Читать книгу Balinese Textiles - Marie-Louise Nabholz-Kartaschoff - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

The Universe Arrayed

Textiles in Bali

FOR anyone coming from a distant country, landing at Bali's Ngurah Rai International Airport is a memorable experience. He is lapped in warm tropical air, to his ears come the first snatches of the Balinese language, and when he expectantly steps outside the airport building, a colorful picture meets his eyes: taxi drivers and travel agents are dressed in dark trousers and light-colored shirts, while younger people mill about in blue jeans and brightly emblazoned T-shirts. Smartly dressed hostesses from major hotels and tour companies have come to welcome the new arrivals and conduct them safely to their temporary residences.

The journey from the airport to any other destination leads past a statue of I Gusti Ngurah Rai, a Balinese hero in the national struggle for freedom and independence. The crowded highway leads past shrimp nurseries bordering the coast, while cattle graze in fields by the roadside. Men, women and children travel on foot, astride bicycles or motorbikes, and in cars and minivans. Some of the children sport blue-and-white or red-and-white national school uniforms, while adults are dressed in the international style now common the world over. Overall, the impression is one of a prosperous, thriving island.

Just as one is beginning to think, however, that Bali has succumbed to the dictates of international fashion, an unexpected sight meets the eye. In the midst of the streaming traffic is a family riding on a motorbike: the father, who is driving, is not wearing long trousers but a batik hip cloth covered by a somewhat shorter yellow cloth with a gold-and-white border. His white shirt flutters in the wind, while around his head is tied a cloth—a standard element of men's festive apparel. Perched on the gas tank, between his father's legs, is a four-year-old lad, also in traditional dress: a songkèt hip cloth matching his size, a white T-shirt and, like his father, a headcloth. The mother sits side-saddle behind her husband. Her long wraparound is of endek material in various shades of blue, with a kebaya blouse in a matching solid color. A broad sash of the same endek material is wound around her waist over the blouse and hip cloth, setting off her slender figure. Her face is made up with care, and her long black hair is tied in a bun that drapes down gracefully at the back of her head. In her hair are golden flowers that nod and wave with every movement.

Figure 1.2: First attempts at weaving on the cagcag loom. Karangasem, Sidemen.

On her lap the woman holds a silvery metal offering dish with a splendid tower of artistically-arranged fruits and brightly-colored Balinese cakes. Obviously the family is on its way to a temple festival to present their offerings to the gods, to pray and to receive their blessings in return. Cycling circumspectly along the roadside is a man dressed in white from his headcloth to his skirt: he is a pemangku, a temple priest, on his way to perform his daily ministrations in his sanctuary.

On arrival at one of the major hotels, the visitor is greeted by Balinese employees wearing outfits modeled after traditional clothing. The apparel is tasteful in color, flattering the figures of men and women alike, imparting sensuous grace. This contrasts sharply with the holiday garb of Western visitors who, regardless of their physical stature, seem to insist on wearing the scantiest possible clothing wherever they go. While this may be tolerable at the beach, at a temple festival such disregard for propriety is a serious insult to the Balinese and to their gods!

Visitors to the major towns who browse in shops and admire the range of goods on display—from antique carvings to ultramodern computers—are bound to come across many fashionable textile products. Boutiques have on display clothes made from materials with patterns and designs that are replaced every few months by new ones. Designers, dyers and seamstresses in many small to medium-sized clothing firms churn out a bewildering array of inexpensive garments for the fast-moving international trade, partly to fill orders received from the industrialized countries. Though such fashion products lack nothing in inventiveness or creativity, they are by no means "traditional" or "Balinese," and there is only a tenuous link between these fabrics and the traditional crafts of cloth making. Just as culture and people are changing in response to the opening up of the island by tourists, so the products intended for these visitors are constantly being adjusted to meet the new needs and demands they create.

Figure 1.3: Hip cloth. Cotton and bagu yarn. Supplementary weft and endek. Batur region. 214 x 108 cm. MEB He 15969.

Figure 1.4: A procession on the occasion of a great purification ceremony for the souls of the dead, Sanur.

Figure 1.5: Temple festival after renovation of the sanctuary, Rich variety of textile adornments and offerings, Sanur,

Figure 1.6: A textile stall's colorful display at a market in Denpasar,

ORIGINS

Bali has a long history, the greater part of which Is obscured by the mists of time, and archaeologists have only just begun to bring to light small fragments of this past. Written records begin in the 8th century A.D., and the story told in these early Inscriptions and chronicles mirrors the influence of the great Javanese empires. Their courts were attended by Buddhist and Hindu scholars—literati who partly were instrumental in propagating these religions of Indian provenance. A sustained change thus took place in the culture and society of Bali, in which mercantile influences from China, India and other islands of the archipelago also played a role.

In discussing the traditional textiles of Bali—In describing the complicated techniques used to make double ikat geringsing (see Chapter 9), the patterning of cepuk (see Chapter 8) and perada (see Chapter 4)—it quickly becomes apparent that their origin must be considered to a great extent against this historical background. It would be wrong, however, to attempt to explain these textiles and their uses in terms of a single origin or a single line of development. The great diversity of Balinese textile arts—their independence, creativity and rich traditions—points to a long and continuous evolution within the context of the island itself and its culture. Thus textiles of the most diverse kinds have quite specific functions and meanings which are typical of Bali, and cannot be understood on any basis other than that of Balinese culture itself.

Figure 1.7: Textile lamak serving to adorn an abode of the gods in a stone temple. South Bali.

According to written tradition (the Purana Bali text), the inhabitants of the island were originally ignorant of rice cultivation in terraced and irrigated fields, of metalworking, and of the growing and use of cotton. They formerly went about virtually naked, says the same source, although they did make loosely fitting garments of bark cloth, fashioning loincloths by passing long strips of pounded bast fibers between their legs and around their hips.

Though to the best of our knowledge there are no bark cloth garments from Bali to be found in any museum collections, memory of the material and its use lives on, especially in remote mountain regions. During the difficult times of the Second World War, sleeveless open jackets of bark cloth were revived in mountain villages. In addition to this bark cloth, it is said that a thread from the leaves of the bagu plant (Boehmeria nivea Gand, white ramie) was spun and woven into fabric (Fig. 1.3).

The Purana Bali also states that it was the goddess Ratih, wife of the god Semara, the Raja of the Invisible, who, together with her companions, instructed mankind in the cultivation of two types of cotton—transcribed in Indonesian as kapas cicih and kapas tahun. Rocky soils and (non-irrigated) ladang fields were well suited to these crops. The goddess taught the entire process of working the cotton to make finished cloths for men and for women. She also supplied the necessary equipment—the traditional cagcag loom (Fig. 3.11) on which to make songkèt and endek materials. In addition, she taught them elaborate techniques of dyeing.

The percipient observer, refusing to be misled by stories of a tabula rasa in Bali created by Hinduism and Buddhism of a Javanese and more recently Chinese cast, will no doubt discern many archaic elements in Bali. Textiles are no exception. Apart from the bark cloths already mentioned, such elements include a large number of plaitings and braidings. Plaited mats still figure importantly, however in a way that is visually unspectacular and is therefore commonly overlooked. They are indispensable in shrines, where they are used as underlays for offerings and figures of gods. They are also used in death rites to wrap the mortal remains of the deceased before cremation. Hangings of light beige and rich green strips of young palm leaves, known as larnak, appear prominently and are likely to catch the eye of even the casual observer. These are most commonly rectangular in shape, and are used for the ritual adornment of offering stelae and shrine niches. They are also hung like bibs around the necks of "cremation bulls" before the latter are borne to the cremation ground (Fig. 1.15). There are many sizes of palm-leaf lamak with different patterns, sometimes with additional red ornamentation. Although the matter has not been investigated in detail, it is reasonable to assume that lamak patterns and sizes are specific to the particular locality and occasion. In other words, different types of lamak are used depending on the place, the festival and the deity being worshipped.

In addition to such rapidly perishable plaitings, there are also more durable textile lamak (Fig. 1.8) whose patterns are sometimes identical with those made of palm leaf. These are treasured as heirlooms and carefully preserved, and are brought out solely for the important annual temple festivals, where they are attached to the abodes of the gods (Fig. 1.7). Today the most common form of lamak has a hard base trimmed with Chinese képéng coins and mirrors. These are suspended from shrine niches, while beneath them another palm-leaf lamak, invisible to the observer, serves as an underlay.

Figure 1.8: Lamak, ceremonial hanging for abodes of the gods. Supplementary warp on cotton. Bali, near Denpasar. Pre-1940. 176 x 52 cm. MEB lie 15946.

Figure 1.9: Tower of textile offerings for a wedding. Nusa Penida.

Figure 1.10: Stone with polèng waist cloth. P. Kutri, Buruan.

Another element that appears to be of archaic origin is the short sleeveless jacket worn today by the main ritual protagonists in a particular temple festival near Denpasar (Fig. 1.13). Although these jackets look as if they were tailored exclusively from red, green or black material (sometimes trimmed with gold ornamentation), they resemble similar garments that are made from bark cloth in what are known as "Old Indonesian" cultures—as among the Toraja in South Sulawesi and also on the islands of Sumatra and Nias. But here again the material is of a special type. Concealed under the colored cloth is a layer of coir fiber which gives the clothing a special significance. According to informants, these jackets fall into the category of martial and battle garments, and were sometimes lined with leather instead of coir for protection. Those on the lookout for persistence in textile forms and materials will continually meet with such survivals from the past and evidence of local and regional cultural traditions.

TEXTILES AS SEMIOTIC SIGNS

In Bali, textiles are much more than just cloths from which garments are made. Beginning with the yarn itself (benang) and the woven textiles, they are a medium through which the divine nature of the universe and its material manifestations are recognized and expressed. The inner spirit of the world—both the natural world and that created by man—expresses reverence and adoration for its creation. It is a world view that does not place individual man at its hub, or subordinate its environment to him, but rather one in which the divine nature of the living world occupies the center. This view is expressed in the places and ways in which textiles are used. One often sees, for example, enormous broad-crowned trees around whose trunks a white or black-and-white checked cloth is bound; while below it there are flowers, both fresh and faded, and petals from sacrificial offerings. One may also see upended stones of a curious shape which have been draped with a cloth like a wraparound (Fig. 1.10).

Figure 1.11: Zoomorphic figures of gods are dressed for a temple festival. Sanur.

These everyday testimonies to an omnipresent divinity appear during ceremonies and annual temple festivals in an even more pronounced and immediate form. The members of a procession accompanying the divine figures and symbols to the strains of the gong orchestra are each adorned and arrayed in festive apparel; the procession itself is led by banner carriers whose flags and pennants—textiles secured to poles—announce from afar the extraordinary significance of such a procession. Over the floral symbols of gods and the carved anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figures of deities clad in specific textiles (Fig. 1.11) is a textile firmament of ceremonial parasols (Figs. 1.15 and 7.5).

It is also quite common to witness processions, especially to and from a Brahman house compound, in which the women form a long line, each carrying a white cloth of the same length over her head. Cloths are also spread out on the ground to maintain the ritual purity of those stepping over it and to prevent them from direct contact with the soil, which represents the chthonic or earthly (as opposed to the uranian or heavenly) principle (Fig. 7.14).

Figure 1.12: A sanctuary is invested with an aura for an annual festival: shrines and halls are draped with textiles. Sanur.

Figure 1.13: At certain temple festivals the pemangku ritually dress in sacred fabrics, Their form and materials (coir fiber trimmed with red, black or green fabric) are handed down from the past. South Bali.

Figure 1.14: Holy water vessels wrapped round with colored yarn. Colors correspond to the cardinal directions. Pura Leluhur, Uluwatu.

The customary appearance of Balinese temple sanctuaries, with their offering stelae, shrines and open pavilions, is gray, forlorn and lonely. For the annual festival when the deities are invited to descend, however, these sites are transformed. The individual abodes of the gods, the shrines and the pavilions, are all made ready for the arrival of the gods and are dressed on the same principle as the human body (Fig. 1.12). Two wraparounds, one representing the upper hip cloth and one the cloth beneath, are draped around the pillar on which a small shrine stands; both are secured with a sash. Above the offering niche, the structure is adorned with a headband modeled after a man's headcloth. The niches themselves, at least in south Bali, are lined with plaited mats, with a lamak hanging down. The walls of the pavilions for offerings are draped with textile hangings,, and the places for the divine figures and for the brahman priest (pedanda) are adorned additionally with a white canopy (white being the symbol of ritual purity). Among the offerings presented to the gods are carefully folded cloths used solely for this purpose, usually placed on offering dishes next to the divine figures. In Nusa Penida such cloths are sometimes piled into high "offering towers" (Fig. 1.9). Sacrificial animals are also clad in cloth, and even the wooden cremation bull which serves as a sarcophagus for the those of high social status is fitted with an integument of fine white cloth which transforms it into a divine escort for the soul of the deceased (Fig. 1.15).

It is the textile itself, the woven object, that betokens divinity—but colors, material and pattern more precisely define its character. In this connection we might mention the rose of the winds and the gods and colors correlated with it in Balinese cosmology (cf. p. 60). One can tell from the color used for, say, the veiled abode of a god, what type of deity must be involved. Red cloths are used for an altar to Brahma (god of fire and blacksmiths; his cardinal direction is south), whereas black cloths betoken Wisnu, and so forth. The same is true of the cloths tied on the backs of sacrificial animals; their color indicates the gods to which they are dedicated. Offerings placed in small earthenware dishes are also arranged on the principle of the cardinal directions, with their particular gods and meanings, this being indicated by the dyed yarns with which the holy water vessels are wrapped (Fig. 1.14).

Today preference is shown for certain colors: white and yellow, which symbolize the divine generally (Fig. 1.4). The combination of various colors in the same cloth, and the way in which they are combined, may signify ambivalence, danger and, at the same time, protection and defense (see Chapters 7, 8 and 9)—for gods and their attendants are not only celestially pure and benevolent, but may also be dark, dangerous and minatory.

Figure 1.15: "Cremation bull" draped in white cloth, gold paper adornments and palm-leaf lamak, accompanied by two ceremonial parasols. Amlapura.

Finally, certain categories of textiles supply information relating not only to the gods, but to the social aspects of humans, their characteristics and the relations between them. For the individual, cloths of a special kind such as bebali and wangsul (see Chapter 5), mark various stages of human life and are used to protect the individual in ceremonies of transition. Certain textiles formerly expressed the highly stratified social hierarchy of traditional Bali. Such materials as bebali and wangsul were produced and controlled by the gria or brahmanical houses, while at the same time being indispensible in the performance of rites of passage for members of all social classes.

The uses of specific types of textiles are detailed in lontar palm-leaf manuscripts, also preserved in gria, These concern various categories of rituals—for gods, humans, the deceased, demons, etc. Because of the religious leadership exercised by the intellectual and spiritual elite of brah-mans, a system of textile standards became operative throughout Bali, This contrasted with local traditions and brought about certain uniformities where previously there were no doubt more specific differences.

Exceptional socio-religious status also attaches to the aU-white apparel of the pemangkuy who ministers in the temple service, and to the black-and-white clothing of the pedanda or brahman priest. Attire of this type contains elements—such as the red or black miter-like headdress (Fig, 3.7)—that are forbidden to all other members of society. Social functions were previously distinguished by clothing on a much greater scale than today. Various dignitaries within the court hierarchy, and also warriors, wore special garments that indicated their status.

In the past, endek and songkèt cloths were generally the prerogative of the princely courts and aristocratic families (see Chapters 2 and 3) with regard to both production and use. These cloths have since undergone a process of democratization, so that personal distinctions can no longer be made on the basis of textiles alone. It seems, however, that clues are

Whereas endek and songkèt are social badges recognized in every part of Bali, other textiles are characteristic of relatively closed social groups typical for particular regions. Thus, for example, the geringsing cloths of Tenganan in eastern Bali are the prerogative of the village aristocracy, so that anyone wearing or using such a ritual cloth there identifies himself as one of its members. In a similar way, keling cloths (see Chapter 6) were formerly worn in Nusa Penida only by women, and were therefore the badge of a gender-specific group.

In the course of time and through the socio-cultural changes of the past decades, these marks of social distinction have begun to blur. The greatest difference betokened by clothing today is no longer that between social classes, but between everyday and holy day. Daily clothing makes people out as citizens of a modern state, whereas traditional festive garb underlines Balinese Identity and the pride which the Balinese take in their own culture and traditions.

—B. Hauser-Schäublin