“Three Stellar Historical Examples of Fiber Arts from Island Southeast Asia” by Steven G. Alpert
Three Stellar Historical Examples of Fiber Arts from Island Southeast Asia
by Steven G. Alpert
This month, Art of the Ancestors presents the history of three remarkable examples of fiber art from Island Southeast Asia. In our galleries, there are more than 220 of the finest examples of Indonesian weaving and fiber arts extant. These have been drawn from diverse collections in global collections. This, in addition to the many articles in which fiber arts from traditional groups appear on this website, supports our desire to make it the ultimate platinum standard for viewing such materials online. The selections presented on the site are curated based on decades of engagement, study, and connoisseurship, the sheer beauty of individual pieces, and the graphic ability of many of these items to transmit narrative complexity and appealing images that seemingly traverse the boundaries of time and culture.
There are many reasons for amassing collections of artistic or cultural material for posterity. Art of the Ancestors is rarely topological in its presentations, nor does it generally concern itself with lesser pieces or fragments. However, these are, of course, of great core importance to study collections and for avenues of academic research. The criteria by which items are included in our galleries are, above all, personal. Choices are based on what may constitute 'beauty' or the ability to 'beautify or 'center something, both from the point of view of its maker and our own (as an appreciative audience), which is especially worth celebrating and sharing with others. In the traditional cultures of Indonesia and Island Southeast Asia represented in our galleries, there were generally no specific words that exactly translate to our notions or definitions of what might constitute 'fine art'. With humility, we often attempt to bridge what I might call 'a work of art' by exploring its technical achievements coupled with its original meaning or intent, while at the same time applying our own standards of excellence. As a person who both works the land and uses his hands as a craftsman, I have always felt at home with any terminology that fosters technical know-how, collective memory, and human dignity.
For traditional persons, the rank, status, or the level of expertise of an item's maker, in practical and spiritual terms, was critically important. We have to ask: Who wove or constructed a specific work? For whom and for what purpose? Technical mastery of a design, its form and function, was (and still is) uniquely understood within each group. Each village knows, for example, who is the finest weaver, beader, carver, or maker of certain implements or tools. While not referring to fiber arts, Dr. Reimar Schefold, in his long years, among the Sakuddei of Siberut (see our Mentawai Gallery), deeply explored and understood the raison d'être for creating something fine, something that inherently engenders 'beauty' and that served to make the purpose of both its manufacture and any subsequent outcomes associated with it better. Two concepts that I have found myself returning to, as translated by Dr. Schefold from Mentawaiian, are the words 'Makire' and 'Mateu'. Makire translates as 'technical perfection' while Mateu means 'fitting'; as does it fit your soul (your purpose)? i.e., A good example given by Dr. Schefold pertains to the length and grip of one's canoe paddle. Does it ergonomically fit your hand in just the right fashion or not? In the traditional realms encountered here, where everything once possessed its own soul (a worldview that is often called "animistic"), there was an enormous incentive to combine technical and aesthetic perfection in the fabrication of an object. (Schefold: 31: Eyes of the Ancestors, Dallas Museum of Art). In the realm of weaving or beading or bark painting, the ones that told or unleashed stories and recounted memory — those without flaws and with rich, deeply saturated dye tones — always garnered the most respect and admiration from within their own community. In more traditional times, the spiritual tension, taboos, and processes surrounding the creation of something of significance were always crucial to its outcome. (Kedit: 150-171; Alpert: 116-148; Eyes of the Ancestors).
Three Fiber Art Creations and the Period of Their Manufacture
It is largely considered that the back-strap loom (for weaving textiles) was developed by the Dong-Son culture from what is today the region around the Red River Delta in North Vietnam. From there, this technology spread through parts of the mainland and coastal Annam to the Indo-Malayan archipelago somewhere between the 10th-2nd centuries B.C. However, the manufacturing of barkcloth (kulit kayu), whose origins in Asia may be in what is today southern China, is believed to date back to a much earlier era. Beaten barkcloth was once created over a large swath of the world's geography, ranging from Africa to South America, Polynesia, Micronesia, Melanesia, New Guinea, as well as in numerous areas in Island Southeast Asia. Its arrival in Indonesia is often postulated to coincide with the expansion of diverse groups of Austronesian speakers into the region somewhere between 5000 and 3500 B.C. (See: Alpert: 2023; Bark Cloth of Island Southeast Asia in Global Museum Collections)
Bark cloth in Indonesia was used in creating book pages, ritual bindings, belts, bags, headgear, items of clothing, and ceremonial hangings and shrouds. Kulit kayu is still only manufactured in a few places. In our galleries, there are magnificent examples of rare painted bark cloth items from Enggano, Sumatra, Borneo, Sulawesi, Maluku, and Papua Barat that, when aggregated as a group, are of unrivaled quality. They are also brilliantly preserved. Tropical environments are harsh on organic materials. Each perfectly preserved old bark cloth or textile is, in its own petite way, a miracle of survival. Here is the story of three.
The first textile reproduced here is a maro bark cloth painting from Lake Sentani collected by Paul Wirz. Our knowledge of early maro is scarce. In 1862, H.D.A. van der Goes drew a couple in which the woman is wearing an undulating pattern of some sort of colored designs on her pounded bark skirt. In 1885, the German Scientist and colonial explorer, Otto Finsch, described these cloths as having a "gaudy pattern". The pieces collected between 1921 and 1926 by Dutch officials such as Obdeyn, the missionary Bijkerk, and the Swiss anthropologist Wirz all share variations of the same lilting geometric design with anthropomorphic legs and antenna-like heads.
Bijkerk recorded in 1924, "On festive occasions women sometimes wore a maro decorated with 'nicely drawn figures". Such pieces of decorated maro were also used for the embellishment of graves. The one collected by Wirz that is now housed in Basel had been newly made and was actually being displayed next to a gravesite when he arrived at the village of Siboiboi in 1926. Wirz himself took the well-known field photograph of it. When turned upside down, it perfectly matches this maro's design (which has been reproduced on numerous occasions) down to the different diameters between each set of antennas. They are the same piece. This is the finest of all traditional maro paintings before the stylistic explosion of figurative pieces during the 1920s-1930s. (See: Art of the Ancestors Papua Barat Gallery, “Writing So Subtle…” by Michel Thieme from HALI Magazine, or “Jac Hoogerbrugge: From Lake Toba via Lake Sentani to the Asmat” by Raymond Corbey)
The second textile is part of a remarkable story (from an Iban point of view), of a historical encounter with an unrequited outcome. Pua sungkit were deeply associated with head hunting in the 19th century and are among the oldest Iban cloths. The design on this particular sungkit is known as the lebur api or 'white heat', a ritual appellation that refers to its cleansing ability, like fire to extinguish and purify any and all negative energy. The principal purpose of this cloth was most likely to cover, wrap, and receive human heads. In the 1970s, on more than a few occasions, spirited old women would don similar cloths for me while swaying up and down the verandah of old-style longhouses. Wearing the cloth, they pretended to nurture blackened time-honored trophy skulls as if they were tenderly carrying a baby in a shoulder sling. This was done to describe or re-enact the Gawai Enchaboh, the act of 'clearing the path' to bring a trophy head into the confines of a longhouse while appeasing its spirit. The central design on this particular cloth represents six rows of three dancing demons, Antu Gerasi Berayah. The demons are carrying baskets laden with heads. Additional trophies are tied to their sword belts or lie strewn and close at hand. "In Iban cosmology, Nising (Great Demon Who Hunts), also known as Beduru or Antu Gerasi, is only defeated by Sengalang Burong (God of War). When a weaver, without getting ill or beset by misfortune, successfully completes a pua kombu or pua sungkit that displays figures representing Nising, it is a sign of her spiritual maturity." (Kedit 2009: 240)
During the process of subduing the Saribas Dayak, the forces of James Brooke, the White Raja of Sarawak (1841-1868), engaged with Dana Bayang, the Orang Kaya Pemancha, a famous Saribas war leader. James Brooke described his adversary: "The Orang Kaya Pomancha, of Sarebas, is now with me — the dreaded and the brave, as he is termed by the natives. He is small, plain-looking, and old, with his left arm disabled, and his body scarred with spear wounds. I do not dislike the look of him, and of all the chiefs of that river, I believe he is the most honest, and steers his course straight enough." (Brooke, James 1848 [II]: 78).
In 1849, just before being ambushed by Raja Brooke's forces, Dana Bayang had just completed a successful raid to acquire a trophy head, which was necessary to ceremonially mark the end of formally mourning for his deceased wife, Mengen. (This was done in traditional times in many locales so that the souls of high-ranking persons could secure their rest or travel easily to 'the Land of Departed Souls'). In the ensuing chaos, not only was his newly acquired head lost, but the Saribas Dayak were soon forced to submit to the Raja's rule in an agreement whereby they promised to be law-abiding and to forever cease raiding.
Nevertheless, Dana Bayang still required a head — hence the most likely reason that such a precious cloth would be presented to Raja Brooke. Perhaps, in accepting his authority, and thus being unable to raid, it was expected to be up to Brooke to fill the cloth with a head as a gesture of respect and understanding, and then return it to Dana Bayang? Of course, this is conjectural, but when the Tuan Muda, Charles Brooke, met him in 1853, he wrote in that encounter with the Orang Kaya Pemancha, a year before Dana Bayang's death from smallpox that "He then requested to be allowed to go for heads, as, he said, his wife had lately departed this life, and he was consequently in mourning, which he wanted to 'open'. On this being denied, he turned sullenly round and left." (Brooke, Charles 1866 [I]; 24-25, Kedit: 20).
In that same year (1853), Brooke donated a pua sungkit to the Kew Gardens, three years after receiving the one from Dana Bayang. In 1866, it was transferred to the British Museum, where it has remained. It is also my own experience that such cloths, save this one, are not found in any pre-war collections, and that they really only appear outside of Iban ownership after ca 1970. The further story from which most of these notes were derived is in a well-researched paper by Vernon Kedit. Anyone deeply interested in learning more about Sarawak's history or Iban textiles should certainly read Kedit's A Chief's Caveat, A Rajah's Gift, A Museum's Treasure: The Story Of An Iban Cloth's Journey From Borneo To The British Museum in its entirety. (2017)
The last textile featured this month is a woman's skirt or lau pahudu from the royal family of Pau in East Sumba with a unique design and a vaunted history. "The name lau pahudu is derived from the verb hudu, which means 'to land, to fish, to catch in a dip net,' and pahudu, meaning something that has been 'landed or caught.' (Adams, 1969: 83). Appropriately, the dominant motif of this supplementary warp skirt is an extraordinary, large, and bold fish.
It is difficult to determine the specific type of fish appearing on this lau pahudu. It has been suggested that this fish may be a giant ocean manta ray. (Alpert: 2013). Rays have a horizontally flat body, both eyes on the upper surface, and a slender whip-like tail. While this fish does exhibit a horizontally flat body with both eyes on the upper surface, its tail is not that of a giant manta ray (Mobula birostris). Plaice (flatfish) also have a horizontally flat body with both eyes on the upper surface, but they also do not have a forked tail. (Adams: 1969: 133). The line shown inside the fish possibly represents bones, a device also used regularly in the depiction of human figures. Fish and other aquatic creatures are associated with the underworld. Revered ancestors manifest themselves in fish, including plaice, which are not a species traditionally eaten by the Sumbanese.
In this case, the large fish is accompanied by two female consorts and two horses with riders. The fish is not perfectly centered in the composition; five alternating over daubed brown and white lizards (kumbu) form a vertical band to its left. Eight scorpions complete the tableau. Above the multi-colored fringe band (wonogiri), there are alternating rows of white and brown horses, symbols of wealth and prestige." (Ellis: 2013: 224). Beyond the perfectly legitimate pursuit of inferential postulations regarding the antiquity of things, there are two avenues to arrive at indisputably accurate dates of creation. The first axiom is to find something within a larger context that has related cross-referential dating points. This approach would entail a carefully documented study of an undisturbed locale or, in pertinent cases, specifically the exploration and analysis of archaeological sites of discovery that cover the cultural complexes illustrated. Otherwise, without context or credible documentation, the dating of an object remains subject to revision and potential controversy. (See: Guerreiro and Alpert: 2021, “The Kayanic Arts of Borneo: Adventures in Chronology and Authenticity”) The other avenue that underscores the relative age of something historical and well-kept is an object or, as outlined above, a textile, with a complete and unbroken chain of custody and clearly articulated provenance.
A detailed genealogy of this particular skirt exists so that we can pretty well pinpoint when this gaily-patterned and deeply dyed lau-pahudu was made. It had long been believed outside of Sumba that this compelling lau was woven by the 'grandmother' of my dear friend, the late Tama Umbu Windi Tana Ngunju (Tananggoendjoe, old spelling/or Tamu Umbu Kuru Hinggi), the Raja or King of Pau. (Alpert: 2013) The skirt was created around 1870, and for the very first time, courtesy of the daughter of Raja Pau, Tamu Rambu Hamu Eti (via Mr. Kinga Lauren), its background is being more fully presented for posterity.
It was, in fact, woven by the elder sister of Tamu Umbu Hia Hamataki II (Umbu nai Padang), who was the king of Pau from 1893 to 1932. King Hamataki II was also Raja Pau's Grandfather. The name of the master weaver and older sister of King Hamataki II was Tamu Rambu Hutar. She would have been born ca 1850. She never married as a suitable male of her rank could not be found. It is estimated by the royal family that Tamu Rambu Maramba Hutar wove this lau around 1870, or when she was past twenty years old. Raja Pau had the finest remaining collection of royal textiles left in Sumba in the 1970s. Among the lau pahudu, there were at least three that had been woven by Tamu Rambu Maramba Hutar. These were the oldest and finest lau pahudu in his keeping. To put this in perspective, I began to frequent Sumba beginning in 1970. Back then, I never encountered a great hinggi or blanket that one could really ascribe to the 19th century. The oldest pieces were from the early 20th century. While antique late 19th-century blankets are in fact relatively plentiful, even in those years, one could only find earlier examples of them in Holland, not in Sumba. In Sumba, most hinggis had been interred with the dead.
Each of these works, like every piece of fiber art in Art of the Ancestors' galleries, dates from perhaps the late 18th century to the 1930s — a golden period. Great pieces are not about their age, but about being made in a time of confidence, at an apex point before a society gets irrevocably altered by, for example, external events or natural disasters. That being said, there are two interesting and divergent well-springs to note: Firstly, some Indonesian fiber art forms have strict canons surrounding their creation. Designs were conservatively maintained and renewed over a long period of time. In contradistinction to this statement, we are also cognizant that in exploring works from the world's largest archipelago, even in remote and isolated areas, fiber working traditions readily adapted new designs into their artistic repertoires. The hallmark of this absorption, or the deep synchronicity that characterizes much of the area's cultural history, is that new stylistic developments were not in any way slavish reproductions. In fact, one of the great attractions of this material is that such items often artistically excelled beyond the sources of foreign imagery that may have inspired them. This month's lead feature is intended — not only through the three items illustrated — to form a larger circle of gratitude and appreciation around a generation of parents, grandparents, to great great grandparents whose creativity and technical skills we honor.
— Steven G. Alpert, founder of Art of the Ancestors
Our thanks and appreciation to Mr. Vernon Kedit, Mr. Kinga Lauren, and Tamu Rambu Hamu Eti.
Colophon
Author | Steven G. Alpert
Date of Publication | August 31, 2025
Publication Website | www.artoftheancestors.com