By Brian Kluepfel | Special to AsianWeek
“Isn’t that a sacred cloth? Are you supposed to cut that?” asked Fides Enriquez.
“Don’t worry,” said the Filipino shopkeeper. Snip.
It turns out that the t’nalak weavings are not supposed to be cut, and now Enriquez is doing all she can to make sure that this tie to an ancient cultural tradition is not severed by 21st century capitalism.
Enriquez went to the Philippines in 1998 as part of a research project for San Francisco’s Likha Pilipino Folk Ensemble. Although she was there for dance, what this Bay Area resident uncovered during her trip was a tradition of weaving in the T’boli culture of Lake Sebu — literally, the fabric of these people’s lives.
An initial visit to the South Cotabatu province of Mindinau fascinated Enriquez, whose interest was further piqued by an exhibition entitled Dreamweavers at the National Museum of the Philippines. Enriquez gained the trust of the T’boli weavers, and has brought their ancient craft of t’nalak to the United States.
The T’boli have shared the fate of many indigenous peoples. Pushed off much of their ancestral hunting and gathering acreage by government land grants to others, they have been driven into an unfamiliar cash economy with which they are ill-equipped to deal (illiteracy rates are high). Enter Fides.
After gaining their trust through an interpreter — she speaks Tagalog, but not T’boli — Fides was welcomed into the T’boli world. The women gave Fides fabrics to sell. Working among a network of U.S. friends, she quickly sold them and mailed the proceeds to the tribe.
“Two suitcases later, I realized I had enough for a show,” laughed Fides. “We need to educate people as to what t’nalak really is — it’s not just something pretty you can cut up and make into a purse.” Several t’nalak weavings and accompanying photographs demonstrating the process are on display at Pusod in Berkeley, through Jan. 11.
In fact, the tradition is based on interpreting the wishes of the goddess Fu Dalu, the Weaver of Cloth, who the T’boli believe inhabits the abaca tree. The tree is blessed, and then cut at the root by men of the tribe, who then use a special metal blade to separate out the fibers. At this point, the men’s job is finished.
Only women are allowed to make t’nalak, in a process which takes these fibers (then hand-rubbed with oil and combed to remove split ends) and weaves them into elaborate representations of the physical and metaphysical world. There are thousands of patterns, including real-world objects such as people and animals, as well as more intricate patterns that illustrate T’boli myths and legends. The patterns are all memorized, some kept by particular tribes, families, or in some cases, one master weaver.
The patterns are passed to the weavers in the form of dreams by Fu Dalu, and it is dangerous to cross her. Illnesses are visited upon women who do not follow the instruction of this demanding goddess.
After the fibers are combed and tied together on a loom, they are dyed in a three-step process similar to tie-dying. Different roots, leaves and shells are boiled down to make the three basic colors of the weaving. In all, from the harvesting of the tree to the final dye, it takes three months to make a t’nalak weaving.
In past times, the t’nalak value was recognized by those outside the community. A length of t’nalak could be used to pay tax in colonial times. Now, in a wider global economy, the sale of these fabrics can be used to foster cultural survival; to keep the dreams of Fu Dalu alive.
PUSOD and the T’nalak Weaving Exposition present Fu Dalu, The Spirit of the T’Nalak, through Jan. 11 at Pusod, 1808 Fifth Street, Berkeley. For information call 510-883-1808.
|
