Review of John G. Kreifeldt’s “Woven Power: Ritual Textiles of Sarawak and West Kalimantan” by Jeffrey B. Spurr
WOVEN POWER
Ritual Textiles of Sarawak and West Kalimantan
by John G. Kreifeldt
Published by the Iris & B. Gerald Cantor Art Gallery, College of the Holy Cross in conjunction with the exhibition Woven Power: Ritual Textiles of Sarawak and West Kalimantan.
Review of Woven Power by Jeffrey B. Spurr
Woven Power: Ritual Textiles of Sarawak and West Kalimantan is a superb exhibit of ritual textiles (puas) and ceremonial skirts, created by the Iban peoples of Sarawak (Malaysian Borneo), and related ethnic groups across the border in the Indonesian province of West Kalimantan, the Kantu, Ketangau, and Mualang (collectively sometimes referred to as “Ibanic”), on view at the Iris and Gerald B. Kantor Art Gallery of the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester Massachusetts (31 August – 14 December 2016). The Iban were once known as the “Sea Dayaks,” seemingly oxymoronic given their natural habitat deep upriver, but resulting from the fact that their head-taking raids took them as far as the coast.
The gallery is approximately 15 x 10.5 meters (51 x 33 ft.) and offers about 58 linear meters (190 ft.) of wall space. [Fig. 1] To preserve decent sightlines and account for their smaller size, the skirts were sewn down to slanted A-frame mounts, front and back and side by side, the latter allowing for some interesting comparisons, whereas the puas were hung on walls, permanent and temporary. [Fig. 2]
In large museums these days, protocols favor limiting text and increasing space around objects, preempting the goal of providing the viewer with an informed understanding of the artistic tradition in question. The more obscure that tradition, and the more mysterious the objects or the imagery on them, the more critical a well-developed textual accompaniment becomes. The objects themselves are mute. The eye needs to be educated and directed; otherwise, it does not see, and the mind retains nothing. To ensure a positive result in this instance, a highly constructive collaboration has been forged between the collector, John G. Kreifeldt, professor emeritus of engineering, Tufts University (a fraction of whose magnificent collection is on view), the curator, professor emerita of anthropology, Susan Rodgers, and the principal designer, the gallery’s director, Roger Hankins. The descriptive and analytic labels accompanying each textile are provided by the collector, a series of excellent wall texts by the curator, smaller than one would usually expect due to space limitations, but numerous enough to account for the complexities of the topic. Each has written a book to be published in 2017: Stunned by Beauty: Appreciating Ritual Textiles of Sarawak and West Kalimantan by Rodgers, and Woven Power: Ritual Textiles of Sarawak and West Kalimantan: Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Art Gallery, College of the Holy Cross Exhibition Catalogue, by Kreifeldt.
Much of what I write here is addressed in Susan Rodgers’ wall texts or John Kreifeldt’s individual textile labels.
The exhibit proper comprises thirty-six puas, (warp ikat pua kumbu and supplementary weft decorated pua sungkit), fourteen women’s tubeskirts for special occasions (kain kebat, kain pilih, or kain sungkit, aka bidang), and two men’s shoulder cloths (dandong). Other objects perform supporting roles: two skirts are shown as worn, one relatively modern Iban ikat kain kebat, the other actually Maloh [see Fig. 1, right], with elaborate nassa shell and button decoration on a blue cotton ground, both also festooned with beads and little bells that would have been attached to all ceremonial skirts when worn but are absent from those on display. Thus the warp ikat of the Iban skirt is seen horizontally when worn, whereas the skirts in the exhibit are displayed vertically. This is noteworthy because the typical ikat skirt (kain kebat, Figs. 9, 10, 11) features three tied repeats, which, however, represent one and a half repeats of the full design, particularly noticeable when displayed vertically. Two prominent types of weavings not included are men’s and women’s jackets (kalambi), and men’s long sashes (sirat) that feature decorated end panels. Anything that cannot be readily understood as a simple, compositionally coherent rectangle has been left out (though kalambi were originally woven as rectangles, then cut and reconfigured).
Secondary additions include four modern ikat weavings made for sale and three antique Iban rattan (rotan) baskets lent by this writer. Rodgers addresses and celebrates revival weaving while acknowledging that it has largely been leached of its once profound cultural significance.
Iban society was famously egalitarian (save for slaves), where personal accomplishment in war and head-hunting (in the old days) and hunting for men, or weaving and dyeing for women — or shamanic talent for both — were critical to social prestige and achieved statuses such as that of village headman. The very act of pua designing, weaving, and dyeing was considered the female equivalent of male headhunting, an equal contribution to the viability of society, both being critical acts in the service of a positive relation to the spirit world and to the future welfare of the population as a whole, instantiated in such specific goals as achieving a good harvest.
When considering the weaving of socially and cosmologically potent puas, four historical developments must be considered. First, was the suppression of head-hunting, begun as early as the 1870s in Kalimantan, and completed in Sarawak in the mid-1920s. This accompanied the almost universal conversion of the Iban and Ibanic peoples to Christianity. Though the Iban appear to have sustained a complex syncretic structure of belief where Christian notions overlay the ancient animism to which they adhered, these developments undermined the rationale for the pua’s role in sustaining the satisfactory life of society. Early modernity also brought opportunities for women’s education, which drew them away from a dedication to traditional crafts as the defining accomplishments of their lives. Finally, the brutal Japanese occupation of Borneo and the loss of access to commercial yarns during that period essentially finished off the living tradition, though efforts at revival began in the 1970s. Consequently, the vast majority of puas considered collectible antedate 1940, Mualang weaving having completely died out by then. Such pieces are what is on view at Holy Cross.
Technique
Iban weaving technology is based on the backstrap loom, making its sophisticated products all the more remarkable. The weaving process is addressed in a slide show of photos and video clips created by student assistants to the curator, but also with a handsome weaving sword (belia’) and two weaving shuttles (ripang), one tubular, where the thread would have passed right through its length, the other flatter with a cut in the side for the weft yarn. These were fashioned from hardwood with great technical skill by males (especially one committed to marry the weaver). All feature fine carved decoration, the designs including spirit beings that protect the weaver and the weaving process itself. Characteristic of this exhibit, these are accompanied by detailed labels.
Iban textiles are principally associated with warp ikat weaving (Figs. 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11). With rare exceptions, the designs are continuous in the warp direction, the warps usually folded over six times for tying and before dyeing for puas, three for kain kebat (as already noted) before being placed on the tying rack. Thus puas usually exhibit three repeats of principal design features (often alternating with staggered rows of motifs showing two and two halves), sometimes six repeats, much more rarely four or two. A very rare skirt may exhibit four or two repeats or even one only. On puas, the borders (typically combining simple warp stripes and ikat) are tied and dyed separately, joined to the field only when placed on the loom for the introduction of the wefts. Some older ones were woven separately and sewn on afterward. A most remarkable fact of this ikat production is that the tying was accomplished without any use of design sketching in advance on the warp yarns.
The second most prominent technique is sungkit, a species of supplementary weft wrapping (Fig. 4). Some of the very earliest puas were woven in this technique, and appear to have been highly prestigious and unknown to the outside world until the rise of interest in Indonesian textiles began in the later 1970s when they very slowly made their way onto the market.
Pilih is a third, much less common technique also involving extra-wefts, but continuous, either left floating on the back or tied in so that the back inverts the color relationships on the front (Figs. 8, 12). Inherent vulnerabilities in the fabric created by this technique itself may account for the fact that early examples have not survived.
Dyes
Iban ceremonial textiles are characterized by a reserved palette dominated by a red from the bark of the Morindia citrifolia, or Indian mulberry, which can range from brick to a very deep purplish color depending upon the skills of the dyer and numbers of dye baths. The other principal color is simply that of the natural cotton yarn, plus black (achieved by various means including overdyeing deep red with indigo). Limited use of indigo blue, brown, and purplish colors derived either from other dyestuffs or from mixing are also encountered. Equally, red, black, and natural tan colors characterize the ritual baskets on display in the exhibit. Regarding this palette, an analogy could be made to Turkmen rugs in the context of other rugs from the Middle East: technically sophisticated, finely drawn, and dominated by a range of reds.
Use of a mordant is critical to the achievement of strong reds, a process called ngar, the precise knowledge of its production and use is limited to a few powerful women whose status was in direct proportion to their degree of knowledge and capacity as designer/weavers, and the spiritual strength that permitted them to successfully engage the deities and spirits to successfully undertake the dyeing. Most weavers relied on the dyeing skills of these special adepts.
Materials
Cotton was the material for all of these textiles. Homespun cotton was used well into the 20th century among some Iban and Ibanic people compared with others, who adopted commercial dyes and yarns that were introduced into upriver Borneo already by the 1890s. This is most obvious in some colored warp stripes found in lateral borders featured on all puas when their brightness reveals their aniline origins (Figs 6, 7) compared to more subdued, naturally-dyed examples, and in the finer effects made possible by typically more tightly spun commercial yarns. In later times when the introduction of cash cropping increased the number of wealthy families, some women’s skirts were decorated with silver thread sungkit (not exhibited).
Design, Meaning, Purpose
The social and religious changes described earlier meant that few if any informants deeply imbued with traditional knowledge remained alive when modern fieldwork and scholarship commenced in the later 1970s. Consequently, much debate has ensued concerning what may be understood regarding the identification and interpretation of often obscure imagery. This is not the occasion to address this in detail, but views range from the skeptical to the sanguine, with the scholar Traude Gavin occupying a particularly skeptical position while Haddon and Start, the first authors to write in detail on Iban textiles adopting the sanguine, others in between these two poles. Whatever may have been obtained in the past, later weavers frequently differed concerning the identification of a particular pattern or motif, though some images (e.g., serpents, crocodiles, and demons) are readily recognizable. Whatever the specific imagery, certain very special cloths also bore praise names, and it is generally agreed that a hierarchy of designs in terms existed relative to ritual efficacy. Whereas Rodgers positions herself closer to the skeptical position, on the basis of his careful descriptions of designs and symbols on each textile, it is apparent that Kreifeldt adopts the more sanguine view: careful study of the whole literature makes it possible to identify much of the imagery. He is also highly attentive to the aesthetic qualities of the composition in each piece, often usefully illuminating exactly what is going on in them for the viewer. He clearly — and justifiably — considers the makers’ artists, their work fully compelling attention in such terms — certainly for the high-quality pieces on view.
An initial distinction must be made between the designs and their import on kain kebat, kain pilih and kain sungkit (tube skirts) and on puas. The former, though ceremonial, were made by a girl in preparation for marriage and adulthood, belonged to her, are not symbolically significant agents engaging the spirit world in the service of society, so they bear innocuous designs such as the leech, deer, and shrew patterns, referencing the natural world (however notional their depiction may be). In contrast, pua patterns and symbols were meant to act on the world, and so puas figure in an array of Iban myths and legends.
Original designs were said to have come to the weaver who first created them from the spirit world in dreams. If successful, they were then admitted to the general repertoire, the individual cloth belonging to the family within which the weaver resided. Some were so dangerous that only very powerful, senior women could weave them, a process then as always hedged about with rituals and incantations. The field of these cloths bears this powerful imagery. The overall design includes the striped and ikated borders at left and right and ikat or woven-in borders at top and bottom that guard the active and dangerous imagery in the field, making it safe for the weaver and user alike.
A second distinction obtains in comparing puas employing the ikat and sungkit techniques. That sungkit examples are much rarer and, typically, much older (the latest dating from around 1900) does not mean that that technique necessarily antedates ikat. Nevertheless, the repertoire of imagery is much smaller, largely derived from imported double ikat silk patola that arrived in Indonesia from Gujarat starting in about the 17th century. These expensive textiles became highly prestigious wherever found, their designs having an enormous impact across Indonesia, particularly obvious in these sungkit puas. Remarkably, the more extensive array of ikat patterns betrays no such debt — save in some upper and lower borders reflecting the tumpal (elongated triangular) design from Indian export chintz (but not patola) — as if these two techniques occupied different spaces in the minds of their weavers.
The ubiquitous presence and efficacy of puas in all ritual contexts can scarcely be exaggerated. Heads were received in conspicuously powerful puas when brought back to the village. When hung, puas served to define ritual space, providing protection and intercession for all manner of rites of passage. Critical actors in a ritual or subjects of rights of passage starting at birth and ending at death would be laid upon, draped, or covered in a pua for protection. They featured in rice harvest rituals and the great, periodic gawai festivals where they would festoon the high effigy poles raised for the occasion. Few textiles in any culture served such a profound, varied, and universally recognized set of roles.
This exhibition of John Kreifeldt’s remarkable collection combines object and text to provide us with a superb introduction to this fascinating, profound, and largely lost textile tradition. The examples selected by me for notice here leave out many wonderful pieces.
In my view, Fig. 3 represents the quintessential pua, unusually large for the type: homespun cotton yarns, deeply saturated dyes, with an intricate design Kreifeldt describes as “Buah Berinjan (vine-like design),” featuring endless, curling extensions. He discerns an array of smaller motifs amongst the tangle. Such identifications rely on a native exegesis that some argue is essentially lost. Such meanings must be taken on faith for they are obscure to the eye, though this sort of design certainly presents itself as pregnant with unrevealed possible meanings, and remains evocative of the animism at the very heart of the Iban worldview.
Although the natural color is critical for articulating the design, it is more strongly displayed in the upper and lower borders that confine the powerful field, which is further emphasized by a particularly deep color marking their background, an unusual feature.
Fig. 4 shows an ancient pua sungkit that exhibits the highly articulated qualities of this technique and the typically deeply saturated reds that characterize these powerful textiles. Unlike most others, which reflect design ideas from patolas, this features powerful antu (spirits) forcefully and characteristically exhibiting staring eyes, bared teeth, and splayed arms and legs. Kreifeldt states, “The weaver/artist would have been recognized by her peers and community as having incredible courage as well as spiritual strength to engage and best the spirit of this pattern by snaring it in her threads and dyes.” Its upper and lower borders are standard for the type.
Though later, Fig. 5 is very large pua characteristic of Baleh region textiles by featuring homespun cotton and natural dyes into the 20th c. Kreifeldt explains that the lower register contains representations of Nabau, a powerful deity, and king of serpents, while Ribai, its son and an underwater god seen here in crocodile form occupies the upper register. He indicates that Iban warriors might sleep under such a powerful pua before setting out on a campaign. Many pua exhibit these fully intelligible and powerful spirits.
A final object on display in the gallery is a wooden door from the Bidayuh people (“Land Dayaks”) of Sarawak and West Kalimantan. It presents the same imagery of opposing crocodiles and serpents whose presence served to keep harmful spirits out of the longhouse.
The pua in Fig. 6 employs commercial yarns in its bright borders and handspun cotton for the field. Its elegant and complex design displays the tiang, or ritual pole pattern, such poles being erected on the occasion of important religious festivals. Kreifeldt states that it references the sago palm but also metaphorically the sebayan tree in the afterworld “from which heads hang ripe to be cut.” Its pronounced use of indigo is characteristic of some fine examples from the later period of classic pua production.
Fig. 7 is a rare Mualang pua. It employs very finely handspun cotton except for commercial white threads in the lateral borders. The exclusive use of deep maroon red dyeing highlights the sinuous central design reserved in the original natural color. The ikatted lateral border motifs represent rattan strands (tali rotan), the borders being noteworthy for their breadth.
The alternating red and black bands forming the background of Fig. 8 are characteristic of pilih weavings. The finely articulated imagery seems to float over them. Two rows of three crocodiles facing each other dominate the design. Curiously, it features one and a half repeats much like one would encounter in an ikat skirt. I would conjecture that a “completed” design of two pairs, being broader, would have been denominated a pua rather than a shawl. Kreifeldt notes, “two large bodies in the center are meant as food to keep the crocodile spirits pacified.” The field also includes several quadrupeds and smaller spirit forms. All types of Iban textiles come in pilih variants. This one is fashioned from handspun cotton yarn for the ground and black and red commercial threads.
The ikat skirt in Fig. 9 shows a classic example in the “leech” design, exhibiting the one and a half design repeats of the thrice-folded production, also known as lintah betegam, or “leeches swallowing one another.” Kreifeldt notes that “hermaphroditic leeches twine themselves around each other seeking to both impregnate and be impregnated to fertilize each other’s eggs, a sight common in the leech-infested wet jungle growths.” The fine work would advertise the virtues a maiden would bring to a marriage and would be worn on ceremonial occasions ever afterward.
The exceptionally refined patterning of Fig. 10 reveals the possibilities afforded by tightly spun commercial yarns, also used in the single-color border stripes. The field pattern exhibits a rare four-fold, balanced design for a skirt, and the use of only natural yarns reserved against a brown-dyed background, without the “shadowing” that extra colors permit. The fine stippling is a common feature of Iban textiles.
Kantu ikat skirts such as Fig. 11 are among the most beautiful textiles of Borneo, exhibiting rather the opposite design impulse seen in Fig. 10, namely restraint in the density of design, favoring more open space and strong forms of plain natural color, causing the design to stand out very clearly — a modest break from the standard horror vacui. Kantu and other Ibanic skirts often show a greater propensity for shifting motifs down the field, as here, where we find leeches copulating at the top, deer at the bottom, “crossed poles” in-between, and “sleeping cats” in the very center of the crossed poles, according to Kreifeldt.
Fig. 12 is a remarkable weaving in the pilih technique, being the central panel of a tube skirt where the borders that would have been woven separately are lost. The red and black yarns are commercial, the rest handspun and local. The field design presents the pilih version of lintah betegan, or “leeches swallowing one another” — or copulating. The remarkable dexterity and freedom of the weaver are shown in the many variations of the interconnected design forms as they ascend the textile. A variety of individual motifs sprinkle the field, adding further character to the design.
— Jeff Spurr, 23 November 2016
This review represents an expanded version of one published at the time of the exhibit: “Woven Power: Iban of Borneo,” Hali 190, Winter 2016, pp. 99-103
Review of the exhibition, Woven Power: Ritual Textiles of Sarawak and West Kalimantan, at the Art Gallery of the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts (31 August–14 December 2016), which displayed the personal collection of John G. Kreifeldt.
Jeffrey B. Spurr
Jeffrey B. Spurr, now retired, is an independent scholar of Islamic textiles and rugs, and of the history of photography in the Middle East. During 26 years at Harvard, he developed and managed collections of historical photographs of the Middle East, broadly defined. He has curated exhibits, published articles, co-authored books, and given papers in both fields, and at their intersection. For many years, he has sustained an active interest in human rights and cultural heritage. In this regard, he has focused particularly on the fate of libraries and archives in countries subjected to war and armed conflict, first in respect to Bosnia-Herzegovina, in which instance he initiated and managed the Bosnia Library Project (1996-2005), dedicated to rebuilding destroyed and devastated academic library collections, particularly in Sarajevo. Following the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, he made it his brief to document, publicize and ameliorate the condition of Iraqi libraries and archives.
While engaged in these pursuits, Spurr has actively embraced his long-standing interest as an informed collector in the visual culture of Borneo and Africa, with particular attention to textiles and basketry.
Art of the Ancestors wishes to express appreciation to John G. Kreifeldt, Jeffrey B. Spurr, and the College of the Holy Cross.
Disclaimer: This is not a sponsored post. Art of the Ancestors does not receive a commission should any of our readers purchase the aforementioned book. Art of the Ancestors is a strictly non-commercial educational platform and has no vested interest in the professional activities of the author listed above.