Quarterly report #4

Although batik has been adapted by fine artists in Europe as a medium of expression, it was the trade industry that first brought it over from Asia and later carried it all the way to West Africa. While Indonesians refused to accept the mass-produced  “wax prints” that the Dutch and British tried to market back to them, these same textiles were so popular in West Africa that it would now be impossible to imagine its landscape without these colorful patterns and prints. This was the last stop on batik’s long journey and marks the end of my own year-long exploration of this ancient art form.

Like the marathon runner sprinting for the finish line, it was here that I faced the greatest challenges and made the most ground in understanding myself and the world around me. The physical difficulties of the excruciating heat and scarcity of water, the mental exertion of trying to make sense of the language and culture, plus the spiritual drain of guilt and sympathy I felt here all contributed to my growth as an artist, a person and citizen of the world.

Introduced in the 1950’s by Dutch colonialists who brought it over from Indonesia, batiks are a relatively new phenomenon in West Africa and artists here simply don’t have the expertise, materials or tools of their counterparts around the world. After seeing the exquisite rozome of Japan, the intricate batiks of Indonesia and the fine-art batik paintings in the UK, it was difficult not to look down on the simplicity of batiks made in this part of the world. Creating the highest quality batiks was never the main objective of this year however and the things I learned here went far beyond wax, dye or cloth. Making batiks in Africa taught me: to make use of every available resource and waste nothing, how to adapt new techniques into old traditions, the importance of family and relationships, and finally how I can contribute to society as an artist.

My adventure took off in The Gambia were I spent two weeks with batik artist Buba Drammeh and his entire extended family in their rectangular shaped “compound” made up of tiny rooms around a central courtyard. Most professions in this country are a family affair and the art of batik and tie-dye are no exception.  Buba learned his craft from his uncle who learned from his father and so on down the generations. As Buba’s student, I quickly became incorporated into the family and was christened “Bingta Drammeh” to match my new Gambian identity.

Even daily life is a struggle in this village with no electricity and very limited water so one can only imagine what it was like to make batiks in such conditions. The actual act of creation was easy compared to the time and labor spent gathering wax from beehives, building a fire, melting the wax, carrying jugs of water, boiling the water and even heating the iron with charcoal. The batiks I made here reflect the difficulty of life in rural Gambia and the strength of its men and women. While the lines and colors of my paintings may not be perfect, to me, they are all the more valuable for the hard work and struggle they represent.

From Buba’s village on the north shore, a short ferry ride to the other side of the country took me to natural dye expert Anita Whittle where I learned about kola nut/indigo dying and worked on my own pieces with an artist named Musa - one of the few dyers in Gambia still using and experimenting with these natural dyes. Not only has Musa’s line of work been passed down through the generations it is a business that the entire family participates in. Stepping into their compound,  I was impressed at seeing sisters/daughters pounding Kola nuts, uncles/fathers printing wax, grandmothers stitching tie-dye cloth and brothers/sons dying the fabric as naked babies tried their best to amuse the workers. If only all families worked together so well!

Batiks in Senegal reveal the creativity of the artists and reflected or perhaps explained the more advanced development of Gambia’s neighbor on all sides. Instead of focusing on quantity they also value quality and look for ways to be innovative and unique in their work. Senegal is famous for its tie-dye and batiks here have benefited from the expertise of these fabric dyers. In spite of its role in the slave trade, the Island of Gore is now a center for arts and crafts and a gathering place for the most liberal-minded and creative of individuals. The colorful batiks and tie-dye that were on sale everywhere reminded me of flowers growing on ancient ruins, covering the horrors of this island’s terrible past.

The long, torturous bus ride to Bamako, the capital city of Mali was made worthwhile by the huge groups of fabric dyers I found working along the side of the road. Batiks here are considered a form of tie-dye and used solely as a method of making patterns on cloth with wooden stamps. The few batik paintings that I did see in the markets were imported from neighboring countries such as Senegal or Guinea. Malian textile artists are instead busy creating “bogolanfini,” the mud-cloth that Mali is known for. My studies with the internationally renowned Bogolan Kasobane group in the city of Segou was necessary to understanding this textile tradition which has influenced and been influenced by the newer batik technique. It was amazing to see its similarities with Indonesian batiks in particular which also value symbolism, meaning and the creative spirit in the creation of each piece.

From there, my newfound interest in mud dying led me to Djenne, the ‘birthplace’ of this medium and then Dogon Country, where the traditional dye methods have stayed alive. It was in this gorgeous land known for the villages hanging on cliffs that I was able to experience Malian spiritualism and symbolism to the fullest.

Finally, in Ghana, I encountered Adinkra, the only African cloth printing tradition that existed prior to colonialism. According to legend, it was introduced to the Asante people of Ghana following the capture of a rival monarch from the Ivory Coast by the name of Adinkra, who wore the cloth to express his sorrow on being taken to the Asante capital of Kumase. The name “Adinkra” thus came to mean “farewell” and the fabric became commonly used at funeral ceremonies to say good-bye to the deceased. Today, this cloth is an integral part of Ghanaian culture and symbols from King Adinkra’s robe are seen on everything from clothing to academic/political seals to billboards and other advertisements.

It was amazing to see how easily and fully batik could be incorporated into this older textile technique. Traditional Adinkra cloth involves the printing of designs with a black dye made from the bark of the “Badie” tree using stamps carved from sections of calabash. Since the ink is not fixed however, this fabric can only be worn for special occasions such as weddings, funerals and initiation rites. The adaptation of these same wooden stamps for the batik medium however, allowed the material to be made with colorfast dyes and opened the door for Adinkra symbols to be worn at anytime and for all occasions. The batiks I made in Ghana with artist Antoinette Ablordy are thus filled with Adinkra symbols—each with their own names, meanings, proverbs and stories.

Perhaps it is this pride in their rich textile traditions that has made Ghana the first country in West Africa to market their own wax prints as opposed to the imported ones from Holland or England. I was amazed when I first saw “authentic Ghanaian wax print” on the bottom of these fabrics instead of the “genuine Dutch wax print” label ubiquitous throughout the rest of West Africa - and further impressed to hear of not one, but four major Ghanaian companies for customers to chose from. The T.V. commercials and advertisements encouraging  Ghanaians to support their countrymen by only purchasing locally made textiles is reflective of the patriotism of this nation which has seen so much development and improvement in such a short time.

It is not just the finished textiles that Africans should consider however, but all aspects of batik making. Almost all works of artwork or clothing in their country are the result of dyes imported from Germany, fabric brought over from China, and designs copied from abroad or geared toward foreign tourists. 200 years after slavery was abolished, it seems West Africa is still controlled by foreign entities. In spite of rich textile traditions such as tie-dye in Senegal and Gambia, Bogolan in Mali and Adinkra in Ghana, the most ubiquitous fabrics are still the wax prints that come from Holland or England.  In order to truly be free and independent, West Africans must look toward themselves and not outside their country for their materials, tools and designs. I arrived to Accra just in time to witness the excitement of President Obama’s visit and hear the cheers from his speech which focused on the future of Africa. We listened as he spoke of the rich resources of this continent and the prosperity that is only possible if Africans help themselves instead of depending on foreign aid. Africa’s future, as Obama states, is up to Africans and the choice of a locally made batik is one step in the right direction.   

Thus, with the help of King Adinkra and his symbols, I bid farewell to Africa, my Watson year, and the incredible adventures and freedom that came with it. From Asia, to Europe to Africa, I successfully traveled for one year following an art form known as batik or rozome in order to understand the culture from which it came from, learn from the artists who created them and most importantly, make my own works from what I have seen and experienced in each country. What I found was a world full of places that have inspired me as well as people who have taught me more then I could have imagined. Before this journey, the world seemed so enormous, intangible and intimidating. After the incredible connections I have made across cultures, continents and languages, I have come to see that it really is such a small world after all and I am determined to do my part to make it a better place.

I began my Watson year as an idealistic art student with no idea of how to use my skills to help society, and now, at the end of the rainbow, I feel that I have finally found my goal. In the process of studying batik within various cultures and places, I discovered a need to help societies to develop in a sustainable and environmentally conscious way and furthermore, realized that it is through architecture that I can use art and design to meet the specific needs of individuals and communities around the world. With this realization comes a whole new set of goals to reach, work to accomplish and finish lines to cross. So while this may seem like the end of the road, in reality, it is really just the beginning of a grand new adventure and it was the Watson Fellowship that showed me the way.

Quarterly report #3

Batik in the UK

What is batik in the Western world? Is it a painting, a scarf, a book, a bag…? After nearly two months in the UK, searching in vain for the answer, I have come to realize that batiks here are whatever the artist wishes them to be. Unlike in Indonesia, Malaysia or Japan, they are not bound by tradition and there are no limits to the artist's creativity. For the most part, each batik is the work of a single artist and an expression of their personal beliefs and ideals. Although I set out to understand batiks in the UK, what I discovered was the artists who created them and the individual lives that they lead. Batiks here are as unique and diverse as the artists themselves and to know the work, one must first know their creator. WHO then, are these UK batik artists, why do they use this medium and what are they trying to express?

Unlike the Asian countries that do have a batik tradition, there is no “center” of batik production in the UK. Thus, I have had to travel across the entirely of this country in order to seek out each artist individually in their studios which is almost always a part of their house. For the most part, I was welcomed as a guest in their home and was touched by how willing these artists were to open their lives to me. Even after just a few days in each place I feel as if I have made numerous connections and friends across the UK. Although I had already seen their batiks displayed online, in books and during exhibitions, it was only after meeting each artist in person and in their domestic environment that I truly understood their work.

Upon arrival to England, I took a taxi directly to Cumonor House School in Sussex, the private school in which batik artist Rosi Robinson teaches. Not only was I greeted by one artist, but a classroom full of energetic children working on their creations. Culture shock was not something I expected to experience, but after ten months in Asia, I was dazed to see so much white skin and astonished by the wealth all around me.  Even more amazing was the freedom these children have to express themselves and I wondered if they really appreciate how lucky and privileged they are? At the same time, it was sad to see the competitive and individualistic society in which they live. Even at their young age, they are already stressing out over entrance exams and scholarship applications. From Rosi, I learned the art of patience and how to teach batiks to children slowly - by starting with wax crayons before moving on to hot wax. Education is only one aspect of her life however and underneath her calm demeanor, I found a spontaneous, open-minded and well traveled artist as well. Retuning home from a long day at work, she still manages to find time to work in her home studio as well as plan for her upcoming departure to study batiks in China!

In Brighton, I found Jenn Adamson, the treasurer of the Batik Guild and an artist in her own right. As a retired teacher and headmistress, she shared a similar patience and mannerism as Rosi. Her bright, sunny home and loving family are reflected in the vibrant batiks she creates. Without the stress of work or money, she is free to experiment with many materials and the batiks that emerge from her small studio/tool shed in the garden may be on anything from cloth, paper, wood or even gold fabric. It was liberating to follow her example and I was especially excited about the use of newspaper to capture a moment in time. Painting wax onto velvet was also a whole new experience and my visit to Wales and Conwry Castle was captured in it’s fuzzy texture.

Detailed, warm and loving describes Marina’s Elphick’s batiks, home and family. Working mostly figuratively, she paints in a studio next to her renovated farmhouse and her two children are her favorite subjects. Although she was discouraged from batik in fine art school, Marina’s strong affinity toward the medium convinced her to be true to herself and her art. Nevertheless, the formal training she received there shows through in her paintings which are as much “fine art” as any in museums or galleries. Starting with a detailed drawing on cloth, she then uses a variety of tjanting pens and brushes to create subtle lines, textures and shading. The result are the most detailed and illustrative batiks I have yet to come across in all of my travels.

Entering Jennifer Sharpstone’s home was like stepping into a fantasy world of color, plants, textures and smells. Organized chaos may be the best definition of her studio in the back garden, which has expanded to the kitchen, where she does most of her batik work. Like the variety of objects in her home, Jenny’s creations range from photos, sculpture, acrylics, pastels, etc. and wax-resist is only one of the many media in which she works. Her batiks reflect this diversity and are seen hung on lampshades, framed on walls, draped on tables and even pinned onto the ceiling!

Robin Paris’s batiks reflect her love for the environment and the gorgeous Cornwall countryside in which she lives. They are a statement of her belief in sustainability and the need to protect the fragile ecosystem in which we live. Not only do the images speak of these ideals but the materials in which they are made must be good and healthy for the Earth as well. It is absolutely incredible how much time and thought must go into creating sustainable batiks. Where was the cloth made? Who makes them and was it a fair trade? Which dyes are least toxic? Is it possible to use natural dyes? Where does the wax come from and how are the bees treated? The questions seem never-ending. As a full-time artist, Robin must deal with these issues as well as: organizing and looking for storage space, labeling slides, uploading websites,  finding gallery space and preserving/framing her pieces. Although we did manage to process indigo leaves, make an indigo vat and dye our organic cotton batiks in the week I was there; what I learned went beyond the realm of creation. From Robin, I discovered what it means to be a working artist and how to live, eat, breathe and work for one’s ideals and beliefs. I will never again produce a batik piece without concern for the implications of my work on the environment and also a prayer of gratitude for the materials I am using. 

With these newly formed ideals in mind, I departed for Isabella Whitworth’s home in Devon and found a kindred spirit. Although she started as a graphic designer, her travels in Indonesia inspired a move toward textile art. Beginning as a silk painter, she discovered the greater possibilities with batik and it has since become her medium of choice. In her studio just opposite the bedroom, she paints silk scarves that she then markets to various galleries in the area. Even after the scarf is finished however, the tedious work of labeling, pricing and marketing begins. Like Robin, she has become concerned with the environmental implications of her work and is experimenting with natural dyes and fibers. The hard work of studying plant species, their chemical properties and how to use their dyes is nothing compared to the creative difficulties that they cause. With a few exceptions such as indigo blue, most natural dyes need to be boiled with the fabric - the heat making the wax-resist technique impossible. For three years now, Isabella has been dedicated to finding a way around this problem and in the process, discovered a talent for research and writing. With a spacious home and an incredibly supportive husband, Isabella will no doubt be successful in any creative venture she decides to pursue. Under her gentle tutelage, I dyed my own scarf with natural dyes and am now completely addicted. I can’t wait to conduct my own experiments and explore the possibilities for myself. Who knows where this path will lead?

Isabella’s friendship with the well-known indigo expert Jenny Balfour-Paul was the break that got me a meeting with this remarkable woman. As one of the few dyes that does not require heat to set, indigo has been used throughout the world for batik and it’s story is synonymous with the wax-resist process. Jenny has spent a lifetime traveling and recording the uses, functions and processes of creating dye from the indigo/woad plant and it is reflected in the incredible textiles that cover almost every inch of her grand home.

The English have a long history of trade with other countries and Jim and Diane Gaffney are an example of the connection between East and West. This husband and wife team travel all over the world (focusing on Thailand, Indonesia and Turkey) buying gorgeous handmade batiks to bring back to their shop, Textile Traders in Bishop’s Castle, Shropshire. Stepping into their store was like going back to Asia and I was amazed to see how different the Indonesian batiks and equipment looked in their new home. As Chairwoman of the Batik Guild, Diane has been an invaluable resource for my travels within the UK and abroad and I had already been in contact with her for some time before I arrived in Indonesia. It was still a  surprise however to meet her by chance there in that batik studio in Java where I was living. Not only was Diane there for business, but also to distribute the Batik Guild sponsored “Java Fund” to the Indonesian batik community in support of this important aspect of their heritage. Sales are only part of the Gaffney’s work and it is the interactions with the people and cultures they meet in their travels that is most valuable to them. Diane and Jim insist on knowing exactly where their products come from and make sure that the artisans were paid fairly for their work. The lectures, talks and workshops they give about what they have seen and learned are vital to spreading a greater understanding and appreciation for their products so that customers will appreciate them for what they are worth.

On the way to a natural dye/fiber fair titled “Wonderwool Wales,” Diane and Jim dropped me off in paradise – a.k.a the incredibly beautiful home of Jane Meredith located right on the river Wye. This artist of batik lampshades now focuses mostly on natural dyes on wool and takes advantage of the ample space around her home to grow all kinds of dye plants. It was amazing to see the variety of colors that she could create simply from seeds, dirt and water! Jane’s company “Plant Dyed Wool” was also participating in the Wonderwool fair and tagging along gave me the opportunity to meet many other natural dye and textile artisans such as Helen Melvin, whose book on indigo dying Robin and I were using, as well as Alison Dykin, whose “Pure Tinctoria” brand of natural dyes I was using with Isabella. What a great feeling of completion in having met so many of my natural dye idols!  

“Natural” is hardly the word that came to mind upon seeing Pat Hodon’s florescent purple hair at the train station in Sheffield. That was the moment my sustainable batik discoveries ended and the mechanical ones began. Pat’s batiks are a result of layers of paper, silk, digital prints, thread, glue, etc. and unlike anything I have ever seen before. As a graduate of a fine arts college, she has been trained in many methods of artistic expression and is not afraid to push the limits and boundaries of batik. A steady job at a local college allows her the freedom to experiment and create work that has meaning for her. Pat’s spacious studio in the attic is just as clean, orderly and meticulous as the batiks she creates. The two huge laser printers and state-of-the-art computer equipment may not look anything like tjanting pens or wax pots but are nevertheless tools of her craft. Pat’s works are about transparencies, color and light; and after 30 years, the batik medium is still the only way for her to achieve the layers and intensity of color that her work requires.

As all of this traveling in the UK has shown me, batik artists in Europe are few and far between. For the most part, they work in solitude without the community that batik/rozome artists in Asia enjoy.  To encourage and support each other, the Batik Guild was formed in 1986 to bring members together through meetings, exhibitions lectures, workshops and newsletters. Their Annual Gathering Meeting was in Whitby and I arrived two days early to help batik artist, BG magazine editor, and organizer of the event, Heather Gatt with the finishing touches. The result was an incredible weekend of workshops, discussions, brainstorming, and inspiration for the 20 members who attended. It was truly incredible to be surrounded by a group of people who shared a similar passion and love for batik. I was inspired by their vision for the future of batik in the art world and motivated to do my part to help.

Staying with Heather Gatt for a few days after the conference gave me further insight into the life of a working artist. After a full day of running workshops, going to galleries, getting work framed, and more; she must still make time to produce her art. After 32 years of batik experience, Heather admits that she does question why she still works in this difficult and under-appreciated medium, and has explored other media such as oil and watercolor painting to express herself. Somehow however, she always seems to return to the wax pot, her tjanting tools and the unexpected surprises of batik on cloth.

My visit with Noel Dyrenforth in London the night before I depart for West Africa was the perfect capstone to my UK batik tour. As the president and founder of the Batik Guild, he is definitely “the man” to see and I feel privileged to have met him. After over 30 years of teaching and studying batiks all over the world, Noel feels that Japan has been the greatest influence for his work. The skill and precision of the artists there resonate with his own detailed paintings which emphasize control above all. The disputes between Rozome, Batik, Fine Art or craft are a pointless distraction that for him is simply not worth entering. Wax and dyes are Noel’s chosen media in which to explore himself and the world around him and it is the color, line and form that matter, not the name of the technique that created them.

After visiting so many different artists from all walks of life, I am a few steps closer to understanding what it means to be an artist and how batiks can fit into the art world. The frustrations of Western batik artists in getting their work recognized as “fine art” and not “craft” makes me question my own definitions of the medium and wonder how I will fit in as an artist. The end of my Watson journey is in sight and this experience in the UK has made me question my future goals. Should I find a “real” job when I return or am I prepared to pursue the difficult life as an artist and a BATIK artist to boot!? In Asia, I felt comfortable with what I have but after just a few weeks in England, I feel greed and desire flowing once again through my blood. It is not enough for me to be an unknown craftsperson of batik fabrics – I want to be an artist, have a career, make money and be FAMOUS! Tomorrow, I am leaving for West Africa where I will spend nearly three months in The Gambia, Senegal, Mali and Ghana. Hopefully it will bring my ego back down to earth – at least until the next time I come down with “fine art fever.”

Quarterly report #2

Batik of Another Name

Although the most well-known term for cloth dyed with the wax-resist process is ‘batik’ from the Javanese words ‘amba’ (to write) and ‘titik’ (to dot), the same technique in Japan is termed ‘rozome’ from the Japanese words ‘ro’(to wax) and ‘zome’ (to dye). While it may be true that a “rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” would a batik by any other name look as beautiful? The last three months of my Watson journey has been divided between Japan and Indonesia in search of the answer.

In between visiting numerous rozome masters in their studios, the majority of my time in Japan was spent at the Nara College of Arts and Crafts where I studied with rozome master Chie Otani to create my own paintings of wax and dye. Now in Indonesia, I am staying with the artist couple Nia Fliam and Agus Ismoyo in their batik studio where over 20 batik artists gather to work on a daily basis.   The husband (Agus) is a descendent of royal court artisans and his wife (Nia) is an American who graduated with a degree in textile design from Pratt institute. Nia’s one year sojourn in Indonesia turned into a lifetime upon meeting Agus . Together, they have traveled the world creating and spreading their art and in fact just returned from a one year Fulbright fellowship in America. The collaboration between Nia and Ismoyo has resulted in a blending of Eastern with Western cultures, academic knowledge with spiritual feeling, masculine with feminine, traditional with modern, as well as art with craft. 

Although the wax-resist process originated elsewhere, it is in Japan and Indonesia where this technique has been most thoroughly developed and integrated into the fabric of their cultural identity. Unlike Thai or Malaysian batik producers, the artists here look to their own heritage and traditions for inspiration instead of focusing on the tastes of the consumer driven western world. The finished cloth is thus a reflection of the environment from which it came – its use, design and method of production a symbol of the people who use and create them.

As a visual expression of the country’s philosophy and aesthetics, batik vs. rozome is as different as night and day. The natural elegance of Japanese kimonos, screens and ‘tableaus’ (wall panels) are in marked contrast to the closely packed designs of Indonesian sarongs, head scarves and wall hangings. It is quite obvious which culture values the Zen philosophies of simplicity, harmony and balance and which adheres to the Javanese ideals of intricacy and complexity. For a through study of rozome, it was thus necessary to study all aspects of Japanese culture, including the art of kimonos (their production as well as design), tea ceremonies, gardens, geisha society and traditional music. Similarly, it was only after experiencing first-hand the warang (shadow puppet) performances, barong/legong, kecek dances, various temples/mosques/shrines, and wedding/funeral ceremonies  of Indonesia that I was able to truly understand the rich and symbolic meanings embedded into the batiks here.

In both Japan and Indonesia, batik/rozome has integrated itself to become the national clothing for both these countries. The “kimono passport” which gives discounts to those sporting the Japanese national dress is echoed on an even larger scale by the Indonesian government which requires all government officials to wear batik on Fridays and who are currently implementing batik classes into the core curriculum of public schools. The Japanese as well as Indonesians take incredible pride in this art form and even today rozome/batiks are worn and used by commoners, government officials and royalty alike. As in the past, the ornamentation and method of wearing the garment are still a symbol of the individual’s social status, position and class. Like the variety of knots in a Japanese citizen’s obi, the folds and ties of an Indonesian sarong can tell the observer which family the person belongs to, how much money they have, how old they are and whether they are single or married.

The very act of creating batik has strong symbolic meaning for the Japanese and Indonesian artisans. The difference between the two creative processes however could not be greater. Although both rozome and batik stem from an inner, spiritual plane; one is an exercise in self control and discipline while the other is a practice in letting go of all cognitive thought and inhibitions.

In Japan, even pouring a cup of tea is a meditative process which can take years to master and the “zen of archery” stresses the importance of cultivating unseen powers.  If it is possible to tell the thoughts and feelings of a person just from the taste of the tea they brew, one can only imagine what is evident in each finished rozome painting! All wax-resist fabric in Japan is the result of careful thought, planning and execution. The key to success is to control the mind in order to control the body and thus the medium of the artwork. A finished piece should be a replica of the original draft and skillful execution is the sign of a true rozome master. In Japan, I learned the importance of persistence and strived for perfection.  Although it took three tries, I was finally able to create a rozome piece that matched the sketch that I had planed for it to be.

While the Japanese meditate to control the mind, the Indonesians meditate to release the mind from all conscious control. In a practice the Javanese call “Kapti Kerdating Sukmo,” the creator of sacred images moves beyond their feelings and thoughts to arrive at a deeper source of creativity and make work that truly comes from the vibrations of the soul. Such artists are called “empu,” a term used to describe masters of the creative process who not only have excellent technical skills, but a deep philosophical grounding and esoteric abilities in the meditative process.

According to Javanese spiritualism, the “world” consists of three dimensions, known collectively as tribawaba. They are: jagad kecil which is consciousness within the self (microcosmos), jagad gumelar or consciousness of the surrounding environment (macrocosmos), and jagad pepadhangor which is consciousness of the ‘golden thread’ that connects humanity with the Divine Creator. In a batik created through the spiritual journey of Kapati Kerdat-ing Sukmo,  the artist’s inner self merges the phenomenal world with that of the of divine dimension. From this emerges a vision seen through their inner eye that is not controlled by emotions, thoughts or cognition. In this way, the design of a batik is not only fixed to the cloth, but the meaning of it is engraved ever more deeply in the soul of the artisan. In the Kraton, or Javanese court, batik was one of the six ‘priyayi,” (high arts) studied by the cultured Javanese royalty and along with music and dance, was considered to be a way to develop spiritual discipline. During my time in Indonesia, I am trying my best to follow in the footsteps of these artists to become a “vessel” for this creative energy. Among other things, I have been participating in rituals, talking Javanese dance lessons and going to temples to round out my spiritual attunement. This is all combined with the very academic knowledge of tradition and chemistry that my teachers Nia and Agus Ismoyo bring to their instruction.

As a result of the artist’s mastery of themselves, it would only make sense that the creation of rozome is a highly individual process. Rozome masters see their work as “one of a kind,” fine art pieces (not crafts) and a way to assert themselves to the world. Japanese artists are thus renowned for their secrecy and seclusion, especially from other artists who they consider to be competitors. The art world of Japan has historically been divided into groups made up of strict hierarchies between master and apprentice. Even now it is rare for Japanese artists to exhibit with other artists outside of their core group.

This individualism is in stark contrast to the Indonesian spirit of collaboration. In Javanese, the helping of one another in mutual cooperation is called gotong royang, and is an ancient concept that has particular significance to today’s global society trying to accept ideas of hybridism, diversity and pluralism. As a nation made up of over three hundred and fifty ethnic groups, each with their own customs and languages, it would only make sense that the national motto, “Bhinneka Tunggal Ika,” (Unity in Diversity) is representative of their collaborative mindset. Indonesia’s long history of colonization by other nations and their own maritime nature of going abroad makes partnership with others a logical result of a culture that itself is the outcome of joint help and cooperation with ‘foreigners.’

One of the most fascinating characteristics of Indonesian batik are the changes in style, motif and color which has resulted from their exposure to other cultures. The indigo, brown and white colors prevalent in traditional Indonesian batiks symbolize the three main Hindu gods - Shiva (justice), Vishnu (wisdom) and Brahma (power). Images of birds, lotus flowers and tree life also came from Indian origins and were prevalent until the 17^th century when designs became more geometrical and botanical as a result of the Islamic ban against depictions of people or animals. When Indonesia became a Dutch colony in the later half of the century, the European culture also influenced batiks and even the Japanese occupation of Indonesia (1942-1945) has changed the face of batik in Indonesia. Highly influenced by Japanese designs and motifs, this new category of “Batik Hokokai” is characterized by fine intricate backgrounds and beautifully designed flowers.

 Batiks in Indonesia are almost always the result of  the collective energy of a group and collaboration is seen as an integral aspect of the creative process.  Even the work of a single artist is considered to be in collaboration with the “creative energies” of all empu. My hosts, Nia and Ismoyo thus think of themselves as vehicles for the invisible creative forces and the conjoined energy of all people involved in the creative process. They work together with the 20+ artists of their studio, Brahma Titra Sari (BTS) on a daily basis and have partnered with aboriginal artists from Australia, Malian and Nigerian artists in Africa and only recently finished a Fulbright Fellowship with American students from Western Michigan University.  

Although I am trying my best, it has been difficult to let so of my Western, liberal arts educated background which stresses individualism, ownership and conceptual expression. The need to stand apart from others, assert my thoughts and protect my “rights” is the result of my American upbringing and completely contradictory to the  Javanese ideal of collaboration. It has thus been a constant struggle to suppress my individual ‘voice” for the sake of the collective and the fear of letting go of control and beliefs is often overwhelming to the point of paralysis.

The drastic differences between the creative process of rozome and batik leads to or perhaps results from the difference in materials and tools that are utilized. The large, balanced compositions of pristine colors in rozome paintings are only possible when the entire fabric is stretched tightly over a frame and the wax painted freely with brushes of natural fiber. Since the dyes are brushed directly onto the cloth, there is no danger of the wax cracking and the brittleness of paraffin wax is overlooked for it’s clear and clean properties. Conversely, batik artists in Indonesia sit on low stools with the cloth they are working on draped over a bamboo frame called gawangagan and use only the surface area of one hand as canvas while the other hand holds the canting (pronounced tjanting) tool – a wax pen from which intricate lines and dots are drawn. The complex designs of Indonesian batik is further aided by the use of caps – copper stamps dipped in hot wax and pressed onto cap tables of cool, damp sponges. The flexibility of un-stretched fabric helps to prevent the wax from breaking and allows for easy immersion into dye baths. Instead of paraffin, the wax here consists of sticky and flexible resin and oil, further insuring that it does not crack in the dying process. The lack of control in the use of open-holed canting tools and dye immersions would drive a rozome artist crazy - but for the Indonesian craftsperson, this spontaneity is ideal and the result is pure magic. 

The study of Japanese rozome and Indonesian batik has been a mental, physical and spiritual exploration of the culture and customs around me, the inner space which make up who I am and the unseen energies of the creative process. Drastic differences between the wax-resist techniques of these two countries is confusing and exhausting at times, yet has opened my eyes to all the possibilities of this medium. As a college educated studio art/art history graduate I have always been taught to carefully question, think through, plan and explain every piece of work I produce. Japan’s rigorous control of the rozome medium reiterated this idea and while I am incredibly grateful for the skills I acquired as a result, it has made my spiritual journey in Indonesia all the more difficult. Coming from such an academic and intellectually focused background, I am now asked to let go of all control in order to let the “creative energy” take over and I hardly know where to begin. I have come to realize however that I do not have to chose between mind or spirit in creating my work and gradually I am beginning to find the middle ground in which I belong as an artist and citizen of the world. It is obvious that while rozome and batik are complete opposites in many ways, they are both an integral part of the culture from which they come and equally beautiful in their designs, symbolism and process.

Quarterly Report #1

In the last three months, the path of molten wax has lead me from my home in America to Thailand, Malaysia and now Japan. There have been many unexpected discoveries along the twists and turns but the biggest surprise of all was how much each foreign place has reminded me of my past and where I came from. It turns out that I took a leap into the unknown only to land promptly back down at my roots.

I have always assumed that most Chinese Nationalists were like my grandparents who fled to Taiwan after the Cultural Revolution. What a surprise it was to find that Thailand was another option in which to create a new life for themselves. With over 8.5 million Chinese immigrants, Thailand has more overseas Chinese than any other country in the world! I wondered what sort of person I would have become if my grandparents had ended up in Thailand instead of Taiwan? As I painted my images of fruit, sea creatures, and colorful landscapes, I daydreamed about what my life could have been like in this beautiful land of plenty.

Although batiks are often sold around the world as a “traditional” Thai product, they too are immigrants from another land—originating either from neighboring China to the north, or Indonesia to the south. Like the people however, they have adapted to the lush and colorful landscape of this country. It is obvious that batiks have become an important part of Thailand, both culturally and economically. There is a drastic difference however between Thai batik and Batik in Thailand. The first is a product of Thailand, the second is sold in Thailand. Thai batik has expanded with the growth of tourism and is now an essential source of income for many artists here. The bright colors and lively designs of these “tourist” batiks are representative of this country, providing visitors with a memento of Thailand even if the fabric itself is not representative of batik in Thailand. 

In Malaysia, it was impossible not to be identified as Chinese in a country so strictly divided between the Chinese, Malay and Indian populations. The hatred and distrust between them is hardly a surprise when ethnicity determines one’s portion of the government funded pie. As the minority, the Chinese are sick of being handed the left-over crust.

I had not known before I arrived that there was a difference between being Malay and being Malaysian. Imagine my surprise to discover that here, the birthplace of your ancestors is actually more important than your own! In the competitive fashion world of Malaysian batik, a lack of government support and funding is devastating to the batik artists and entrepreneurs of Indian or Chinese descent.

Batiks are ubiquitous on the streets, stores, runways and museums of Malaysia—making them a public statement of this divide between ethnicities. While almost all Malaysians have garments made of batik fabric; the Islamic religion of the Malays limits them to wearing loose, long-sleeved “baju kurungs” and “baju kebayas,”  while the Chinese traditionally sport form fitting “qipaos” and the Indians prefer batik “saris” or “salwar kameez”.

Although all ethnicities wear batik, the Malays insist on claiming it as their own since it is their ancestors who brought it over from the Malay Peninsula of Indonesia. The result is a sort of secret society in which batik techniques and processes are horded and hidden. As the premier center of batik study in Malaysia, The National Craft Institute (IKN) is made up of 95% Malay students and shows just how unbalanced the industry is. This is a constant frustration for the many Chinese, Indian and ex-patriot batik designers and artists who are barred from batik instruction, supplies and funding. What many Malays don’t realize is that in the process of keeping batik to themselves, they are also hiding it from potential clients and customers of batik.  A French designer describes batik as a "sunset industry" which is dying because of the secrecy and distrust between designers, manufacturers and suppliers. Thus, artists and entrepreneurs of all ethnicities must work together if Malaysian batik is to survive. 

The government does see batik as a important part of Malaysian heritage and attempts have been made to keep the medium alive. They host batik conventions yearly, bring designers to fashion shows abroad and even mandate that all government officials and school children wear batik on Fridays. For the most part however, such efforts have centered around erasing the image of batik as “boring” and “traditional” and bringing new, contemporary batik garments into main-stream international fashion. While these events have been successful in introducing batiks to the world, it has been done at the expense of the intricately colorful designs that have always demarcated true “Malaysian” batik.

Now in Japan, I am reminded once again of my tiny birth-country of Taiwan. Not only is the food, culture, landscape and language similar but in terms of appearance, I blend right in – an experience I am not accustomed to after growing up in the Mid-West of America. After just a few short days in Japan, I already feel completely at home in this peaceful country, at ease with the artists I have met and a close bond with my classmates at the Nara College of Arts and Crafts who have all been so eager to share their knowledge and love of Rozome with me.

The Japanese form of batik is called “rozome” after “ro” which means “wax” and “zome” meaning “to dye.” A technique used traditionally for decorating Kimonos and screens, the number of Rozome artists has also declined with the drop in Kimono wearing and sales. Unlike Malaysia however, the Japanese see that the solution lies in embracing their culture—not erasing it.  Instead of hosting events that feature new, modern designs taken from Western designers, Rozome events here focus on educating foreigners and youngsters on the importance of this art to Japan and it’s unique and rich history. Not just government officials, but all citizens and even foreigners are encouraged to wear kimonos everyday as a result of the “kimono passport” which gives discounts on entry tickets, taxi fares and store merchandise for those sporting the traditional Japanese look.

Japanese rozome further brings me back to my Chinese roots with its simple elegance, focus on balance and earth toned colors. Even the kimono itself is a garment heavily influenced by traditional Han Chinese clothing as a result of Japanese embassies to China in the fifth century.

Problems and interactions between cultures; as well as visa and immigration issues, have made me think of and question the line “good fences make good neighbors” from Robert Frost’s “Mending Wall” in which one man questions why he and his neighbor must rebuild the stone wall dividing their farms each spring. What is the point of theses fences between countries and how can we break them down peacefully without violence and war? Why does one country feel the need to overtake another and why do people feel a need for nationality? What is in a name? If the entire world were one name, would we be able to co-exist peacefully and help each other when necessary? I want desperately to believe in a peaceful and harmonious world without borders but ask myself how it can be possible when it is human nature to put up walls between ourselves? Why are some people so open and willing to allow different people and new ideas in while others simply close themselves against them?

 After three months, I have become accustomed to the fact that there is no one around me in which to ask or answer my questions. Thus, I am learning to listen to myself and accept that there is no one around to admire or condemn my bouts of inspiration. Lonely at first, I now find that I am able to think more slowly and look more closely at the world around me when there is no pressure to maintain a conversation. Every day I open my eyes to new things and am amazed at the infinite variety of colors, shapes and patterns that appear. Somehow my own creativity drives me more than grades or teachers ever have and I feel the need to simply produce as quickly as I can, before the vision escapes me. Artist’s block was and still is my greatest fear for this journey and this flood of inspiration is a relief. The problem so far has been in choosing between all of the ideas I have and I cannot wait to make them into reality. With each new creation of wax and dye on fabric, I hope to move one step closer to the answer of my questions. Although there will be many detours and obstacles in my way, I know I will never truly be lost because in the end, it is the journey that matters, not the destination.