945) (Adams, 1969: 100). After these years until the end of the

sixth decade of the 20th century hinggi’s production rate was not clear. However, regardless of its

quality and quantity, it is quite probable that the production of the ‘realistic’ hinggi as well as the

‘traditional” hinggi in their respective ‘idealistic’ and ‘pragmatic’ tracks has continued.

1945 - 1970: Continuity of the Realistic Style

Considering the design, in the years after 1942 the hinggi tended to stop developing. Apart

from the impacts of Japanese occupation, excesses of World War II and the not yet stable

political situation in the country until the middle of the 1960-ies, were indirectly became

constraints for social and economic development of people all over the country. Concentrations

of hinggi production during these years tended to only meeting internal cultural needs, whereas

external markets were lacking development (see Adams, 1969: 100). Presumably, production of

hinggi in general during the years 1945 to the 1970-ies was not showing significant changes,

both physically (aesthetically) as well as technically.

1970 – 2000: Market Dynamics and Design Development

This period referred especially to the production of hinggi in the last 25 years of

the 20th century until recent as the period of increased hinggi production in East Sumba due to

enhanced eagerness of the external market that was triggered by development of international

tourism in Indonesia (Forshee, 1996: ix). The progress was related to macro-economic policies

of the ‘New Order’ central government stressing upon national developments in all fields

including the tourism sector, in this case, international tourism, which was considered as superior

and important for economic development in Indonesia (Departemen Penerangan (Department of

Information), 1969: 168-80). Realizations of international tourism development started in Bali,

signified by the rehabilitation of the Ngurah Rai Airport in the area of Tuban, Denpasar, in year

1969 (although long beforehand, in the 1930-ies, the Dutch colonial government had led the way

for international tourism in Bali by promoting the island of Bali as the ‘island of gods’ or the

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‘Nirvana island’). This first step was followed by various development programs of

infrastructure and facilities of international scale with all its components that were related to

tourism interests and services for the tourists, including the making available of diverse art

products in various forms. This development would not only trigger external market growth for

local art products, but also products of the same kind from different other areas in Indonesia,

including East Sumba cloths. East Sumba, as a part of Sumba, is located relatively close to Bali,

thus, making it easier for supplying the cloths to tourism destination centers in the island. Aside

from opening opportunities for confirming the existence of hinggi for the wide public, the

external market also placed hinggi to face diverse aspirations of foreign tourists. Hinggi came

forward in a range of more varied designs and motifs than they were in the past. Earlier, the

changes in the design and motifs of hinggi were partial, but nowadays, the development has

made the cloths’ pragmatic role (‘realistic’ hinggi) to gradually advancing towards substantial

variances away from the traditional standards that make them no longer possible to fulfill their

traditional functions other than as a trade commodity. The variances are related to design

creativity, both motifs and colors, in dealing with market aspirations, leading to the creation of

new appropriation for hinggi, namely for room decorations such as wall-hangings, which

increasingly encourage the various changes in their design and motifs.

Changes in styles, themes, and motif arrangements

The changes in the design of hinggi nowadays can be classified into four categories.

First is the ‘realistic’ hinggi with decorative secular themes as a continuity of the ‘realistic’

hinggi of the 1913 – 1942 and 1945 – 1970 eras. The realistic style of the era was increasingly

attributed to the suppleness of lines and dynamics of movements, although the design symmetry

was still referring to traditional hinggi (x and y axis), divided into quadrants. Red and blue color

tones were still dominant in this first hinggi category, just like the traditional hinggi. Second is

the hinggi with a symmetrical motif arrangement with only the axis y in dual division. The

diametric position has an x axis, still maintaining the traditional hinggi design but with different

motifs. The motifs are expressed in shapes of realistic style with decorative secular themes as

well as of stylistic and abstract styles with spiritual symbolic themes. Hinggi with such motif

arrangement is called hinggi hondu kihil (hondu = ikat (tie); kihil = rotation) (Figure 3). Indeed

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the color tones of hinggi hondu kihil are still referring to the red and blue color tones of the

traditional hinggi.

The third category is the hinggi with symmetrical design, y axis with doublet pattern motif

configuration in coincidental arrangement which, on the whole, expressed in a one direction

position (unlike the traditional and ‘realistic’ hinggis that are diametrical in it’s motif

configuration). The design themes are varied, nevertheless, they tend to be decorative secular

with variations of using the motifs of traditional hinggi (which are sumbolical and spiritual) and

other sources of East Sumba material culture like scenes of dances or daily life happenings. Such

hinggi is usually called the ‘one direction’ hinggi (‘satu arah’) and is already showing symptoms

of color tones dominated by red color tones, a deviation from the traditional hinggi color tones of

red and blue. Finally, the fourth is the hinggi with further changes in design with secular

decorative themes. The arrangement of motifs is based on symmetry of axis y with doublet

pattern configurations in coincidental arrangement, expressing scenes of important events in the

cultural life of East Sumba people. The scenes are illustrated in narrative sequences from the

upper end to the lower end of the cloth. The motif styles are getting more supple (biomorphic)

and dynamic. In the context of this writing, the respective hinggi is referred to as the ‘narrative’

hinggi (Figure 4). Red color tones are dominant in this category of hinggi.

Among the native communities, the ‘narrative’ hinggi is often named in accordance to the

scenes that made up the design theme. Regarding the latter, the pasola scene used as the hinggi

design theme has caused the cloth to be called hinggi pasola. Besides hinggi ‘pasola’ there are

also the hinggi ‘papanggangu’ (papanggangu=the burial ceremony of a king) and hinggi ‘palai

ngandi’ (depicting the kidnapping of the bride by her husband to be). Pasola and papanggangu

are the two great events in the tradition of the Sumba ethnic group which later become a famous

tourist attraction although there is no exact schedule for such events. In the case of

papangganggu, the reason is that various traditional requirements should first be met before

organizing the event, whereas in the case of pasola, there is yet no exact date, although the event

is always held around the end of February or beginning of March). Palai ngandi becomes a

tourist attraction more because of dramatization of the event, namely an act in the Sumba culture

which is later made as cloth motifs.

The various changes, especially those related to the ‘one direction’ and ‘narrative’ hinggi,

are basically beyond the traditional quality standards, and thus, they could no longer be called

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hinggi. The ‘one direction’ hinggi is within the context of the external market’s (tourists’)

aspirations wishing the cloth to function as wall decoration. The objective is to have the hinggi

draped on the wall of a room like a painting with motifs of local culture themes, but easily

understood. These types of hinggi, if it still is appropriate to called it as such, are entirely

commercial and are therefore regarded suitable to be classified in the ‘commercial track’.

Changes in the functions of hinggi also include their uses as fabric or material for making

western style apparels (coats, blazers, shirts, and jackets), interior and households accessories

(drapes, upholsteries, and bed covers); Also various fashion accessories like purses, bags, sacks,

and hats. However, the respective change of functions is only limited to the use of hinggi as a

sheet of woven cloth that could be cut and formed according to the usage patterns. This function

does not (yet) demand basic changes on the design and process of tying and dyeing of the thread

bundles.

Tabel 1: Production purposes of hinggi (<1900 - > 2000)

Era Prod. purpose/ Track

< 190

0

1900 –

1910

1910 –

1920

1920 –

1930

1930 – 194

0

1940 – 195

0

1950 – 196

0

1960 –

1970

1970 – 198

0

1980 – 199

0

1990 -

2000

> 200

0

Internal culture/ idealistic

track

± 1900 Traditional hinggi

External market/

pragmatic track

± 1913 ‘realistic’ hinggi

external market/

commercial track

± 1970 ’one direction’/ narrative’ hinggi; diverse rect’lar cloths

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Table 2: Diversified hinggi designs

00 Pragmatic track

> 1913 Commercial track > 1970

Production track Idealistic tract > 19

Aspe cts Design

Motifs - Shapes - Styles

- themes

Color tones

Aranggement of motifs

Traditional/original (mayority) Stylistic-abstract

Spiritual-symbolic

Red-blue

Diametrical – 2 directions; in quadrants

Traditional/original – new Stylistic-abstract- realistic Spiritual-symbolic- secular

Red-blue

Diametrical – 2 directions; in quadrants

New (majority) Realistic (dominant) secular-decorative

Dominance of red; random color scheme

Diametrical;coincidental; 1 direction; doublet; single piece

Recently (as shown in the above tables) the ‘commercial track’ showed changes in the

motifs, themes and overall configuration that go even further. Christrian topics like the

Christmas tree with surrounding angels, Jesus in standing pose, landscapes, sceneries, running

horses and the like are increasingly filling the market. But amidst the changes in it’s

formal/aesthetical aspect, the technique in making the hinggi, warp ikat, persist, infact it is

implemented in a variety of rectangle cloths with themes, as mentioned above, that do not

resemble hinggi at all. The two tables below respectively show hinggi’s production purposes

(Table 1) and diversification of designs (Table 2) within a period of about 100 years.

Conclusion

Through an approximately time span of 100 years, the production of hinggi has developed

into greater varieties of designs and motifs, each with their respective characteristics. Viewing

the different designs and motifs from a historical context, the development could be divided into

two large periods. The first period took place between the years 1900 – 1970, particularly after

year 1913, where designs were oriented to simplification of motifs and color tones, as well as the

use of machine-spun yarns and synthetic dyestuffs. This period had only induced partial changes,

especially on visual aspects, namely the motifs and showing interest in hinggi production

efficiency. The objective of efficiency was to maintain supply of products in connection with

increased market demands as well as to safeguard the market attraction power of hinggi. On the

one hand, the external market had played its role quantitatively, namely of increasing demands

and production. However, qualitatively on the other hand, the external market’s role was lacking.

Quality of hinggi products was declining, especially considering the motifs, which were greatly

reduced due to various simplifications. Nevertheless, hinggi products with such design are

pragmatic, in the sense that they were produced not only for the external market, at the same

time they could still serve various traditional needs. Meaning also that, while on the one side

hinggi could still function as a traditional object, on the other side the design and motifs of

hinggi had also experienced changes due to their orientation towards the external market. The second period, namely between the years 1970 – 2000 and beyond, hinggi cloths were

produced with greater variations of design and motifs. Besides the simplifications, which are

quantitative, hinggi design and motifs had also underwent qualitative changes, namely in aspects

of shapes, styles, arrangements, colors, and themes. The shapes, which were simplified during

the previous period, had become more complex. Styles of motifs that tended to be abstract and

stylistic before became increasingly realistic with supple biomorphic lines. The arrangement of

motifs had changed from having a double x-y axis to single asix (y). configurations of color tones

had transformed from basic tones of red and blue to a dominance of red color tones. Beforehand,

design themes were based on spiritual culture and now they are based on material culture. All of

the developments reveal substantial changes to the pattern of hinggi motifs, from symbolism to

decoration, reflecting a penetration of external market’s tastes and aspirations into the design.

The changes had also affected substantially on the uses and applications of hinggi as indicated by

its transformation from ceremonial, traditional objects into commodities. This development

shows that , besides playing its role quantitatively, particularly in diversifying the design and

motifs, the external market also plays its role qualitatively, not only in aspects of design and

motifs, but functional aspects of the hinggi as well although such appearances of hinggi are

totally of commercial nature and could no longer be used as traditional objects, evenmore they

could not longer be called hinggi.

In terms of the future of hinggi, above all it is a cultural product. It represents the ideals,

beliefs and world view of the East Sumbanese, which in turn form the foundation of its

existence. Therefore, the existence and future of the hinggi depends on the cultural awareness of

the people who created it and appreciation towards their cultural values. Cultural awareness and

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appreciation will place the hinggi as an identity and pride of the community from where it

belongs. Meanwhile, the existence of a tradition depends on the development of the environment,

circumstances and the spirit of times as well. Modernization in it various forms will play an

important role in determining the flow and course of a tradition The power of change due to

modernization, including globalization, seemingly leave no room for the existence of tradition.

This is true for all kinds of material cultural products, and the hinggi is no exception.

Only strict obedience to tradition with absolute adherence and devotion can probably

guarantee a sustainable existence for traditional products and thereby assuring its future. This is

possible and, as a matter of fact, is much seen in communities living far from the outside world.

However, it is hard to see isolation as a choice to preserve tradition in today’s ever developing

world that demands social connection and networking to stay competetive. Therefore, another

possibilty could be considered e.g. having a thorough understanding and awareness on the

cultural values embedded in one’s traditional culture. Understanding and culture awareness is the

energy to drive and incite a sense of identity and pride of it. In the case of hinggi it lies in the

high standards and uniqueness of the cloth’s aesthetical and technical features upon which its

future depends.

Cultural awareness and pride have to be supported by creativity as a dominant factor in

preserving traditional products. The history of Hinggi in all its diversity shows this, especially in

those that remained diametrical in terms of the configuration of motifs. But hinggi is not all

about motif and colors, it is also a showcase for one of Indonesia’s infinite source of textile

production techniques, the resist dye based warp ikat technique. Here creativity is expressed

through all types of hinggi including the ‘one direction’ and the ‘narrative’ ‘hinggi’, and the

many rectangle cloths with various themes. From the technical point, hinggi can no doubt be

developed even further. Hinggi’s warp ikat technique alone can be exploited for endless textile

product types and variations, not to mention its diverse motifs and colors, and possible

application of alternate fibers such as silk and the use of new dyes. Batik provides a good

example of changes brought about in local traditions through the application of modern textile

technologies, through the influence of countless preferences in taste and fashion. Despite the

constant predictions of its impending extinction batik prevails and in fact rich variations of

design, function, technique, base material are constantly emerging. And even there, if a market is

created for classical tulis batik colored by vegetable dyes, its production will evolved and expand

28

29

rathe

,

g

r than go extinct.As a traditional form of cloth hinggi faces the same challenges, in both

technical and aesthetic terms. The future of hinggi will depend on the level of cultural awareness

pride and creativity of the East Sumbanese, in the deep with which they realize it can be used as

one of the most important aspects of their socio-cultural identity. Realizing this and capitalizin

upon it will support the continued existence of hinggi existence and both the production of old

and new forms well into the future.

y

x

y

x

Figure 1: Traditional Hinggi >1900 era

Diametric symmetrical motifs, x-y axis, in quadrant pattern, the ecology and local culture of East Sumba as

Figure 2: Hinggi produced in the > 1913 era. Motifs with realistic

styles (boat styles)

motif direction

motif direction

stylistic motives

stylistic motives

schematicmotives

A

y

B

A

motif direction

motif direction

A

B

Figure 3 Hinggi hondu kihil, produced in the > 1970 era. Different motifs in part A and B, y axis, diametric

arrangement, doublet pattern

y

Figure 4: One direction ‘narrative’ hinggi, pasola version, made in the > 1970 era. Motifs in realistic style with biomorphic lines, y axis, doublet pattern. Narration starts from the upper end and ends at the

bottom end of the cloth

motif direction

narrative direction

30

References Adams, M. J. (1969), System and Meaning in East Sumba Textile Design: A

Study in Traditional Indonesian Art, Yale University Southeast Asia Studies, New Haven, Connecticut.

____________(1999), “Life and death on Sumba”, dalam Decorative Arts of Sumba, The Pepin Press, Amsterdam, 11 – 29.

Anas, Biranul (2006), East Sumba hinggi pattern in the tourism destination area. Continuity and Change, Doctoral dissertation, Institut Teknologi Bandung.

Chambers, E. (2000), Native Tours. The Anthropology of Travel and Tourism, Waveland Press, Inc. Illinois. Departemen Penerangan R.I (1969), Garis-garis Besar haluan Negara Forshee, J. K. (1994), “ Sumbanese Textiles Past and Present. Transitions in Cloth and Society” , dalam Indonesian and Other Asian Textiles. A Common Heritage, Museum Nasional, Jakarta, 53 – 75. ____________(1996), Powerful Connections. Cloth, Identity, and Global

Links in East Sumba, Indonesia, PhD. dissertation, University of California, Berkeley.

____________(1999), “Unfolding passages: weaving through the centuries In East Sumba’, dalam Decorative Arts of Sumba, The Pepin Press, Amsterdam, 31 – 51.

Geertz, C. (1997), “Cultural Tourism: Tradition, Identity and Heritage Construction”, dalam Nuryanti W., Editor, Tourism and Heritage Management, Gajah Mada University Press, Yogyakarta, 14 – 24.

Gittinger, M.(1990), Splendid Symbols. Textiles and Tradition in Indonesia, Oxford Unversity Press, Singapore.

Graburn, N.H.H. Ed., (1976) Ethnic and Tourist Arts. Cultural Expressions from the Fourth World, University of California Press, Berkeley. Hitchcock, M., T. King, V.T. dan Parnwell, M. J.G., Eds. (1993), Tourism in South-East Asia, Routledge, London-New York. Kantor MeNeg Kebudayaan & Pariwisata, 2002 Kapita, Oe. H. (1982), Kamus Sumba/Kambera – Indonesia, Panitia Penerbit Naskah-naskah Kebudayaan Daerah Sumba, Dewan Penata Layanan Gereja Kristen Sumba, Waingapu. Larsen, J.L., Bühler, A., Solyom, B. dan Solyom, G. (1976?), The Dyer’s

Art. Ikat, Batik, Plangi, Van Nostrand Reinhold, New York. McIntosh, R. W., Goeldner, C. R. dan Ritchie, J.R.B. (1995), Tourism.

Principles, Practices, Philosophies, John Wiley & Sons, New York.

Proyek Penelitian dan Pencatatan Kebudayaan Daerah (1977/1978), Sejarah Daerah Nusa Tenggara Timur, Pusat Penelitian Sejarah dan Budaya, Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Jakarta. Warming, W. dan Gaworski, M. (1981), The World of Indonesian Textiles, Kodansha International Ltd.,Tokyo.

31

Conservation, Display, and Storage Techniques for Indonesian Textiles in South Australia

Kristin Phillips

Abstract

Artlab Australia is responsible for the care of textile collections from the public collections of South Australia including the major collection of Indonesian Textiles belonging to the Art Gallery of South Australia. The curator of Asian Art at the gallery, Mr. James Bennett, frequently displays Indonesian textiles with other media to encourage and facilitate the interpretation and appreciation of Indonesian art. Artlab is responsible for preparing these textiles for display. The methods for stitch and adhesive repair and painted patches will be outlined. Display methods including the use of fabric covered backing boards, soft Velcro, shaped mounts for tubes and methods for securing fringing will be described. The preparation of textile for storage in boxes will also be discussed.

Introduction

Artlab Australia is responsible for the care of textile collections from the public

collections of South Australia including the major collection of Indonesian Textiles belonging to

the Art Gallery of South Australia. The Curator of Asian Art at the gallery, Mr. James Bennett,

frequently displays Indonesian textiles with other media to encourage and facilitate the

interpretation and appreciation of Indonesian art. The Textile Conservators at Artlab work to

ensure that the textiles are displayed and stored safely to ensure their long term preservation

whilst meeting exhibition deadlines in an efficient and cost effective manner. Systems for

treatment, display and storage of textiles have developed over the years so that these objectives

are met.

Figure 1: Ritual cloth hanging, sekomandi with figures on display. The Art Gallery of South Australia

32

Conservation Treatments

There are a wide range of techniques used for the treatment of Indonesian textiles. The

treatments outlined below are ones that are commonly used for the repair of Indonesian textiles

at Artlab prior to display. If a textile is damaged it will require treatment before it can be safely

displayed. If the damage is small and the textile is generally in good condition often a patch of a

new fabric is used. If a textile is fairly strong and has a weave structure that is open enough to

allow a fine needle to pass through it without damage, repairs will be hand-stitched in place.

Stitching is preferred as it is considered to be more sympathetic, supportive and easily reversible.

If the textile is too fragile or fine an adhesive technique is required.

Initially a fabric with a similar texture and weave is selected. The patch needs to be a

colour that blends with the textile. Where possible a commercially produced colour will be used.

However, it is frequently not possible to buy a matching colour. Then the patch fabric has to be

dyed or painted by the conservator to match suing appropriate stable dye or fabric paint. Once

the correct colour has been achieved the patch is cut larger than the damage so that it can be

sewn into the undamaged area around the hole. The patch is the hand-sewn in place using

running stitch. The damage is additionally supported by stitching using a couching stitch.

Generally a very fine silk or polyester thread is used. This is a very commonly used technique for

the repair of textiles.

Often a plain patch in a well matched colour will disguise an area of loss so that it is not

visually obvious. However, where the damage is in a patterned area a plain patch will sometimes

remain quite visible. In such a case the patch will be painted, before it is applied, using fabric

paints replicating the pattern in the area of loss. The required pattern is copied from an intact area

of the textile onto clear plastic. The pattern is then traced onto the patch and replicated. The

colours and intensities are matched as closely as possible. The patch is then cut and sewn into

position as previously described. A painted patch will work very effectively to disguise an area

of loss but is easily detected under close examination. At Artlab Deka Silk fabric paints are used

to colour fabrics. The paints are commercially available and used for silk painting. These can be

used either to paint plain colours or patterns. They have been found to have good light and wash

fastness and the paints are easily set by ironing.

Where the weave of a textile is very fine, as is the case for many Indonesian batiks, or

where the textile is extremely fragile an adhesive method of repair is used. A fine polyester

33

fabric, Tetex™, is painted out with a conservation grade adhesive (15% v/v 50:50 Lascaux

498HV: Lascaux 360 HV) and allowed to dry. The adhesive-impregnated patch can then be

carefully heat-set into position behind an area of damage. This type of patch will work very

effectively to support a fine or fragile damaged textile. However, this type of patch will not

disguise any areas of loss. To overcome this, a patch can be prepared as previously described. It

can be plain or patterned depending on the area of loss. But in this case the patch is not sewn to

the textile. When the textile is mounted for display onto a fabric-covered board the prepared

patches are sewn only to the backboard behind the areas of loss. The patches are visible through

the fine Tetex and work very effectively to blend and disguise the areas of loss. This method is

also very effective for very open weave textiles such as patola cloth where attaching a patch of a

similar weight fabric can be very obvious. Tetex can then be used for the repair, often a full

lining stitched into place is required, and the painted patches are sewn to the backboard to

disguise the areas of loss for display.

Figure 2: Patola cloth, Art Gallery of South Australia

Figure 3: Detail of patola cloth lined with Tetex™ with painted patch attached to backboard behind damage, Art Gallery of South Australia.

34

Fabric-Covered Backing Boards

Fabric-covered backing boards are used for display of Indonesian textiles at the gallery.

These backboards achieve a number of benefits for the safe display of textiles. Aesthetically they

provide a border around the textile. This also provides some physical protection when handling

the textile particularly to the edges of the textile. They allow the textile to be displayed on a

slight angle which provides additional support and the textile sits on a slightly padded, acid-free

surface. The fabric covering the boards enables the textile to be attached using stitching if

required and patches used to disguise areas of loss can be sewn into position. The boards are

constructed from a wooden strainer. The strainer is covered with a light weight acid-free board,

Corflute™ a polypropylene plastic board. This is then covered with two layers of fabric which

are stapled at the back. A first layer is cotton flannelette and is used to give some slight padding

to the board. The final layer of fabric is selected to suit the textile. The Art Gallery of South

Australia has selected one colour that they use for all of the Indonesian textiles. This layer can be

chosen at the discretion of the conservator and the curator but generally it would be advised to

use a cotton or cotton/polyester mix and to avoid wool or silk as it may attract insects. When

using a coloured fabric always ensure it is wash fast and it is ideal to wash the fabric before use

to ensure that any impurities have been removed. The fabric-covered backing boards work well

to provide support for the textiles whilst enabling losses to be disguised and achieving the

aesthetic requirements of exhibition.

The textile can be attached to the fabric-covered board in a number of ways. The textile

can be simply stitched into position. This is useful for transparent fabrics where other hanging

systems will be visible. The textile can also be sewn to a heading cloth. This consists of a strip of

fabric, generally the same fabric used to cover the backing board, that is sewn to the top edge of

the textile with 2 rows of hand stitching. The heading cloth is then attached to the backing board

using staples on the back. It is a very effective technique but it can be difficult to remove the

textile as the staples used to attach the heading cloth need to be removed as it is preferable not to

place the textile face down when removing the staples.

The use of Soft and Flexible Velcro™ has been found to be the most convenient hanging

system for many Indonesian textiles. It allows for rapid removal and reattachment of the textile

to the backing board but as this form of Velcro is much finer and more flexible than standard

Velcro™ the hanging system is less bulky. Soft and Flexible Velcro™ is used commonly for

35

baby’s clothing and lightweight fabrics. Standard Velcro™ and cotton herringbone tape is still

used for thicker or heavier textiles. Initially the soft side of the Soft and Flexible Velcro™ is

machine sewn to wide polyester ribbon. The polyester ribbon/Velcro™ is then hand-sewn to the

textile. The hard side of the Velcro™ is attached to the backing board. Where possible the

strainer is constructed so that a wooden bar is in place behind the location of the hard side

Velcro™. The hard side Velcro™ can then be simply stapled into position using stainless steel

staples. If an additional wooden bar has not been fitted the Velcro™ is sewn into position by

hand through the light weight board.

For display the textile is quickly and simply attached to the backing board using the

Velcro™. The Velcro™ also allows the hang of the textile to be adjusted as required. When the

textile is removed from display the textile is easily detached and the soft side Velcro™ is left in

position when the textile is stored and as such the textile is very easily reattached for display

when next required.

Textiles that are sewn into tubes are often included in exhibitions. It is preferable not to

display these textiles flat as sharp creases along the sides will eventually cause damage and

splitting. Often it is desirable to give these textiles a 3-D quality to show that the textile is a tube

and to give an impression of how the garment might have looked when it was worn. Therefore an

internal form is used to be fill out and provide shape for the textile before it is attached to a

fabric-covered backing board. Forms can be easily constructed from light-weight board with

padded edges. The edges are padded using polyethylene foam rods or tubes. These rods or tubes

are commonly available in Australia in the form of children’s flotation devices, known as pool

noodles or as insulation for plumbing pipes. They are both made from expanded polyethylene

foam, a well known and commonly used foam in conservation.

The tubular textile is measured and the board and foam rod/tube cut accordingly. The

foam is easily cut using a sharp kitchen knife. The rods/tubes are cut longitudinally and glued to

the edges of the board using hot glue. The void between the rods/tubes is filled with a layer of

Dacron™, placed each side of the board, and then the whole lot is covered with fabric.

Additional padding can be included if required to ensure that the textile fits snugly onto the form.

The fabric used to cover the form is a smooth slippery fabric that allows the textile to slide onto

the form. The ends of the form, that can been seen when the textile is on display, are then

covered with a fabric that blends with the textile. Often a stretch knit fabric a similar colour to

36

the backing board is used as it is easier to achieve a smooth finish. A line of stitching at the top

edge attaching the textile to the form is sometimes required.

Figure 4: Diagram of the cross-section of a flat roller

Before a form is padded and covered, aluminium brackets are made to enable the form to

be attached to the backing board. These are pop riveted to the lightweight board used as the core

of the form. The 2 brackets are simply constructed from strap aluminium bent into an angular

‘U’ shape. One side of each of the ‘U’ brackets is attached to the form and the other sides

protrude from the top of the form so they can be hooked onto corresponding brackets attached to

the backing board. Again the strainer requires an additional wooden bar to be placed where the

brackets are attached. For display, once the tubular textile is fitted to the form, the form and the

textile are simply hooked onto the backing board. When it is removed from display they are

simply unhooked and the form can remain inside the textile for storage.

When displaying a textile with fringing often the fringing is at the top. Unless it is

supported it will flop down obscuring the textile. In the past fringing has often been secured to

the backboard using stitching. This is an effective but time consuming process. A recent

alternative has been developed where the fringing is held between two threads that are twisted

together. Two strong threads of a blending colour are used. The first thread is placed under the

fringe, pulled taut and temporarily pinned. The second thread is looped over 3 or 4 individual

fringe members and around the first taut thread, the over the next 3 or 4 fringe members and

under the first thread, the process is repeated until the whole fringe is secured between the 2

threads. The 2 twisted threads are passed through to the back of the fabric covered board at each

side of the fringe and secured. This system worked well to support the fringe and hold it in place.

37

An occasional additional stitch in the middle securing the twisting threads to the back board may

be required if the textile is wide and the fringing heavy.

When the textile is removed from display the additional support stitches are cut and the

twisted threads are released from the back and pulled through to the front but left in place twisted

around the fringing. They are left in place when the textile is placed in storage. When the textile

is required for display again the twisted threads can be reused, resecuring the fringe and greatly

reducing the time required for display preparation.

Storage

After a textile is removed from display it is removed from the backboard and packed

separately for storage. The board is wrapped up and placed in storage. The textile store at the

Gallery does not have specific rolled storage furniture and there is a preference to keep textiles

boxed. Storing textiles in boxes has a number of advantages. No custom built storage furniture is

required, the boxed textiles are easily stacked and the box provides additional physical protection

to the textiles. This is particularly advantageous when items are transported. The Gallery store is

off-site and all textiles have to be transported to and from the store by truck.

A system has been developed where a flat roller is constructed and the textiles are rolled

around the flat roller. This allows the textiles to be more easily stacked into a box. A flat roller is

oval in cross-section and is made up of a light-weight board with padded edges, similar in

construction to the form described for the display of tubular textiles. Lightweight board with the

foam rods used to pad the edges and the void filled with Dacron™. To save time the rods are cut

in half longitudinally using a band saw before they are glued to the edges of the board.

The flat roller is generally covered with an acid-free plastic but washed cotton can also be

used. For rolling, an interleaving layer of an acid-free fabric is placed on the textile, the textile is

rolled around the outside of the flat roller and the rolled textile is then placed into the box.

Several textiles can be placed into one box. It is a particularly good system for textiles that are

difficult to roll such as ones that are lined, distorted due to a tight central seam or gathered at the

top. A standard size box is used and shelving that will fit these standard boxes has been

constructed. This technique has been found to be a very effective system that is makes it easy to

prepare textile for storage whilst providing safe conditions without the need for specialised

storage furniture for rolled textiles.

38

Figure 5: Man’s wrap cloth, hinggi - Textile being rolled onto a flat roller, Art Gallery of south Australia.

Figure 6: Boxed textiles at the store of the Art Gallery of south Australia

39

Conclusion

The Indonesian textile collection forms an exciting and integral part of the ongoing and

ever changing exhibitions of Asian Art at the Art Gallery of South Australia. The conservation,

display and storage requirements for these textiles are diverse. The textile conservators at Artlab

enjoy the challenge of developing and modifying textile conservation techniques to innovatively

and efficiently meet the conservation needs of the textiles so that they can be accessible to the

general public today and the future.

40

The Naga’s Breath: An Introduction to Motifs and Organic Production of Lao Traditional Silk Textiles

Mdame Kommaly Chantavong and Melody Kemp

Introduction

Laos and Indonesia have a lot in common. They are both well known for textile

production, which is an integral part of the national culture. Both gain inspiration from ancient

motifs and symbols that are intertwined with spiritual beliefs, both indigenous to the nation, and

from ancient trading and religious roots with nations such as India. Both are trying to adapt the

textile tradition to modern fashion demands while maintaining the integrity of the designs and

craft. Indonesia is far more well known, Laos has been at war for many years and has only

recently opened to the world. There is no doubt that Laos could learn a lot from Indonesia’s

success in ‘branding’ its textiles. While batik is an age old technique, it is now invariably linked

to Indonesia, while silk is more linked to Thailand, though the Lao tradition has spilled over into

Thailand from the territory annexed by the Thais and now called Issarn.

India can be considered the mother of Asian textiles, the influence being spread via the

early Hindu cultures that spread east from the subcontinent. The Lao and Khmer cultures were

influenced by the Hindu/ Buddhist tradition and designs such as the lock key (signifying

welcome and integration into family and thus often woven for weddings) and interlocking bean

(signifying interdependence and love, also woven for weddings) then came back south to

Kalimantan. Geometric designs similar to those found in Lao silk can be seen in Dayak baskets,

indicating the links textile historians say between Laos and parts of the Indonesian archipelago.

Lock key woven in indigo dyed silk, influenced by Hindu Khmer culture

41

The Naga Tradition

The following tale records the story of the naga as it is conveyed in Laotian oral

tradition:

At the beginnings of time, a poor family lived and fished. The mother and daughter grew mulberry trees and fed silkworms. They had to be fed for two full moons before making a cocoons inside of which they stayed, hatching only once per year. The family called this worm the Mai Faa. Meaning year old worm. The mother reeled the silk and from it the father made a fishing net. When he had finished making the net, he gave it to the daughter who took to the great Nam Kong to fish. She carried her basket of embroidery materials to the river and embellished her sinh (traditional skirt) as she waited to catch a fish. She heard a noise: It was a water dragon or naga crying for help. It had been caught by her silk net and could not escape. She felt pity and tried to free it. Cutting the silk with her scissors she sang a song to encourage the gods to allow her to free the dragon from the tough and fine silk. When the song ended, the net did indeed part, and the dragon swam free. Taking the daughter into his water world she met the king and Queen of the underwater kingdom which protects the land by encouraging the rains. Before she left to go back to her home the King and Queens gave the daughter a bag containing white and yellow ginger. When she got home she opened the bag and the yellow become the sun and the white, the moon. The family gained much wealth an happiness and since then Lao when traveling on the rivers, wear silk threads on their wrists (mai faa) in honour of the naga.

As above, traditional peoples throughout the world venerate the snake, serpent or dragon, and

naga images are ubiquitous in the textiles and other decorative arts, made in Lao particularly

those used in Shamanic arts. Lao shamans wear pieces of silk imbued with naga designs on their

heads (pha khan soeng) , shoulders or loins while calling on the spirits to heal or bring fertility.

Naga are thought to dwell at the confluence of the two rivers that form the isthmus on which the

world heritage listed city of Luang Prabang is built. Their play is heard in thunder and they are

called on to bring the annual rains. Fire balls that annually appear on the Mekong are thought to

be energy from the sacred nagas, and proof that they do exist. Even Westerners have their

equivalent of the naga. The Bible talks of an anthropomorphized snake tempting the suggestible

Eve. Australian aboriginal culture holds the rainbow serpent as enfolding the very life energy

that created human beings. So it is fitting that we should honor the sacred dragon in textiles.

42

Funeral cloths (pha koei) and coffin covers (pha pok long) invariably have naga motifs to

protect the dead during their journey to the spirit world, and the complexity of those depended on

the ethnic group and status of the dead. Laotians wear nagas in the designs woven into their tube

skirts (known as sinhs) or in the hem pieces that typify Lao women’s dress.

Weaving Nagas

Lao girls learn to weave before they are 10 or 12 years old. To keep them attentive they

are told that if they fall from their seat at the loom they will turn into bears are have to leave and

live in the forest. And though Madam Kommaly left home when

she was 13, during the American war in Vietnam which spilled

over the border into Lao, she was at that stage already an

accomplished weaver. On her journey she carried her family’s

heirloom pieces of textile, the sacred nagas of Hua Phan, where she

came from, keeping her safe. Nagas are still a feature of her

weaving. The sale of the heirloom pieces enabled her to establish

her weaving cooperative to provide income to women widowed by

the war. Since then weaving has been her life and it is she who

inspired and taught me.

n know how to weave, it is the women of Hua Phan, Xieng

e Pakse weaving is more influenced by Khmer

thropomorphic symbols: elephants bearing royal

ss the skirt, umbrella’s protecting the king and his consorts

in Huaphan and Xieng Khouang the nagas appear in flaming

entary weave) to be attached to the bottom of a

tube skirt. Here the naga embraces the flowers given as offerings at the end of the 3 month long

fasting period when the Laos celebrate by holding boat races. The candle house naga represents

the candle offerings (Ork Phansa or Kathong) given to the river at the annual boat races,

celebrating the end of the rains retreat.

While most Lao wome

Khouang and Pakse that have special skills. Th

culture and ikat technique and is typified by an

processions treading joyously acro

and laughing female spirits. But

glory, such as the one below, woven (supplem

43

44

Candle House naga

Nagas are intrinsic to Lao weaving to such a degree that it is said that if you are weaving,

you are weaving nagas. This is true even amongst Lao’s sixty or more ethic groups who have

migrated into and within Lao for centuries. The naga symbol is also used by those who worship

forest and river spirits, Buddha or Christianity which underlines the universality and unification

of the naga motif. It seems to transcend religion and race. And while naga are central to most

designs they are joined by flowers, birds and other things the women or man weaving the

creation can see. For instance, one woman below is weaving an ikat (mutt mee) sinh decorated

with crabs, as she had enjoyed a dish of river crabs the night before starting work.

A Living Culture

Like Indonesia the Lao’s textile culture is

not a museum artifact but part of the contemporary

style. Women wear the traditional sinh each day.

Most of these are of silk but increasingly made of

polyester, or imported silk as the industry cannot

keep up with the demand for the sinuous thread. Aid

agencies have been slow to observe the potential of

sericulture, and its place deep in the Lao psyche,

opting for large scale development which is

ravaging the Lao environment and reducing the

amount of land available for mulberry trees.

Laos is a place where everyone wears silk. It

is not bound by wealth or status. Being able to grow

the fiber, reel, spin and weave silk is part of every Lao woman’s heritage. Women wear silk to

markets, to work in the rice fields or to ride motor bikes. We had a women dressed in gray silk

cable us to a truck when we were stuck in the muddy roads of Xieng Khouang. Rural women

mix silk and cotton to make the skirts they live and work in. The two sleeping nagas below are

for the hems of skirts. This design from Xien Khouang, is of sleeping nagas intertwined. Above

them the striped signify a rainbow. The piece is quite old and the fabric soft and gently faded,

having been dyed with plant based dyes. Madame Kommaly usually uses one dye source for

each piece she weaves, each shade of the colour being tempered by mixing and modifying with

other dyes. The piece at photographed at the beginning of this paper has been dyed using indigo

mixed and nuanced.

Sleeping naga

Organic Silk

One of the biggest trends in European fashion is the shift to organically grown and dyed

fibers. This is turn has fostered a number of publications that emphasise ethical and/or organic

textiles. Like Indonesia, Lao has a long tradition and inventory of plant based dyes and is in an

ideal position to take advantage of this market, as Lao silk can be produced entirely by natural

processes requiring no environmentally damaging chemicals. Madam Kommaly is head of one

such cooperative that fosters organic silk and fair trade. She works with some 200 villages all of

which produce one component of the textiles you see here. She established that around 17 people

were involved in the making of one piece of silk. From the farmer who grows the cows to

manure the trees, to the school kids who twist and knot the fringes. This provides invaluable

assistance to villages which exist outside of the development gaze.

Two species of indigo are endemic to Laos and the colour is mixed with other plants to

produce shades that vary from black to green. The tree that harbors the laq insect is also

endemic, allowing Lao women to dye silk the deep pink that resembles the colour from the

cochineal beetle. There are about forty plants, woods and fruits that yield colours and the women

45

in weaving villages are natural alchemists. The loss of forests due to rampant logging is a source

of great concern to women weavers, as many of the dyes are to be found in micro habitats or in

the timber from increasingly rare trees. Plants are interdependent and forest loss puts at risk a

potentially big source of income for village communities as logging only benefits the already

wealthy urban elites.

Lao unlike Indonesia does not have a national textile museum. The only way for scholars

to study Lao textile collections in Laos is to visit the homes of private collectors. Textiles are

ephemeral reminders of long gone cultures, who have lost their identity by merging with

modernity or which have simply perished. Naturally one can only hope that the Lao weaving

tradition, which is part of the national psyche and as normal as walking can survive in the face of

development and modernization. Indonesian textile artists will find much of beauty in the

Laotian traditions and perhaps in the future they may even share ideas with each other as well as

markets.

46

Durable Traditions: Inspirational Textile Legacies in Stone in the National Museum of Indonesia 

 Jonathan Zilberg, Ph.D. 

  

.  .  .  the measure of  an event’s or  a person’s  importance  in  the hurly‐burly of history  is  the  time  they  take  to be  forgotten. Only  those  that endure  and  are identified  with  an  enduring  reality  really  count  in  the  history  of  civilization (Fernand Braudel A History of Civilizations 1995:27).  

 Introduction 

   Some of the specimens of stone sculpture  from the pre‐Islamic Hindu‐Buddhist period 

that  are  kept  today  in  the  courtyard  of  the  National  Museum  of  Indonesia  can  play  an 

important role  in stimulating people to gain a deeper appreciation of the history of textiles  in 

Asia.  In fact, the most  intricately carved specimens provide an exceptional  if  limited record of 

the most  sumptuous  cloth worn  by  royalty  in  the  Indonesian  archipelago  from  the  late  7th 

through the 14th Century. These records of cloth  in stone provide tantalizing glimpses  into the 

ritual importance of cloth dating back perhaps to the 4th century and beyond. As limited as the 

record is, it concerns the Javanese kingdoms of Mataram between the 9th and 11th century, the 

cosmopolitan  Srivijayan  kingdoms  prior  to  the  13th  century,  and  the  classical  Majapahit 

kingdoms of Kediri and Singasari which reached the height of their power  in the 14th Century 

(see Hall 1985, Gesick 1983, Kathirithanby‐Wells  and Villiers 1990,  Tarling 1992  and Wolters 

1967, 1970).  

  The sculptures considered below provide us with a record of the cultural, religious and 

political worlds  in which  the  textiles  existed  as  sacred  possessions. Assumedly,  the  patterns 

carved  in  stone provide accurate  records of highly valued  textiles worn by  royalty  in  specific 

ritual contexts. For instance, the Ganesha sculptures provide us with a focal image for revisiting 

the spread of Brahmanism  in  Java during the 4th and 5th centuries when Savaism became the 

dominant  faith.  Similarly  powerful  sculptures  of  other  Hindu‐Buddhist  deities  record  critical 

moments  in  the  history  of  the  Central  Javanese  kingdoms  dating  from  the  9th  to  the  14th 

centuries  when  Tantric  Buddhism  and  other  traditions  alternatively  held  sway  in  different 

courts  and  kingdoms  before  the  coming  of  Islam  (see  Abrams  1990,  Bernet  Kempers  1976, 

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Miksic and Soekatno 1995). These sculptures have been widely referred to in the literature and 

the typical approach has been to consider what they reveal about symbols and ritual and inter‐

Asian relations. However, much  less has been written about how they provide records of the 

most valued  textiles of  the day. Not only do  these classic examples  in  the National Museum 

provide us with an historical record of textile design and structure but they also record how the 

textiles were worn.  

Designs in Time 

While archaeologists and anthropologists have  long noted  the  fact of  the existence of 

this record of textiles on stone sculpture (Iskandar 2003:155, Maxwell 2003:1, 72‐74, 2003, van 

der Hoop1949: 80‐81, 228‐229), except for John Guy’s work on the antiquity of the Asian textile 

trade  record  (1984:  55‐63),  no  one  to my  knowledge  has  studied  this  veritable  archive  of 

ancient  textile  information  in  Indonesia  and  elsewhere  in  a  systematic  fashion.  In  beginning 

such a task, this paper pays special attention to revisiting Guy’s focus on one particular pattern 

found on many of  these  sculptures –  that of  the overlapping arrays of  circles.  It  is known  in 

West Sumatra as the kawung or “split‐peanut” pattern (Guy 1984:62, Jessup 2004:43, van der 

Hoop 1949:80). There is also an abundance of other contextually relevant information recorded 

on these sculptures such as the jewelry, the depiction of the lotus (van der Hoop 1949:260‐61), 

gestural features, the use of skulls and other ritual paraphernalia. In short, these textiles should 

be considered as part of a total assemblage worn in specific ritual contexts and as the historical 

and archaeological contexts of these sculptures is well described in the literature, it is possible 

to  place  these  textiles  within  both  general  and  specific  cultural  histories  of  the  Indianized 

Hindu‐Buddhist Southeast Asian kingdoms (see Bernett Kempers 1989, Dhamija 2002, Fontein 

1990a and b, Klokke 1993, Maxwell 2003, Miksic 1992. Stutterheim 1961, van Naerssen 1976). 

The  central  purpose  of  this  paper  is more  simply  to  introduce  the  range  of  patterns 

found on  these  specimens  in  the museum and  to  focus on one key design element which  is 

found on several of these sculptures, the kawung pattern.  In this way,  if one considers these 

design elements in relation to the archaeological, historical and ethnographic record, one gains 

a far deeper appreciation of the antiquity of contemporary textiles traditions than one would 

otherwise have without paying attention to such details on these sculptures. Simply put, from 

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my  observations  as  a museum  ethnographer  studying  the  National Museum,  few museum 

visitors,  even  those with  a  deep  interest  in  textiles,  are  remotely  aware  of  just  how much 

information about Indonesian and Asian textile history is recorded on these sculptures.   

 

The Data:  Focusing on Specific Patterns on Particular Sculptures 

 

  A  number  of  the  finest  sculptures  in  the  main  courtyard  of  the  National  Museum 

provide  detailed  renditions  communicating  the magnificence  of  the  original  textiles worn  in 

known ceremonial contexts by specific historical figures depicted as deities or otherwise. I will 

introduce them  in order as one would encounter them after entering the  front vestibule. For 

the sake of space, I will not analyze in depth any of the textiles appearing on these sculptures 

except  for  introducing  some  of  the  range  that  exists  and  for  setting  up  the  data  on  the 

specimens  displaying  the  kawung  pattern  for  ongoing  analysis.  And  while  there  are  other 

examples  in the collection and  in other collections  in Europe and elsewhere that are useful  in 

such  an  analysis  I  have  chosen  to  introduce  here  only  those  examples which  represent  the 

finest, that is most carefully carved instances in this particular collection.  

  The first textile  is to be seen  immediately upon entering  into the front vestibule of the 

sculpture  court.  As  shown  below,  if  one  carefully  examines  the  waistcloth  on  the  seated 

Ganesha sculpture it appears to be damask floral patterned chintz. As for the flower depicted, it 

comes as no surprise that it clearly represents the lotus flower.   

 

Figure  1  (above).  Floral  pattern  on  the  Ganesha  sculpture  in  the  front  vestibule  of  the  sculpture courtyard. Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia.  

Keep  in mind that at the other end of the courtyard, the Tantric Ganesha sculpture  in 

the  rear  courtyard  is  decorated with  a  very  different  type  of  textile  and  patterns  than  the 

above‐illustrated specimen  in  the  front courtyard. Though  these are very different  records of 

textiles of that time, one question might be could the material in Figure 1 have been a type of 

chintz fabric? Very differently, one might compare the fabrics depicted on both Ganeshas and 

pose the impossible to answer questions: Which of these may have been locally produced and 

which  may  have  been  imported?  Such  questions  are  worth  pondering  considering  the 

fascinating  literature  on  Indian‐Indonesian  textile  history  best  represented  in  From  Sari  to 

Sarong (Maxwell 2003). 

 

 

Figure 2. King Malayu Adityavarman, #6470, C. 1350. The Last Hindu‐ Buddhist Ruler of West Sumatra. Portrayed as a Bhairava, a Demonic Hindu‐Buddhist Deity. From Rambahan, Padangroco, West Sumatra. Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia.  

  The second set of textiles worth examining  in great detail as one ventures further  into 

the collection are the two very different specimens which grace the  imposing Bhairava Hindu 

King Adityavarman  from West Sumatra depicted above. The  sculpture dates  to 1347‐1375AD 

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(6470) and represents a demonic form of Siva, being an iconic record of Tantric Hindu‐Buddhist 

beliefs of that period (see Figure 2, also see Fontein 1990:162, and figure 25 p.163). The waist 

cloth with its skull patterns set in a metric diagonal field are clearly Tantric in their imagery (see 

Figure 3 below). The hanging lower body cloth is an extraordinary rendition of what must have 

been an exceptionally  fine  textile. The  intricate and yet bold and powerful pattern has been 

recorded in painstaking detail by the sculptor (see Figure 4 below). 

 

Figure 3 (above). Detail from Figure 2. Note skull patterns in the textile on the left.  Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia. 

 

 

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Figure 4 (above). Detail from Figure 2. Note diagonal metrically organized songket‐like patterns.  Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia. 

 

Turning to one’s immediate right, if facing into the courtyard, are the three companions 

(consorts) of Amithaba ‐ Syamatara (247b), Sudhanakumara (247a) and Bhrkuti (112a), all from 

Candi  Jago.  They  each wear  identical  intricately  patterned waist  cloths.  These  are  similarly 

exceptional records of textiles dating to the Singasari period of the 13th Century A.D. as shown 

below in Figures 5a, b and c.  

 

Figure 5a. Bhrkuti, #112a, Amoghapasa’s Attendant. From Candi Jago, Tumpang, Malang,  E. Java, 13M. Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia.  

 

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                            Figure 5b (above)and c (below). Sudhanakamara #247a and Syamatara #247b,  Companions of the Bodhisattva Amoghapasa. From Candi Jago, Tumpang, Malang, E. Java, 13 M, Singasari Period. Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia.  

                                     

  At  the  other  end  of  the  courtyard,  in  the  back  atrium,  there  is  a  sculpture  of 

Kertaradjasa, the first king of Majapahit and ruler of Java from 1216 to 1231 (see van der Hoop 

1949:80). Some of the fabric on this sculpture  is decorated with the kawung pattern as  is the 

case with several of the other royal sculptures in the atrium (see Figure 6 below). 

                                       

Figure 6 (above). Harihara #256/103a, Siva/Vishnu.  Dating to the 13th Century it is said to be a portrait sculpture of Krtarajasa, the first King of Majapahit. 

From Candi Simping, Sumberjati, Blitar, E. Java.  Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia. 

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Though the Durga Masiswa sculpture immediately opposite from King Kertaradjasa (so carefully drawn by Raffles and considered further below) has the most sumptuous and careful attention given  to  textile detail,  the kawung patterns  is not  to be  found on  that particular  statue.  It  is likely that this is significant and points to the soundly established fact that only royals wore the kawung  pattern  to  signify  their  deified  status  (see  Figure  7a  and  b  below). Moreover,  they continued to do so in the central Javanese courts well into the colonial period. 

 

        

Figure  7a  (above  left).  Detail  of  the  God  and  Goddess  (Dewa  dan  Dewi),  #  5442,  Hindu,  13‐14  AD. Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia.  Figure  7b  (above  right).  Detail  of  a  textile with  the  kawung  pattern  represented  on  this  sculpture. Courtesy the National Museum of Indonesia.  

  Once again, these  instances provide us with an elegant record of early Hindu Buddhist 

courtly dress and aesthetics, that is, we know the religious and political contexts in which these 

textiles were worn though this is an obvious all to well known point. Yet, for the non‐specialist, 

for  the ordinary person visiting  the national museum,  it will  surely be of  interest  to  them  to 

know these sculptures provide us with resplendent records of the ceremonial dress and jewelry 

worn by Kings  and Queens  in  those eras.  In  this,  these designs  and  forms,  though  fragile  in 

themselves  and  thus  lost  to  time,  they  have  been  rendered  durable  in  stone,  and  to  all 

purposes immortal in being woven and rewoven through time. We can thus see selections from 

the royal wardrobes of Indonesian antiquity on display in the courtyard should we look at these 

sculptures in this way! 

Discussion 

  These records of ancient textiles are of great symbolic and aesthetic interest in that they 

provide us with  significant detail about  the history of  textiles antedating  the oldest  surviving 

specimens  in museum  collections.  In  the  case  of  the  floral  textile  depicted  on  the Ganesha 

sculpture depicted in Figure 1, Wisseman Christie considers it to represent an imported Indian 

cloth  (1993:17), presumably chintz. Moreover, Wisseman Christie notes  that  the existence of 

these  type  of  textiles  and  patterns  is  confirmed  in  the  Javanese  inscriptions  of  textiles 

mentioned  in  gift  lists  recorded  in  stone  (ibid.: 19‐23).    In  the presumably  relevant  instance 

here,  the  Javanese  term  for  the pattern maramu  lawelawe means “  floating  flower patterns” 

and was recorded in East Java circa 918 AD (ibid.:21). There, speaking to the longevity of such 

patterns, Wisseman Christie adds that the term is also “reminiscent of the description found in 

the 14th century Sutasoma (105:8) referring to a patterned cloth: cangli mirir lawo ‘Cauli (cloth) 

with  gently  blowing  flowers  petals’.”  Most  importantly,  the  author  also  notes  that  the 

description of  this cloth perhaps  from Caul  in  India could be applied  to patterns depicted on 

many 9th and 10th century  Javanese  statues,  in which  floral patterns are  scattered on a plain 

ground, and which look more Indian than Javanese (ibid.).”  

Naturally one might then approach all of the  instances of textiles represented on such 

sculptures with this in mind. They may well have been imported trade cloths from India. It is of‐

course not possible to know or even hypothesize which examples discussed in this paper might 

have been produced  locally. Future research on textile patterns  in sculptures  in other parts of 

Asia may or may not add significantly to such speculation but the one fundamental fact that we 

know is for certain is that trade cloths from India were highly valued presumably for centuries 

before and indeed, ever since (see Guy 2003).  For instance, recently the influence and heritage 

of  Indian patola cloth has even been documented  in West Timor contrary to the assertions  in 

the earlier literature (Barrkman 2007). The likelyhood then is that all of these cloths were Indian 

imports though the following examples in the figures 8a and b below may complicate this.  

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Figure  8  a  and  b  (below)  are  details  of  demonic  related  cloth  represented  on  the 

Ganesha  sculpture  from  the Singasari, Kadiri Period  lasting  from 1403  through 1681. As with 

the case of the Bharaiva Shivaistic tantric specimens on the Bharaiva it is possible that some of 

these designs and cloths were  local  in contrast  to  the  Indian  imports.  I hypothesize  that  this 

may  be  the  case  as  this  particular  form  of  demonic Buddhism  has  been  reported  as  a  local 

invention which spread from Indonesia to Tibet. Nevertheless the heart shaped belt does seem 

distinctly Indian and as far as I know is rarely represented in Indonesian textiles. 

       

Figure  8  a  and  b  (above).  Details  on  a  demonic  Savaist  related  cloth  represented  on  the Ganesha sculpture from the Singasari, Kadiri Period lasting from 1403 through 1681 in the rear courtyard. Courtesy National Museum of Indonesia.  

Revisiting Raffles and Mohendro Daro 

                                      .   

Figure 9 (above). Durga Slaying the Demon Mahisa, C. 1300. East Java, Candi Singasari.  Courtesy National Museum of Indonesia.  

 

Of all the sculptures in the courtyard of the National Museum of Indonesia, perhaps the 

most lyrical and most well known sculpture is Durga Slaying the Demon Mahisa from Singasari 

in East Java circa 1300 (see Figure 9, also see Fontein 1990:159, Raffles 1965:65). The textiles 

intricately  recorded on  this  and  the other  sculptures  introduced earlier  sculpture must have 

been spectacular if one imagines what they may have looked like based on our appreciation of 

the finest textiles produced today in India, Thailand and Indonesia. Take for instance the silken 

fabrics by Baron so finely woven as to be essentially objects of wonder or Josephine Komara’s 

(Obin)  sumptuously  colorful, meticulous  and  innovative  batik.  Keeping  such  living  quality  in 

mind, we can easily imagine how stunning the Singasari specimens must have been so as not to 

lament the  fragility of tradition  lest we miss out on the degree to which  local genius and the 

spirit of creativity endures.  

  In concluding this first part of the paper then, two basic points have been made. First, 

these sculptures provide us with an extraordinary record of ancient textiles in specific historical 

contexts. Second, these designs and traditions are  in fact highly durable and not fragile. What 

we have here  is an extraordinary record of design. Take the pattern on the bodice and outer 

waist  cloth made up of non‐overlapping  arrays of  circles  in  the  above  sculpture of Durga  as 

illustrated in Raffles’ History of Java, Figure 10 (overpage), perhaps the most famous of all of his 

illustrations.  Such  sculptures  and  illustrations  allow  us  to  place  these  very  finely  detailed 

representations of textiles within relatively precise historical contexts. 

What is so interesting about these textile depictions on the sculptures considered so far 

is that they may assumedly have been depictions of the type of actual textiles worn for instance 

in  rituals  during  the  time  of  the  fall  of  the  kingdom  of  Singasari  in  a  coup  in  which  King 

Kretanagara was assassinated in 1292 during a Tantric ritual. In addition, the fact that both the 

Goddess  Durga  and  Prajnaparamita,  the  Goddess  of  Transcendental  Wisdom,  wear  this 

particular type of cloth decorated with non‐overlapping circles in Figure 9 and 10 adds further 

contextual  significance  considering  that  they  are  considered  perfect  counterparts  from  the 

same unfinished shrine (Fontein 1990:158). Some of these designs depicted of these sculptures 

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have  continued  to  be  worn  and  produced  for  the  intervening  centuries  throughout  the 

archipelago. Lastly, it goes without saying that many of these designs particular the overlapping 

circles of  the kawung pattern were widely used  throughout  the Hindu‐Buddhist world and  in 

many other cultures and times.  

                                     

  Figure 10. “Durga, called Lara Jong’grang by the Modern Javans. From a Subject  in Stone brought from Brambanan  London,  Published  by  Black  Parbury  and  Allen,  Leadenhall  Stree.  1817.”    Sir  Thomas Stamford Raffles. Published in Plates to History of Java. 1988. Singapore: Oxford University Press 

 

In the  instance, of the non‐overlapping circles on patola cloth with  internal  jilamprang 

motifs  (eight pointed  stars or  flowers which have been  symbolically  identified with  the Wali 

Songo within the circles and mandalas within the diamonds) have been either the prerogative 

of either royalty or the elite associated with royalty. This particular design is well documented 

as being one of  the most  sacred  and expensive heirloom  textiles.  In  this,  the  archaeological 

record  considered  in  this  paper  merely  confirms  the  well  documented  situation  in  which 

particular patterns and textile types have an enduring status and value in Indonesia. In fact, as 

we will see further below, the documented use of the related pattern of the overlapping circles 

which generates the dynamic four petalled metric pattern, popularly known in Indonesia today 

as  the kawung  (split‐pea) design has been  found on  textiles and ceramics goes back  to 3000 

B.C. in Mohendro Daro northern India and elsewhere. Before doing so, further comment on the 

non‐overlapping circular pattern  is useful as there has been specific discussion on the topic  in 

the literature. 

Contextualizing Ancient Textiles  and Inferring Information about Technique from the Sculptural Record 

 

  For  myself  as  an  anthropologist  interested  in  religion  and  symbolism,  and  in  this 

particular case study gender, cloth and archaeology,  the statue of Prajnapramita  is especially 

significant (see Farrer‐Halls 2002, and Fontein 1990:161, Figure 24). This sculpture  is from the 

same site and period as the Durga sculpture discussed immediately above and as such adds to 

the  special density of  this contextualized  textile design  record. Prajnaparamita’s waist cloth’s 

star  pattern  is  also  produced  between  the  non‐overlapping  circles  in  this  case  rather  than 

between the ellipses. However, this is a particularly advanced form in that it has very different 

in fill elements, bold and yet delicate geometric designs. The geometric design within the star 

is, as in the Durga, also a stylized flower pattern and the overall effect, particularly of the outer 

and  inner  lowermost waist cloths are reminiscent of design elements and the pattern  field  in 

contemporary and historic Minangkabau songket.  

  These last two sculptures are important not only as the textiles represented here were 

in all likelihood actually worn in the court of King Kretanagara but that they may well have been 

some of  the most  valued  textiles owned by  the Queen of  Singasari posthumously  identified 

with Prajnaparamita whether  it was Queen Rajapatni, a daughter of King Kretanagara and the 

Queen of King Kretarajasa who reigned from 1293‐1309 or Putri Dedes wife of King Angrok who 

had became  the  first King of Singasari  in 1222 and was a daughter of a Buddhist priest of a 

Mahayana sect (Fontein 1990:160). Though we cannot reliably infer a great deal of information 

about  technique,  at  least  at  this  point  in  scholarly  research  as  it  stands,  we  can  certainly 

reconstruct and recreate these cloths from the parts that are represented and analyze them in 

terms of how they were worn and in combination with what other cloth and jewelry and even 

on what occasions and in what courts.  

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For the moment, the issue of attempting to determine textile technique is important but 

as of yet not clearly enough debated  for any real consensus to have emerged. As one author 

writes:  

Some attempts have been made to use patterns on stone and metal antiquities from these early periods as evidence in dating, but they are not detailed enough to  indicate textile technique. For  instance, ninth and tenth‐century temple wall carvings  in  Indonesia have been  identified as batik patterns, but because  such patterns  may  also  be  done  in  a  supplementary  weft  technique,  there  is  no assurance  that  batik  is  represented  here,  Indeed,  the  precise  vertical  and horizontal alignment and the complexity of the metrically repeated motifs argue for a source in weaving rather than in the dyer’s art.   

Van der Peet  concurs  that  this  stepwise metrical  treatment of  repeated motifs  is  technically 

determined  by  weaving.  Indeed,  all  the  authorities  on  the  subject  relate  that  it  is  “highly 

probable”  that  such  luxury  textiles whether  it be  in Burma or  Indonesia  represent  imported 

Indian cloth (see for instance Guy 1998:56, 62 and Green 2004:17).  

  As Guy writes about the  interlocking (overlapping) circle pattern represented on many 

of these sculptures: 

The earliest surviving Indian textiles to display it were found in Egypt and may be dated  to  around  the  mid‐thirteenth  century,  contemporary  with  a  Javanese Ganesa sculpture which is inscribed with a date equivalent to AD 1239 . . . . It is highly  probably  that  that  the  Ganesa  was  represented wearing  a  prestigious imported  Indian  cloth.  This design  became  and  important pattern  in  the  later Javanese batik repertoire, where it was known as kawung (1998:62).    

Though the history of the origin of resist died cloth and batik is still not firmly established, the 

references  that do exist  for  Java do push back  the evidence  for batik  in  the Hindu‐Buddhist 

context to the  late 12th Century and  in India from at  least the  late 9th Century (ibid) as will be 

briefly explored further below.  

  John Guy and others have documented the earliest examples of the kawung design  in 

surviving  textiles  as  the  Fostat  specimens  (see  Barnes  1990,  Guy  1984:62,  Van  der  Hoop 

1949:81, Wisseman Christie 1993:17). Though we have actual remnants of these textiles traded 

from  India  to Egypt, and  thus are certain about  their exact nature of how  the mordant dyed 

patterns were produced, technically speaking we still do not know exactly what types of textiles 

are depicted on  the  Javanese statuary. This  is an enduring and  important  issue. For  instance, 

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Wisseman  Christie  writes  that  the  textiles  recorded  on  the  Indonesian  Hindu‐Buddhist 

sculptures show that significant change took place in the later 13th and 14th centuries in terms 

of the designs on the fabrics. They became increasingly dense, elaborate and finely drawn. She 

notes that it seems unlikely that these were produced by double ikat techniques as the earliest 

references  to  double  ikat  (gringsing)  in  the  Javanese  literature  do  not  occur  until  the mid 

fourteenth century (1993:17, Pigeaud 1960:1, 16).   However Christie also adds that  it appears 

that not all of the textiles represented on the statuary were intended to depict Indian imports 

and that some of them appear to be Javanese interpretations.   

  Unfortunately Wisseman Christie does not specify which sculptures and which particular 

textiles, he is referring to but he does provide us with clues as to how to proceed. Specifically, 

he  proposed  that  the  Javanese  patterns  are  denser,  have  narrower  borders which  lack  the 

Indian border motifs and more realistically and frequently use floral and vegetal elements. The 

intriguing task now before us is to study the textiles depicted on these sculptures in more depth 

so as to  illustrate these differences while at the same time reflecting upon the assertion that 

these divergent aesthetic distinctions in themselves are indeed proof of Javanese as opposed to 

Indian origin or  rather more  a  reasonable  and educated  speculation.   Perhaps  the  strongest 

case for a local textile is the waist cloth decorated by skulls on the Bhairava sculpture. This may 

have  been  the  case  as  it was  from  Indonesia,  according  to  some  accounts,  that  the  Tantric 

Buddhism  of  Tibet with  its  skull  imagery  and  related  rituals  received  some  of  its  strongest 

symbolic  impulses.  Certainly  some  of  the most  powerful  sculptures  in  the  collection  in  the 

National Museum  referred  to  in  this  paper  are  replete with  both  the  sexual  and  demonic 

imagery  typical  of  Tantrism  as  well  as  the  associated  inscriptions making  these  references 

explicit.   

  To  return  to  the  issue  at  hand  however, Guy  very  specifically  argues  that  the  cloths 

under discussion here could not have been patola. He bases this on the logic that the historical 

records show that Indian silk patolas only became available centuries later (1993:18) when they 

became  important  royal  tribute  gifts  in  the  18th  and  19th  centuries  (Guy  1984:72). However 

Maxwell writes in Sari to Sarong that high status silk and gold textiles had been “intimately tied 

to  the  rise of  royal court centers  throughout  the  Indonesian  region  from as early as  the  first 

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millennium AD”  (2003:72). My  preference  is  to  concur with Maxwell.  Indeed, Maxwell  adds 

significant  detail  to  the  difficulty  of  distinguishing  between  imported  fabrics  and  those 

produced  locally  stating  that  the  textiles  depicted  on  this  statuary  are  Malay  brocades, 

specifically kain songket  lima produced  in an “international textile  form that transcended the 

border of principalities and echoed the trans‐Indonesian penchant for  imported  luxury fabrics 

(op. cit, 73, 75). 

As Maxwell writes: 

The  designs  displayed  on  these  silk  and  gold  textiles  demonstrate  many international  influences .  .  .  . Malay brocades are filled with schematic patterns and  floral  nuances  more  attune  with  the  much  admired  decorative  arts  of Mughal India. Framed within decorative border meanders and enclosed at each end  by  elaborate  designs,  often  incorporating  triangular  patterns,  the  field patterns are a reflection of the cosmopolitan sources available  for designers of luxury  textiles  and  the  multicultural  flavour  of  Indonesian  city  states.  The elaborate end designs are a decorative feature when the long rectangular textile is wrapped around the lower torso, falling in ornamental folds down the front of the body. This is the most prominent garment to be observed on the sculpture of classical Hindu and Buddhist  Indonesia. The garments of, and  the way they are worn by, male and  female deities, and also  royal couples, are  indistinguishable and often precisely matching in design and patterns (2003:73, itals. mine).          

These  garments  “were  not  just  the  preferred  fabric  for  state  ceremonials:  they  provided  a 

means  for visualizing the complex status systems that supported court ritual”  (ibid.). And as  I 

have emphasized through  italicizing the  last sentences of Maxwell’s discussion, the very same 

type of garments, with matching designs and patterns, are found on royal couples and deities. 

No  doubt,  if  one  examines  sculptures  from  these  periods which  have  found  their way  into 

European collections, the record will augment and confirm or complicate this observation. 

  Maxwell writes that songket was introduced into the region early in the 14th Century by 

Arab traders  from Gujarat  (Dhamija 2002:82, Kartiwa 1991/2:61‐62) and still today, Sumatran 

songkets are woven with very similar designs and assumedly techniques. Considering the shifts 

discussed by Wisseman Christie  above  and which  took place  in  sumptuary  rules  in  Javanese 

courts earlier  in the 11th Century  it is possible that some of these garments depicted on these 

sculptures  particularly  on  the  Bhairava  sculpture  were  indeed  songkets  though  Wisseman 

Christie proposes  that prior  to  songket  reaching back  three hundred  years previously  to  the 

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early second millennium, the only technique mentioned in the charters and literature was tulis 

warna meaning drawing in color (1991:18).  It would seem however to be definitively the case 

that  the  textiles  on  these  sculptures  are  not  songket  because  of  they way  they  are worn, 

because of  the way  they  follow  the  intimately  follow  the contours of  the body and  they way 

they fold and hang, as well as in some instances the nature of the borders. 

  Aside  from  these  important  basic  questions  such  as  what  kind  of  textiles  are 

represented  on  these  sculptures,  the  ancient  prerogative  of  royal  elites  to  use  cloths with 

particular designs  is of‐course a well described phenomenon  in  the  literature whether or not 

one  can  discern  a  patola  from  a  batik  inspired  by  a  patola.  Both  certainly  coexisted  in  the 

Javanese  courts  in  the 19th  century and  they are again understood  to have been  continually 

inspired by Indian imports though more recent authors critique the Indi‐centric view arguing for 

Chinese and other influences (Heringa 1996). Nevertheless, as Wisseman Christie writes:  

It is surely significant that some of the batik patterns of central Java which were restricted to members of the royal family can be recognized as being borrowed or  adapted  from  Indian  textile:  for  example,  those  called  kawang  picus, jajakusama and cakar melik are all patola‐inspired while sembagen huk is based on resist‐dyed Indian imports . . . (1991:119).   

The question then  is this: How  far back we can trace this type of phenomenon? Can we ever 

make any real progress towards identifying which cloths on the Hindu‐Buddhist sculptures were 

made of what, where and how? In all likelihood we will never know but it nevertheless remains 

an  interesting  issue  to  ponder  as  anthropologists  and  art  historians  continue  to  study  the 

history of Indonesian and Southeast Asian textiles in ever increasing detail.  

  It is essentially certain that patola was an important elite trade good in the late Hindu‐

Buddhist  period.  A  15th  Century  Javanese  text Wangbang Wideya  specifically  recorded  that 

some  of  the  cloth worn  by  royalty was  ‘patawala’,  namely  patola  from Gujarati  origin  (Guy 

1984:63, Robson 1971). Further speaking to the cloths  longevity, or durability, the Portuguese 

records  show  that  it was  imported  from  the 16th Century and especially  in  the 17th and 18th 

Centuries  (van der Peet 1964:21)  and  today patola heirlooms  continue  to be used  in  rituals 

across  the  archipelago  (Barnes  1991, Maxwell  2003,  Anas  2007).  Nevertheless  it  remains  a 

matter of debate whether or which of these particular cloths represented on these sculptures 

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were  imported  as  opposed  to made  locally. Moreover  the  intertwined  history  of  all  textile 

forms  including  songket and batik,  cindhe  (chintz) and geringsing also  continues  to  remain a 

matter of lively debate and research. 

  For  instance, Van der Peet  in making a critical distinction between warp  ikat  in cotton 

and weft  ikat  in  silk  proposes  that  the  ikat  imports  could  have  begun  as  early  as  the  14th 

Century while adding that “it is impossible to say for certain whether the cloths traded in those 

days were the same as the silken cloths decorated in double ikat that are still known today by 

the name of patola” (1964:19). Though other authors have assumed that they are certainly not 

batik and that batik was  introduced much  later, van der Peet provides a very broad possibility 

of  batik  as  having  been  produced  locally  between  the  7th  and  15th  Centuries  (ibid.:26)  and 

quotes Alfred Steinman (1958) that “it is conceivable that already in the 11th or 12th Century the 

Cinglaese had brought it from the South East Deccan to Eastern India and thus to Java (ibid.). In 

any event,  it  is generally acknowledged that  Indian patola cloth had a significant  influence on 

local  textiles,  particularly  on  batik.  This  is  especially  significant  considering  the  distinct 

resemblances  in  the  patterns  and  the  “strictly  metrical”  and  geometrically  disciplined” 

arrangement of motifs  in which “the ornamentation  is produced by dividing up the area to be 

decorated  into geometrical  figures  such as  squares,  rhomboids, polygons, etc., which may or 

may not be subdivided into other geometrical figures  . . . . (van der Peet 1964:29).  

  In time, other researchers, particularly Gittinger (1989), Barnes (1994), Hamilton (1994), 

Maxwell (2003) and have delved into the history and complexity of the way in which this basic 

structure and others have been developed  in  Indonesian  textiles, whether  it be  in patola or 

batik or other forms. Yet Maxwell emphasizes that the development of batik would seem more 

closely  connected  to  Indian  chintz.  Regardless  of  these  difficult  issues  surrounding  what 

amount to durable “memory banks” this much is certain:  

[T]he exclusivity of the designs, however, is firmly located routed in a history of the control of luxury trade items. Hence these patterns, like others derived from Indian treasures, are worn only by members of the Javanese aristocracy.  In the central  principalities  in  particular,  it  was  the  silk  patola  that  had  been conspicuously worn  in  the  royal  court  –  as  skirts  and  sashes  by  princes  and princesses alike. The  same applied  to  locally made batik exhibiting  trade  cloth patterns (ibid.:145).  

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There Maxwell concludes  that  the most effective way of securing “the power and majesty of 

trade cloth imagery was to transfer symbols and motifs onto local textiles” and that these local 

transformations were so successful that in the end they eclipsed the Indian textiles even in the 

international  trade  (ibid.: 116).   This argument  runs  counter  to  the  idea dominating  the  first 

part  of  this  paper  in which  Indian  imports were  assumed  to  have  perhaps  been  considered 

more powerful prestige items than local cloths.  

 

The Overlapping Circle or Kawung Pattern 

  The overlapping circular array patterned textile can be seen on the Harihara sculpture 

(256/103a) simultaneously representing the Hindu God Siva‐Vishnu and King Krtarajasa the first 

king of Majapahit  in East  Java  (Figure 5), and the Goddess Parvati  (256/103b), wife of Siva as 

Queen Tribhuwanottunggadewi Queen of Majapahit who  ruled at Candi Rimbi  in East  Java  in 

the 14th Century A.D.  from 1328‐1350. The same patterns are also  to be  found on  the Hindu 

God and Goddess  (5442) dating similarly or earlier to the 13th or 14th Century. This pattern  is 

historically  of  particular  significance  as  textiles  with  these  patterns  were  prestigious  trade 

goods exported from India to markets as far afield from Fustat in Egypt in this period (as noted 

earlier in this paper), in Japan in the Edo Period and in the Byzantine era.  

  The earliest documentation of the design in Asia dates back four thousand years to the 

Indus Valley on a ceramic pot excavated at Mohendro Daro  (Green 2004:15).  John Guy notes 

that the pattern has been found across Asia and finds evidence for its later antecedents in first 

century North  India (1998:62). Fragments of Gujarati cloth with this design dating to the mid‐

thirteenth century have been found in archaeological sites in Fustat (Old Cairo), Egypt (ibid.:63). 

As Guy notes,  the earliest  record of  it  in  Indonesia  is  to be  found on  the back of a Ganesha 

sculpture  from  the Singasari period  found at Bara, near Blitar  in eastern  Java. This  sculpture 

thus arguably has a luxury Indian export cloth dating to the same period as the Fustat specimen 

of the same design though it has the slightly earlier date of AD 1239 (ibid.:62). In addition, the 

same pattern can be found on the back of another sculpture of a temple guardian at Pantaran 

also near Blitar dating over a century later to 1347.  

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  Van  der  Peet makes  particular  reference  to  the  ancestral  kawung  pattern  found  in 

Fostat. As he writes: 

These  denser  axial  patterns  began  to  appear on  Javanese  statuary  in  the  late tenth  or  eleventh  centuries,  at  least  some  of  them  bearing  a  resemblance  to some of the Indian textiles found amongst the remains of Old Cairo. One of the most striking parallels  is  found between the pattern of  interlocking circles with floral  infill  dated  to  the  later  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries  in Middle Eastern archaeological contexts (Barnes 1991) and that  illustrated on a number of  statues  of  the  same  centuries  in  East  Java.  This  particular  patter  is  a  clear ancestor  of  the  kawung  design  so  important  in  the  traditional  Javanese  batik repertoire.  

  The overlapping circle pattern is conceptually interesting in terms of how it can be seen 

as distinctly different of different elements but yet simultaneously achieving the same pattern 

of  a  flower  composed  of  four  petals  or  overlapping  circles with  ellipses  and  a  central  star 

pattern. Cognitively one cannot see both patterns at the same time such that eye either sees 

one or the other or shifts back between them and this creates a unique dynamic.  

  In addition, Van der Peet provides a succinct and yet detailed description in terms of the 

kawung pattern as being composed as an ellipse with two focal points. As he writes: 

These  ellipses  are  placed  crosswise  opposite  one  another;  repetition  of  this placing  at  regular  intervals  forms  the  decorative  filling  of  the  whole  area. Between  the  ellipses,  four  pointed  star  figures  are  formed, which  in  turn  are provided with as a rule a very plain, stylized flower motif. This pattern, which is easily recognizable, allows only limited possibilities for variation” (1964:30).    

 

Continuing with  this description,  this  author describes how  the  “most  important  variation  is 

limited to grouping together four ellipses inside one large, encircling ellipse, as a result of which 

the pattern obtains a more coherent character” which has become a sacred pattern in batik art 

and even by the 1960s a source of scholarly debate. For example, he cites G. P. Rauffaer and H. 

H. Juyunboll who argue that the design dates back the Hindu‐Javanese pattern “appearing in a 

picture  (sic?)  from Kediri dating  from 1239, which  itself was originally a simplified –  i.e.  four‐

petalled . . . lotus bud motif” (ibid.). Lastly, Van der Peeet is explicit that the original textiles in 

which  these patterns were executed were probably not batik but  that  they would have been 

gold leaf applied to cloth (ibid.). 

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The kawung pattern has been  localized differently  if  it  is an  imported design element. 

While  in  Van  der  Hoop’s  analysis  kawung  refers  to  the  sugar  palm  fruit  in  Sundanese  and 

Javanese (1949:78), for Jessup  it refers to the split peanut amongst the Minangkabau  in West 

Sumatra (ibid.:43). And while the modified form in songket cloth in West Sumatra is known as 

balah kacang (Bart 2006:35),  in Java the design appears not to refer to a split peanut but to a 

star fruit divided across the middle. Two other contemporary variants of this design can also be 

seen  in Kartiwa  (1991/1992:50, 52) wherein  she  refers  to  the pattern  in Madurese batik  (as 

recorded by Judi Triani, 1983) as kembang kopi (ibid.:96). Finally, in Japan, the pattern is said to 

refer to rice and all things fertile and good (pers. com. Sally Jennie). Across Indonesia, the most 

basic standard version which recapitulates the design on the sculptures can be seen on copper 

batik stamps (see Kartiwa 1095/86:88 and Mylius 1964: n.p. fig. 26).  Of‐course, those familiar 

with the Javanese wayang tradition will know that the wise clown Semar always wears a sarong 

with a kawung pattern.  

Further Historical Context: Actual Accounts of Ancient Textile Fashion 

  Woro Aryandini  Sumaryoto  (1993) has  translated and discussed  the  records of actual 

textiles worn  in particular historical contexts and preserved across time  in Javanese  literature. 

The details provided in these texts such as the contexts and the colors, the materials and uses 

of the textiles are so precise as to be somewhat shocking considering how one would otherwise 

have assumed that such descriptions would have escaped us. These texts thus add yet another 

dimension  to  the durability of  the historical  record pertaining  to  textiles  and  the  continuing 

significance of such materials, including their mystical relevance and ritual function in Indonesia 

today.  

  The  Javanese  literature  is especially  relevant  to  the  focus on particular sculptures and 

designs chosen in this paper as recorded in a description of King Kartanegara  accepting Raden 

Wijaya  as his  son‐in‐law.  In  Sumaryoto’s  translations we  can  read exquisite detail  about  the 

clothes various participants wore on these ritual occasions such as geringsing kawung depicted 

on  the  sculpture  of  Raden  Wijaya  as  King  Kartarajasa  in  the  National  Museum.  In  this 

remarkable  account,  Sumaryoto  condenses  the  relevant  information  from  the  Kidung 

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Harsawijaya  adapted  in  the  16th  through  18th  Centuries  to memorialize  the  history  of  the 

Majapahit and Kediri kingdoms by those Javanese who had refused Islam and fled to Bali. As he 

relates: 

Once upon a time, King Kartanegara from Singhasari came to a royal assembly, dressed  in a choice sinjang ornamented with gold  threads, and a belt made of textile with excquisite ornamentation  (Song 1, Verse 34b).  In this assembly the king  expressed  his will  to  take  Raden Wijaya  as  his  son‐in‐law,  and  therefore Raden Wijaya was called to attend it.  Raden Wijaya dressed himself  in  a  red  silk  sinjang ornamented with a  tumpal (‘triangle  ornament’)  decorated with  a  floral  design made  of  a  beautiful  gold thread sewn on it, and a fabric belt with a special floral design which was painted using liquid gold (Song 1, verse 40b).  Raden Wijaya appeared with all the courtly regalia, with a yellow fabric umbrella above  him,  followed  by  his  young  followers.  .  .  .  . Dangdi wore  a  red  sinjang ornamented  with  white  tumpal  and  golden  drawing,  and  a  cloth  belt  of geringsing kawung design (Song 1, verse 40b) . . . .  Thus, Raden Wijaya presented himself  to  the queen who dressed  in geringsing wayang  design  and  decorated  with  floral  patterns  in  liquid  gold,  and  a  pink kampuh with gold threads, the upper side of which was made of green silk (Song 1, verse 59b). There he was met by the two princesses of the king who wore a sinjang geringsing kawung made of  selected  find cloth with  tumpal ornament, red at the bottom and green on top (Song 1, verse 62a‐62b). And then the king presented him a royal dress . . . (Song 1, verse 75a, 76a).  

In addition  to  this  type of  rare detail on  the  royal use of  the kawung pattern  in double  ikat 

(geringsing), these texts record all manner of other details.  

This is so much so the case that a fine grained analysis of pattern, color, textile type and 

origin  of  textiles  and much  else  of  the  Hindu‐Buddhist  period  could  be  reconstructed  in  a 

manner which would have been  inconceivable without  them. We  learn here  that  the  royals 

clothes were made of patawala  (patola,  “gaily  coloured  cloth”) and geringsing  (“a particular 

type  of  textile,  with  double  ikat  technique),  and  randi  (“a  ribbed  silk  fabric  of  Chinese  or 

Siamese origin”) as well as other forms of cloth made from satin and silk as given in the above 

poetic descriptions of the betrothal ceremony. It is also interesting that the author refers to the 

kawung pattern as “a geometrical cube with diagonal ornament” and that they were painted 

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with  liquid  gold  (1993:33).    If  we  accept  this  as  the  final  word  because  of  the  historical 

specificity  of  this  period  of  the  record  of  these  designs  on  this  type  of  textile,  then  the 

discussion  over  technique  in  some  part  would  seem  to  have  been  laid  to  rest  in  a  most 

unexpected fashion. Prada! Yet the designs endure and it is to this durability of form that I turn 

to in conclusion, specifically the kawung motif yet again. It is a particularly fertile and enduring 

motif.   Being a simple motif to create, and being ubiquitous across Asia and Africa across the 

millennia, there are probably as many instances of local invention as diffusion by trade. 

 

Fragility or Durability? 

  For  the  subjects  of  conservation,  appreciation  and  acculturation  addressed  in  this 

conference,  the  pattern  of  overlapping  circles,  known  by  some  as  the  kawung  pattern,  is 

important as  it has  remained a constant  in  the vocabulary of wide  ranging use of  this design 

across  the  millennia.  It  is  a  simple  solution  to  creating  a  complex  pattern  by  repeatedly 

overlapping  a  basic  geometric  form.  The  overlapping  pattern  creates  two  sets  of  patterns 

constituting a dynamic field producing a very specific  form of cognitive agitation  in which the 

eye can  focus either on  the petal shapes or  the overlapping circles but not both at  the same 

time.  It has  retained  its aesthetic hold over  the decorative  imagination across  time – having 

been the prerogative of the royal elite  in pre‐Islamic times. The pattern endured through the 

rise and the fall of the great Hindu‐Buddhist courts, the expansion of Islam in the 16th century 

and then Dutch colonialism and the VOC cloth trade. It survived through independence and to 

this day it has proven to be one of the most durable motifs and design structures in Indonesia 

textile history.  

  Despite the caveat given at the end of the last section, it seems from the archaeological 

and historical  record  that  this design came  to  Indonesia as part of  the  larger  trade  in patola 

cloth and that over time it became incorporated into local traditional repertoires. The logic for 

making  such an argument  is  that kawung design does not occur  in  the Dongson Bronze Age 

period and does not appear to predate the Hindu‐Buddhist period in Indonesian as far as I am 

aware.  Very  differently  however,  the  all  important  triangular  tumpal  patterns  do  appear  to 

have greater local depth being so simple a pattern as to be universal. Either way the tumpal has 

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become so closely associated with  the patola cloths as  to be structurally almost  linguistically 

connected if we consider textile styles as synonymous in the most simplistic sense to languages. 

It  has  become  connected  to  the  kawung  design  as  border  elements  and  both  have  been 

transposed as co‐evolved design elements across  time  (Heine Geldern 1966:179, Fig. 16). For 

some, both elements  speak  to  the adaptation of  foreign  influences,  selecting, modifying and 

localizing them. It is this penchant is that has been termed the “Indonesian genius” though it is 

of‐course basic to all art forms and technologies in all times and places.   

  This  selection  of  sculptures  in  the  collection  in  the National Museum  is  therefore  of 

particular previously un‐detailed importance as regards the detailed depictions of textiles they 

provide.  They  allow  us  to  locate  specific  textile  designs  and  patterns  in  the  exact  historical 

context  in  which  they  were  worn  as  described  above.  Thus  when  combined  with  the 

unexpected  richness  of  the  local  literary  sources,  the  record  provides  us  with  remarkable 

insight into the history of textiles in Indonesia. And though we would do well to pay attention 

to  the  as  of  yet  unexplored  Chinese  and Arabic  literary  and  archival  record,  Sumaryoto  has 

provided us with all we need to know about the penultimate meaning of the kawung pattern in 

the Javanese context at that time. Moreover, he even details how the design was applied and 

not woven into the fabric. This is not to say that this was the case in the textiles under analysis 

in this sample at the National Museum.  

  Consider this remarkable Javanese explication about the kawung pattern and why King 

Kartarajasa  as  representative  of God  and  founder  of  the Majapahit  Kingdom wore  a  sinang 

kawung to symbolize that he was the protector of the world while he ruled from 1294 to 1309. 

Herein Sumaryoto provides  the most detailed explanation about  the design as understood  in 

Javanese  aesthetics.  This  evinces  a  durability  of  meaning  in  time  which  runs  contrary  to 

Western art historical understandings of the  life of forms  in time (see Focillon 1934/89, Reese 

1985). 

This symbolizes the relationship between the upper and the lower powers of the universe.  The  pattern  refers  to  the  cosmic  magical  classification  of  the  old Javanese concept of  life. According to this concept, man has a magical relation with  the  universe.  The universe  is divided  into  two  opposing  parts  but  at  the same  time  each  part  complements  the  other;  therefore  one  part  cannot  be thrown away since it symbolizes the human character. Such a concept may have 

70

been  known  since  prehistoric  times,  and  it was  continued  as  tradition  by  the Javanese Hindu kingdoms, as shown by the statue of King Kartarajasa (1993:36).   

In addition,  further speaking  to  the  longevity and durability of  tradition  in  Indonesian,  to  this 

day, the Javanese wayang figure of Semar wears a kawung patterned waist cloth symbolizing 

protection, supernatural power and magical relations. 

 

Conclusion 

  An  important component of my research on the textiles depicted on the sculptures  in 

the National Museum has been to recreate the designs as faithfully as possible so as to get a 

better  sense  of what  they may  have  looked  like  and  to  bring  them  alive  in  a  technical  and 

sensory way.  To do  so  I worked with Bernhard Bart on  two of  these designs, one  from  the 

Sudhnakamara and the other from the Bhairawa as reproduced here below. Studio Erika Rianti 

created  a  single  songket  version  of  the  Sudhnakamara  design  in  green  silk with  fine  silver 

thread  so as  to  create a  soft wearable  songket which was presented  to  the audience at  the 

conclusion of this paper’s presentation. Towards the future, my vision was to one day have a 

fashion show in the courtyard of the National Museum in which  these elaborately dressed gods 

and  goddesses  of  the  past would  emerge  from  the  front  vestibule  into  the  courtyard  as  if 

magically come alive.   

 

      

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Figures 11 a and b  (above page). Computer generated  textile patterns  from  the Sudhanakamara and Bharaiwa sculpture in the National Museum of Indonesia readied for production by Bernhard Bart.   

To end  then, how much more durable  can a  tradition be? As  regards  the patola and 

kawung  patterns which  have  been  the main  focus  of  this  study,  if  the  pattern  had  indeed 

originated  in  the  patola  tradition, which  all  extant  evidence  points  to,  then  the  life  of  this 

design and  technique  in  time goes  far back  far and wide  in  time and space. Not  just  for 700 

years in Java, that is to the Majapahit era and the Chinese Ming period and to Fustat in Egypt in 

the same times and eralier but all the way back to Mohendro Daro in the 4th Century B.C. as the 

Indian  literary  sources  relate. Naturally,  though  there may be no  connections at all between 

these  traditions,  but  in  some  cases  there  could  be.  Thus  it  is  interesting  to  ponder  how  in 

ceramics  in northern  India  there are depictions of  full  length outfits worn by men  in  the 3rd 

millennium B.C.  and  how  today we  continue  to  use  the  same  designs.  Even  if  there  are  no 

connections,  these  patterns  and  range  of  techniques  present  thus  the  very  definition  of 

durability of forms but not meanings in time.  

So  to  end  one  might  ask  this  final  question:  Does  all  this  richness  of  design  and 

technique  in time not call  into question our assumptions about the fragility of traditions? Just 

as inspirational cloths have been either treasured in Indonesia as sacred heirlooms and woven 

and rewoven generations after generations in India, so have particular designs and techniques 

been reworked in context after context, century after century. 

 

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79

Traditional Ikat and Textiles of the Dayak Benuaq in East Kalimantan and Some Indigenous Bark Cloths

Herwig Zahorka, Msc

Introduction

Only two ethnic Dayak tribes in Borneo produce ikat textiles; these are the Dayak Iban in

Malaysia’s Sarawak and in parts of West Kalimantan, and the Dayak Benuaq in Kutai Barat,

East Kalimantan. For their warp ikat weaving, the Benuaq use the fibers from the leaves of

Doyo, which is Curculigo latifolia Dryander, Amaryllidaceae. The textiles’ indigenous name is

Ulap Doyo. The weaving is carried out with a back strap loom. The Doyo fibers are extremely

durable and tear proof. During recent decades, synthetic dyes from the textile industry have

mostly replaced the genuine plant dyes. Men wear vests and women wear vests and the skirts of

ng distinguished guests and for the farewell

en wear a rich embroidered

e individually designed. During

ans of the Benuaq wear long

and the Fiber

secondary forests and additionally,

Fig.2 (above) The Doyo plant Curculigo latifolia propagated in a leaf/seedling container

Ulap Doyo only on formal occasions.

For ritual dancing, for ceremonies welcomi

dances at the secondary funeral ritual called Kwangkai, the wom

cotton skirt called Ulap Tumbal. The motifs of these skirts ar

their nocturnal curing or purification rituals the Pemeliatn or sham

skirts with colorful ornamental applications.

The Doyo Plant: Curculigo Latifolia

Curculigo latifolia grows plentifully in primary and

the people propagate it in leaf/seedling containers as shown in the photograph below.

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Fig. 3 The blossom Fig. 4 Fruits with seeds The austere yellow blossom of Doyo sits at the foot of the plant (Fig. 3). The fruit stands produce plentiful seeds, which is edible. Occasionally, people take some seeds and plant them nearby into the soil.

Fig. 5 (above) Breaking the tube walls containing the fibers with the Siluk Ukir Photo by Herwig Zahorka

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Fig. 6 The bamboo tool Siluk Ukir and some natural Doyo fibers. Photo by Herwig Zahorka

To remove the fibers from the leaves, the walls of the tubes or cords surrounding the

fibers must be broken. This is executed several times by using a bamboo tool called Siluk Ukir as

depicted in Fig. 5 and Fig. 6. Then the leaves are put in water in order to wash away the sticky

sap. If this is not done thoroughly the sap will adhere the single fibers together. Therefore, the

work with the bamboo tool is often performed under water. This bamboo tool is also useful to

remove nasty nits from the hair. After the split leaves are dried, the cords are pressed and twisted

with the fingers to get the fibers free. Then the raw material is spun into threads, which are

wound onto spools. The threads are extremely durable and tear proof like synthetic fibers.

Around the world, only the Dayak Benuaq use fibers from Curculigo latifolia for textiles. This is

unique.

Dyeing and Weaving the Ikat

Several decades ago, only natural dyes from plants were used. These plants have their

habitat in the area. Today, they are mostly replaced with synthetic dyes from the textile industry,

which are often more durable. Fig. 7 shows the list of traditional plants used to produce natural

dyes. The traditional colors dominantly used for dyeing the Doyo threads were black, red, yellow

and green. The blue dye producing plant Indigofera tinctoria was most probably never planted

here. This dye was and is still imported.

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Fig. 7 The Benuaq list of dyes producing plants Compiled by Herwig Zahorka

Fig 8 Fruits of Bixa orellana Fig. 9 The seed produce the red dye Photos by Herwig Zahorka

Figures 8 and 9 show the red dye producing plant Bixa orellana. The red dye is extracted

from the seed. Unfortunately, the color often fades easily and is not very durable.

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Fig. 10 The traditional Benuaq back strap loom Figure 10 shows the traditional back strap loom used by the Dayak Benuaq. Only the central band in the worked fabric is a warp ikat weaving, not the bordering bands at the sides. This technique produces two identical sheets of Ulap Doyo. To prepare the warp threads for dyeing, particular frames are used, as shown in Figure 11. Fig. 11 The frames for the warp threads with the ikat (knots), front and rear

The Ulap Doyo Textiles

The highly valued Ulap Doyo cloths are only worn at special events or to represent high

social status. Some cloths have already passed down through generations. People of the upper

class own the most and the nicest ones.

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Fig. 12 The traditional chief’s family from the Lempunah longhouse Figure 12 shows, from right, the Kepala Adat (traditional longhouse chief and adat judge) from the Lempunah longhouse, with his wife, their only daughter and other female relatives presenting their best Ulap Doyo garments. The traditional loincloth of a chief ends with long dark red fringes hanging down in the front and in the rear. Fig. 13 Woman with gold plated teeth. Fig. 14 Kepala Adat Bakot, a longhouse chief

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Fig. 15 Distinguished Benuaq aristocrats Fig. 16 A traditional Benuaq wedding The woman in Figure 13 wears a vest with two small ikat bands and two necklaces with old

Dutch silver coins or replicas. Her front teeth are gold plated. The ear hangings are typical

Benuaq style. Figure 14 shows the vest of the longhouse chief, the broad double bands of ikat on

both sides are significant as well as the fact that the buttons are made of a valuable trade good -

mother of pearl. On his head, this Kepala Adat chief wears a traditional dark red square-sized

textile with dark blue or black stripes.

The Benuaq are a stratified society with leading aristocrats at the top of the social ladder.

In Figure 15 is the late Kepala Adat chief, Dangud, with his wife Wasi. He was a Raden. This

aristocratic rung is equal to that of a count. His jacket is gold embroidered and the headgear and

the loincloth are in the traditional dark red color. He is armed with a ritual inherited mandau

(dagger or sword) and a large shield. His wife also wears a gold embroidered jacket, together

with a red skirt with four ikat bands. Figure 16 documents one of the duties of the Kepala Adat,

or the longhouse chief, which is to marry people in the traditional way. During the ritual, the

couple is clad with Ulap Doyo cloths and sit on two big bronze gongs, which are covered with

the colorful skirt of the shaman. At the rear of them are two Antaakn (Tempayan, large antic

Chinese jars) with the old blowguns and the mandaus attached. All these items are inherited

heirlooms which are considered the home of the Tonoi, the family’s protective spirits. Two

witnesses join the wedding though in fact this was a mock wedding of the author and his wife.

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Traditional Ikat Motifs

The Ulap Doyo referred to here are produced by the Ohong Benuaq living along the

Ohong River (Ohookng in their language) in the longhouse villages Pentat, Lempunah, Muara

Nayan and Mancong. The villages of Perigi, Tanjung Jan and Tanjung Isuy also produce Ulap

Doyo. All these villages are located in Jempang Subdistrict where they produce more than

twenty different ikat motifs. Most of these motifs depict a simplified artistic image of a

protective spirit designed to protect the wearer. For an outsider it is difficult to identify which

spirit is depicted though some motifs bear their names like Naga (Dragon), Timang (Tiger) or

Tangkai.

Fig. 17 (above) Crocodile motif, set for a protective spirit Fig. 18 More than twenty different motifs exist

Collection of Herwig Zahorka Figure 17 depicts a crocodile motif, that is, a Juata water spirit, these spirits always being depicted as either a crocodile or a fish. The water spirits which create the rainbow protect pregnant women as well as the mother and child during delivery though they can also create diarrhea. Figure 18 shows two identical fabrics, the wrap-around skirt being created by separating the fabric at the small sides and sewing them together at the long sides.

87

Fi e collection of Herwig

ritual. The spirit

wall decoration, which shows a water spirits, which are to

et of a Kepala Adat bands depicting snake sym Tonoi village

Fig. 20 A Ulap Doyo wall

decoration Fig. 21 A jacket from a Kepala Adat with many ikat bands

Collection Herwig Zahorka

g. 19 The protective Timang spirit is covZahorka, Ulap Doyo being also for the sp

The Timang (Tiger) spirit pro

is depicted as a wooden dog-like figure. The shamof Ulap Doyo as in Figure 19. Figure 20 mother with two children above two fish. The fish symprotect the woman during pregnancchief with many ikatspirits.

ered with an Ulap Doyo textile Timang in thirits.

tects the shaman during a nocturnal curing an has carefully covered the spirit with a piece

is a commercial ikatbolize the Juata

y and delivery. Figure 21 shows the jackbols, which stand for the protective

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Fig. 22 Commercial ikat for the market Fig. 23 The ikat cap of a now deceased aristocrat

Many commercial commodities are produced with ikat fabrics of the Benuaq, such as briefcases,

hand pockets, purses, wallets and suitcases. Most of them are sold in the souvenir shops in

Samarinda. Finally, Figure 23 shows the cap of a late Benuaq aristocrat topped with a feather of

the hornbill, which is a charm symbolizing the protective Nyahuq omen bird spirits. A small

crown of gold wires indicated the man’s aristocratic descent.

The Ulap Tumbal Traditional Costumes

Another traditional type of skirt of the Dayak Benuaq women is the Ulap Tumbal made

from cotton. It is also a wrap-around skirt. The front is adorned with individually designed

embroidery using colorful yarns. The women wear Ulap Tumbal skirts together with ornate

jackets for ritual dances, for welcoming distinguished guests and for other festive occasions. On

89

the same occasions, the chiefs wear jackets with red and white stripes and wide loincloths with

different colors.

Fig. 24 Welcome dance with Ulap Tumbal skirts. Fig. 25 Ngelenay gantar, fending off evil spirits The ornate jackets and rich embroidered Ulap Tumbal skirts in Figure 24 are compulsory for the

performance of a welcome dance for a distinguished guest. Figure 25 shows similar festive

garments during the Ngelenay gantar dance. The women carry red dyed fringes from the split

leaves of the Licuala palm, which are believed to be able to fend off malevolent spirits.

Figure 26 shows the Ngerangkau farewell dance around the remains of the deceased which are

hidden behind the fabrics during the secondary funeral ritual called Kwangkai. The women wear

Ulap Tumbal skirts and carry fringes in their hands to fend off evil spirits. The fringes are cut

from the leaves of the Licuala palm. Sut, the beautiful young woman in Figure 27 performs

symbolically the mating dance of the Argus pheasant. She spreads the wonderful feathers with

Fig. 26 (left). Secondary funeral ritual Kwangkai with Ulap Tumbal Fig. 27 (right). Love dance on the gong

90

the Argus eyes, which are fixed on her fingers and head. The big gong represents the mating

place and her graceful movements are accompanied with a soft melody played on a small flute.

Fig. 28 and Fig. 29 above. Collection of Herwig Zahorka

Fig. 30. Two fish depicting protective Juata spirits Fig. 31. A tree of life arises from a tempayan. Collection of Herwig Zahorka

Fig. 32 A “megalithic” anthropomorphic mask Fig. 33 The masks on a Moko around 2000 years old. Collection of Herwig Zahorka The heart-shaped motif in Figure 32 is an anthropomorphic mask motif. This motif appears on

dolmen urn of the megalithic period at Long Pulung, East Kalimantan. Figure 33 shows the same

masks on the oldest Moko drum estimated at about 2000 years old now kept on permanent

91

display in the National Museum in Jakarta. These masks are symbolic images referring to

ancestors.

The Pemeliatn Skirt and Shamanic Healers

The Benuaq adhere to animistic beliefs. Their shamans, called Pemeliatn or Bliatn,

execute healing and purification rituals. During these performances, their cloths are long cotton

skirts with colorful applications of individual designs. The eye-catching cloths and the rich room

decorations during the shamanic rituals have to be colorful and nice to attract and to delight the

spirits and make them willing to take back a disease, to protect the people from mishaps or purify

the longhouse after epidemics.

Fig. 34 Two Pemeliatn during a nocturnal curing ritual Fig. 35 Colorful designs for the spirits

Fig. 36 and Fig. 37 Cotton skirts of the shamans with colorful applications. Collection Herwig Zahorka

Indigenous Bark Cloths

Before weaving techniques were invented, the people’s cloths were generally made of

bark or animal fur. It is the inner bark, the bast or phloem, which is worked in to cloths. Many

92

species of trees produce useful bast. In Southeast Asia, species of the Artocarpus genus or other

species of the Moraceae family are preferred and some indigenous tribes still make and wear

bark cloths such as the Lun Daye and Lun Baa Dayak who live in the most remote highlands of

northern East Kalimantan, Kerayan Subdistrict, bordering Sabah and Sarawak/ Malaysia.

Fig. 38 Bark vest of Dayak Lun Daye Fig. 39 Bark vest of Punan Menalui, E-Kalimantan

llection

e lanes can land there.

id for cotton. Until

s no longer

t one can still find bark

Punan Menalui, the former

u

today. Yet even

en continue to

ple process.

Fig. 40 A Siberut hunter with bow. Fig. 41 (right) Traditional clothing for men

Co

There is no access to this area, neith

No fiber producing plants grow there and the cl

the end of World War II, only bark cloths were

exist there. Consequently, the loca

cloth on occasion For instance, the

forest nomads, now settled at the L

similarly extremely remote area wh

today in some parts of Indonesia

clad themselves with bark loincloths, the pr

Herwig Zahorka

r by river nor by road. Only small airp

imate is too cold and too hum

worn and as of today, back strap loom

l people wear imported cotton cloths bu

bark cloth in Figure 39 is from

rah River, which is a tributary of the upper Bahau River, a

ere people also prefer to wear cotton cloth

such as in the Siberut and Mentawai islands, m

oduction of loin cloth being a sim

93

A long strip of bark sed and removed

43 The inner bark is

Fig. 44 Pounding the bast Photos by Herwig Zahorka Fig. 45 Quality control The bark of the tree is first softened by pounding after which the producer washes it in the river

and then when it is dry, it is ready for wear. Every Siberut man has a set of such bark loincloths,

which he regularly washes. The loincloth made of the inner bark of an Artocarpus tree keeps the

skin healthy because it contains bactericide, fungicide and insecticide agents.

Conclusion

Only two Dayak tribes in Borneo produce ikat textiles, namely the Iban in Sarawak and

West Kalimantan, and the Benuaq in East Kalimantan. The Dayak Benuaq, settled in Jempang

Subdistrict, Kutai Barat, East Kalimantan, have produced ikat fabrics with a back strap loom,

beginning in unknown times, using the fibers of the plant Doyo that is Curculigo latifolia

Dryander, Amaryllidaceae. These ikat cloths’ local name is Ulap Doyo. They are worn at formal

Fig. 42is inci Fig. peeled off

ceremonies only. These fabrics are extremely durable like synthetics and the threads are tear

proof. More than twenty different motifs are known, many depicting artistically simplified

protective spirits.

The author botanically identified the plants originally used to extract the dyes, though;

nowadays, synthetic cloth dyes are mostly used. The traditional colors used for dyeing the Doyo

threads were black, red, yellow and green. The blue dye producing plant Indigofera tinctoria was

most probably never planted here. This dye was and is still imported. Today, ikat lengths are also

produced for wall decoration and the handicraft industry uses small parts of ikat textiles for

briefcases, wallets, suitcases, caps and other commodities.

Another traditional type of Dayak Benuaq women’s skirts is the Ulap Tumbal made from

cotton. The fronts of these wrap-around skirts show colorful individual embroidered designs.

Ornate jackets complete the outfits. The traditional garb of a Kepala Adat (longhouse chief and

adat judge) for festive rituals is a vest of Ulap Doyo, a Belet (loincloth) with long dark red

fringes in front and at rear, topped by dark red headgear. During rituals, wearing the traditional

Mandau (dagger, sword) is obligatory. In comparison, the Benuaq shamans dress very

differently. During their shamanic purification and curing rituals, they wear a long cotton skirt

with colorful appliquéd motifs of individual design while their chests remain bare. During the

most recent decades, modern cloths have widely replaced the nice traditional fabrics and cloths.

94

Oral Tradition, the History of Ikat Woven Designs and Traditional Curatorial Practices

Novia Sagita

Introduction

This paper is based on my experience working with the ikat weaving project in Sintang

district, West Kalimantan. Funded by Ford Foundation, KOBUS Center and PRCF Indonesia

formed a collaboration program to revitalize ancestral Dayak weaving arts. The project goal is to

strengthen the revival of the valuable Dayak Ikat Weaving culture by enhancing the present

artistic, managerial, and institutional skills needed to reach self sufficiency. The project aims to

restore Dayak Ikat arts by further strengthening weaving skills; sharing knowledge about the

cultural context and symbolism of ikats; and providing institutional support to secure the

viability of contemporary weaving activities.(PRCF-I report). The ikat project has established a

weaving cooperative, which has been successful in terms of increasing the number of members.

We started with less than 50 members and now have 870 members. All weavers came from

villages in the Sintang district area. The cooperative has been successful also in terms of helping

the weavers economically. The cooperative buys and sells ikats produced by the weavers and

gives them loans. Through their participation in cooperative activities, weavers have a second

source of income as well as sustain and preserve the Dayak weaving culture in Sintang area.

(JMM)

Ikats produced by the cooperative members are regularly sold to tourists and

connoisseurs at increasingly higher prices for quality weaves. A strong incentive for women to

take up weaving, and for the continuation of the art, is that monies collected from the selling of

ikats are used by weavers to supplement household off-farm incomes, and for usually

unbudgeted household expenses such as paying for schoolchildren’s tuition. Ikats produced by

the cooperative members are already being acclaimed by the tourists, collectors, connoisseurs,

cultural institutions and government authorities. The cooperative has already been recognized by

the district and provincial government as a key facilitator and representative of Dayak cultural

art. (report of PRCF-I:2002)

Among the cooperatives’ many efforts to preserve the ikat weaving culture is to offer

weavers training opportunities to enhance their skills. It also provides weavers training in

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financial management to help them become financially independent. The coop also conducts

qualitative research into the traditions of Dayak artistic designs, including symbolism and forms.

It also promotes the local weaving culture nationally and internationally through exhibitions and

seminars, which are held every year. (PRCF-I:2002)

The ikat exhibition and competition is one program that has been developed in an

effort to increase the awareness of the local culture heritage preservation within the community.

Every year, through the exhibit, the program tries to develop interactive tools to mediate

community participation, such as handspun competition, traditional rice wine and children

fashion show. Through this exhibition the weavers have proved that they can not only produce

amazing textiles, which increase in the quality every year, but also show that the preservation

their cultural heritage is being maintained by them.

Research on Oral Tradition and the History of Dayak Ikat Design: Preserving Traditional Knowledge through Cultural Heritage

Research is a very important component of the cooperative’s work. It is considered

“urgent research” since many worry that knowledge about the ikat tradition will be lost if not

recorded. Research also enhances the market value of the textiles. A textile is considered more

valuable to buyers if information on its specific motifs and symbols are available. Therefore,

research covers ikat motifs and all activities related to the traditional weaving process. This

paper is not only about ikat motifs and the production process, but also other essential elements

tied to this traditional weaving that are being discovered through research. As the principle

researcher for the cooperative, I was responsible for conducting research in Sintang and Upper

Kapuas districts in West Kalimantan. The main objectives of this research were; to document

and collect motifs and their stories and to record the oral tradition behind ikat weaving according

to local culture beliefs. Research focused on Dayak Desa (Sintang) and Dayak Iban and Kantuk

(Upper Kapuas).

The first research was on Dayak Desa since this group is the majority dayak in Sintang

area and most members of weaving cooperative are Dayak Desa. Sintang is known now for ikat

weaving and also is the home of woman weaving cooperative with name ‘ Koperasi Jasa

Menenun Mandiri (JMM) or ‘Weaver Go Independece’. My research in Sintang was made easy

because there are many ikat weavers living in Sintang, and because Yayasan Kobus has a

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collection of ikats produced by Desa that have characteristic patterns and style. All of this

collection has already being photographed and documented, and consists of old and new or

contemporary ikats Bidang / kebat (skirt) or Kumbu (blanket). Later, carrying a big folder of

photographs of ikat from the Yayasan Kobus collection, I started visiting different villages

around Sintang. I also made a trip to Ketungau a sub district of Sintang territory, to a make a

comparison of motifs from Bungau and Mualang Dayak groups.

To collect information on the names of motifs and the particular traditions of a weaver

and her family, required a lot of time and sometimes I had to live with the weavers in different

villages. In Sintang district at the moment there is only one long house which still exists. In

other villages, most of the people already live in individual houses. While I lived with them

(weavers) I heard some weavers mention that there are advantages to living in individual houses

related to their ikat weaving activities. For one, they don’t have to follow the ‘taboos’ or other

rules if they don’t live in long house. For example, in the longhouse weavers can not weave at

night; they also have to stop their ikat activities for a week when somebody dies or if someone

has a problem with their adat (having adat payment). It is requested that all people living in the

long house mourn. Most of these concerns are coming from middle aged or young weavers. For

old weavers, these conditions do not make much of a difference since they are continuing what

they had learned from their ancestors.

The weavers in Sintang are mostly ‘reintroduction’ weavers, which means the weaver is

being re-introduced to the tradition of their ancestors. My folder full of ikat photos helped a lot

of people remember the names of the motifs and some of the stories behind them. Fortunately,

while I was conducting my research there were still old weavers in some villages who were still

producing ika. They were able to show me how this tradition is being done in the traditional way

as they had learned from their ancestors. This is one of the main differences between old and

young weavers. Weavers were excited when I showed them some photos of ikat. The young ones

were mostly just able to mention the names and were not sure about motifs in my photos. The

old weavers enjoyed the photos but didn’t say much, but were curious to know how I got the

photos and who made the ikats in the photos. This raised my curiosity and deepened my

understanding of the situation - they were acting responsibly by not giving me certain

information.

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Then I decided to work mostly with the older weavers. I believed this approach could

bring me to a deeper understanding of the tradition. One of these old weavers was at that that

time already living in an individual house. I was so fortunate when she let me stay with her

because she was about finished with the last dying and tying process (ngerapus/Desa) and was

starting to weave. I was there when she unfolded the yarn and put it on the loom. Then I could

see a beautiful motif, which was not yet woven. I found it that it was a familiar motif in my

photo collection, but I wanted her to tell me the motif. She just said ‘ilak anang jak’ (wait later).

It took one week for her to finish her textile in combination her job as a farmer.

The day she finished it, she took it off the loom and folded it without doing the fringes.

She put a plate and a lamp with a light on it next to the textile and started filling the plate with

rice, betel leaves and lime, a piece of cake from sticky rice, and a cigarette. Two of her daughters

who were starting to learn to weave also helped her gather these materials. Then I followed her

to a small river next to her house where she threw the offerings on the plate into the water and

put the lamp so it floated on the water. Next she said to me this was ‘pagelak’ (offering) because

her work was finished. She asked for blessings and healthiness for herself and her whole family.

After that she started to do the fringes, and to tell me the names of the motifs. She said it was

supposed to be done in that way because it is pamali (taboo) to mention the name of any motif

before the weaving is finished because they believe it will harm them and they want to still be

able to make other beautiful ikats.

The following day she asked me to come with her to visit her sister who was also a

weaver. At her sister’s house I was surprised when she pulled from her bag a piece of old bidang

/ kebat with similar a motif as on her new textile. She gave the old textile back to her sister with

a plate full of rice, a couple of betel leaves and cigarettes. She said it was to please her sister

because she copied and borrowed her sister’s old textile which was inherited from their parents.

She told me that the ikat (kebat) that she just made was going to be sold to the weaving

cooperative and she needed some information or story about the motif to go along with it. She

asked her daughter to write down the story while she finished the fringes.Sometime her

daughters or other members of the family asked questions regarding the story and this tradition.

She said that it is not easy and takes a lot of time to make ikat, not only in regards to materials

like threads that need special treatment before they are dyed and tied, and this is very important

part of the process that makes the colors and threads last forever. She must also think about the

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motifs that she wants to have on ikat. After finishing one ikat she always wants to make another

one.

During the time I spent with this family I gathered much valuable information for my

research about the names of motifs as well as the strong traditions and beliefs the weavers

uphold. They are maintaining these traditions and beliefs passed down from their ancestors, and

that are still part of their lives today. I learned a lot about how the motifs of traditional textiles

not only have symbolic meanings, but also contain magical things of the mystical world. The

stories that go with them also offer hope and advice that is useful to living life nowadays.

(IDRD:2001). Stories and myths passed down orally through the generations are in daily use and

form a background to daily life.

My research also focused on Dayak Iban and Kantuk in Upper Kapuas District. In this

area, the weavers are not as organized as the weavers in Sintang. Nevertheless, the tradition is

still alive in this area. I did find out that the Kantuk, had not produced ikat for over fifty years.

Most Kantuk live in the capital of the district, but are a numerical minority. It took time to find

Kantuk weavers. After a while I met an old woman (over 80 years old) who was a weaver. It was

hard for me to get much information from her because she had speech and hearing problems. But

she tried hard to explain how different Kantuk and Iban textiles are in terms of quality, motifs, as

well as weavers’ traditional behavior. She showed me a few her own ikat kumbu in addition to

ikats that had belonged to her mother. She was proud of her textiles and allowed me to take

pictures of them. She also said that few Kantuk people still keep their textiles, and those that do

have inherited them from their parents.

I found out later that Kantuk’s have beautiful ikat that have different motifs in addition to

quality in threads and colors. I hardly was able to get the names or stories of the Kantuk’s motifs

because most of the people who own them are not weavers. But what impressed me the most

about these textiles is that the people are making sure they are being well kept in their own

houses, and according to them, they still use these textiles for Gawai (harvest celebration) or

other traditional ceremonies. After spending some time with the Kantuk, I continued my trip to

Iban areas where most people are still living in big and huge long houses. The Iban still produce

ikat. They mostly sell them in Sawarak (Malaysia) but sometimes keep them for themselves. In

this area, I visited many long houses and found many beautiful ikat Iban Kumbu or Kebat, most

of which are old and well cared for. I was amazed with Ikat Iban, not only because of the large

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size of their kumbu and motifs, but it is also very interesting how they give their textiles long

names or titles name their textiles based on the story in them. One my favorite titles for a an old

kumbu is ‘gajah meram di palak uwong karak nyangkang di belakang parong’(there is a big bad

spirit sit and stay still at banyan tree near water fall at the river). There is another one ‘Kandong

nibung berayah tangkai ranyai besembah jangah - jangah duduk di pelepah tikai pandan di

juluknya antu mali lebu lumpu kubu tuan raja, Bujang Mali Balang nyerang numbang ke benua

(Kandong Nibong Pohon a beautiful tree have branches down to the ground, Bujang Mali Balang

a half god and half man was born in the tree and sits straight on pandan mat thinking to attack a

king and conquer other world). I also found some very short ones such as Remang rarat (the

clouds).

Iban weavers not only produce kain ikat but also kain Pilih (selam/amat), kain Sidan and

Sungkit and these are beautiful textiles, and there are many differences from one to another. The

Iban weavers gave me valuable information about this weaving tradition. From them I was also

able to gather names of motifs, titles and stories as well as how tradition is maintained in their

family. The Iban honored me by trusting me to document their old textiles many of which had

unique and powerful motifs. Through them I was introduced not only to the stories behind the

textiles but they also showed me how their tradition is being maintained in traditional ways. For

instance, they showed me how they fold and keep their textiles in a certain way, especially the

Pilih, Sungkit, and Sidan. They fold them in inside out so as to avoid losing the motifs. For Ikat

kebat or kumbu they keep them in a plaited basket made from a special kind of leaf material

(daun sengang).

As I did with the Desa people, I also showed my photo collections to these Iban weavers.

I got the same questions from them like which Dayaks made which textiles, and how were these

textiles collected that were in the photos. They recognized the differences between their textiles

and those of the Kantuk but not others. I enjoyed my time with them, especially when they were

having conversations about the photos and trying to compare their own motifs with others.

There was a middle aged weaver that said it was unusual for them to see ikat photos, although

she also said these photos made it easy for other people to copy all the motifs from the photos.

For them, when they want to copy someone else’s designs (even those of relatives) they have to

make payments in the traditional way. (This is also true for Desa weavers). I think in this context

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they were trying to tell me that they are very concerned about respecting traditional rights to

cultural property and want to protect it.

In Iban long houses I mostly stayed with old weavers because in that way I could get

more information and see the different ways of Iban weavers carried out their traditions. I stayed

with one weaver (not married) named Inai Beda (Inai mean mother) who was 60 years old who

was about to make ikat (she was in the process of preparing the yarn). I decided to stay with her

until she wove her textile. I sometimes asked her questions related to my research. At one point I

realized that she knew what I wanted see, but based on her answers and what I learned from my

experience with the Desa weavers I realized I needed to be careful about asking questions related

to the names of the motifs. On my third day there I she showed me textiles that she kept in her

cupboard and that were wrapped with kain tapeh (sarong batik). I was surprised not only by her

ikat kumbu with many beautiful motifs, but also because she had many amazing Sungkit, Sidan,

Pilih (same size like kumbu). Then I asked if I could take photos. She said ‘ilak, dek belikan aku

beras dan rokok’ (please wait, buy me rice and cigarettes). She proudly explained all the stories

behind the motifs. She continued to work on her textile and she showed me in detail how to

make ikat according to tradition and what she had learned from her ancestors. During the whole

process, I noticed that she tried to not touch the thread with her hands, but rather, she used tacok

/ Iban (coconut skull). She said she avoided touching the thread so it would not become dirty and

this was a good way to maintain the threads so they would last a long time.

After that she suggested that I meet two others weavers which were her relatives, such as

Inai Bunga, an unmarried weaver that was 80 years old and living in the same long house with

Inai Beda. When I entered Inai Bunga’s house, I was impressed with her gong collection that she

had on her wall. The gongs were tied together with rattan. These gongs had different shapes,

material and patterns. They were so beautiful. I think Inai Beda already informed Inai Bunga

about my purpose in visiting her. She directly showed me a few of her textiles and most were

kebat. While I was taking pictures of her textiles she said that she still has a few kumbu and she

would let me see and take photos if I was able to provide her a chicken, a plate full with rice and

cigarettes. I provided these things and then she took me to a room that was full of big tempayan

(Jars) where she kept her kumbu wrapped in old kain tapeh.Then I saw her old kumbu with old

motives. A few of them were made by her and others were from her mother.

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While I was busy taking pictures, I asked why she asked me to provide her a chicken and

the other things. She said that she never takes the textiles from the jars, only on very special

occasions or for ritual ceremonies such as asking for rain when she puts the textile on her roof,

and asks for blessings and when to start planting the rice or at the gawai (harvest celebration). It

is meant for special purposes. I saw her slaughter the chicken and spread the blood from the

chicken around. It was meant for the bad spirit on the ground.

Another relative of Inai Beda was Inai Bajik (70 years old) who was also living in the

same long house. With Inai Bajik I had quite an interesting experience. It took a few visits to get

the information I wanted from her and I had been informed by Inai Beda that she has many old

weavings too. My visits to her house gave me a different perspective on the tradition. One day

she showed me her textiles but she did not let me to take pictures or even get information about

these textiles. But what was more valuable was the history she gave me about the tradition since

she remembered it well by heart. Sometime she just picked one of her kumbu and covered her

head and started Bekana (a form of poetry full with story with special rhythm) and she said that

in old times they used kumbu just like that when many women were waiting in ruai (hall) in the

long house for the men to come back from war or ngayau (headhunting). If they brought heads

then these women would welcome them with their heads covered with kumbu.

The next day I came back again to her house and suddenly she asked me to give her

money (about 5.000 rupiah ($ 50 cent) and then she would let me take pictures of her textiles. I

was confused about this because I believed she knew that I would be able to provide things like

Inai Bunga had asked me for she said it was just for syarat (condition in traditional way) to

please her or other people who own textiles and there is no certain amount or materials for this. It

all depends on what individuals decide and want. Then I continued my work and started to ask

her information about her textiles. She asked me why I wanted to know the names of the motifs.

Without waiting to hear my explanation she said when she learned to make ikat with her

mother or her grandmother she never asked the name of the motif. In this tradition it takes time

for most weavers to learn about the motifs they are using. This is the way it has been for a long

time and how they continue the tradition. This is also a way of showing respect to their ancestors

and to the good and bad spirits around them. She also wondered why it is such a problem for

some people to find out about the names and stories behind their ikat. For her and many other

weavers she believed it might be because some of their textiles have histories related to their

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family which are taboo (forbidden) for them to bring up. If they bring up the story they must pay

adat (traditional fine). For instance, she picked up one of her kumbu with very old motif (Bujang

Mali Balang / Iban). She believed that this textile killed her parents after her mother finished this

kumbu. She promised to herself never to produce or copy this motif.

Museum Community Program

Besides being the principal researcher for oral tradition and history on ikat weaving

design, I was also the coordinator of the museum community program for the ikat project in

Sintang. The purpose of this program was to establish a depository (or a museum) for Dayak art

and culture, and especially for the best traditional ikat weavings in the Sintang area. Another

purpose was to ‘house’ collections consisting of textiles and cultural artifacts from Yayasan

Kobus, which were being donated to the community in Sintang. Through this program, I had the

opportunity to undertake training in museum studies program and anthropology Denver

University (DU) which was organized by Christina Kreps and funded by Ford Foundation and

Asian Cultural Council.

When I conducted the feasibility study on a museum community program I had visited 10

villages in Sintang area. These was the area from which most of the weavers come from. The

purpose of this study was to measure the people's interest in the project and to obtain information

on how this program was perceived by the community. There is a high level of interest in the

community for our Ikat weaving project and the cooperative (see Ikat project in introduction).

There are many weavers who are actively producing ikat weavings (home production) in 16

different villages. This tells us that cultural preservation has been going on in every house in

different villages. These cultural activities can provide communities with a source of income

while also helping keep the tradition alive (Kreps 2002). Based on this information I believe that

this program can work in the community. It took me almost 2 months of staying in villages to

accomplish my study. While I conducted my work, I tried to discuss the museum project, but

realized I could not use the "museum" with the people. Instead, I used the term "rumah pusaka"

or "house of heritage or heirloom" which was more understandable by the community. (Kreps

1997).

I have spent a great deal of time living with local people in villages carrying out my tasks

and responsibilities in facilitating and coordinating this program with the community. The

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museum community itself doest not exist within a building. In the first program, the community

was the starting point from which we implemented the program components, such as museum

education and awareness, seminars and exhibitions (such as ikat weaving contest) with

communities in villages, sub districts and capital of districts. While I was conducting this

program, I was able made to make a few visits to museums in Indonesia together with

community representatives to orient them toward the program. I was more concerned with

exploring and finding out about knowledge regarding cultural preservation that already existed in

every village. While I was doing the research and working for the Dayak weavers of Ikat textiles

I met a few weavers who showed me how they are keeping their material culture safe in different

traditional ways. I came to realize that these weavers already are “keepers” (curators) in a way

which has been passed down from their ancestors. This is proof that our community does have

knowledge about preserving our heritage. While I stayed in villages doing my research, I would

often see old or middle aged weavers (most of whom could not read or write) ask their

grandchildren or children to write down the names of motifs and stories to accompany their

textile so as to increase their market potential. This often led to extended family discussions

about their traditions and naturally stories about ikat. I think this is a beautiful way to pass down

their own tradition, passing culture from oral to written accounts. It starts from within each house

and as such is the continuation of indigenous tradition. It is like museum rumah tangga, a

household museum. In this way, the Kantuk and Iban revealed to me not only a great deal of

information about many motifs, stories and traditions behind their textiles, but also allowed me

to learn and see how this traditional ikat weaving is being produced and how this tradition

engages them. It has taught me to be more careful and respectful to this culture. Every time I

enter a weaver’s house in the villages, I feel like I am entering a museum!

Conclusion

The new museology movement has been fundamentally concerned with the democratization and museum practices it is stressed the importance of community members, not just as visitors but also participants in all aspects museum work. New museology strives to bridge the gap between professional and non-professionals by working with local people, drawing on the people’s knowledge, experiences and resources (Davis 1999, Vergo 1980, Witcomb 2003).

In Kreps “Curatorship as Social Practice”

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After doing my research work on Dayak Ikat, visiting different museums in different

places, and through my work with the community museum program, I have come to realize that

the current style of top down museum management practice are not ideal for our community. As

a result of this approach in the past, the community does not have a sense of belonging or like it

is being integrated into it. On the other hand, it is common knowledge that our museum

institutions are only symbolic. Not only do our museums lack human resources, but our national

community does not understand what is the role and function of a museum. The work now for

our museums in Indonesia is to learn how to have an ideal museum as an institution that

integrates the community, since it is the community itself who owns the culture and all of the

resources. I believe that there are lots of forms and source of preservation knowledge in

communities that need to be explored in respectful and responsible ways. I agree with Kreps that

communities have the rights to deal and manage their own cultural heritage (Kreps 2003). As a

result of my work with the weavers in villages, museum visits and museum training, I have

learned that interpreting, learning about and observing objects as well as placing an aesthetic

value on them and placing them in exhibits in a particular building is not part of our culture. But

I understand also that just because museums are not part of the culture in our community this

does not mean that museums cannot exist in our country. We do have very rich cultural materials

which need to preserved, and cared for since they are evidence of our history and culture.

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Concluding Remarks

Dr. Suwati Kartiwa

While the speakers over the past two days have spoken about textiles from many different

regions of Indonesia, and in fact, Southeast Asia, several similar threads have emerged. Perhaps

most important we learn that there is a continuing interest in traditional textiles in Indonesia

today not only amongst academics and specialists in the field but amongst ordinary Indonesians

of all walks of life. Many speakers have emphasized the fact that conferences and symposiums

such as this are important particularly in terms of providing a context for communicating with

others working in the field of textile research.

In this conference we learnt something of the progress being made in creating new designs

and re-creating traditional designs. For instance in Irwan Tirta’s opening discussion, he

observed how if one does not understand the history behind the motifs and techniques and the

meaning of the designs, one would loose these all important connections when re-creating

traditional designs. In essence then, the past is important. In the dynamic context of

contemporary Indonesian textile production, we see a constant proliferation of new designs, the

creative use new colors and new techniques. The weavers, batik makers and others are in all this

involved in a truly living art. There is certainly ample opportunity for documenting this lively

world of experimentation and production of new forms and the re-production of older forms.

We have also learnt of how textiles are affected by globalization and by global trends

whether it be in the evolution of “commercial motifs” in Sumba, the “greening” of dying and dye

stuffs or the renewed emphasis on trade and export. Most significantly, the contributors have

shown that globalization dos not necessarily result in the degeneration of textiles, but to the

contrary can powerfully stimulate the nature and quality of production. Indeed, considering the

diverse types of traditional techniques including batik, ikat, weaving and embroidery, and the

expansive array of motifs amidst the sheer breadth and depth of the textile tradition in Indonesia

is overwhelming. How much there is to learn and to preserve!

This symposium also provided us with instances of particular success stories such as in the

case of the co-operative in Sintang and the Batik Village in Giriloyo. Those examples will

provide inspiration for how we might expand these successes to other areas. In addition, through

the observations made about how batik is being adapted and worn today in a variety of modern

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and trendy ways we even see how we the designs on cloth on the ancient statues in the museum’s

courtyard continue to exist today. Let us see how we can bring them even more vigorously back

to life for today and tomorrow’s youth.

In conclusion, in all this we see the threads of diverse traditions continually intertwined,

ancient designs on modern scarves, newly commercialized motifs on traditional ikat, Ottoman

designs of old surviving in gold embroidery in today’s Sumatran ceremonies. We hope that

through the publication of the papers presented at this symposium that stimulate future research

and work which will in a multitude of ways be woven into future research and above all into the

future creative production of Indonesian textiles.