When UNESCO listed batik as a unique icon of Indonesia’s heritage, I thought I’d better learn a bit about this family of textiles I’d been taking for granting all these years. I visited 22k, a batik gallery in Ubud, for a crash course with owner Ricka Cahyani. I’ll never look at a sarong in the same jaded way again.
Minutes after my arrival we were sprawled on the gallery floor, surrounded by open reference books and stacks of rare textiles. As Ricka pointed out differences of pattern and technique, she called to an assistant to bring more examples from the shelves. Ricka’s family have been collecting and selling textiles for four generations. She really knows her stuff, and her technical knowledge is matched by a huge enthusiasm for the subject.
Growing up in Kuta, Ricka went off to study in Australia and Italy before settling in Ubud and developing the 22k Gallery with her late husband, Ida Bagus Surya Buana. She started wearing batik sarongs both because they were cooler than jeans and as a statement. “I wanted to do a little bit to preserve Bali’s culture,” she says. “And besides, batik is always appropriate. A sarong takes you from the temple ceremony to the bank, out to dinner and any other occasion. It became a sort of trademark for me, so I wanted to learn more about it.”
Ten years ago not many people were selling fine textiles in Ubud. Ricka journeyed to Java to select old batiks, visit the factories and learn from the elderly artists. “I was inspired by batik – I liked the look of it and was fascinated by the techniques. I began to understand what my mother meant when she said textiles had a soul.”
It is thought that the earliest batiks were designs of dots made with a resist of rice paste painted on with a bamboo brush and coloured with plant dyes. Perhaps these first batiks, made with rough hand-loomed cotton, were created as a form of protection. Gradually both the techniques and materials became more refined, until by the end of the 18th century different parts of Java were producing a constantly evolving range of batiks. The two methods of applying the design to the cloth include batik cap, using a heavy stamp of copper wire and batik tulis, finely hand-drawn designs using a canting or small cup of melted wax. Traditionally men used the cap and women drew the batik tulis; some pieces combine both techniques.
“A decade ago, I could tell where a batik was made by the motifs and colours,” Ricka says. “Different areas produced batiks according to the colour of the natural dyes that were available there. Each one had its own character and ‘hand energy’ from the person who drew it. It’s now more difficult to tell where a batik originated because the influences have become more homogenized and designs are not as defined as before. But I can still tell, from the character of the work.”
Ricka taught me to see the differences between cloth printed with a batik design, real batik and the finest of old batiks. Often it’s possible to identify the best textiles by the quality of the cloth; only the finest of cotton is used for good batik as the dye is better absorbed. In fine old batiks, the design is drawn by hand on both sides of the cloth. There are still many secrets to treating the cloth both before and during the dying process to enhance colour absorption, including the use of oils or certain kinds of wood. In Cirebon, batik artists use a secret technique to ensure that the wax over the large white areas of their designs does not crack during the dyeing process. These expanses of pure white are very difficult to achieve.
Ironically, it was the colonial Dutch who helped raise the popularity of batik in Indonesia. There was a great deal of European, Chinese and Indian influence in batik design. In the 19th century a strict social hierarchy was observed with the Dutch on top followed by the Chinese, the Arabs and finally the Indonesians with their own caste system. The Dutch settlers wore batik, and to differentiate themselves from the Javanese with their simple, borderless batiks they introduced borders and the tumpal, or front panel. These refinements continued to evolve as the Dutch took an increasing interest in the art form. They created workshops where women would come and draw for several hours a day between household chores, or where men would stamp the batik with designs from heavy metal cap. These were the first batik factories.
Ricka’s grandmother was Peranakan, or Chinese-Indonesians. This distinctive subculture created a unique, intricate style of batik rich with symbolism. Flowers indicated good arrangements, a rice bird was for abundance, the phoenix for good fortune and wings elevated the wearer to greater heights. The butterfly meant a happy love life and marriage. Because batik was one way to display wealth, rich merchants imported the best cotton from India, Egypt, China and Japan.
They developed a singular and expensive technique called Tiga Negri (Three Countries). The design was first planned and drawn onto the cloth, which was then sent to Lasem on the north coast which was the only place in Java where red dye was available. Here the red part of the design was dyed, then the cloth was sent to Kudus for the blue and lastly to Surakarta for the brown hues. This long journey of 16 separate drawing and dying steps took many weeks to complete, and the resulting batiks were distinctive, costly and highly prized.
The symbolism behind the motifs can be very complex, and unique to a family or clan. Some batiks contain an unseen motif -– a form of magic to protect family members. These mystical, unrevealed designs would be commissioned by mothers for their daughters’ dowries. The zigzag or saw tooth motif often seen on the tumpal (panel) or along the edges was for protection from negative energy. Some batiks weren’t made for commercial purposes, but as precious pieces to be handed down through the female line of the family. The designs were rich with symbols for fertility, abundance, fidelity and happiness. Baby carriers featured motifs for protection and long life.
A person’s social position was immediately recognizable by the batik he wore. Soldiers, intellectuals and government workers all had their own batiks. Some motifs could only be worn by royalty. The parang (sword) motif of the King of Surakarta was an imperfect blade, symbolizing that although he had great power, he would use it wisely and not harm his people. Some of the batiks designs for the royal family appeared in the artists’ dreams several times before they were made, and contained hidden motifs.
The colours of the batik are also symbolic. Blue and white are generally worn for mourning; red and pink for weddings. Older people favour deep indigo and purple. “Red is for power -– yang -- and blue is the yin of comfort and spirit,” Ricka explains. “Together they form purple, which symbolizes balance and wisdom.”
When natural plant dyes were used for batik, red was only produced in a single area of the north coast of Java. The dye was hard to make and it took months to fix the colour. “You don’t see much red in the old pieces after until around the 1930s due to the increased of used of synthetic dyes,” Ricka points out. “A red sarong was sometimes made as a dowry piece for single girls. But you don’t see much of that now.”
I learned that the sarong was classically 200 to 210 centimetres long, a length preferred by Eurasians, Peranakans and some Sumatran traders from the coast because it could be stitched into a tube and then wrapped in a way that gave women freedom of movement. The kain panjang (long cloth), at 220 to 235 centimetres, was more commonly worn by higher caste Sumatrans on ceremonial occasions, and by Javanese and Balinese women. It was traditionally wrapped tightly so the women could only move with small steps. The kain panjang is not often made now and the kembhen, a long, narrow head dress or breast cloth, is rarely produced.
Until a few years ago, the Balinese usually wore the brown/black/blue batik combination traditional to Central Java, to show their lineage from the Majapahit. Ricka showed me a magnificent example, intricately drawn with strong wings and delicate flowers on exquisitely fine cotton. I’ve been wearing batik for four decades now, but this length of decades-old cloth spoke to me as no other had ever done. I will wear it with pleasure and respect, and with awe for the skill of the artist and the dyers who created it.
“I think these are the kind of batiks UNESCO wants to preserve, not the mass-produced, low- to-medium quality batik that now dominates the market,” Ricka declares. “But I understand that there needs to be room in the market for this kind of work too. The fine textiles can take a long time to finish and are too costly for most Indonesians to buy. The availability of lower-quality of batik makes it possible for everyone to wear it. But of course this is a double-edged sword. Because the cheaper batik is freely available, the awareness of traditional quality will be lost as growing numbers of people will no longer be able to recognise real batik. And as for the printed material, don’t even call it batik. We can refer to it as batik motifs printed on cotton.”
“It’s getting harder to find fine pieces now,” she mused. “For the past few years I’ve been wondering whether the finest batiks would continue to be made. When I realized that things were changing, I began to commission pieces from certain outstanding artists. These can take between four and six months to complete as the dyeing process depends on the weather and because the artists do not work on them full-time, but more according to their mood.”
Until recently, the quality, colour and motif of a batik and the occasion on which it was worn identified a person’s ethnicity and social position. This rich social tradition is quickly disappearing and is in danger of dying out. “Hopefully the UNESCO decree will encourage a return to the traditional fine batiks of Java and encourage young people into the industry,” says Ricka, as she slowly closed the books around us one by one.
Ricka is happy to share her wide knowledge of Indonesian batik. She works closely with individual collectors but always has time for novices like myself. Ricka and Buana commissioned the songket for the Bulgari Hotel and designed the uniforms for the staff. But her heart is in batik -- the complex textiles infused with the energy of human hands and the history of the Indonesian people.
Contact Ricka at (0361) 975624 or rickacahyani@yahoo.com
Or visit Studio 22k on Jalan Raya Ubud at Oka Kartini Bungalow
opposite the BCA Bank
Dragons in the Bath, a collection of Ibu Kat’s stories,
is now available in paperback from
* Kuta : Dijon
* Seminyak : Ganesha at Biku
* Ubud : Ganesha Books, KAFE,
Ubud Music, Threads of Life,
Eve Body Treatment Centres
