Visuals and Tangibles

When my friend in the UK, Pamela Cross, heard that Ompu Elza's textiles had been exhibited in China, her response was immediate: this needs to be made visible for all to see. "Hang the photograph of the bulang in the Chinese exhibition on the wall of the Weaving Centre," she suggested. It wasn't long before she had also taken it upon herself to commission a T-shirt to celebrate Ompu Elza's great achievement. At the end of July a group of textile enthusiasts would visit the Weaving Centre and the shirt could serve as a prominent visual reminder of this illustrious highlight at our Centre.

Mas MJA Nashir saw the brilliance in Pamela's idea. He has done all of our Pulang Kampung T-shirts and knows everything about the art of T-shirts; he had supported himself with the craft while he attended university. Living in Pekalongan, he had a team to help him. He went to work immediately. 

 

The process was fun and, in the end, also important. I shared the various stages of the design with Pamela and her excitement grew. I told Lasma that the T-shirt was in the works and anticipation in the village also mounted. Anticipation, I was learning, was an important part of the tour and we were having it simultaneously in North Sumatra, Java, England and The Netherlands. None of us could wait to see Ompu Elza's face when she laid eyes on Nashir's product. 

At the last minute there was some doubt as to whether the shirts would arrive on time. The T-shirt had become an emblem of honour. It would be the talk of the town. I could not countenance having to disappoint everyone with an announcement that we hadn't been able to get the shirts to the village on time. Gulp. Luckily our friend Arjuna Bakkara was heading home from Jakarta on Friday evening. Enough of the shirts were done on Thursday evening for Nashir to package them up and send them on the bus to Jakarta that night. Arjuna picked them up, flew them to Medan and then bussed them to Pematang Siantar where Lasma and her husband picked them up on Saturday, with one day to spare before the tour. Such relief!  For a mere item of clothing? No, this was not just a T-shirt; this shirt contained love, admiration, pride, beauty, friendship, our shared dreams coming true.

I asked Lasma to immortalize Ompu Elza with her T-shirt by taking a photograph of le moment supreme and here is the result. Lasma included a quote from Ompu Elza: "If Sandra is proud of my textile in China, I am twice as proud wearing this T-shirt". Her smile had never been wider. Her shirt is a source of constant joy and celebration for her, an historical landmark. Words could never have done what these shirts do.

Nashir confessed that he had worn his everyday since he had taken it off the press. He was not exempt from the excitement. Not having one in Europe, I wore one of Nashir's T-shirts from the Pulang Kampung III journey, on the day that the tour visited the Weaving Centre. These shirts retain their meaning. It made me feel like a part of everything.

The T-shirts have given me pause to ponder Ompu Elza's bulang, that other material item at the Weaving Centre that is having enormous impact. I have known Ompu Elza for as long as I have known Lasma. She is quiet, modest, always friendly, a bit shy. For eight years our relationship consisted of little more than sweet greetings and farewells with smiles in between. No real content.

Until she sat down in her loom. That is when I finally met Lasma's mother. I saw someone of stature emerge. I saw her peaceful, graceful spirit allowing her to resolve every tangle in her yarn and patiently ensure that every gesture in her loom was accurate. I saw textiles grow under her hands that had perfectly straight selvedge edges, a sign of balance and a lot of experience. I saw focus and determination. Ompu Elza's textiles were even and calm. A weaver weaves her own personality. I saw her authority and expertise. I hadn't known what to make of this woman who one day announced her intention to start weaving again. I had had no expectations but my admiration and respect grew every single day.

I spent long hours with Ompu Elza as she wove. Sometimes I had a camera in my hand and sometimes a notebook and pen. Mostly I just sat and observed as the sun slowly made its way across the sky. Sometimes I asked questions. She answered patiently, often putting down her sword to give me her full attention.  She repeated her answers to make sure that I had understood and that her answer was sufficient and complete. I saw that same diligence as when she wove and I began to wonder whether her character had been shaped by the hours she had spent in her loom. "I am the same way in the fields," she said. "I don't like to hurry, don't like to work by the clock. I don't take breaks. I like to proceed steadily, in a focused way, slowly and very surely. That's just the way I am." This gave me the first inkling that I was in the presence of a master. She was not a weaver who just slammed in the weft to get a cloth ready for market; she was someone who attended to details and for whom the final product was her foremost priority.

One day while she was working on her second textile, she looked up from what she was doing, and I saw another facet of her personality emerge. "Mantap," she said. "Mantap". (Super!) "I didn't think I could still do this!" She was expressing amazement at herself. "I haven't woven for so long and I didn't know if I could still remember this. Super!" Her face was wreathed in smiles and for a moment she was exuberant. All of us sitting around her, her children and I, laughed with her infectious energy. Later she told me how much she liked the combination of weaving in the loom and working as a farmer in the fields. "Weaving forces me to think," she said. "It keeps my brain sharp. Working in the fields allows me to move and sweat. Then I feel better physically. You don't mind if I don't weave everyday?" "Of course not, I said. It is up to you how you organize your time! I am happy that you would like to weave for me, but when and how much is entirely your own choice." "Then I choose for this balance, back and forth between the fields and the loom, depending on how I feel, my other duties, and the weather," said Ompu Elza. This made me so happy. This is what handicraft should be, I thought. This is what weaving must have been before the market became overbearing. 

Often, as I sat beside her I felt quite emotional, overwhelmed by the beauty of her character, so willing, so kind, so uncomplicated, so gentle, so strong. I saw a deep beauty in this woman that I had known for 8 years, but never met until I saw her in her loom. When I saw the photograph that Lasma sent of her wearing her bulang while weaving a bulang while sporting her bulang T-shirt, I teased by calling her Ompu Bulang. That, in my heart of hearts, is truly how I think of her. She did not just weave yarn with her skilled and careful hands, she wove her personality and she wove our relationship. My hours beside her loom are precious to me as I recall them here in The Netherlands and miss the beautiful ambiance of my Weaving Centre. I may have built it, but she is creating it.

Ompu Elza is receiving the honour she deserves. Here she stands with her
beautiful daughters and her little grandson at her sides, together with tour leader, Mary Connors.

How important is something tangible; how important is making a product. Perhaps that is what the English idiom: "having something to show for oneself" means. The culture in the material. The loom gives Ompu Elza the opportunity to create herself. I wonder if it is just I who thinks of her as whole when weaving is part of her life? I wonder if that is how she thinks of herself? One thing is clear. Weaving is not drudgery to her when she has the freedom to do it when and how and where she wants. She is the weaver to whom I absolutely must give free rein and impose no constraints whatsoever. This genius deserves all the room she can get.

This brilliance is what Pamela's/Mas Nashir's T-shirt announces.

Tribute to a Loom-maker

Weaving is women's work. This is certain. Weavings are also a community product. This is also certain. It is easy to forget that weaving can't happen unless there are men who make the looms. And this means that there have to be community forests where wood can be fetched. There need to be living, healthy ecosystems, both human and natural.

Here I celebrate a modest and quiet loom-maker, Pak Sandi Damanik. He is self-taught and he does all the right things. He works closely with the weavers in the gentlest, kindest, most non-intrusive way. He is so happy to do it right. He is excited by his cultural heritage and wants to perpetuate it. He has his knowledge from his ancestors and his village. He is a perfect loom-maker.

I feel so lucky that Lasma married this dear man. What would we do without him?

Absolutely imperative to celebrate him!

And thank you to mas MJA Nashir for designing this poster!

Celebrate the Weavers!

Batak weavers have been used and abused for a long time. Exploitation is both unjustifiable and unconscionable, but it is more the rule than the exception. The consequences are severe. One is that children refuse to learn the art (who wants a life of drudgery?) and  weavers suffer from very low status and wounded pride.

At the Simalungun Weaving Centre, we want to change that. We want our weavers to have both name and profile so that they feel proud and so that they can operate independently (rather than through middlemen/workshop owners/politicians/tour operators). This is why mas MJA Nashir and I make "profile sheets" for the weavers we know. 

We advocate that those interested in saving the weaving arts follow suit. It is a relatively simple and effective remedy. That so far our advice has met with no success is a symptom of the current obsession with marketing and the consumer/tourist rather than the needs of the weavers.

Alas, the market is important but it will not save the weaving tradition. To the contrary! The market exposes weavers to vicissitudes over which they have no control and has even generated the current crisis. No, the powers that be must invest in the weavers, show them respect and take steps to bolster their pride. Treat them like culture heroes.

July 2018

At the end of July, we will receive a tour at the Simalungun Weaving Centre. Lasma and her family are taking it on with great anticipation. I have been doing what I can from Europe, including this letter to the tour participants that I would like to share more widely. I have not blogged for a long time. I lived in the village for 4 months at the beginning of 2018 and wanted to keep a low profile while I worked quietly. Now I am ready to 'come out', at least a little bit. This letter provides a bit of an overview of what has transpired.

Dear Textile Tour Members

Welcome to the Simalungun Weaving Centre!

Bulang

I cannot be with you today, alas, but I would like to share some background information about the Centre by way of this letter. 

I started my anthropological career when I did my first 'fieldwork' in the area of Lake Toba in 1979. Since that first visit, I have seen the Batak weaving tradition decline drastically. In 2010 I handed out copies of my book, Legacy in cloth, Batak textiles of Indonesia to the weavers depicted on its pages so that they would have access to documentation of their own tradition. The transformative journey turned me into a textile activist. I realized that the weaving tradition would die out unless the weavers are encouraged and filled with pride for their work -- a tall order when they do not receive a living wage.

In 2012 I met Lasma Sitanggang, 18 years old at the time. She and I were both anxious to do something for her ailing culture and to reduce poverty, so we joined forces and developed a relationship of mutualism. We are both more effective when we work together!  Eventually I purchased the land where the Weaving Centre is located and built the house. Lasma and her husband look after it and develop its role in the village. The world is in deep crisis. Lasma and I both want to be part of the solution and not the problem. I invest the little that I have directly in the village, rather than in big business, and try to pass on my knowledge of the Batak weaving arts while I am still able. Lasma and her family are my guides and connection to the village.

I chose Lasma's village because it needs a boost, and also because it was once the centre of production of the headcloth called 'bulang'. I knew that if the bulang tradition was not revitalized quickly, it would be lost forever. Older women who know how to make it all stopped weaving when the bottom fell out of their market 15 years ago. They are now traumatized and distrustful. It is hard to get them to weave again. Lasma's mother was the first to dare to take up the loom again and she is enjoying it! Her daughters are learning from her. We hope that others will follow suit. Your tour may help convince them that weaving is appreciated and can be viable. 

We are still at an early experimental stage. I bring photographs of old museum bulang to the village, and import natural-dyed yarn from Java, Bali and Savu (we don't yet produce it ourselves). Finding the right yarn is an enormous challenge. We discuss everything at length and try to decipher the best way to proceed. Luckily our senior weaver, Lasma's mother, Ompu Elza, is patient and helpful. Each textile she makes is slightly different. Our goal is to develop beautiful artworks of the highest quality for a market that will truly sustain the weavers. Achieving that kind of quality and market will take time. In the meantime, I pay the weavers a living wage for every bulang they make and we document the specifics of each textile carefully. We are building a study collection, a record of our experiments.

Ompu Elza at her loom

Our logo is 'weaving for wellbeing'. Our dream is to create a place where weavers have the latitude to express their creativity and feel respected and happy. Lasma and her husband, Ober, have taken a course on organic farming and will hold an organic garden workshop here at the centre in September for fellow villagers. Eventually our dyes will be organically grown.

When I come back at the end of the 2018, we plan to hold a workshop together with weavers from other regions so that we can share and explore supplementary warp techniques. This is an important step for producing a bulang of the very highest quality. 

I hope you enjoy our House of Simalungun Weaving Culture. We are small and at the very beginning of what we hope will be a long and fruitful journey that benefits the whole village. Your visit is filling everyone with energy and opening their eyes to new possibilities. I believe in the importance of "holding hands" between North and South for the betterment of us all. 

Thank you for joining us!

Great Joy at the Simalungun Weaving Centre

Enter Sandra Sardjono. When she finished her PhD in 2017, she was quickly engaged by the China National Silk Museum to help with the preparations for their exhibition entitled,  'A World of Looms: Weaving Technology and Textile Arts in China and Beyond'. When she requested a Simalungun loom for the exhibition I said 'yes' on principle, little imagining the enormity of that to which I had committed myself. 

There is a long and convoluted story to be told here.  Suffice it to say that the Simalungun Weaving Centre filled the museum request. It included the loom made by Pak Sandi, Lasma's husband, and a half-woven bulang textile made by Ompu Elza, Lasma's mother, in addition to a completed bulang for visitor enjoyment.  We sent everything off, on time, to China where it passed inspection and was mounted in the exhibition. To my endless additional delight, the museum used a photograph of Ompu Elza's textile to grace the invitation to the event. 

Sandra sent me the images from China. By this time I was back in The Netherlands and I forwarded them to the Weaving Centre beside Lake Toba. 

Enter Agustina Sitanggang, Ompu Elza's third daughter. She responded by telling me that Ompu Elza had been so touched that the tears rolled down her cheeks. Agus had to wipe away her own tears as she wrote, and so did I when I received her words. The whole family was moved and so proud of Ompu Elza. Everyone was moved to tears. Ompu Elza is a dedicated, hard-working, modest and undemanding person with low expectations of life, who has dedicated her adult years to her   family. "This is the first time that I
have felt valued for my work," she said. She savoured a feeling that she had never known before and from which she will be able to derive sustenance for the rest of her life.

Enter Pamela Cross, my friend and loyal supporter of the Weaving Centre. She too was hugely moved. "Will it be possible to use the museum images on a t-shirt so that her accomplishment can be celebrated every time it is seen and worn?" 

Enter Mas MJA Nashir, photographer/poet/filmer/writer, dedicated to the cultures of his beautiful archipelago. He designed and printed the t-shirts in Pekalongan, with Pamela's support.  Tonight they will be sent off to North Sumatra.

Ompu Elza t-shirts on the assembly-line

I wish I could be there to see Ompu Elza's delight when she sees them and pulls one on.

It takes a community to nurture a weaving tradition, a dedicated, loving, inventive, loyal community.

It takes a (global) village...

Yesterday I had the good fortune to take part in a workshop at the Textile Research Centre in Leiden, The Netherlands. The TRC hosted weavers from Sintang, Kalimantan (Koperasi Jasa Menenun Mandiri) who gave sold-out workshops to people from all walks of life interested in indigenous techniques. They have been at it for two weeks now, teaching dyeing, ikat, basketry and beadwork.

The workshops I attended were fun: women toiling together and in no time  sharing their lives and perspectives. Like classic sewing bees and quilting parties.

The lead Dayak weaver, named Salo Mina Mapung, a 56 year old grandmother, did that too. We learned that she was the engine behind the revival of weaving in her West Kalimantan district. There are now 300 weavers who are earning a living and supplementing family income through their weaving efforts.

In 1993 Salo Mina Mapung was given the opportunity to go to Jakarta to demonstrate her weaving skills. That changed her life. She glimpsed an opportunity and when she went back home she decided to rally other weavers to take advantage of external markets for their weaving.

Salo Mina Mapung was proud of her accomplishments, certainly, but she was also a modest and honest woman. 'Whenever I have the opportunity to speak,' she said, 'I always thank all the people who facilitate our success. Without them, we could not achieve what we do.'

Dra Siti Musrikah, head of the Cultural Department

She was talking about people like Dra. Siti Musrikah, local head of the Cultural Department, who accompanied the weavers to The Netherlands, people like Gillian Vogelsang-Eastwood, the central motor and founder of the TRC who went to the effort of bringing the weavers to The Netherlands, and others who have taken them to Jakarta to do exhibitions and so on.

I listened intently to what she was saying. It was a confirmation of my (stolen and adapted) adage: It takes a global village to keep a craft tradition alive. You cannot expect the people who are poor and often demoralized, lacking knowledge about markets and the outside world, without good internet linkages and skills in non-local languages, to successfully shoulder the full burden of keeping their craft vibrant. They are not in a position to do so. They simply do not have the resources.

Salo Mina Mapung was clearly a born leader and a born teacher, patient and kind. I sensed that her internal engine was quiet, strong, steady and dependable. These capacities sprang to life when facilitators linked her to markets, people and institutions outside her area. She lives in a poor and  isolated region; its cultural seeds had fallen dormant. The facilitators she mentioned served as water for the seeds and now the craft in Salo Mina Mapung's village is blooming. I also sense that the attention that government, NGOs, aficionados, Church and other institutions are paying to these craft experts must continue or else their skills will once again lapse into dormancy.

I came away from the workshops with some insights into basketry and beading but especially with the confirmation that motivates me to combine know-how and resources from the North with know-how and resources from the South. This was the essence of the workshops at the TRC and this is the essence of my vision for the RBTS, our weaving centre in North Sumatra. I am convinced that the two halves of the world will benefit mutually from joining forces, that we need each other in essential ways.

Demonstration of the stages of ikat. This was done in miniature.

What I should have said

It was an unexpected opportunity. Seemed perfect. We met the thirteen young girls from the Tiga Runggu area who wanted to learn to weave. They are pupils of an enthusiastic teacher, Betrik Derfita, who has been encouraging them. The girls have agreed to learn from their mothers and grandmothers at home, which is good because they will learn in the traditional manner. Donors to our Weaving Centre in Simalungun supported the search for weaving equipment for them to work on. It was fitting, therefore, to invite the young aspirants to the Weaving Centre (some 5 km. or so away from their school) to let them know that it is theirs too.

The novices -in a post by MJA Nashir

My team grew excited at the prospect of welcoming them. Mas MJA Nashir designed and printed three banners to herald their arrival. Lasma purchased corn and cassava for them to nibble on. I made sure there were enough mugs to serve up the drinks (we try to avoid plastic bottles). And when the day dawned (May 21), we all assembled at the Weaving Centre to greet the young women. It made sense to invite elderly former weavers from the village, too, as we truly want them to feel at home at the Centre and share their knowledge.

Poster by MJA Nashir - the elderly weaver is one of the teachers

Ma Dirita received a special invitation and she came. She was the first person I had met in the village some 31 years ago, a weaver of the 'bulang' textile. Indirectly, it was due to her that I located the Weaving Centre in Nagori Tongah; it was through her that I met Lasma. It was appropriate to honour her and when I said my words of welcome, I credited her with being the beginning of all that has ensued.

When it came time to open the floor for all present, Ma Dirita (now Ompu Vanesia) took advantage of the opportunity. She spoke in a loud voice telling about her weaving experiences. Attending this ceremony awakened memories of years of utter and dire misery for her. She went on and on, repeating and repeating herself, like she was reliving a trauma.

Ma Dirita explained her miserable associations
with weaving. Photo by Manguji Nababan

"I was never paid enough for my work; the going was always tough and it only got tougher. I had my head down for years, day in day out, counting yarns and working as fast as I could. It was hard on every part of me. The market was dismal but I was dependent on it, condemned to make my living this way. I never taught weaving to my daughters. Only when we started to grow coffee and make bread for sale did our lives become better. Weaving was misery."

At least, that was what I picked up. She spoke in Simalungun and I wasn't absolutely sure I was understanding all of her words correctly. Ma Dirita means "Mother of Suffering" and I remember thinking that I was learning why she had selected that name for her child. It could not have been easy for her to be in the midst of a celebration to welcome new young weavers.

The room received her words in silence. Eventually someone tried to lighten the mood and then we moved on. Other women also had something to say -- but nobody contradicted Ma Dirita.

I don't know the impact of Ma Dirita / Ompung Vanesia's words on the aspiring weavers. I do regret not thinking faster on my feet, not trusting that I understood what she had said. The next day I was still thinking about the moment and wishing I had responded. This is what I would have liked to have said.

Photo by Erlina Pardede

"Thank you, Ompung Vanesia, for sharing your experiences. They illustrate why weaving has died out. In the decades when you were a weaver, craft was not valued. If it was ever honoured as the loving and skilful labour of the goddess, those times were no longer even a faded memory when you wove. Your work was drudgery and you were completely dependent on the meagre income that it provided for your ailing husband and your hungry young children. What a curse, to be dependent on a heavy job that paid so badly. Luckily you had that source of income, or you would have ended up on the street. But really the word 'luck' is hardly the right one. You were trapped: very damned if you wove and only slightly, but terrifyingly more damned if you did not.

"Weaving was once a Batak women's art. Yes, art, not just laborious task. The ancient textiles reveal that weavers delighted in their art. They experimented. They incorporated novelties. They took pride in their textiles and vied with each other to make the best. They made textiles of high quality and the variety of embellishments made the work excitingly dynamic. Why/how did it become drudgery? Why did the artistry disappear? You remember working as hard as possible to meet the deadline of the next market -- no time to experiment. Express your creativity? You could more easily have flown to the moon. Weaving was just a repetitive punishment for the body, erosion of the spirit for returns that would make a person cry if they weren't in terror of not getting even that pittance to take them through the next meal. And the price paid for a finished textile was going down; fellow villagers couldn't afford to buy ritual textiles. The semi-mechanized weaving mills in Siantar had started up and people were choosing to buy from them because the goods were cheaper. It was a vicious race to the bottom.

"Now nobody in your area can 'afford' to weave anymore. All of the weavers in your generation have been pushed out of the market. You were weaving at a time when the opportunity to eke out even the most meagre living was slipping away like sand between your fingers. Your appreciation for the art slipped away with it.

"You must have come to our meeting with mixed feelings, pleased on the one hand to be invited to greet the aspiring young weavers but, on the other hand, feeling obliged to warn them of the less than rosy truth. You did your duty and shared that truth -- and also your grief. "

Photo courtesy Manguji Nababan

I wonder how the novice weavers accommodated your words. It was important for them to know about Ma Dirita's suffering -- and Heaven knows, it was not the first time they had heard such a tale. All are from poor families. What they experience on the day to day is not for the faint of heart.

I should have continued by addressing the novices directly:

"I hope that our activities at the Weaving Centre will have the power to help Ma Dirita live more comfortably with her past. Our vision is transformative. We do not want to subject any of you to the misery that Ompu Vanesia had to endure. At this Weaving Centre we want to re-create the opportunity for weavers to express their creativity in a comfortable, safe physical environment. The only way that can occur is if the market is able to support them. Aside from helping you leap the hurdles to achieve a top quality product (find the equipment and the right yarn, the right instruction), our challenge is to make and find the appropriate markets. We want to put the humanity back into the work and reveal that it once had a sacred character. This can be re-instilled. Weaving can once again become a source of pride and joy. "

That was the intent of our little reception for the young women. We sang their praises and celebrated their courage. Each of those young women will have to come to terms with the reality that Ma Derita/Ompu Venezia presented. If they choose to continue as weavers, they will have to do their bit to transform it. Ma Dirita's experience does not represent the 'revival' we seek.