Sumba is one of the many islands in eastern Indonesia where the ancient
art of tying, dying and weaving the complex ikat textiles is still
practiced. The weavings’ motifs are rich in cultural lore and tradition.
Many are still used as bride-wealth and in ceremonies for house
raisings and funerals.
Although chemical dyes reached Indonesia over a century ago, the weavers in some isolated communities still use plant dyes. They are supported by Ubud-based Threads of Life, a certified Fair Trade business that helps traditional ikat-producing communities in Eastern Indonesia maintain their heritage of natural dyes. With its sister organization the NGO Yayasan Pecinta Budaya Bebali, Threads of Life is active in remote communities on the islands of Flores, Lembata, East Sumba, Timor, Savu, Rai Jua, Java, Sulawesi, Sumatra, West Kalimantan and Bali.
“There are over 200 different dye plants in the palette of Eastern Indonesian textile artists,” explains William Ingram, co-founder of Threads of Life. “Indigo leaves for blue and Morinda root bark for the red are the main colors. But most plants are used in the various local oiling processes that prepare cotton for the red dye.” Yayasan Pecinta Budaya Bebali maintains a growing database of these plants, some of which are becoming increasingly hard to find, with support from England’s Kew Gardens.
The complex chemistry behind plant dyes is well understood by these dyers and weavers. Besides the dye plants themselves, they know that the red dye must be fixed to the textile by a mordant. The oiling, or mordant process, must include three elements -- a short-chain fatty acid, a tannin and a salt of aluminum. Many Indonesian communities use kimiri nut oil for the fatty acid, which gives the final textile a distinctive texture and aroma. The tannin sources are many, and each community will have its local favorite. The aluminum salt is extracted from trees of the Symplocos family, which contain a high percentage of it. The dyer must be skilled in manipulating the oil’s oxidation process -- essentially letting the oil go through a period of rancidity -- to ensure a good red colour. This step can takes at least two months, and historically was allowed to go on for years before proceeding to the Morinda red dye step. The longer and slower this process, the better the final color (and the higher the value of the finished textile).
The art of using natural dyes was eroded throughout the 1980s as the government pushed the use of synthetic dyes, and was almost lost during the economic crisis in 1998 when many of the remaining natural dyers shifted to chemical dyes. These shifts made it possible to create more textiles for sale more quickly and cheaply for desperately needed cash, and the old plant dyes were quickly being forgotten. Threads of Life was created at this time to offer support so that traditional weavers could continue to create heritage textiles using natural fibres and dyes. The organization provides advance payments for important pieces that may take years to complete, finds Indonesian and international markets for weavers’ work and helps remote communities network, share and build on their knowledge of natural dyes.
The intricate process of creating these traditional textiles is extremely labour-intensive. The cotton fibres are selected, spun, placed on a frame, then the motif is meticulously bundled and tied off to create the desired pattern. Most weavers create these designs from memory. Only in East Sumba, around the town of Waingapu, is the pattern strategized and marked onto the threads by men.
The World Bank and the Yayasan Pecinta Budaya Bebali performed value chain analyses of traditional textile production in Eastern Indonesia using one particular textile from Flores as an example of the time taken by dyers and weavers to finish the cloth. When the time and cost inputs were compared with market prices, the hourly income from the sale of the naturally dyed textile was almost four times that of the synthetically dyed equivalent. This is why young women are coming back to the weaving arts in communities where Threads of Life works. There is a good market for high quality ikat through Threads of Life, which now works with about 1100 people (mostly women) in 50 co-operatives on 11 islands in Indonesia. Its support makes a big difference to local economies and the survival of the craft.
It takes a skilled eye and nose to tell the difference between plant and chemical dyes. Some areas are clever at mixing chemical dyes to look natural. William taught me to smell the indigo, and to identify the rich smell of kimiri oil used to fix the red hues and which may cling to the fabric for a year or two. But nothing compares to a deep knowledge of the craft and its many dimensions.
Many of the textiles have tales to tell. Traditionally, animist symbols on textiles from Sumba have their heads towards the center of the cloth. This is because the cloths were worn across one shoulder and the animals could not be worn hanging upside down. Animals and plants, symbols of the old Marapu religion of Sumba, are still often seen, though the animals are not always represented in full; a buffalo might be symbolized by a footprint, or a plant by a particular leaf. When the Dutch discovered the ikat art form in the 1920s they were attracted to the more easily recognized motifs. Over time in areas where there was greater market access, weavers adapted traditional motifs and made the animals in particular more clearly pictoral to meet market demand. The single- direction ikats made around Waingapu are an innovation from the 1980s that responded to this demand.
“Different Sumbanese villages have distinctive motifs, “William explains. “One area uses only the rooster motif.”He then interpreted a weaving from Waingapu in East Sumba I had brought to show him.
This piece depicts a royal funeral. At the top is a traditional Sumba house full of funeral guests. Directly underneath it the body of the deceased, wrapped in many textiles, is being carried to the grave. (The body may be kept at home for years while the family accumulates enough wealth for the funeral. Depending on the wealth and status of the family, up to six attendants of the deceased are appointed as papanggang, or ritual attendants. The person is not considered dead until the funeral rites begin and continues to be attended to as a sick person would be. The attendants bring coffee, meals and sit in attendance. They also have specific roles in the funeral.)
As depicted on the ikat, two horses lead the procession with the body from the house to the grave at the bottom of cloth. One attendant rides a horse with a golden headdress and leads a riderless horse which carries the soul of the deceased. Buffaloes and horses are being sacrificed at the funeral by men with parangs to be eaten by the funeral guests. At the top of the ikat, other attendants carry roosters. William tells me that the funeral guests bring textiles and livestock to contribute to the funeral, and the host must reciprocate in kind. So these are important and expensive occasions.
“The weavers want to maintain their traditional culture and express their heritage through their textiles, and they want fair and sustainable livelihoods,” William tells me. “Our website and gallery are their bridge to a market that understands and values their work. Serious collectors sometimes make the long journey to meet the weavers.
Although chemical dyes reached Indonesia over a century ago, the weavers in some isolated communities still use plant dyes. They are supported by Ubud-based Threads of Life, a certified Fair Trade business that helps traditional ikat-producing communities in Eastern Indonesia maintain their heritage of natural dyes. With its sister organization the NGO Yayasan Pecinta Budaya Bebali, Threads of Life is active in remote communities on the islands of Flores, Lembata, East Sumba, Timor, Savu, Rai Jua, Java, Sulawesi, Sumatra, West Kalimantan and Bali.
“There are over 200 different dye plants in the palette of Eastern Indonesian textile artists,” explains William Ingram, co-founder of Threads of Life. “Indigo leaves for blue and Morinda root bark for the red are the main colors. But most plants are used in the various local oiling processes that prepare cotton for the red dye.” Yayasan Pecinta Budaya Bebali maintains a growing database of these plants, some of which are becoming increasingly hard to find, with support from England’s Kew Gardens.
The complex chemistry behind plant dyes is well understood by these dyers and weavers. Besides the dye plants themselves, they know that the red dye must be fixed to the textile by a mordant. The oiling, or mordant process, must include three elements -- a short-chain fatty acid, a tannin and a salt of aluminum. Many Indonesian communities use kimiri nut oil for the fatty acid, which gives the final textile a distinctive texture and aroma. The tannin sources are many, and each community will have its local favorite. The aluminum salt is extracted from trees of the Symplocos family, which contain a high percentage of it. The dyer must be skilled in manipulating the oil’s oxidation process -- essentially letting the oil go through a period of rancidity -- to ensure a good red colour. This step can takes at least two months, and historically was allowed to go on for years before proceeding to the Morinda red dye step. The longer and slower this process, the better the final color (and the higher the value of the finished textile).
The art of using natural dyes was eroded throughout the 1980s as the government pushed the use of synthetic dyes, and was almost lost during the economic crisis in 1998 when many of the remaining natural dyers shifted to chemical dyes. These shifts made it possible to create more textiles for sale more quickly and cheaply for desperately needed cash, and the old plant dyes were quickly being forgotten. Threads of Life was created at this time to offer support so that traditional weavers could continue to create heritage textiles using natural fibres and dyes. The organization provides advance payments for important pieces that may take years to complete, finds Indonesian and international markets for weavers’ work and helps remote communities network, share and build on their knowledge of natural dyes.
The intricate process of creating these traditional textiles is extremely labour-intensive. The cotton fibres are selected, spun, placed on a frame, then the motif is meticulously bundled and tied off to create the desired pattern. Most weavers create these designs from memory. Only in East Sumba, around the town of Waingapu, is the pattern strategized and marked onto the threads by men.
The World Bank and the Yayasan Pecinta Budaya Bebali performed value chain analyses of traditional textile production in Eastern Indonesia using one particular textile from Flores as an example of the time taken by dyers and weavers to finish the cloth. When the time and cost inputs were compared with market prices, the hourly income from the sale of the naturally dyed textile was almost four times that of the synthetically dyed equivalent. This is why young women are coming back to the weaving arts in communities where Threads of Life works. There is a good market for high quality ikat through Threads of Life, which now works with about 1100 people (mostly women) in 50 co-operatives on 11 islands in Indonesia. Its support makes a big difference to local economies and the survival of the craft.
It takes a skilled eye and nose to tell the difference between plant and chemical dyes. Some areas are clever at mixing chemical dyes to look natural. William taught me to smell the indigo, and to identify the rich smell of kimiri oil used to fix the red hues and which may cling to the fabric for a year or two. But nothing compares to a deep knowledge of the craft and its many dimensions.
Many of the textiles have tales to tell. Traditionally, animist symbols on textiles from Sumba have their heads towards the center of the cloth. This is because the cloths were worn across one shoulder and the animals could not be worn hanging upside down. Animals and plants, symbols of the old Marapu religion of Sumba, are still often seen, though the animals are not always represented in full; a buffalo might be symbolized by a footprint, or a plant by a particular leaf. When the Dutch discovered the ikat art form in the 1920s they were attracted to the more easily recognized motifs. Over time in areas where there was greater market access, weavers adapted traditional motifs and made the animals in particular more clearly pictoral to meet market demand. The single- direction ikats made around Waingapu are an innovation from the 1980s that responded to this demand.
“Different Sumbanese villages have distinctive motifs, “William explains. “One area uses only the rooster motif.”He then interpreted a weaving from Waingapu in East Sumba I had brought to show him.
This piece depicts a royal funeral. At the top is a traditional Sumba house full of funeral guests. Directly underneath it the body of the deceased, wrapped in many textiles, is being carried to the grave. (The body may be kept at home for years while the family accumulates enough wealth for the funeral. Depending on the wealth and status of the family, up to six attendants of the deceased are appointed as papanggang, or ritual attendants. The person is not considered dead until the funeral rites begin and continues to be attended to as a sick person would be. The attendants bring coffee, meals and sit in attendance. They also have specific roles in the funeral.)
As depicted on the ikat, two horses lead the procession with the body from the house to the grave at the bottom of cloth. One attendant rides a horse with a golden headdress and leads a riderless horse which carries the soul of the deceased. Buffaloes and horses are being sacrificed at the funeral by men with parangs to be eaten by the funeral guests. At the top of the ikat, other attendants carry roosters. William tells me that the funeral guests bring textiles and livestock to contribute to the funeral, and the host must reciprocate in kind. So these are important and expensive occasions.
“The weavers want to maintain their traditional culture and express their heritage through their textiles, and they want fair and sustainable livelihoods,” William tells me. “Our website and gallery are their bridge to a market that understands and values their work. Serious collectors sometimes make the long journey to meet the weavers.
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