Legacy in Cloth Batak textiles of Indonesia
S andra Niessen
Legac y in cloth
Batak textiles of Indonesia
kitlv press leiden
2009
© 2009 Sandra A. Niessen
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval
system, without permission from the copyright owner.
isbn 978 90 6718 351 2
First published in 2009
by kitlv Press
P.O. Box 9515
2300 ra Leiden
The Netherlands
www.kitlv.nl
kitlv (Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and
Caribbean Studies) is an institute of the Royal Netherlands
Academy of Arts and Sciences (knaw)
Design Marie-Cécile Noordzij-Pulles, Hurwenen
Printed by Thoben Offset Nijmegen
Bound by Van Waarden, Zaandam
Publishing assistance: Bergoord Publishing
This publication was realized with the support of:
– Netherlands organization for scientific research (nwo)
– the Barbas-van der Klaauw Fund,
managed by the Prince Bernhard Cultural Foundation
Printed in the Netherlands
Half title page Toba Batak pinunsaan Cat 7.2f; Detail.
Early 20th century, ikat and supplementary warp patterning,
natural blue and red dyes.
Frontispiece Toba Batak simpar Cat 5.4b; Detail.
Early 20th century, chevron ikat, natural red dye.
Table of contents
Acknowledgements 7
Part iii Catalogue
Introduction Cataloguing the Indonesian
Catalogue Introduction 169
Textile Arts: a Batak Contribution 13
Catalogue Table of Contents 173
Acronyms of Public Collections Consulted 23
Catalogue 1 The Blue Textiles 175
Catalogue 2 Warp Stripes without Ikat Embellishment 219
Part i Design
Catalogue 3 Stripes in Warp and Weft: The Batak Plaids 249
Design Introduction 25
Catalogue 4 Stipple Ikat 263
Design 1 Design Foundations 27
Catalogue 5 Chevron Ikat 291
Design 2 Early Design History 45
Catalogue 6 Lozenge-and-Cross Ikat 311
Design 3 Modern Design History 65
Catalogue 7 Weft Patterning 355
Design 4 Nomenclature 89
Catalogue 8 Foreign Textiles in the Batak Repertory 389
Catalogue 9 Selected Apparel and Accessory Items 397
Part ii Style Regions
Style Regions Introduction 105
Part iv Technique
Style Region 1 Samosir 107
Technique Introduction 413
Style Region 2 Simalungun 115
Technique Table of Contents 415
Style Region 3 Karo 123
Technique 1 Fibre and Yarn 417
Style Region 4 Si Tolu Huta 135
Technique 2 Fibre and Yarn Preparation 421
Style Region 5 Holbung/Uluan 143
Technique 3 Dyes and Dyeing 433
Style Region 6 Silindung 155
Technique 4 Warping and Warp Ikat 447
Technique 5 The Loom and Weaving 461
Technique 6 Decorative Warp 477
Technique 7 Decorative Weft 499
Technique 8 Finishing Techniques 519
Appendices
Appendix 1 Research Methods 535
Appendix 2 Technical Vocabulary 545
Maps 547
Bibliography 551
Index 559
fig. Acknowledgements 1 Loom used to weave
the tumtuman Cat 7.3.
Toba Uluan. 1986.
7
Acknowledgements
This book has been a long time in the making. Over the years,
many people and institutions have generously loaned their
assistance.
The Netherlands Foundation for the Advancement of Tropical
Research (zwo-wotro) funded the project (1985–87) with a
post-doctoral research grant. The late Professor P.E. de Josselin
de Jong, then still at the State University of Leiden, gave it his
unstinting support. On this grant, I was able to conduct the
museum research and the first stage of field research. It took
place in 1986 under the auspices of lipi, the Indonesian
Institute of Sciences, and with the sponsorship of Universitas
hkbp Nommensen in Medan, North Sumatra. Rector F. Amudi
Pasaribu, was more than generous in fulfilling his side of the
agreement.
From 1988 until 1990, I was the grateful recipient of an Isaak
Walton Killam Post-doctoral Research Fellowship in the
Department of Clothing and Textiles at the University of
Alberta. During the period of tenure of this second grant, I was
able to visit North American museums and also to sift through
and collate the data I had collected. A third research grant from
the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada
(sshrc) (1988–90) allowed me to make another short trip to
Indonesia in 1990 to fill in gaps in the data. A small Central
Research Fund Operating Grant from the University of Alberta
in 1988–89 supplied the resources to put together a publisher’s
proposal. Two grants from the Small Faculties Fund at the
University of Alberta paid for some of the studio photography,
computer drawings, map production and incidentals.
In The Netherlands, the staff of the Royal Institute of
Linguistics and Anthropology (kitlv) in Leiden was always
helpful; the library and archives of that same institution were
unsurpassed for my needs. I also profited from being able to
consult the library of the Royal Tropical Institute in Amsterdam
and the National Archives (Rijksarchief) in The Hague.
At the University of Alberta, ongoing research was feasible
because of the excellent interlibrary loan facility. I am grateful
to Linda Turner, Dick Woolner, and Susan Hunter for their
assistance with illustrations and maps.
During a six-month tenure at the National Museum of
Ethnology, Osaka, Japan, in 1992, I had undisturbed time to
work on the text of this book, as well as logistical support of
every kind.
I was delighted to be able to complete a draft of this volume in
2001 at the Banff Centre in Alberta, under the auspices of their
Self-directed Writing Program.
Rudolph Zwamborn of Lotus Studio, Edmonton, Canada, and
Irene de Groot in Amsterdam, The Netherlands, took the bulk of
the studio photographs. Ben Bekooy and Koichi Nishimura
provided others. Thomas Murray, Mary Jane Leland, Pamela
Cross, Lesley Pullen, Georges Breguet and Mary HuntKahlenberg, loaned me studio photographs of textiles in their
own collections. Herman Bloem of Thoben Offset, Nijmegen,
applied the innovative strategy of scanning textiles to yield
high-quality detail images for the book. Bob Gale, Beatriz
Premselaar, Bill Rice, Ria Lumbantobing, Erna Lohuis, Ingrid
Mathew, Robert Visser and Martha and Bunga Sirait helped by
sharing photographs and textiles in their collections. Archival
photographs were obtained from many of the museums listed
below. The diagrams were done by Marie-Cécile NoordzijPulles. Leia Gillespie, Linda Turner, Heide Leigh-Theisen, Maria
Christou loaned assistance.
My debt to Rita Bolland is enormous for her guidance while I
collected, and later analyzed the technical weaving information
in North Sumatra, and to Sandra Fearon for her expert review of
Part iv. Rita died suddenly in 2006; my regret is deep that I was
never able to show her the finished book. Sander Adelaar, Tim
Babcock, Susan Berry, Nancy Kerr, Edward Edwards-McKinnon,
Lynne Milgram and Loan Oei assisted with other parts of the
text. I received editing assistance from Deborah Tout-Smith,
George Pitcher, Pamela A. Cross, Meg Taylor, Grace Fairley and
Ruth Chernia. Peer reviewers offered valuable suggestions for
improving the text.
Museum research has been a major component of this
publication and the assistance that I have received from
museum personnel has been indispensable to my project. I
would like to extend my thanks to: Tropenmuseum,
8
acknowledgements
Amsterdam, especially Rita Bolland, Koos van Brakel, and Irene
de Groot; Museum der Kulturen, Basel, Switzerland; Staatliche
Museen Prüssischer Kulturbesit, Museum für Völkerkunde,
Berlin, Germany; Brooklyn Museum, Brooklyn, usa; Museum
Nusantara, Delft, The Netherlands; especially Rita WassingVisser; Museon, The Hague, The Netherlands; Museo di Storia
Naturale, sezione di Antropologia, Florence, Italy; Museum der
Weltkulturen, Frankfurt, Germany; Volkenkundig Museum
‘Gerardus van der Leeuw,’ Groningen, The Netherlands,
Hamburgisches Museum für Völkerkunde, Hamburg,
Germany; Musium Nasional, Jakarta, Indonesia; Rautenstrauch-Joest Museum für Völkerkunde, Cologne, Germany,
especially Brigitte Kahn Majlis; Deutsches Textile Museum,
Krefeld, Germany; Gemeentelijk Museum het Princessehof,
Leeuwarden, The Netherlands; Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden, The Netherlands, especially Jan Avé and Pieter
ter Keurs; Museum of Mankind, London, England; Staatliches
Museum für Völkerkunde, Munich, Germany; Museum voor
Land- en Volkenkunde, now Wereldmuseum, Rotterdam, The
Netherlands; Museum of Anthropology, University of British
Columbia, Vancouver, Canada; Museum für Völkerkunde,
Vienna, Austria, especially Heide Leigh-Theisen; American
Museum of Natural History in New York; Textile Museum,
Washington; Vereinte Evangelische Mission in WuppertalBarmen, Germany; and Bronbeek Museum, Arnhem, The
Netherlands. It is my hope that the information contained in
this book will in some measure repay the confidence, many
favours, support and kindness I received at these museums.
It is also my hope that this book will be able to return to the
Batak homelands — albeit in published form — some of the
textiles collected during the twentieth century. During my
sojourn in Indonesia, every day was filled with meetings and
discussions with weavers, textile sellers, yarn suppliers, dyers
and people knowledgeable in the area of ritual. The following
list acknowledges with gratitude just some of the people who
graciously extended to me their time, patience, hospitality and
knowledge.
In the Silindung Valley: boru Marpaung Ny Siahaan; Ina and
Ama ni Ganda Hutagalung; Ina and Ama ni Risma Hutagalung;
Nai Maria boru Hutabarat, Ny. Panggabean; Ompu ni Ester
Hutagalung; Linda boru Hutagalung, Ny. Situmeang; Rose boru
Hutagalung; Jon Hutagalung of Linda’s Ulos Fashion; Nai Ratna
Siagian; boru Hutabarat, Ny. Tobing of Sait ni Huta; boru
Tobing, Ny Hutabarat; boru Pardede, Ny. Tobing; Nai
Rumintang, boru Hutagalung, Ny. Manurung; boru
Situmorang, Ny. Hutagalung; boru Manik, Ny. Naibaho; boru
Tupang, Ny. Hutagalung; boru Panggabean, Ny. Hutagalung;
boru Hutagalung, Ny. Simorangkir; Nai Bulang, boru
Hutabarat, Ny. Tobing; boru Simanungkalit, Ny. Hutabarat;
boru Tobing, Ny. Nainggolan; boru Hutabarat, Ny.
Lumbantobing, boru Pasaribu of Sait ni Huta; Nai Arta, boru
Simatupang, Ny. M. Sihombing; Henry Hutabarat; Ny.
Simanungkalit of Pea Raja; boru Nambela, Ny. Tobing; Ompu
Tohap Lumbantobing of Parbubu; Ompu ni Pesta, boru Tobing
of Sitompul; Nai Gindo, boru Hutabarat of Lumban Pinasa;
Ompu Harold, boru Silitonga, Ny. Hutagalung; boru Nambela,
Ny. Hutagalung; boru Tobing, Ny. Simunjuntak; Toba
Tampubolon; Ompu Simangihut, boru Marpaung, Ny.
Tampubolon; Elly Siagian of Tarutung; Zilla Monna Siagian; and
Nery Siagian. A special thanks is due to all of my fellow villagers
in Hutagalung where I resided for several weeks.
In Toba: Ompu Mangihut, Ny. Tampubolon; Ompu Pahala,
boru Tobing, Ny. Simbolon; Raja Gomal Sinambela; A.
Butarbutar of Porsea; W. Tambun of Porsea; Nai Basa, boru
Siagian, Ny. Simatupang; boru Sitorus, Ny. Sirait (Ompu Si
Masta) textile seller from Laguboti; boru Manurung, Ny.
Napitupulu; S. O. Sibarani of Laguboti; Ompu Risma, boru
Sianipar, Ny. Pardede; boru Panjaitan of Lumban Sitorang;
‘Ompung Tampubolon’ of Tampubolon; Ompu Simangihut,
boru Marpaung of Tampubolon; W. Tambun of Lumban Julu;
the twiners of Pintu Bosi in Kec. Laguboti; boru Panjaitan of
Huta Lumban Saba, Lumban Julu; the family of Ama ni Paung
Pardede, Balige; Mutiara boru Napitupulu, Ny. Oscar
Hutabarat, and her son Sebastian, of Balige; Ompu Senti boru
Sirait, Ny Manurung of Jangga Dolok, boru Tambunan who
brings textiles from Pematang Siantar to sell in Balige, Porsea
and Tebing Tinggi. Figure Acknowledgements.2 depicts
weavers in Muara with whom I spent some time.
In Pakpak, Raja Salomo Ujung and Fatimah, boru Lembong,
resident in Sidikalang were generous hosts.
In Si Tolu Huta, I relied on J.D. Munthe and boru Munthe, in
Tongging and in Silalahi: Ina and Ama ni Hormat Silalahi; boru
Munthe, Ny. Silalahi; Ompu Si Olo, boru Munthe, Ny. Silalahi;
and Nai Iwan, boru Silalahi, Ny. Simarmata.
In Samosir: boru Situmorang, Ny. Nai Baho from Lumban
Suhisuhi; boru Nainggolan from Pangururan; boru Tanggang,
boru Sinaga, and boru Situmorang all from Nainggolan; boru
Hite from Mogang; Pak Simbolon from Simbolon; boru Purba,
Ny. Sitohang; Ompu Horas, boru Hutabarat from Tomok;
Ompu Togi, boru Mandalahi, Ny. Sitanggang and Raja
Sitanggang from Polma Enterprises, Panompangan; boru
Silalahi, Ny. Sidauruk and Amang Adir from Simanindo; Nai
acknowledgements
Mangantar, boru Manik from Janji Maria; boru Saragih from
Mogang; R.G. Sinambela from Lumban Raja, Bangkara; and
boru Giro, Ompu ni Kristen from Panompangan.
In Karo, from Kaban Jahe: three indigo dyers, Nande Indra,
Nande Pulung and Nande Peringitten; Haji Sibayak, Raja
Sungkunan Ginting Suka; Si Ukur boru Simbiring, Kembrahan
Suka, Lena boru Tanggang. In Desa Kuala: boru Sebayang, Ny.
Ginting.
In Simalungun: Nai Hotlin, Roslina Purba, her husband and
six children from Talasari, K.N. boru Sinaga, Ny Purba from
Sipanggu, Tiga Runggu; Ned and Johanna Purba from Sondi
Raya; boru Saragih-Geringging from Sondi Raya; Esteria, boru
Purba and Lertiana boru Purba from Negori Tongah; Mamak Si
Sirita, boru Lalahi from Simpang Naga Panei; Dr. and Ny.
Sarmedi Purba, and boru Manik from Pematang Siantar.
In Medan: Vera Aminuddin, boru Tobing; Nai Bob, Ny.
Hutabarat, boru Situmorang; Ny. Sidabutar, boru Situmorang;
Ny. Sinaga, boru Hombing; Ny. A. Situmorang, boru Sihotang;
Masna, boru Tambunan, Ny. Siregar; and the weavers from
Sampali, Jl. Pancing, especially Dina boru Lumbangaol, Ny
Sinabariba.
In Jakarta: boru Siahaan, Ny. Sigalingging; Dr. Poltak
Hutagalung; Martha Sirait of Martha Ulos.
In Minangkabau: Ny. Ida Fauzi from Payakumbuh, and Pak
Aliuner Singkuang from Kubang.
With pleasure I acknowledge the following friends and
colleagues who have helped in the production of this book in
other ways: Professor T.O. Ihromi, Didi Karni, Jaap Erkelens,
Margaretha Dirkzwager, Daniel van der Meulen, Mrs.
Waldemar Stöhr, the late Grietje Wolff, Sitor Situmorang, the
late Petrus Voorhoeve and Pater H. Promés — both of whom were
always generous with their Batak archives, Ron and Han Swart,
Dolorosa Sinaga, Toeti, Fritz and Ari Kakiailatu, Zr. Nuria
Gultom, Zr. Sitiawan Hutahaean and Zr. Bonaria Hutabarat from
Balige, the late Roswitha Pamoentjak, Dr. Reinhart
Tampubolon, Luckman Sinar, Judith Hofenk-de Graaf, Melissa
Rinne, Keiko Kawashima, Ken Kuwahara, Jan van Bremen, the
late Paulina Hutabarat, Vera Tiodara, boru Situmorang, and
Robert Voskuil.
The publishing process was a joy due to the professionalism
and skill of the book’s designer, Marie-Cécile Noordzij-Pulles,
and the co-operation and support of Thoben Offset Printers
and the Director of kitlv Press, Harry Poeze. Guus de Vries and
Pamela Cross gave their considered and welcome advice at
points when the process threatened to overwhelm me.
Publishing grants from The Netherlands Organization for
Scientific Research (nwo) and the Prins Bernhard
Cultuurfonds made it all possible.
The last years of intensive work were only possible because
of the boundless support and patience of Jan Hofstede who
was determined that I bring this lengthy undertaking to a
conclusion. I hope that he will now enjoy his well-earned
respite from what I took to calling ‘The Endless Tome’.
Sandra Niessen
Oosterbeek 2009
9
10
acknowledgements
acknowledgements
fig. Acknowledgements 2 Weavers in Muara.
1986.
11
fig. Introduction 1 Motif in the end field of the
Toba simpar Cat 5.4.
13
Introduction
Cataloguing the Indonesian Textile Arts:
A Batak Contribution
Taking stock
Indonesian textiles constitute a spectacular diversity of design, technique and material. They
are distributed over an archipelago comprising approximately 15,000 islands and hundreds
of social, cultural and linguistic groups. The challenge in writing about Indonesian textiles is
the familiar one of approaching the ethnographic Other, of translating and interpreting
accurately and responsibly across cultural boundaries. To write about Indonesian textiles is
inevitably, whether implicitly or explicitly, to impose some kind of order on the body of
material. Texts about Indonesian textiles can be read both for what they reveal about the
unknown and what they reveal about the interests of the person/culture conducting the
inquiry Clifford 1988. The descriptions need to fall within the intellectual frameworks of the
inquiring culture(s) if they are to be of any use at all. However, to convey as much as possible
about the artefacts, they also need to respect and somehow convey the intellectual frameworks of the culture(s) hosting the inquiry. The museum professional who catalogues the
objects meets the same challenge.
Joseph Fischer pointed out in 1979 that knowledge
about Indonesian artisanship was ‘still at an inchoate
stage’ 1979b:339. He was writing at the onset of an
important new phase in Indonesian textile studies.
His catalogue entitled Threads of Tradition 1979a
appeared in the same year as Gittinger’s Splendid
Symbols: Textiles and Tradition in Indonesia 1979a.1
Gittinger organized a symposium for researchers of
Indonesian textiles to coincide with the publication
and exhibition. The events brought Indonesian
textiles into the public eye, and researchers and
aficionados/collectors into contact with each other.
The symposium proceedings Gittinger 1979b included
the first review of North American museum
holdings of Indonesian textile collections. The
occasion was one of taking stock of what had been
accomplished, and constructing a vision of what still
needed to be done. Fischer pleaded for
1 Fischer’s catalogue accompanied an
exhibition in the Lowie Museum of
Anthropology and the University Art
Museum in Berkeley, California;
Gittinger’s catalogue accompanied an
exhibition at The Textile Museum in
Washington, DC.
contemporary research that would focus on field studies of
artisans in relation to their cultures and on systematic
surveys of museum and private collections throughout the
world. Some of this has already begun, but it is often the
nature of such efforts that they are too piecemeal, too
infrequently a result of scholarly collaboration, and too
seldom a reflection of needed and careful research
practices Fisher 1979b:339.
I agree with Fischer’s assessment. However, it is
important to recognize the progress that had already
been made by the time Fischer put pen to paper. The
English-language literature was building on a
century of inquiry by European scholars.
The Dutch avidly documented the wealth of their
Asian colony. At first indigenous textile production
interested them because they wished to corner the
same markets. When it became clear that
14
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
indigenous production could no longer compete with external
industrial production, more scholarly interest was sparked for
the now vulnerable Indonesian textile arts. Some were studied
by colonial officials, missionaries and others stationed in farflung corners of the Netherlands East Indies. Other work was
done by researchers in Europe who had access to Indonesian
textile collections. At the beginning of the twentieth century,
these collections were still growing rapidly Niessen 1991b. Such a
wealth of early writings exists that it is impossible to review all
of it in an introductory chapter.
Notable, however, is the early focus on the physical aspects of
the textiles and how they were made. J.A. Loebèr Jr. was one of
the first to take stock of that literature, and of the textiles in the
archipelago. He worked with the collections of the Colonial
Museum (Koloniaal Museum) in Haarlem (now housed in the
Tropenmuseum, Amsterdam) and also consulted a vast number
of documents about the textiles of the Netherlands East Indies.
He surveyed the processes of Indonesian textile production
beginning with the fibre used, and ending with the finishing
touches put to the cloth Loebèr 1901, 1902, 1903, 1914. The looms and
techniques were so different from those familiar to Europeans
that certain basic terms and their meanings had to be agreed
upon. De Lorm 1938:87, for example, noted that the Malay word
ikat was first applied in Dutch in 1901. Similarly, the Malay
terms batik and plangi were borrowed. Excellent, detailed and
groundbreaking, Loebèr’s surveys belong in the same class as
J.E. Jasper’s publication on the Indonesian weaving arts
illustrated by Mas Pirngadie 1912. Jasper, a civil administrator
who occupied various posts in the colonial regime, collected
and collated detailed information from the entire archipelago.
His systematic enquiry has become a foundational classic in the
Indonesian textile literature.
These foundations have engendered specific, deeper
enquiries. B.M. Goslings, for example, could look at ‘the
implications of the insertion of the comb in the Indonesian
loom’ 1922. Rita Bolland was able to explore cultural-historical
reasons why two different kinds of looms were used on Bali and
Lombok 1971b. Nettleship 1970 had sufficient data to trace
antecedents of the Indonesian loom to China. Based on
linguistic analysis, Robert Blust could argue ‘that the original
Austronesian speakers (c.4000 bce) were sedentary villagers
who possessed … probably the loom’ 1976: 43.
Since 1979, Indonesian textile scholars have met several more
times, each meeting resulting in published proceedings Gittinger
1979b; Völger and von Welck 1991; Nabholz-Kartaschoff et al. 1993. In these
compendia, the boundary between survey and single-culture
description blurs. While consisting for the most part of specific
studies, the published proceedings in themselves constitute
surveys of a particular kind. They take stock not just of the
textiles, but also of the scholarship used to acquire knowledge
about them.
Roy Hamilton observed that the Indonesian textile literature
has tended to be either detailed ethnographic, single-culture
description or broader in scope and more general in nature
1994:12. It is clear that the two approaches are complementary,
each gaining from, and contributing to, the other. Hamilton,
however, wished to emphasize the merits of regional enquiry.
Regional studies, he claimed, would allow for ‘more detailed
investigation, while at the same time, especially in ethnically
diverse areas such as Flores, promoting productive
comparisons among the textiles of neighboring ethnic groups’
1994:12. The popularity of studies of this scope has increased e.g.
Hauser-Schäublin et al., 1991; Yeager and Jacobson, 1996; 2002. They are
also indicative of the growing number of researchers of
Indonesian textiles, and the availability of in-depth studies that
make comparisons within a more limited geographic region
worthwhile.
Hamilton’s stated preference for surveys of greater scholarly
depth may have been, in part, a reaction to the methods of
approach used in some of the extensive surveys. (The
preference of publishers for more general works to appeal to a
general audience is a factor not to be discounted.) Ruth Barnes
has also been critical of ‘studies in Indonesian textiles [that]
have focused too exclusively on the spectacular cloths’ 1989:1.
Nevertheless, the success of some enquiries of very broad scope
supports a counter-argument that breadth of geographic scope
and depth of scholarship are not necessarily inversely related.
In a work that has become an important classic, Alfred Bühler
traced the origin and distribution of the ikat technique 1942,
1972. His subsequent research on the design and technique of
double ikat patola from Gujarat, India, and their influence
throughout Southeast Asia 1959, 1979 is a highlight of both
description and comparison. Robin Maxwell’s Textiles of
Southeast Asia 1990 is another accomplishment of tremendous
reach. The book constitutes a review of how the tides of culture
influence that swept through the archipelago over the course of
thousands of years left their mark in cloth design and
production techniques. Both surveys are supported by extensive
specific scholarship. Both works advance Indonesian textile
scholarship considerably. Their significance is due, in part, to
the appropriateness of the scope of the research to the topics
treated.
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
Hamilton’s preference for smaller regional comparisons invites
further reflection. What he calls a regional approach is not new.
In Sprekende Weefsels (Telling Textiles) 1952, Johannes Jager
Gerlings explored some of the advantages of regional
comparison in Indonesian textile scholarship. His study was
unique in that he did not focus on a ‘coherent weaving region,’
but rather pulled together information and collections from the
Dayak, Toraja, Sangihe and Talaud.
…in the area treated here, such a variety is found as to include almost
all weaving and decorative techniques that are applied in Indonesia …
I hope then also, that despite, and maybe because of, its regional
restrictions my study shall be of use for the analysis of weaving and
textiles of other Indonesian ethnic groups 1952:7.
1980. In a wider comparative reach, the conceptual ‘femaleness’
of cloth that has been noted in various places around the world
can be compared and contrasted with the Indonesian variant
Niessen 1984.
While Indonesian textile scholars have not explicitly adopted
the strategies and goals of Leiden anthropologists, we grapple
with parallel challenges in comparing textile traditions.
Defining regional levels and fruitful themes of comparative
textile analysis are two such challenges. In many ways, however,
our challenges are distinct. As cultural artefacts, textiles have
unique characteristics. Their physical features (design, material
and production techniques) are cases in point. As I have noted
above, these features, the primary focus of the present volume,
have been a most rewarding as well as universally accessible
entry to explore this cultural phenomenon. Nevertheless,
Clearly, how ‘region’ is defined is critical to evaluating
material qualities are too often ignored in the logocentric
Hamilton’s recommendation for regional studies.
domain of Western knowledge production Niessen 1994,
With no ultimate criteria or discriminating terminology to
although their study has much to contribute to the broader
distinguish a region from a sub-region, a sub-sub-region, or a
enquiry into cultural phenomena.
super-regional composite, it is possible to make the claim that
A standard approach to describing and comparing textile
pan-Indonesian surveys are also regional studies. This claim
was made by Dutch scholars in the 1930s. Ethnographers within traditions of the entire archipelago has never been developed.
The material is varied, and regions and traditions appear to
what has become known to the English-speaking world as the
inspire tailor-made approaches. I have already pointed to the
Leiden School2 of anthropology Fox 1980:1 proposed that the
success of a broad regional study of ikat, and an analysis of
Netherlands East Indies be considered a Field of Ethnological
Indonesian textile design and technique as exhibiting foreign
(later Anthropological) Study (fes/fas). They considered the
culture influences. Other studies, which have a narrower region
archipelago to be one of the ‘areas of the earth’s surface with a
of focus, demonstrate the value of alternative approaches.
population whose culture appears to be sufficiently
Brigitte Hauser-Schäublin et al. 1991 found it useful to organize
homogeneous and unique to form a separate object of
ethnological study, and which at the same time apparently
the study of Balinese cloth by design type. Rens Heringa and
reveals sufficient local shades of differences to make internal
Harmen Veldhuisen developed ‘batik formats’ as an organizing
comparative research worth while’ J.P.B.Josselin de Jong 1983:167–8. principle to facilitate ‘the ’reading‘ of batiks, which at first
glance may seem to comprise a welter of motifs and colors’
The Dutch ethnographers first highlighted themes of
indigenous social organization which, as they discovered, were 1997:84. Traude Gavin 1996; 2003 found pattern to be the most
found in variation throughout the archipelago. Later
useful point of entry for understanding the diversity of Iban
ethnographers expanded the number of themes that could be
fabrics in Borneo. Textile themes, depending on their nature,
fruitfully compared P.E. de Josselin de Jong 1984.
may be conducive to intercultural comparison of broader or
I proposed that Indonesian textiles be considered a candidate narrower scope. Clearly, however, it is time to take stock not just
of the findings that our approaches have yielded, but of the
theme for comparative study Niessen 1984, 1985a. At the time, I
approaches themselves and their potential for application to
was interested in the correspondence between beliefs about
textiles and social organization as described by Leiden scholars. projects of vaster comparative scope.
It is evident, for example, that by and large textiles throughout
the archipelago are classified indigenously as ‘female’, a
classification rooted in the Indonesian type of social structure
based on asymmetric marriage exchange and double unilineal
descent. This insight has engendered scholarly enquiry into the
way the ritual giving of cloth demarcates social structure e.g. Fox
2 P.E. de Josselin de Jong has argued
against the characterization of Leiden
anthopology as a ‘school’ 1983 [1977]:9,
15, pointing out that the ethnographic
facts have always been more informative
of the anthropological findings than a
common training program or a grand
theory. The latter did not exist.
15
16 Introduction
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
About the present project
The Batak are an agricultural people inhabiting the northern
part of Sumatra, the westernmost island of the vast Indonesian
archipelago. Their territory is located between Aceh to the north
and northwest, Minangkabau to the south, and Malay
settlements along the east and west coasts. The Bukit Barisan
mountain range runs the length of the territory and the relative
isolation of the Batak people from Europeans – until the end of
the nineteenth century – has been attributed to the ruggedness
of the terrain. On the east side of the island, the mountains
descend to a vast alluvial plain; on the west side, the plain is
considerably narrower. The highlands are broken by grassy
plains, volcanic peaks and mountain valleys, but most notably
by a large and deep lake, an ancient volcanic crater. Samosir
Island in the middle of Lake Toba is the uplifted floor of the
caldera. The variety of terrain and climate has fostered
regionally specific cultural adaptations. The Batak comprise six
tribes: Karo, Dairi/Pakpak, Simalungun, Toba, Angkola and
Mandailing Map 1, with much regional variation in each. While
distinguished by language and tradition, the groups are also
united by profound and fundamental social and historical
commonalities, forming as it were, a nested field of
anthropological study with patterns of unity and diversity
comparable to what is found throughout the entire archipelago.
This volume takes into account only the textiles that originate
from the regions around Lake Toba, including Karo,
Simalungun and Toba Batak, and a small segment of Dairi (Si
Tolu Huta) Map 1. I refer to the corpus of textiles from this region
as the ‘Lake Toba tradition’. It comprises a significant repertory
of more than 100 textile design types (Toba ulos; Karo uwis;
Simalungun hiou) according to the classification system
developed for this volume.
For as long as there have been historical records, it appears
that the Toba Batak have had pre-eminence over the other
groups in the weaving arts Joustra 1910, and also that the Toba arts
predominate in the Lake Toba territory. If linguistic and cultural
analyses are accurate, both the Simalungun and the Si Tolu Huta
Batak have branched off from the Toba and the foundations of
their craft are Toba. Furthermore, the earliest phase of weaving
development in the region appears to be common to both the
Toba and the Karo. In other words, an ancient cultural unity
binds the region.
The repertory of textiles made in the region has both
considerable coherence and considerable diversity. Some of the
elements of that coherence are found in the textile traditions of
neighbouring regions with which there have been centuries of
trade contact. Reviewing Sumatran textiles, one perceives
graduations in design themes whereby the only obvious
conclusion is that any assignation of style region boundaries
must be a heuristic and thematic choice. The diversity within
the Lake Toba region itself is considerable. On what grounds,
then, have I drawn the boundaries around the Lake Toba region
as the site of textile analysis for this study? This geo-cultural
entity has no precedent in the succession of political divisions
that have been recognized since the colonial era, and it is also
absent from the ethnographic literature. I have not made the
selection of a Lake Toba textile region a priori, however, but on
the evidence of textile design, technique and history.
Granted, the focus on Batak textiles constitutes an a priori
choice. This choice made the decision to exclude the regions of
Aceh and Minangkabau an obvious one. Despite some shared
features, the textiles from these regions are qualitatively
different in material, design and technique. The more
challenging decisions have related to the Batak boundary
regions. The textiles in Gayo and Alas – sometimes considered
Batak, sometimes Acehnese – show strong similarities with
Batak textiles and the regions share many textiles through
trade. Furthermore, the Karo, with respect to some language
and culture features, have more in common with their northern
neighbours than with the other Batak groups. It would make
sense to explore the textiles from this northern region as a
distinct tradition. Circumstances are comparable at the
southern end of the Batak territory. Mandailing and Angkola
Batak textiles exhibit many features of transition and crossfertilization between Batak and Minangkabau. Here, too,
linguists have grouped the Toba together with these southern
groups, as distinct from the northern Batak languages Voorhoeve
1955:9. Indonesian textile traditions are not mutually exclusive,
but overlapping. The validity of including these boundary
regions in the present study is logical, and in future
comparative research is likely to be rewarding, but practical and
circumstantial factors have also informed the selection of the
present research focus. The Lake Toba region has been well
studied, and the textile data from this area are relatively
extensive and accessible. For the purposes of the present study,
the inclusion of the peripheral regions, while valid, would have
been unwieldy.
I settled on the boundaries of the Lake Toba textile tradition
when it became clear, from historical analysis, that the
enormous flat surface of the lake situated in rough
mountainous terrain had facilitated connections among the
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
peoples around its shores for millennia in such a way as to serve
as a crucible for the sharing of design and technique. The
repertory provides evidence of an ancient core of design and
technical features. On these grounds, the design themes typical
of this region have been given research precedence and the
outlying northern and southern Batak areas have peripheral
status in the present analysis.
In vast Batak areas, such as Pakpak/Dairi and Habinsaran,
populations use the fruits of Batak looms, but do not weave.
This posed another challenge to establishing the research
boundaries. Furthermore, changes in the distribution of
weaving have taken place. Weaving appears to have been more
widespread in the past than it was during the period of
fieldwork for this volume. The final selection of design corpus
and research site reflects the central goal of this volume to
examine design and technique relative to each other. This, too,
was not an a priori decision, but based on a significant feature
of Batak textile culture. Only those areas where the techniques
are still practised, or for which there are good records of
weaving, are included in the present analysis. The regions
where weaving has ceased, or has never been practised, fall
outside its scope.
Establishing the internal boundaries of style divisions
presents challenges comparable to those faced when
establishing the external boundaries of the Lake Toba textile
regions. The distribution of textile design types has changed
through time; new types have emerged and others have been
phased out. In addition to what I refer to as the centrifugal pull
of the lake that has given coherence to the region’s textiles, the
centripetal pull from regions further afield has encouraged
differentiation within the territory. In addition, the sheer
distance from one end of the lake to the other has encouraged
local developments and specializations in textile design and
technique. If the external boundaries of the Lake Toba textile
tradition reflect the centrifugal forces, the six style divisions
that I have identified within the territory on the basis of
repertories of design and technique see Part ii reflect the
centripetal forces.
While this study concerns Batak textiles exclusively, and
represents a whole of some coherence, as a regional study it
incorporates variety as found in numerous Batak sub-regions
and sub-sub-regions. The challenges experienced in developing
a way to present the diversity of Batak cloth in this published
form have meant that this volume is simultaneously an
exploration of textile classification and an experiment in laying
out a strategy for future comparison of classification systems.
Introduction 17
Some of the challenges will be met again when comparing the
textiles from neighbouring ethnic groups or even farther afield.
The present analysis presents possible themes for future
comparative study.
A complete inventory
This catalogue raisonné has been assembled on the conviction
that Indonesian textile scholarship is still limited by the scarcity
of detailed information on the full range of indigenous textiles
within the various traditions of the archipelago. Were detailed
inventories of each tradition available, this would enable deeper
enquiry into the distribution, diffusion and invention of
design, technique, nomenclature and social function of the
cloths, and of weaver responses to social change and culture
contact. This is one reason, therefore, why the present catalogue
has been constructed to include all Batak textiles, from the
fanciest and most elite to the everyday, and even those locally
considered by the Batak to be too insignificant to ritual process
to deserve a name. It incorporates a wide temporal range from
the earliest known (collected and written about) to those cut
from the loom and sold on the market while the research for
this volume was being conducted.
Semiotically, this makes good sense. The value of each textile
in the Batak repertory is relative to the value of all of the other
members of the set. Knowledge of the full repertory is requisite
to understanding the significance of each of its components.
Pending the completed documentation of numerous full
repertories of textiles, future Indonesian textile scholarship will
surely involve comparison of the organizing principles of
repertories.
The goal of documenting the full repertory of Batak textiles is
not unprecedented. While most museum collections are
haphazard assemblages from the legacies of many casual
collectors, a handful of serious early collectors tried to gather
one of every design type available in their time (e.g. H. N. van der
Tuuk, J. E. Jasper and Tassilo Adam whose collections are housed
in the Tropenmuseum in Amsterdam; and Dr. Johannes
Winkler, the post-war remains of whose collection are still
found in the Museum für Völkerkunde in Hamburg). This
theme emerges more prominently in North Sumatra where
there have been numerous small inventories published locally
in the Batak region, many by museums and exhibitors of the
textiles e.g. Aneka Ragam Ulos Adat… 1981, Aneka Ragam Ulos Adat… 1985,
Laporan Penyelenggaraan Pameran, n.d., Marbun u.p., Siahaan 1983/84. The
present volume has a broader scope than these works, and a
18 Introduction
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
longer temporal framework including the modern period, but
my scholarly debt to these earlier endeavours is considerable,
and I have consulted them extensively.
In 1979, during my first period of fieldwork in North Sumatra,
I was concerned about the loss of old Batak textile types. My
concerns had been informed by writings dating from early in
the twentieth century mourning the decline of the dignified,
ancient Indonesian textile heritage e.g. Visser 1918/1919. To be
sure, I did learn in North Sumatra that several textile types were
no longer being made and that many had even faded from
memory. But I also learned that a formidable store of
sophisticated skill and knowledge about Batak textiles was still
vibrantly alive, and that there was also textile invention. I
discerned that the greatest inhibitors to the vitality of Batak
textiles were an economic climate that often discouraged
weavers from making the best textiles of which they were
capable, and the profound loss of old textile types (often sold to
meet a need for cash) which could serve as sources of design
inspiration and technical guidance Niessen 1992a, 1993b.
A persistent Western bias against modern Batak textiles is a
factor in this neglect. The bias is a function of a false historicism
that honours a past era of presumed authentic production
above production that betrays any sign of modern Western
influence. In addition to playing out in museums and galleries,
this bias has served the pocketbooks of North Sumatran
weavers exceedingly poorly because their work is considered
second-rate and cannot command the prices of the ‘authentic’
old pieces. Nevertheless, the Batak textile tradition is alive and
still shaping itself today precisely because it is able to
accommodate external social and economic influences. This has
always been the key to the survival of the art form Niessen 2003.
Modern textiles are therefore integral to the compendium
documented in this study.
During the course of the research for the present publication, I
began to perceive a salvage function for the catalogue that could
meet the needs of Batak weavers. Many weavers were excited by
the photographs of old museum cloths that I had brought with
me from Europe. They asked for copies so that they could have a
record of the designs depicted. During photoelicitation
interviews Appendix 1, I learned which photographs were the
most helpful to weavers. They needed to see the layout of the
whole cloth, as well as fine details such as the colour sequencing
of the warp and weft yarns. This awareness subsequently
informed the way I assembled illustrations for the present
catalogue. It had become a priority for this book to be useful in
returning, in photographic form, some of the Batak textile
heritage to North Sumatra. As Fischer noted, ‘True preservation
surely has something to do with maintaining and promoting
the art in its context’ 1979:347. It is not just about museum
storage of textiles and written documentation. The prohibitive
cost of this publication is a challenge to be faced to ensure its
distribution in North Sumatra.
From the outset, this project has been conceived as an aid to
museums and to scholars of museum collections. A complete
documented repertory would enable museums, researchers and
the interested public to evaluate their own Batak textile
holdings in terms of completeness of the collection, textile
variety and quality, and accuracy of their documentation. It
would also assist collectors to develop collection priorities. This
volume is a compendium of documented textile types that also
explains the logic of their indigenous classification. Collection
scholars, all of whom are faced with the challenge of fitting
indigenous objects into an exogenous, standard system of
classification, may use this volume to develop an understanding of individual cloth types, as well as the tradition as a
systemic whole. Because it represents a composite of many
collections, both public and private, it should have value for all
museums with Batak textile holdings.
Limitations of the research
Having just argued for the importance of documenting the
complete repertory of Batak textiles, it is time to point out the
challenges, some of them insurmountable for circumstantial
and practical reasons, to executing the task.
In the first place, the data are inevitably and inexorably
incomplete. Collection has a flawed and haphazard history. It is
certain that not all Batak textile types known in the past are
either represented in museums or available in North Sumatra.
In North Sumatra it is unlikely that all textile types would have
survived: the humid climate is hard on textiles; they wear out;
the hardship of the war years meant that many Batak used up
their textile heritage for clothing; many textiles have
disappeared into the hands of private collectors (although some
of these may yet find their way into public collections); and
many textiles leave the region when Batak migrate. While
excellent and detailed Batak textile collections were made in
some regions, there were also relatively unexplored regions on
the colonial Batak textile map where collecting did not occur.
Some of these dark spots on the map remain. Many are not well
connected to markets and, if at any time in the past textile
production was popular there, it is no longer economically
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
viable, thus ensuring that the dark spots remain dark spots.
Many of these regions could only be accessed with great
difficulty, and sometimes I found the difficulties
insurmountable. Furthermore, it is simply impossible to gain
access to all extant textiles. I was able to visit many museums,
but not all. I met and interviewed many Batak, but not all, and
not all of them would or could share the contents of their closets
and chests with a stranger. I watched many weavers at work,
but not all. Finally, the nature of the textile tradition is such that
the compilation of a complete data set, although strived after, is
an unattainable goal. The appearance of textile types changes
inevitably through time, sometimes subtly, sometimes more
radically. The relentlessness of social change lays claim to some
textile types. Some of them make comebacks and some do not.
Weavers may give different apparel expressions to relatively
stable textile designs, for example, by making a shouldercloth
from a motif that was always used in a hipcloth, or by making a
setelan (sarong-shouldercloth set Cat 9.3) from a design once
used in a different way. Frequently they derive inspiration from
other textiles, Batak or foreign, brought in by trade or other
circumstances. Textile design undergoes transformation
through the gradual accretion of small, individual, creative,
weaverly acts that inevitably also have a regional tint.
The limits of my knowledge of the Batak languages and
cultural diversity are reflected on the pages of this volume, as
are the comparable limits of my scholarly predecessors whose
legacies have informed this work. Given the predominance of
the Toba in the weaving culture around Lake Toba, my scholarly
concentration on Toba Batak culture is a boon, but the
disadvantage for the study of the Karo and Simalungun is also
obvious.
Furthermore, the limitations of disseminating the findings
through the printed medium are profound. Because Batak
textile types are clearly defined and named, a printed catalogue,
by its nature static, is suited to depicting the static qualities of
the Batak textile tradition. However, the complementary
principle of dynamism that equally characterizes the Batak
textile tradition is more difficult to convey using this medium.
Each textile-type category has distinctive features, but also
includes a rich range of variations because no two textiles are
the same. Every design type implies all the variations that pairs
of hands have woven through time. By understanding how
these variations are ‘read’ locally, it is possible to discern the
essential and non-essential features of a cloth design. But even
these are subject to change. It is not feasible to depict all
variations of a cloth type using the printed, published medium,
Introduction 19
even if it were possible to collect all the extant variations. As
many variations as possible are depicted in the catalogue, but
written documentation is used to convey the dynamic facets of
the tradition. It explains how this compendium constitutes a
textile system, rather than just a series of depicted textiles.
The typologist is forced by circumstances to draw lines of
distinction between types and sub-types even while the data are
changing and incomplete. Moreover, the compiler of the
catalogue is also confronted with choices about cloth quality.
The selection may represent the most typical, the most
sophisticated or the oldest cloth. It may illustrate a particularly
creative rendition, or a pattern embellishment typical of a
particular region. Selections always shape the reader’s
perception or understanding of a type category. While this may
or may not have consequences as profound as those
experienced on the northwest coast of North America, where
Bill Holm’s classification of indigenous design influenced the
direction taken by the revival of indigenous art McLennan and
Duffek 2000, here too it is important that the reader be aware of
the gap between a dynamic reality, and the limited ability of the
published medium to represent that reality. A goal of the
written portions of the catalogue is to bring to the attention of
the reader the many factors that must be considered when
looking at a textile, and when trying to place it within a system.
The on-line catalogues that museums are developing will allow
for more flexibility in the dissemination of visual information.
This compendium will not be superseded by such on-line
presentations of data, however. Its value will remain in the
framework which it offers for ordering and understanding the
data and in having taken stock of the extant information. The
present catalogue is a tool through which principles of
indigenous classification can be accessed, changes in the Batak
textile repertory can be evaluated and collections of Batak
textiles can be assessed.
The use of the ethnographic present in the catalogue would
have heightened the risk of typological reification that inheres
in a compilation of static images. I have chosen, therefore, to
describe my observations as specifically as possible. Weavers
are mentioned not just because they deserve recognition for
their skills, but also because their styles and techniques are local
and have been developed within their own particular
circumstances. Technical processes are presented as having
taken place at that moment in time when I watched them, and
not as general processes used by all Batak weavers at all times.
In this way, this publication is located within temporal
boundaries, even while incorporating historical information.
20 Introduction
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
Appendix ii is a list of weaving vocabulary. Weaving is not a
common household activity as it once was in the past, and as a
consequence, weaving terms are no longer as familiar as they
The book has four parts, an extensive index and an appendix.
The catalogue portion Part iii forms the core of the volume. Each might have been. Moreover, the techniques deployed are always
relative to a specific tradition. This poses challenges when
of the textile types in the Lake Toba repertory is numbered,
describing a weaving tradition in another language to other
named, described and depicted in a standardized
documentation format. These documentations are arranged in cultures. Weaving terminology has been deployed very
nine chapters according to prominent design themes. The other consciously and carefully in this volume to serve rather than
encumber communication of cross-cultural uniqueness.
parts of the volume explain, complement and augment the
The composite index serves a variety of functions. It
contents of the catalogue.
incorporates themes and non-English words found in the text,
Design, technique and nomenclature are central themes of
names of authors and collectors and technical terminology, in
the study. In Part i (Des), I introduce these themes. Design has
English and other languages. The reader can use it to look up
been chosen as the point of access to the catalogue. I explain
how the themes of technique and nomenclature are interlaced textile types using indigenous textile names. I chose to make a
with Batak textile design in the Lake Toba tradition. In addition, single, though complex, index, in response to the need for a
comprehensive referencing system that – because this project is
the design features of the textiles, according to which they are
multicultural by nature — incorporates different languages. A
described and compared in the catalogue, are explored in this
part of the book, relative to indigenous thought and history. The reader may need to look up words the meaning or status of
which he or she is unsure. For example, by looking up
book begins broadly, in other words, with an overview of the
angkatangkat, the reader will be referred to the design and the
visual themes that are found in all of the textiles and
technical meaning of the word as well as the cloth type name
throughout the book.
derived from that feature. The reader will not be required to
A closer focus is used in Part ii (sr) of the volume. In the six
look up the word in a textile-name index, and/or index of
chapters, one devoted to each style region, I explain how the
indigenous words and/or a weave-technical index. A single
design themes, already generally introduced, are expressed
combined index, while complex, better meets the reader’s
regionally. This part of the book constitutes a complement to
needs.
the catalogue (Part iii, Cat). It is here that the reader can gain a
sense of the regional repertories and highlights. Furthermore,
the catalogue depicts the textiles two-dimensionally so as to
show their design features optimally, even while these textiles
are, in the first instance, apparel items. In Sumatra, they are
most commonly seen as living materials, draped, folded and
moving with the body of the wearer. This is captured in the
ethnographic photographs presented in this section of the
volume.
Part iv (Tech) constitutes a technical resource for all of the
other parts of the book: the specific details of how technique is
linked with indigenous design and design nomenclature, how
techniques are emphasized regionally and detailed
explanations of the technical features referred to in the
catalogue. In addition, it is a stand-alone resource documenting
Batak weaving practices.
Appendix i describes the research methods used to carry out
this project. I have tried to make the research process as
transparent as possible, so that the reader can evaluate the
reliability of the data and, if desired, adapt the strategies to
document other Indonesian textile traditions.
How to use the book
Introduction 21
c a ta lo g u i n g t h e i n d o n e s i a n t e x t i l e a r t s
Conventions
Illustrations
The illustrations in the book are numbered consecutively for
each chapter. The system references the chapter and the
sequence in the chapter (e.g. fig. Des 3.4, the fourth illustration
in the third Design chapter and fig. Cat 3.7, the seventh
illustration in the third Catalogue chapter). Tables are similarly
numbered (e.g. Table Des 4.1, the first table in the fourth Design
chapter). Detail illustrations reference text on the page on
which they are found.
Unless otherwise indicated, the illustrations are by the author.
Combination
of letters in
Batak script
Pronunciation Orthographic choices
in Batak speech
ngh/ngk
kk
ngt
ns
nt
tt
ts
tt
mp
mg
rl
nl
pp
ngg
ll
ll
jungkit rather than jukkit
Bangkara rather than Bakkara
singkam rather than sikkam
nangtulang rather than nattulang
pansur rather than patsur
pantis rather than pattis
bontar rather than bottar
gompul rather than goppul
gomgom rather than gonggom
simarlasiak rather than simallasiak
sanlapis rather than sallapis
documents were often written by people unfamiliar with
Indonesian and Batak languages, so errors have crept into the
Batak and Indonesian are more or less mutually unintelligible
records. These are not always easy to distinguish from
Malay languages. Indonesian is the lingua franca of the country, legitimate variations used in the past.
and the Batak languages are indigenous to North Sumatra.
The Indonesian and Batak ways of referring to people have
Most, but not all, of the textile names and technical weaving
been blended to some extent. That blend is reflected in this
vocabulary used by the Batak are in the Batak language.
volume. Martha Sirait boru Napitupulu, for example, reveals
Recording the relevant indigenous terminology in this
that Martha is married into the Sirait clan and was born into the
volume has been a complex undertaking. A variety of
Napitupulu clan. Use of the Indonesian Ny. to indicate a
orthographic conventions has been used since ethnography
married woman is common in the Batak region. Both
began in the area. To begin, Batak has its own script, derived
conventions are used in this volume. The Toba prefixes Nai, Ama
from Sanskrit. When Batak words have been written using
(ni) and Ompu (ni) before a name refer respectively to the
Latin characters, the conventions of transcription have varied.
mother of, father of and grandparent of the person
Most of this variation occurs where the spelling of a word
subsequently named. All of these forms are found in this
differs from the pronunciation of the word see Van der Tuuk
volume.
Indigenous languages often incorporate exogenous terms
1864:9–13. Batak pronunciation has clearly informed the spelling
associated with borrowed textile techniques and designs. For
found in some archival and published sources (e.g. simallasiak
example, kristik, derived from the Dutch kruissteek (English:
(for simarlasiak), djinoekit (for jinungkit), pinoetsaan (for
cross-stitch), is used in both Batak and Indonesian, and pita,
pinunsaan) Fischer 1914a:48, 49). In the present publication, a
Indonesian for ‘ribbon’, is used by the Batak to refer to the
spelling based on Batak script (the original combination of
ribbon that sometimes was used as a replacement for the
letters) rather than Batak speech is used Table Introduction.
Furthermore, Batak script employs no spaces between words. twined edging of the cloth, so it becomes accurate to refer to the
word as Batak. Batak migration has interwoven linguistic as
Consistent conventions for word spacings and capital letters
have not been established. SiBisa may also be written si Bisa and well as textile traditions. Since the latter half of the twentieth
century, it is primarily Toba Batak who weave and sell textiles in
Si Bisa. All of these forms are found in the present publication.
Foreigners have applied orthographic conventions influenced the Karo Batak region, for example, and their textile vocabulary
by their own linguistic backgrounds. Some Dutch orthographic has become a mixture of Toba and Karo. To complicate matters
further, the language I used to conduct interviews about Karo
conventions differ from those developed and applied later in
independent Indonesia (e.g. ‘oe’ for ‘u’ and ‘dj’ for ‘j’). The matter textiles was usually Indonesian, with a combination of Toba and
Karo technical terms. It has been a higher priority to document
is further complicated by regional variations in the Batak
languages (e.g. bintang maratur and bintang marotur are extant linguistic variation see Appendix 2 than to impose a false
equally correct). Furthermore, archival materials and museum consistency.
Language and Orthography
Table Introduction Orthographic conventions followed in this volume.
fig. Introduction 2 ragi panei Cat 1.1.6.
Detail. Collection kit a5157.
23
Acronyms of Public Collections Consulted
aedta Association pour l’Étude et la Documentation des
mvb
Textiles d’Asie
Association for the Study and Documentation of Textiles
of Asia, Paris, France
Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz,
Ethnologisches Museum, Abteilung Südasien
South Asian Department, Ethnological Museum, Berlin,
Germany
dtk
Deutsches Textilmuseum, Krefeld
German Textile Museum, Krefeld, Germany
mvh
em
Museon, Den Haag
Education Museum, The Hague, Netherlands
mvw Museum für Völkerkunde, Wien
Museum of Ethnology, Vienna, Austria
kit
Tropenmuseum, Koninklijk Instituut voor de Tropen,
Amsterdam
Tropenmuseum, Royal Tropical Institute, Amsterdam,
Netherlands
mwf Museum der Weltkulturen, Frankfurt
Museum of World Cultures, Frankfurt, Germany
kitlv Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land-, en Volkenkunde,
Leiden
Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and
Caribbean Studies, Leiden, Netherlands
lma
Logan Museum of Anthropology, Beloit, Wisconsin
mdk
Museum der Kulturen, Basel
Museum of Ethnology, Basel, Switzerland
rjm
Rautenstrauch Joest Museum für Völkerkunde, Köln
Rautenstrauch Joest Ethnographic Museum, Cologne,
Germany
rmv
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden
National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, Netherlands
smv
Staatliches Museum für Völkerkunde, München
State Museum of Ethnology, Munich/Munich’s
Anthropology Museum, Germany
vem
Archiv- und Museumsstiftung, Vereinte Evangelische
Mission, Wuppertal
Archive and Museum Foundation, United Evangelical
Mission, Wuppertal, Germany
vhm
Von der Heydt Museum, Wuppertal
Von der Heydt Museum, Wuppertal, Germany
mqb* Musée du quai Branly.
Quai Branly Museum, Paris.
mnd Museum Nusantara, Delft
Nusantara Museum, Delft, Netherlands
Museum für Völkerkunde, Hamburg
Ethnological Museum, Hamburg, Germany
mnh American Museum of Natural History, New York
msn
Museo di Storia Naturale, Sezione di Antropologia,
Università di Firenze, Italy
Museum of Natural History, Anthropology Department,
University of Florence, Italy
* The Tropenmuseum incorporates the
Batak textiles formerly held by the
Gemeentelijk Museum Princessehof
(now National Ceramic Museum) in
Leeuwarden.
** The Quai Branly Museum
incorporates the collections formerly held
by the Musée de l’Homme, Paris.
wmr Wereldmuseum, Rotterdam,
World Museum, Rotterdam, Netherlands
fig. Des Introduction Textile buyer in the market.
Tarutung. 1986.
In the early morning the weavers try to sell their textiles
to textile stall proprietors at the market. Here, a stall
proprietor inspects a sadum Cat 7.5 textile to decide
whether she wants to purchase it. The transaction
occurs very quickly.
25
Design
Introduction
A compendium of foreign textiles can only be a relatively meaningless,
more or less compelling array of colours and motifs. A central goal of this
volume is to render the repertory of textiles from Lake Toba meaningful
to the reader beyond the level of individual taste. The textiles can be
approached from a variety of perspectives, the most obvious being design,
technique and social function. I have selected design as the initial and
primary entry because the visual qualities of the textiles are universally
accessible while Batak textile production techniques and social
oranization are less familiar to most readers.
Nevertheless, design is a tricky entry. Seeing is always through culturally
tinted lenses. It is essential, therefore, that readers learn to see the textiles,
to the extent possible, through Batak eyes, and from the perspective of
Indonesian textile history. Part i of this publication presents the
distinctive and characteristic design features of the textiles Des 1, how
design may have developed over time to become the repertory as we know
it today Des 2; Des 3 and how the textiles are named locally on the basis of
appearance Des 4. The theme of technique is present throughout these
explorations. By bringing this to light, the integral importance of the final
part of the volume Part iv is made clear in these opening chapters.
fig. Des 1.1 Bindu matoga, the Toba Batak symbol
of totality, carved and painted on a Batak house.
1980.
According to the esoteric Batak thought, the bindu
matoga is the origin of all design and a depiction of the
essence of time and space.
27
Design 1
Design Foundations
During an early stage of fieldwork for this volume, I showed fanciful tie-dyed fabric from
Ecuador to Batak weavers. I wanted to see how they would react to a very different aesthetic.
First, they examined it to try to figure out how it had been made. Then, frustrated by not
being able to detect a regular order in the patterning, they lost interest in it, claiming that it
was arbitrarily constructed and could not be replicated. Their reaction was telling. Regularity
characterizes Batak textile composition. The design of a Batak cloth is fully planned by
weavers before they even buy the yarn. Because the Ecuadorian cloth did not meet their
expectations of regularity and order, they did not value it.
To a great extent, learning to see Batak textiles through the eyes of their makers means
learning to see the design components of the textiles and how they are arranged. Batak
textiles are readily recognized by those familiar with Indonesian textiles. My task in this
chapter is to translate that kind of intuitive recognition into a typology of typically Batak
textile design features.
fig. Des 1.2 Karo women weaving together on the village plain.
c. 1870. Photograph K. Feilberg. Photoarchives kit 6002 5557.
28 Design 1
design foundations
periods in the evolution of Batak textile design. Design
conventions pertain to the features of the textiles, how they are
made and their placement on the two-dimensional cloth
surface. The unit elements of design are the visible building
blocks, as it were, of which the design is composed. They
include the component parts of the cloth as a whole and the
patterning. The weaver arranges these design elements in her
cloth according to the image that she has in her mind and the
rules that make her cloth recognizable, and desirable. These
rules are the invisible or abstract elements of design that inform
textile appearance. I refer to them as the principles of Batak
textile design.1
A focus on the visible unit elements of design inspires an
image of a stable, if not unchanging, design tradition. A focus
on the abstract principles by which the visible elements are
situated and combined, however, invites an image of Batak
textile production as a creative process. Change and development are also integral to the tradition. These contrasting
but co-existing images illustrate the tension between the
conservative and dynamic dimensions of Batak textile design.
Design development appears to have traditionally taken the
form of progressive elaboration of the visible design elements,
and also the invisible principles by which they are combined.
Design conventions,
Weavers have progressively elaborated visible design elements:
conservative and dynamic
by expressing the same motif in different techniques (e.g. the
lozenge in supplementary warp, supplementary weft, ikat
Batak textiles are readily recognizable because their design
features are organized according to clearly defined rules. When and twining); by developing variations on a single motif
a Batak weaver sits down in her loom, her goal is to make a cloth (e.g. the lozenge as narrow, wide, multi-layered and variously
that meets social expectations. The Lake Toba repertory is made juxtaposed with other lozenges); by combining or juxtaposing a
single motif with various other pattern options (e.g. the chevron
up of what I refer to in this study as established ‘design types’.
in the design types in Cat 3)2; by combining motifs and/or
Each of these so-called design types (see the divisions of the
catalogue Part iii ) has a specific set of required features arranged techniques typical of other textile design types to make a new
design type (Cat 6.12.3 combines design elements of Cat 6.12
in a characteristic way. The cloths may also include optional
and Cat 6.10)3; and by choosing to use a pattern in a textile
features. When they learn to make textile design types, the
weavers learn not only the design characteristics to which their layout typically found in association with a different pattern
cloths must conform, but also their creative latitude. All of this
(the bintang maratur ikat in a textile of ‘Indian’ layout Cat 7.2).
is laid down by convention: informal, but clear, social
Elaboration of invisible design elements is expressed in the
agreement that is generally known and unquestioned.
ever more complex application of the principles of dualism and
In this regard, Batak textiles are, in a very important way,
tripartition as I go on to describe. Elaboration in Batak textile
social and not individual creations. I have seen some (but very
design may not always be immediately striking to an outsider,
few) textiles that have been made to ‘use up’ leftover yarn and
but it is evident from careful examination of the cloth. The
do not conform to design conventions. Such individual
Batak particularly appreciate cloth that exhibits this kind of
creations are locally considered to be just ‘pieces of cloth’
design coherence and complication.
without any social merit or significance.
In 1963, the anthropologist Clifford Geertz used the term
However, while some design conventions are common to the ‘involution’ to describe progressive elaboration in the social
entire repertory, others are specific to particular regions or
organization of an agrarian community in Java. He was
following Alexander Goldenweizer, who had used the term to
Putting visual and material features of material objects into
words is complicated, however. In a seminal article on material
culture, Jules Prown 1982 pointed out that material culture is
two-sided. It is the physical object, and it is the values, ideas,
attitudes and assumptions invested in them by their makers
and users. Consequently, according to him, analysis of an object
must take both into account. This seems straight forward, but
the challenge is to put it into practice. Batak textiles are a good
case in point. There is no clear division between them as
physical objects and as cultural objects. Furthermore, the
material, the textile production techniques and the resulting
textiles, are all invested with meaning, so that Prown’s twosided program becomes multi-layered, and applies as much to
the finished object as a whole, as to its components and how
they are made. The analytical process is complicated by the fact
that different cultures are involved. Even when the views of the
cultural participants are taken into account, they are understood through the lens of the researcher. On top of all of that, to
succeed in making a single-culture analysis useful for future
cross-cultural comparison, the vocabulary has to be carefully
selected, and wielded transparently and precisely.
1 I am modelling the distinction between
the visible design elements and the
invisible, abstract principles of the design
after the distinction between parole and
langue as this was developed by the
‘father’ of modern linguistics, Ferdinand
de Saussure 1993 [1916].
2 I have adopted Yeager’s and Jacobson’s
distinction between patterns and motifs:
‘Motifs are combined to form a pattern’
2002:88.
3 Traude Gavin’s terms ‘fission’ and
‘fusion’ to describe ikat pattern
development among the Iban 2003:234
appear to apply here.
design foundations
Design 1 29
they were unlikely to be familiar with: ikat, batik, the parts of
the backstrap loom and how they were manipulated and so on.
Later, anthropologists began to emphasize symbolic aspects of
textile production above purely technical details, a rich vein of
exploration. Brinkely Messick 1987, for example, pointed out the
verbal/conceptual conflation in North Africa of certain weaving
actions and the process of a mother giving birth and bringing
up a son. Roy Dilley described weaving in Senegal as male ritual
space into which the weaver is inducted 1987. Barbara and
Dennis Tedlock 1985:127, 128 showed how the conceptual
practice of weaving in Mayan culture, just as planting corn,
philosophically collapses time and space. Marie Jeanne Adams
1971 demonstrated how Sumbanese textile techniques are
conceptualized in terms of relations between individuals and
social groups and in terms of natural processes. In a previous
publication 1985a, I explored the symbolic connections between
Batak weaving practices and indigenous conceptions of time,
space and fertility. Notably, these symbolic analyses require
more knowledge of language, myth and indigenous texts than
of weaving techniques.
Batak textile history is Batak women’s history. Batak textiles
are woven by women and are conceived of locally as belonging
to the female part of the cosmos. The frequent association of
weaving and women has sparked some excitement in the
anthropological search for women’s social and cultural
expressions. However, the claim that verbal expressions
The importance of technique
associated with weaving might offer access to a women’s worldview e.g. Messick 1987 is not fully convincing because the
Batak do not see textile technique as something separate from
design; design and technique are inextricably interconnected.
associated vocabulary may equally serve the male image of
This observation extends far beyond the platitude that design is women’s social role Wiegle 1982:vii. This appears to be the case in
a manifestation of technical process Niessen 1999a. Some
Batak mythology Niessen 1994. Batak associations between cloth
indigenous technical terms equally denote design categories,
and women are strong, but verbal descriptions of women’s
and some technical processes appear to be informed by the
domain are an ambiguous key to female contributions to
same mental images or thought structures that inform design, culture. The cloth itself, on the other hand, given that it is
as I explain below. It is because the present analysis of Lake Toba woven exclusively by women, could hardly be a less
textile classification is based on design, that textile-production ambiguously female contribution to culture fig. Des 1.2. Women’s
techniques are an integral component of it. In the present
weaving labour and skill produces tangible, visible forms. The
chapter, I cull from the detailed technical descriptions
responsibility of transcribing social meaning into aesthetic
presented in Part iv of this volume to make this point. The study form in textiles is a cognitive and technical matter borne solely
by weavers. However, the agency of the weavers and the
of Indonesian textile design does not commonly include the
study of technique. I therefore take this opportunity to argue at production techniques as skills of the producer were commonly
overlooked because the artefact rather than the artist was the
greater length for an approach that integrates the two.
centre of attention, because students of material culture were
The early phase of data collection on Indonesian textile
more familiar with the pen than the loom and because there has
production techniques took place in the nineteenth and early
been a regrettable tendency to ignore the factor of women’s
twentieth centuries. These yielded descriptive accounts
particularly aimed at introducing the reader to techniques that work.
describe how complexity in design can be ‘brought about
through a multiplicity of spatial arrangements of one and the
same unit … The inevitable result is progressive complication,
a variety within uniformity …’ in Geertz 1963:81. This description
fits the most complex and highly valued Batak traditional
textiles. The dictionary definition of ‘involution’ suggests a
negative progression, an evolution that turns inward upon
itself.
In the case of Batak textiles, however, the progressive
complexity of design that has resulted from weavers working
with a finite set of elements using a strictly laid out set of
principles, has yielded a specific, characteristic and generally
appreciated Batak aesthetic. The dichotomy between static
traditional textiles and modern innovative textiles crumbles
when these strategies of the weavers are taken into account.
It is possible to imagine that the traditional repertory of Batak
cloth was constructed through ‘progressive complication’ of
the finite set of available design elements. The reactions of the
Batak weavers to the spontaneous tie-dye Ecuadorian designs
then becomes completely understandable. Even the creative
and dynamic features of the Batak art are guided by strict rules.
Extant forms of Batak design exhibit, therefore, the balance
that has been struck between the conservative and dynamic
elements of Batak textile design see Part iii .
30 Design 1
design foundations
technical procedures Bolland 1979b, I was clumsy like a child
when I tried to do the things that my teacher, Ompu Sihol,
made look so simple. I had not built up most of the skills that
she had, and the skills that I did have were ‘strange’ to her. I
remember her shaking her head, and her neighbours pointing
in amazement, when I wound a ball of yarn the ‘wrong way.’ To
stop myself from cutting a ridiculous figure, I learned to do it
the way they did, by moving just the right hand, keeping the left
hand stable, rather than moving both hands while winding see
fig. Tech 2.13.
Another example is the regular, rhythmic act of weaving Tech
5.4. A Batak weaver lays in the weft from the right or from the
left depending on which shed (opening in the warp yarns) she
has. Ompu Sihol did not tell me which way to do this (Because it
was too obvious to her? Because she taught by example, and
such lessons were not verbalized?), but when I threw the weft in
the ‘wrong’ direction, she was uncompromising. She cut my
weft yarn immediately and had me start again. Perhaps this is
comparable to giving the instruction, ‘Peel the potato toward
you, not away from you!’
Skills knowledge, as a form of women’s knowledge, has been
largely neglected, as has the stock of historical information that
Tacit knowledge related to skill has been neglected as a facet of
textile production inquiry. Because it cannot be put into words, can be found in weavers’ skills.5 The work of the French
it is difficult to broach. Luckily, not all knowledge related to skill anthropologist Marie-Noëlle Chamoux is a notable exception
is tacit. However, it is fundamentally present in textile produc- 1982:99. She studied textile-production techniques in Mexico,
tion. It is comparable to the knowledge one has ‘in one’s hands’ paying attention to the kind of knowledge that appeared to
when one peels a potato, ties shoelaces or knits yarn. One takes reside in the hands, and observed that such practices were
one’s own method for granted to such an extent that when one related to class and ethnicity. She advocated using the term
happens upon another doing it differently, it ‘feels’ wrong. One savoir-faire for what I refer to here as tacit skills knowledge. Her
is incredulous that someone else might prefer that ‘other’
term connects the pure ‘how to’ with cultural and social
method to one’s own, or find it at all efficient. Tacit knowledge is processes and frameworks.
passed down through the generations, and it is conservative to
The Andean archaeologist, Junius Bird, pointed out that
change. If one knows a little about different knitting
because technical procedures such as ‘spinning, twist direction,
procedures, therefore, one may be able to discern from a
warping procedure, and construction details’ are conservative
knitter’s technique whether she or he hails from Holland,
to change, they may provide clues about past cultural relations
Germany, Peru, Afghanistan Bolland 1971a or a particular social
and diffusion. His examples involve both conscious and tacit
class in Mexico Chamoux 1982.4 The knitter does it the way she or skills knowledge. Twist direction in spinning certainly resides
in a weaver’s hands, but the twist selected by the weaver also
he was taught. Cultural identity is deeply grounded in such
may depend on the kind of fibre being spun or the ritual value
social behaviours, and they are unquestioned by their
of the textile the spinner plans to weave Bird 1960:2, and thereperformers. Similarly, tacit knowledge in textile production
procedures may carry useful cultural information.
fore may be the result of a deliberate choice. Similarly, the
That textile-production practices are infused with specific,
passage of the first weft laid in the warp can be explained in
identifiable and recognizable skills became evident to me while terms of a weaver’s understanding of the order of weaving, but
I was conducting fieldwork. Influenced by Rita Bolland, expert
it is also a skill, a kind of cultural inheritance that is transmitted
in textile production techniques, who had impressed upon me through apprenticeship. Although Bird does not make explicit
the importance of ‘doing it myself’ in order to truly understand reference to tacit knowledge involved in skill, he seems to
I include descriptions and analyses of technical procedure in
the present study to better explain Batak textile design. Most of
that is descriptive: how the yarn is prepared, how the loom is set
up, the different manipulations of the loom that yield the
patterning on the textiles, and so on. The inclusion of such
technical description in textile studies is familiar and accepted.
There are also other levels of technical process to which
researchers should be attending, however. The great scientist
and philosopher of science, Michael Polanyi 1969 used the term
‘tacit knowing’ to refer to a form of knowledge that is
‘indeterminate, in the sense that its content cannot be explicitly
stated.’ He explained it in terms of skill.
If I know how to ride a bicycle or how to swim, this does not mean that
I can tell how I manage to keep my balance on a bicycle or keep afloat
when swimming. I may not have the slightest idea of how I do this or
even an entirely wrong or grossly imperfect idea of it, and yet go on
cycling or swimming merrily… I both know how to carry out these
performances as a whole and also know how to carry out the
elementary acts which constitute them, though I cannot tell what these
acts are… Polanyi in Merrill 1968:585.
Design 1 31
design foundations
suggest that conservatism is inherent in these technical
performances. His guide to textile research 1960:4–9 invites
researchers to collect a broad spectrum of data about raw
materials, equipment and strategies employed by the weaver, as
well as social and conceptual systems associated with those
strategies. I perceive that the spectrum of tacit knowledge
related to the skills of weaving is much broader than just what
is involved in spinning and twisting yarn or setting up the warp
in the loom, which he points to as containing ‘significant clues
in tracing cultural diffusion and relationships’ 1960:1. It is therefore not entirely clear where Bird believed the conservatism in
textile production resides. For present purposes, it is his
recognition of the link between technique and cultural and
historical process that is important.
A group of researchers has developed the concept of ‘style’ in
technology Lechtman 1977; Lechtman and Merrill 1977. This is another
way of framing the connection between skills and culture.
Struck by the fact that the same patterns can be expressed in a
parallel way in different cultural phenomena, for example in
the verbal, the visual, the kinesic and the technological, Heather
Lechtman referred to these patterns as cultural style. For
Lechtman, this kind of style is culturally relative and is to be
found in every level of activity by which culture (re-)produces
itself. It is a culture’s defining, and characteristic, way of being.
She advocated that this kind of cultural insistence become a
focus of study. Applying that concept to an analysis of the way
ikat bundles are tied and indigo dye is fermented in far-flung
corners of Southeast Asia, Adams 1977 suggested that
connections between cultural style and technology may also
have regional expression. She pointed to a ‘culture’ of binding –
with rope, or with yarn, in different dimensions of social and
material life – relative to ritual throughout Southeast Asia.
I believe that this direction of research into technique holds
promise for exploring that nexus between the conservative
embodied aspects of textile production and other cultural
phenomena, the research direction in which Junius Bird
seemed to be headed. The approach requires detailed
knowledge of technique, including the skills involved.
Researchers will need to become familiar with the loom,
and will find the video camera as indispensable as the pen
for recording this kind of information.6
In the technical descriptions in Part iv, I have included the
physical stances of the weaver, the position of her body while
she works, the actions of her hands and the divisions of labour
between them. These can be consciously recognized, verbalized
and therefore described with some degree of success. I include
4 I am grateful to Rita Bolland for
sharing her broad knowledge of different
ways of knitting. Many aspects of
knitting vary. The tension of the yarn can
be maintained by looping it over the baby
finger of the left or right hand, hanging
the yarn around the neck, or pulling it
from a spool resting on the hip or from a
ball neatly tucked under the arm. The
method of holding the loops is just as
varied. They can be held on a needle that
may or may not have a hook, and that
may or may not be anchored in a pouch.
They can be held on nails pounded into a
stable wooden frame, and so on.
5 Minnich1990 has claimed that
‘science’ is rooted in particular ways of
knowing such that accepted modes of
investigation may preclude other ways in
which the investigated can be known.
6 Film footage shot by Urs Ramseyer
and N. Ramseyer-Gygi on double ikat in
Bali1979 is a superb example of the detail
that may be captured.
this kind of technical information so that it is available for
future comparative analysis, whether of cultural or regional
style, technical process as such, women’s knowledge or the link
between technique and culture. The detail provided in the
technical descriptions in Part iv may not be sufficient to sustain
the kind of minute analysis that may be needed for a
comparative study of technical skills, but it points to how this
kind of data holds potential for future data collection and textile
analysis. It is also because the technical procedures of the
weavers appear to be informed by the same principles that
inform textile design that I include them here.
Design and the loom
In Part iv, detailed information about Batak textile production
techniques provides a thorough understanding of how Batak
textile design and technique are related. At this introductory
stage, my goal is just to illustrate degrees of enmeshment
between design and technique, by introducing the Batak loom,
the most fundamental determinant of design coherence in the
region fig. Des 1.3. Scholars have typified the Batak textile
tradition as ancient, having features in common with those of
other ‘isolated’ peoples in the archipelago such as in the
interiors of Sulawesi (Toraja), Borneo (Dayak) and Eastern
Indonesia, for whom trade contact came relatively late e.g.
Gittinger 1977:25. These features include use of a backstrap loom
with a circular, continuous warp, and warp-faced textiles with
an emphasis on warp-related patterning such as warp stripes,
warp ikat and supplementary warp. The closeness of technique
and design is already evident in this characterization. I will
show how the design features are related to the capacities of the
loom. The Batak loom varies regionally in only small details
related to form (e.g. length and width of components) and there
are only slight regional differences in the way it is manipulated
Tech 5.
First, the loom accommodates a circular and continuous warp,
the lengthwise yarns in a Batak textile. Only one textile is
woven from a warp, and therefore no two textiles are ever
exactly the same.
Second, the size of warp that a weaver can handle determines
the outer limits of the size of her cloth. Because the loom is
body-tensioned (also known as a backstrap loom), the weaver
needs to work very hard while she weaves, leaning backwards
and forwards to apply and release the tension on the thousands
of warp yarns that compose the warp. The physical capacities of
the weavers are finite — although the length of ancient Batak
32 Design 1
design foundations
fig. Des 1.3 Batak weaver manipulating a simple loom.
Early twentieth century. Photograph C.H. Japing.
Photoarchives kit 6002 3658.
The photograph clearly shows the circular warp in the
loom. Beyond the heddling device, and the sword, there
are no additional sticks in the loom. By bracing her feet
against a horizontal bar under the loom, the weaver can
use her body weight to increase and decrease tension on
the warp yarns.
design foundations
textiles attests to the remarkable strength of their back, leg and
stomach muscles, as well as their patience and endurance.
Similarly, the span of the weaver’s arms, and the strength in her
arm and chest muscles required to make the insertions of the
loom parts and the weft, limit how wide the warp can be. It
makes sense that the textiles are longer than they are wide.
Third, because the warp in the ancient Batak loom is circular,
the place where the weaver begins to weave is essentially also
where she stops weaving because the warp is then filled with
weft – with the exception of a handspan of warp where the
heddling device is located. She uses this mechanism to create
the spaces in the warp through which she shoots the weft.
When weaving is finished, normally the warp in that unwoven
section is cut to release it from the loom and to extract the warp
yarns from the heddling device. The dangling warp yarns are
then, usually, twisted into a fringe Tech 8.1. Fringes are therefore
a normal feature of textiles woven on this kind of loom. To keep
the fringe edges of the textile tidy, weavers commonly twine
weft yarns into them along the edges of the textile. The twining
technique, also ancient, is an off-loom weaving process Tech 8.3.
The edging that the weaver makes can be narrow or wide, plain
or patterned.
Fourth, the Batak loom does not have a mechanism (reed or
comb) to space the warp threads. As a result, the warp yarns are
so densely juxtaposed that when the weft is inserted, it is
scarcely visible. Such a textile is called ‘warp-faced’. If a weaver
using such a loom wishes to decorate her cloth, she is largely
restricted to making embellishments in the warp threads.
Changes of colour are the simplest option. Changes of colour in
the warp yarns result in stripes in the finished textile Tech 6.1.
Ikat patterning (a decorative technique achieved by binding
segments of the yarn so that it resists the dye and results in
colour variations in the same strand of yarn Tech 4.2) is a more
complicated decorative option. Ikat patterning is executed only
in the warp yarns. It makes no sense to ikat-dye the weft
because it is hidden by the warp in the woven cloth.
Weft-related techniques characteristic of ‘ancient’ textile
traditions that scholars have signalled, include weft wrapping
(the weft yarns are literally wrapped around warp yarns by
hand) Tech 7.9 and twill weave patterning Tech 7.6; Tech 7.7, in
addition to the twining technique already mentioned. These are
strategies that make the weft visible despite the textiles being
warp-faced. In this regard, it makes sense that these weft
features are found in association with the kinds of textiles just
described. Because of the way these techniques are deployed in
the oldest of Batak textiles, the resulting decorative features are
Design 1 33
the same on the two sides of the cloth, like a plaited mat or
basket, in positive and negative image, with two good sides, and
no ‘wrong’ side figs Des 1.4a and 1.4b. Two-sided design is the result
of the way Batak weavers manipulate the loom. This decorative
option is available, given the nature of the loom, but it is not
determined by the loom.
The yarn selections made by Batak weavers and the way they
are deployed also influence the appearance of their textiles. The
loom offers some limitations, but many options. The absence of
a comb is a limiting factor, for example, because it makes it
difficult to weave silk yarn. The Batak loom is an indication that
the associated textile tradition relies on cotton – although other
plant fibres were also used in the past, and synthetic yarns are
used today see Tech 1. On the other hand, the weaver is at her own
discretion to select the weight of yarn that she will use. She can
vary the thickness of her yarns in order to make a textile feature,
such as a colour or a pattern, stand out.
figs Des 1.4a and b A supplementary-weft motif in
positive and negative image, on the front and the back of
the textile.
The patterning is constructed in such a way that the
textile is two-sided. This motif is taken from the end field
of the pinunsaan Cat 7.2.
34 Design 1
design foundations
Textile layout
Each textile design type represents a unique set of design
features. Conventions of vocabulary are emerging in the
Indonesian textile literature, but a standard design vocabulary
has not yet been settled on. I use the right-angled grid of interlaced warp and weft in the textile web as a framework to refer to
design features. All patterning is oriented in columns (in the
warp direction) or bands and rows (in the weft direction). I have
selected the design terms that follow as a standard idiom for
describing Batak textiles.7 In the catalogue, these terms are used
in the documentation protocol see Cat: Introduction.
Summary of design components of Lake Toba textiles
Warp border: a term for ‘those edges parallel to the warp, usually
ending in selvage’ Yeager and Jacobson 2002:86. In Batak textiles, this
border may be undifferentiated, or indicated by a stripe. The
stripe may be simple, compound, and/or embellished with ikat
patterning, supplementary warp or warp technique see Tech 6.
The design of this border is often an indication of provenance,
status and/or age of the textile.
Sides: two identical components of the textile flanking the
middle section. When the sides are woven separately and sewn
onto the middle section, they are referred to as ‘panels’ Yeager and
Jacobson 2002:86. The sides include the warp border and selvedge
edge and the warp stripes marking the border between the
sides and centre of the textile. With few exceptions e.g. Cat 2.3,
they are otherwise plain or unpatterned.
Centre: the component of the textile between the two sides.
The diagnostic patterning of the textile is usually found in this
component. Dominant patterning is in the form of ikat, stripes,
supplementary weft and, although rarely, supplementary warp.
This component of the textile is also referred to as the body, after
the indigenous term, badan. When this centre component is
divided into three sections, as in textiles having what I call
‘Indian’ layout fig. Des 1.6, I refer to the sections as fields: two end
fields and one centre field. Almost all traditional Batak textiles
include at least a little white, black and red; the colours are
deployed by convention. Several design types have more than
one standard colour format, for example, a red version (na bara)
and a blue-black version (na birong).
Border between sides and centre: this commonly consists of a
warp stripe of varying complexity, or it is signalled just by the
difference in patterning and/or colour between sides and
centre. Supplementary warp, ikat and warp technique may be
used to embellish these stripes. The stripes are commonly
executed in the sides of the textile.
Weft border: ‘edges parallel to the weft, which end in fringe or
raw edges’ Yeager and Jacobson 2002:86. The Batak decorate this
border using a variety of techniques, including weft twining,
knotting, braiding and crochet Tech 8.
In the Lake Toba repertory, the whole-cloth layout is relatively
stable and the design/technical elements are deployed and
combined within that arrangement according to rules of
convention. The repertory of Lake Toba textiles can be
construed as a record of the design possibilities inhering in
the standard or conventional layout, as developed by weavers
throughout the ages. With the exception of supplementary-weft
patterning, when it predominates in the appearance of the
textiles Cat 7, the characterizing features of Batak textile design
are in the warp: stripes and ikat patterning. These features are
dominant in five chapters of the catalogue Cat 2–Cat 6.
In this chapter, I place more emphasis on design organization
than on patterning. Patterning receives more emphasis in the
style region analyses Part ii , the catalogue Part iii and the technical
descriptions Part iv .
fig. Des 1.5 Stylized representation of conventional
Lake Toba textile layout showing the standard design
components: warp border, sides, centre, border between
sides and centre and weft border.
7 I have adopted some of the terms
used by Yeager and Jacobson 2002:86-88
to describe the organization of Timorese
textiles. The similarities in layout of
Timorese selimut and Batak textiles
made from three separate panels are
striking: the emphasis on bilateral
symmetry, red, black and white colouring,
and three as an expression of ‘two plus
one’ to create totality.
8 Certain textiles, including sashes,
headcloths, and blankets are not tripartite. Notably, the relative proportions
of sides and centre vary regionally. This
facet of textiles can be used as an
indication of provenance see Highlights
and Features in each style region.
9 Bühler, Fischer and Nabholz 1980:7, 8
describe this layout as characteristic of
saris: ‘the division of the rectangular
ground into one centre piece and two
end-pieces, which usually have lengthwise selvedge borders on both the sides.’
The similarity between the layout of
patola fabric, as depicted by Bühler,
Fischer and Nabholz 1980:9, and Batak
textile layout is strong.
design foundations
Design 1 35
Principles of design
With few exceptions, the layout of textiles in the Lake Toba
repertory is based on the principles of symmetry and
tripartition. These two principles are not mutually exclusive.
Rather, they are thoroughly interconnected. They inform every
level of design from the construction of a single motif to the
layout of the entire cloth.
Tripartition
The most immediately striking design feature of Batak textiles
is their division into three parts; two similar, plain sides
flanking a patterned centre.8 This constitutes tripartitioning
along a centre axis in the weft direction see fig. Des 1.5.
Barnes 1989:51 found that textiles composed of three separate
panels have the highest symbolic importance in Lamoholot.
This is not the case with Batak textiles. Instead, the textiles with
elaborately decorated end fields in the centre or body of the
cloth are the most highly valued. I refer to this elaborate layout
as ‘Indian’ because it is commonly – and perhaps originally –
found in Indian textiles.9 These textiles are organized by the
principle of tripartitioning along the centre warp axis, as well as
the centre weft axis.
The layout is found in three variations fig. Des 1.6:
– The most elaborate variant has white end fields bordering a
centre field in the centre panel. The end fields are embellished
with geometric supplementary-weft patterning. Examples
include the ragidup Cat 7.1; sr 6, pinunsaan Cat 7.2; sr 5 and
bulang Cat 7.4; sr 2.
– Another variant is found in the style regions Toba Uluan sr 5,
Simalungun sr 2 and Si Tolu Huta sr 4. It is exemplified by the
ragi hotang Cat 4.2 and the simpar Cat 5.4. Like the previous
variant, the ends of the textile body contain elaborate
supplementary-weft patterning. If the cloth has distinct white
end fields (optional) they may extend across the entire width of
the textile. The supplementary-weft patterning gives the textile
high value.
– The third variant is exemplified by the jongga Cat 3.1 (Si Tolu
Huta sr 4 and probably Simalungun sr 2). The supplementaryweft patterning is restricted to bands, narrower and less
elaborate than the patterning in the ragidup, but similarly
located in white end fields, although smaller than those found
in the ragidup. It was a highly respected textile type reserved
for elite members of society.
fig. Des 1.6 Three variants of Indian layout found
in Batak textiles.
a. as exemplified by the ragidup Cat 7.1
b. as exemplified by the ragi hotang Cat 4.2
c. as exemplified by the jongga Cat 3.1
36 Design 1
design foundations
The tripartite design arrangement is further expressed in the
structure of the warp stripes that mark the boundary between
the panels of textiles of Indian design layout Tech 6.3.2, in the
twined edging along the weft border of the cloth Tech 8.3; see
fig. Tech 8.23 and some supplementary-weft patterning in the
fringe ends of textiles (e.g. tupe Tech 7.8.1) see e.g. Cat 7.2. Maxwell
has proposed that tripartite design may have a technical
origin related to the narrow width of the warp that can be
accommodated by the backstrap loom:
By combining odd numbers of fabric panels, decorative and highly
formalized arrangements of warp bands became possible. For example,
two identical panels are often separated by a different central panel.
Symmetry is thus maintained while extra width is achieved …
Throughout insular Southeast Asia this tripartite design feature has
gradually become a major decorative device on warp-decorated
textiles… 1990:76.
Biaxial symmetry
Except in instances of weaver error, all conventional Batak
textiles are symmetrical around centre weft and warp axes.
Furthermore, many motifs are biaxially symmetrical. This
result may be strongly informed by technical procedures used
to construct them. For example, the supplementary-weft
patterning in the end field of the ragidup is constructed using
pattern rods, or shed savers inserted in such a way that when
the weaver is finished constructing half of the pattern, she has
to use them in the reverse order to construct the other half. As a
result, the pattern is perfectly symmetrical. The major pattern
rows in this textile have a couple of picks of red supplementary
weft to mark the centre axis of reflection Tech 7.8; fig. Tech 6.17a.
Not all symmetry is built into technical procedure. For
example, the weaver must warp each stripe – and the textile as a
whole – so that the two sides mirror each other. She counts the
While these technical constraints may have informed textile
cycles of the warp as she winds to attain perfect symmetry Tech
design, they do not explain the pervasiveness of tripartitioning 4.2.2. To ensure that the side panels of the ragidup are the same,
as an organizing principle in Batak textiles.
another innovative and unusual technical adaptation is
Dutch anthropologists have attributed the indigenous
deployed: the two panels are warped as one, and woven as one,
emphasis on the principle of tripartition to what has been
but two separate shuttles are used Tech 5.5.
dubbed the ‘Indonesian type’ of social organization Lévi-Strauss
My weaving teacher in Harian Boho taught me that all warp
stripes and supplementary-weft patterns are made from an odd
1963:156, involving asymmetric, indirect bridal exchange
number of components. Textiles are often ‘read’ to determine
among a minimum of three exogamous groups.10 This
whether they will be propitious for their owners. As the stripe is
conclusion, derived from meticulous and extensive fieldwork
observations see Fox 1980; P.E. de Josselin de Jong 1983 [1977a], coincides read, each element of the stripe is counted off in combination
with a line of a couplet: ‘Uloshu (my ulos), Ulos ni halak (someone
closely with associations in indigenous thought fig. Des 1.9. For
the Toba, the tripartite social arrangement is typically signified else’s ulos), Uloshu, Ulos ni halak …’ If the number of components
turns out to be odd, the reader ends up with ‘uloshu’ (my ulos)
by the tripod (consisting of three stones) that supports the
cooking pot in the hearth (Toba dalihan na tolu).11 Furthermore, and feels comfortable taking ownership of it. A comparable
strategy for reading the ragidup consists of counting off the
it informs the Toba understanding of the universe, as divided
into an upper, under and middle world, with a triumvirate of
stripes in the centre field fig. Cat 7.1b. The reading takes place
gods in the upper world. The triadic colour scheme, red, white
from left to right, the augur mumbling ulos ni raja (textile of a
and blue-black, found in almost all conventionally designed
free man13), ulos ni hatoban (textile of a slave), ulos ni raja and so
Batak textiles (see e.g. the talitali tiga bolit Cat 8.4), signifies
on, each line of the two-line prognostication corresponding to a
stripe Jasper and Pirngadie 1912:19. In other words, the number of
these tripartite structures Tobing 1956; Kipp 1977.12 Given the key
importance of the tripartite principle in indigenous Batak
stripes in the centre field of the textile is not as important as
thought, it makes sense that the textiles that exhibit that
whether that number is even or odd. For the textile to be
principle most elaborately along both the weft and the warp
desirable, it must have an odd number of stripes. Only then,
axes are the most important cloths in the repertory.
notably, would a stripe mark the centre warp axis of the centre
field. There are other examples of technical language that Batak
weavers use in textile-production processes to help them
achieve their design goals. For example, while biaxial symmetry
is not built into the weft-twining technique, the twined edging
is locally referred to in terms of ‘two times half the number of
10 In principle, group A gives brides to
group B, which gives brides to group C,
which in turn gives brides to group A,
thereby completing the connubial circle.
More than three can be involved in a
connubial circle, but three is the
minimum number needed to make the
system asymmetric.
11 The same symbolism is found in Karo
thought Kipp 1977, but I am not aware of
enquiry into this theme among the
Simalungun. In his dictionary, Saragih
1989 offers the Simalungun word tungku
for tripartite social order.
12 The tricolour does not appear to have
been explored in Simalungun thought,
but it is likely, given the system of bridal
exchange, that it was also important
there.
13 The Toba used the title raja to
distinguish a free man from a slave.
14 How the patterns are labelled is not
always consistent throughout the region.
It is clear that the opposition malefemale is of central importance; how it is
expressed is secondary.
design foundations
Design 1 37
rows’ (e.g. 2◊7) that are found in the edging. Each half is a mirror
reflection of the other Tech 8.3. In the case of ikat patterning,
regularity if not symmetry results from the prescribed way in
which the ties are inserted Tech 4.2.3; see also Theisen 1982.
With the exception of some Karo textiles e.g. Cat 2.12; Cat 2.13, the
centre warp axis is almost never emphasized by patterning;
rather, it is implied by the pattern arrangements in the cloth.
The symmetry along this axis is strong because the two sides of
the cloth are, without exception, mirror reflections of each
other. The centre weft axis, on the other hand, is often
emphasized by a row of patterning, most commonly
supplementary-weft, as though to compensate for subtle
expressions of asymmetry that can be found relative to this axis.
In the jungjung Cat 6.12.1, for example, the lozenge patterning
may be transformed with each repetition, from one end of the
cloth to the other. This asymmetry is only evident upon careful
scrutiny. While textiles of Indian design have the appearance of
symmetry, the patterning in the two end fields flanking the
centre panel is slightly different. The patterning in one end is
designated ‘male’ and in the other ‘female’ see figs in Cat 7.1.14
The location of the patterning in the cloth is also informed by
the axes of symmetry. When rows and bands of patterning are
used to embellish a textile in the weft direction, they are given a
conventional arrangement. If there is a single band/row, it is
located along the centre weft axis fig. Des 1.7a. If there are two
rows or bands, they are located at the ends of the cloth, near the
fringes, in a way that maintains the symmetry of the cloth with
respect to the centre weft axis fig. Des 1.7b. If there are three rows,
as is relatively common, the third one is added at the centre
weft axis (this is found, for example, in the tolu tuho15 versions
of the sibolang, surisuri and bolean Cat 1) fig. Des 1.7c. If there
are five rows or bands (lima tuho), again a centre row is flanked
by the other evenly numbered symmetrically arranged rows fig.
Des 1.7d. In the Karo textile garagara jongkit siwa Cat 6.14,
there are nine rows of supplementary weft, again arranged such
that the centre row is the axis of reflection. The jongkit duapuluh, a kind of garagara named after the twenty rows of
gold supplementary-weft patterning embellishing the cloth,
only appears to constitute an exception. Between the rows of
supplementary weft there are nineteen bands of lozenge ikat
patterning. Here again, eighteen bands are symmetrically
distributed with respect to the centre band. There is evidence
that these same spatial principles informed the arrangement of
tritik Tech 3.7 and fold-resist patterning Tech 3.7 in the Karo batu
jala Cat 1.6.2.
15 According to Myers’ findings
u.p.:167, the three tuho are symbolic. The
first relates to the stones used to mark
the boundaries between rice fields, the
second to the food and drink brought to
workers in the rice fields and the third to
the versatility in the use of this textile.
Jasper and Pirngadie erroneously claim
that tolu tuho translates as ‘the three
part’ textile 1912:266 .
fig. Des 1.7 Conventional arrangements
of rows and bands of patterning in the weft direction.
a. A single row.
b. Two rows.
c. Three rows.
d. Five rows.
38 Design 1
design foundations
Dualism
The above examples of odd numbers of elements being
symmetrically arranged into oppositional structures around a
centre point represent mergers of the principles of tripartition
and symmetry. They will be familiar to students of indigenous
Indonesian thought. As the Dutch anthropologist, J.P.B. de
Josselin de Jong pointed out, ‘… any odd-numbered system can
be reduced to an even-numbered one by treating it as a form of
opposition between the centre and two sides’ in Lévi-Strauss
1963:141. Claude Lévi-Strauss found these arrangements to be
illustrative of what he perceived to be a more all-pervasive
dualism informing social and physical order in indigenous
societies.
Concentric dualism and borders
The typical triadic arrangements found in Batak textiles do not
result in a balanced triad, but rather a middle flanked by two
equivalent sides. This tripartition is at the same time a form of
concentric dualism characterized by the opposition of centre
and periphery.
This reading of the spatial arrangements appears to have its
corollary in indigenous Batak interpretations of their textile
design. The indigenous word for the sides of the textiles (Toba,
Karo, Simalungun sisi) has connotations of ‘bordering’ Joustra
1907a:200; Van der Tuuk 1861:172 and underscores the inequality of
the elements in the tripartite arrangement. This emphasis on
boundaries is evident in virtually every component of the
textile, such as panels, stripes and pattern rows, as well as in the
textile as a whole. Just as the centre of the textile is bounded,
sometimes along both axes, weavers use the warp and weft
borders to frame the whole textile.
A variety of design/technical strategies is used to create
borders. The plain sides of the cloth contrast with the patterned
centre fig. Des 1.8a. The white elaborately patterned end fields of
the centre contrast with the centre field fig. Des 1.8b. The most
elaborate expression is achieved in textiles of Indian design, in
which the combined tripartite arrangements along centre warp
and weft axes mean that the centre field is framed on all sides fig.
Des 1.8c. In some instances, the use of a single contrasting colour
(e.g. red) in the borders emphasizes the frame of the whole
textile fig. Des 1.8d.
There is a tendency to repeat the same patterns in the weft
border and the border between sides and centre, again framing
the centre of the textile fig. Des 1.8e. A common motif used to
‹ fig. Des 1.8 Textile borders.
a. of the textile centre
b. of the centre field along the centre
warp axis
c. of the centre field along both the
centre warp and weft axes
d. using warp and weft edges
e. using stripe between sides and centre,
and weft edging
Design 1 39
design foundations
frame pattern elements is the stippled stripe/row. Expressed
in ikat, supplementary warp Tech 6.3.1, supplementary weft fig.
Tech 7.6.5 and twining fig. Tech 8.21a, b, c, the stippled line can be
deployed in both the warp and the weft direction and can
therefore accompany any design component of the cloth.
The designation end or tip (Toba punsa) is used to denote the
end fields of the pinunsaan Cat 7.2. The Indonesian puncak (the
equivalent of punsa), denotes the end, or border, of a larger
whole and the pointed tip of something, such as a bamboo
shoot see pusuk robung Cat 7.7. The triangle or tooth motif plays
the same role. The theme of framing, a common feature in
Southeast Asian textiles, has received too little scholarly
attention.16
model was ‘valid for the classification of territories as well as for
the ordering of social and economic classes, offerings to the
divinities, etc.’ P.E. de Josselin de Jong 1983 [1977a]:21. It is notable that
the Karo comprise five clans. Yet, the 4-5 model also depicts the
Toba conception of space, time and power, as represented by the
bindu matoga, a magically potent square, the corners of which
point in the four cardinal directions. When depicted as two
nested squares, the corners point to the eight cardinal
directions, the 8-9 model figs Des 1.1 and Des 1.10. The diagonal axes
are not used in Batak textile layout, however.
Asymmetric dualism
Concentric dualism is a kind of asymmetric dualism
characterized by opposition between centre and periphery. In
tripartite textiles, the diagnostic patterning is almost always
found in the centre component. In the supplementary-warp
stripes marking the boundary between sides and centre, the
most elaborate patterning is sometimes reserved for the
peripheral components, but this inverted arrangement also
underscores the principle of asymmetric opposition.
Spatial organization of this sort has been considered at length
by Dutch ethnologists and anthropologists. P.E. de Josselin de
Jong summed up socio-cosmic dualism, a recurrent theme
throughout the Indonesian archipelago, as being more
precisely represented by the opposition of two halves ‘with a
third, central element as mediator or uniter’ 1983 [1977a]:20. He
refers to what he calls the structuring of bipartition and union,
as the ‘2-3 model’ 1983 [1977a]:21. The analogue in Batak social
organization is the ego group flanked by wife-giving and wifetaking groups to which they are related by marriage fig. Des 1.9.
In its more elaborated form, the 2-3 model is represented by
what P.E. de Josselin de Jong referred to as the 4-5 model 1983
[1977a]:15. If common Batak textiles, in which tripartition is
expressed along the centre weft axis, illustrate the 2-3 model,
the more elaborate textiles of Indian layout illustrate the 4-5
model, a centre surrounded by four elements, that is,
tripartition along both the centre weft and warp axes. An old
textile of Karo provenance Cat 7.12 is of particular interest in this
regard. It includes a group of five supplementary-weft motifs
arranged in the centre of the cloth in a manner that
recapitulates the arrangement of the panels and fields in
textiles of Indian layout. In the ancient Javanese realm, the 4-5
16 Gavin 2003:238 mentions ‘frame and
fill’ as a principle for the organization of
design in Iban textiles. Yeager and
Jacobson refer to ‘borders’ around ikat
patterned panels in Timorese textiles
2002.
N
N
NW
W
E
NE
W
E
SE
SW
Z
Z
fig. Des 1.9 The 2-3 model represented by the ‘Indonesian type’ of
social organization.
The minimum triad of intermarrying clans in which women are
transferred in only one direction emphasizes the oppositions • male –
• female and wife-giver – wife-taker.
fig. Des 1.10 The 4-5 model and the 8-9 model of spatial
organization.
a. The Four Cardinal Points: a four-five model. An important Batak
symbol for space and time, often used in rites of divination.
b. The Eight Cardinal Points: an eight-nine model. A symbol of power,
totality, and the universe in which space and time are collapsed.
Both are commonly depicted on the carved walls of traditional Toba
Batak houses.
40 Design 1
design foundations
P.E. de Josselin de Jong noted that ‘To whatever lengths this
elaboration may go, it is always recognized as a development of
the more fundamental 4-5 scheme – a scheme which, besides
being elaborated, may also be reduced to its essentials: a 2-3
grouping.’ In reference to Ambonese classification, he gave an
anthropomorphic example: ‘There, the head represents the
totality, the right arm and leg the male part, and the left arm and
leg the female. The right–left opposition in its turn then serves
as the basis for an elaborate dual classification …’ 1983 [1977a]:15.
Dual classification with anthropomorphic features is
integrated in the tripartite organization of Batak textiles. The
word badan or body designates the centre of the tripartite cloth,
and the word ulu, or head, the embellishments at the fringe
ends fig. Des 1.11. Ompu Sihol, my weaving teacher in Harian
Boho, included a subtle narrow ikat row along one fringe end of
her ragi hotang Cat 4.2 textile that differed from the rest of the
ikat in the textile fig. Tech 4.7. She referred to this, too, as an ulu.
When I asked her if the other end of the textile also had such an
ulu, the answer was ‘no’ and she looked at me disparagingly as
if I had two heads. Yet weavers in other regions sometimes do
include subtle, divergent rows or bands at both ends of the
textile, and call them both ulu. While the two end fields of the
ragidup Cat 7.1 are referred to using the same term — ulu — Myers
u.p.:276–8 noted that one end field corresponded to the ‘head’ of
the textile, and the other to the ‘foot’, and that when the textile is
worn over the shoulder, the ‘head’ has to hang in front, and the
‘foot’ behind the wearer. She did not indicate how this protocol
corresponded to the male and female patterning at the two
ends of the cloth. Inconsistencies in the interpretation of ulu
notwithstanding, the asymmetries at the two ends of the
textile, at least in some cases17 appear to have something to do
with a rudimentary anthropomorphic classification merged
with the biaxially symmetrical layout.
This organizational theme may also originate, at least in part,
in social organization. Asymmetric marriage relations among
clans, such as are found in the Batak area, mean that the
opposition between men and women, who marry in opposite
directions, is as fundamental to the social organization as the
triad J.P.B. de Josselin de Jong 1935; see also P.E. de Josselin de Jong 1983
[1977b], 1984; Fox 1980. Socio-cosmic dualism, of which the
opposition between men and women is a core element, is a
characteristic of Batak culture, and is thoroughly integrated in
textile lore, design and classification. The association between
textiles and women appears to be a component of early Batak
thought Parkin 1978:260. Textiles are woven by women, represent
women and, as ‘female’ gifts, are exchanged on ritual occasions
fig. Des 1.11 Textile as anthropomorphic representation.
• Ulu (head), a row of divergent patterning in the body of
the cloth.
• Badan (body)
• If this row is present, it is variously referred to as ulu
(head) or punsa (end).
17 I did not ask the weaver of the
jungjung Cat 6.12.1 how she interpreted
the asymmetry in that textile type.
18 Male activities included writing and
wood carving.
design foundations
for ‘male’ gifts typified by the spear or lance (piso).18 In a Toba
myth, the earth originates from the spinning prowess of a
daughter of an upper-world deity. Textile production is a female
power and art Niessen 1985a. There are indications that the textile
warp is conceptualized as female, and the weft as male, such
that the weaving of cloth accomplishes the production of the
totality that is characteristic of the union of male and female
(the 2-3 model).
Another possible origin of anthropomorphic classification in
textile design is the role of the body during weaving. The loom
is an extension of the body. Strapped in between breast beam
and backstrap, kicking against a stone or piece of wood underneath the loom to give her stability and support, leaning her
body forward and backward to decrease and increase the
tension on the warp yarns, the weaver is part of the mechanism
of the loom see fig. Des 1.3. It can hardly be a surprise to learn that
the forerunner of the Indonesian loom was the weaver’s body
and involved tensing yarn between the feet and waist Nettleship
1970.
I have seen Batak weavers use their feet in this way when
installing the coil rod Tech 5.2.1 and substituting the warp of the
bulang Tech 6.4.2. The rhythms of weaving, from inserting the
weft, beating with the sword, wetting (‘crying on’) the woven
web Tech 5.4.6, and shifting the warp in the loom Tech 5.4.7, are
bodily rhythms that, when well done, have an aesthetic
efficiency, just as in dance and sport. The skills are numerous
and complex. They are learned and passed on. And the resultant
cloth with a head (ulu), body or centre (badan) and hair or
fringes (rambu) is an analogue of the body.
In the act of weaving, the right–left opposition appears to have
conceptual as well as technical importance. The Batak data
presented in Part iv of this volume reveal a remarkable
consistency in the division of labour between the weaver’s
hands. When manipulating the cotton bow, making rolags,
winding weft, winding the reel and winding balls of yarn, the
left hand holds the instrument/ball steady and the right hand
performs the action of plucking/rolling/wrapping. When
working with the cotton gin and the spinning wheel, in both
cases the right hand turns the wheel while the left manipulates
the fibre. In warping, the right hand winds the yarn while the
left inserts the heddles see fig. Tech 4.2. The right hand winds the
ikat ties, while the left holds the group of yarns at the right
place. The right hand ‘winds’ the (continuous, alternate)
supplementary-weft heddles, while the left hand holds them. In
all of these processes, except plucking the cotton bow, the right
hand is engaged in circular, winding motions and the left hand
Design 1 41
is relatively stable, holding, guiding and, in the case of pitting
and spinning the cotton, pushing and pulling, in and out. Given
the uniformity of the tasks of the hands, it becomes clearer why
my unconventional (to a Batak) way of winding yarn, as
described at the outset of this chapter, was ‘wrong’ to the
onlookers. The sense of order that I had disturbed was larger
than just that related to winding yarn.
The direction of motion of the right hand also appears to be
significant. As the weaver makes rolags, winds weft, winds balls
of yarn and winds the warp, she rolls in a direction that can best
be described, given the embodied action, as away from her body.
Without having recorded the direction in which the handles of
the cotton gin and spinning wheel were turned and the
direction in which the yarn was circulated in the dye pot, I
would hypothesize on the basis of consistency, that these
motions were also away from the body. Furthermore, the
cylinder of continuous warp in the loom is woven increasingly
further away from the body until the cloth is fully woven, thus
completing the cycle. The starting point of weaving is at the
same location in the warp as the starting point of warping,
namely the left peg (it is substituted by the breast beam in the
loom).
Right and left also inhere in actions involving insertions and
extractions from the warp. Most obvious is the insertion of the
weft – from the left through a natural shed, and from the right
through a counter shed. The two throws of the weft are
perceived as a single unit with the weft ending where it began.
By contrast, throws of supplementary weft begin and end at the
right. Conventionally, two picks are thrown through each
pattern shed, again suggesting that a pair is perceived as a
completed unit and complements the alternate throws of the
main weft. The importance of completed ‘cycles’ of weft is clear
from a technical perspective because they ensure order during
the weaving process.
But it also raises the question of whether ‘cycles’ of weft have
any conceptual correspondence with the circular continuous
warp that is strung in the Batak loom. The special symbolism of
textiles that are removed from the loom without the warp first
being cut Tech 5.6 is an indication that the circular warp is
perceived as homologous to cyclical time. Such uncut, circular
cloths are woven to promote the life cycle of their owners. Life is
a long vulnerable thread. The round warp symbolizes unbroken
time, the ongoing of the generations, connection with the spirit
world, health and well-being Gittinger 1975; Niessen 1985a. Life cycle,
or cyclical time, is found in the annual cycle of the patterns of
stars in the skies, the cycle of the crops, the human life cycle and
42 Design 1
design foundations
the annual ritual cycle. While weaving, the weaver was
integrated, body and soul, in the production of a complex
metaphor of life. The skills of the weaver mattered: whether the
size of the cloth she warped would be the size of a death shroud,
whether her thread broke in an inauspicious way, whether the
spirit of the dead entered her dye pot, whether she beat a fly to
death with her sword while weaving, and so on see Tech 3; Tech 4;
Tech 5. All of these circumstances would mean that the cloth
would fail to promote the well-being of its owner. I am not
aware of symbols related to the order of weft insertion, but as
noted above, Ompu Sihol was very adamant, when I tried to
weave, that the order prevail.
This raises the question of whether elsewhere in Indonesia/
Southeast Asia the division of labour between the hands is
similarly constant, whether it is the same as is found among the
Toba Batak, whether it is associated, conceptually, with cycles
and whether direction of motion is consistent and symbolically
relevant. Early Dutch ethnographers found the themes of
dualism (right–left opposition) to be deeply embedded in
Indonesian culture P.E. de Josselin de Jong 1983 [1977b], 1984; Rassers
1982 [1959]. Textile symbolism gives reason to believe that
this theme may be equally pervasive in textile-production
technology in the archipelago. The division of labour between
the weaver’s hands has potential for inter-regional comparison.
Care has also been taken in the descriptions in Part iv of
this volume to pinpoint just how a technical process yields
symmetry. Researchers of Indonesian cloth need to attend
to the relationship between principles of design integration
and symmetry throughout the archipelago and the technical
processes that are deployed to achieve these features.
Skills are particularly precious because, unlike artefacts,
they cannot be collected, stored or preserved. Nor can they be
deduced from finished cloth. They are ephemeral acts and
therefore highly vulnerable to loss. In the modern era, Batak
textile production techniques began to undergo rapid change.
By the 1980s, the Karo Batak, for example, were practising only
a small number of the techniques that they once knew. Their
textile-production practices appear to be as ancient as those of
the Toba and Simalungun, but, as noted in Part iv, many were
different. Some of the insights that could have been gained
from comparing techniques within the Batak region alone,
have therefore been lost.19
19 A short segment of film depicting
Karo weaving techniques allows for some
comparison. Its origin is not clear, but it
was probably made in the second decade
of the twentieth century by the colonial
administrator, Wilhelm Middendorp,
perhaps with the assistance of the
photographer, Tassilo Adam. Janneke van
Dijk brought this item of the
Tropenmuseum collection to my
attention.
Totality
The theme of totality, according to Philip Tobing’s analysis 1956,
is core to Toba Batak thought and religion. The spirit world is
characterized as having an ‘essential oneness, which is the High
God himself … the High God can hardly be anything else, but the
oneness of all-space and all-order’ 1956:120. Tobing documents
how repeatedly, in magico-religious thought, conceptions of
time and space are collapsed into the oneness of totality: the
bindu matoga fig. Des 1.1 that corresponds to what P.E. de Josselin
de Jong called the 4-5 and 8-9 schemes of classification. The
banyan tree of fate extending between the upper- and underworld 1956:133, the anthropomorphic conceptualization of time
in the form of the body parts of Debata or the High God 1956:134,
and the annual passage of the great underworld, snake-like,
creature, Naga Padoha, encircling the earth 1956:135 are further
depictions of the unity of time and space. Tobing points out that
‘time is identical with the cosmic order, which is inconceivable
without space.’ The conception of time is inherent in space, and
space is inherent in time. This understanding of cosmic order is
fundamental to ritual activities such as the mangase taon or
annual cleansing ceremony in which the story of the origin of
the world is re-enacted and divinatory rites in which the
intentions of the spirit world are revealed. It infuses the
classification schemes enumerated above. If the 2-3 and 4-5
schemes are interpreted throughout the archipelago as
totalizing, then totality is a common theme in indigenous
Indonesian thought, and it is hardly surprising that it should
find visual expression in the weaving arts.
Colour is a foremost means of expressing totality. In the Batak
area, the individual strands of red, white and blue-black
represent members of the kinship triad, and twisted together
the strands represent the system as a whole see also Maxwell
1990:98. Totality is expressed as a composite. In 1938, the
colonial official Viktor E. Korn received a visit from three
leading practitioners of indigenous Batak religion who were
wearing turbans made from red, white and blue-black yarn
twisted together (bonang manalu) Korn 1953:32; see fig. Des 3.5. This
was unusual given that such practitioners commonly wore only
black headdresses. Korn was later able to explain the choice of
the tricolour in terms of the message that the visitors wanted to
convey: they had come with the authority to represent the
entire population Korn 1953:38, n12.
Totality in Batak cloth design can be expressed in the form of
patchworks, or samplers that pull together a variety of
patterning and colour. The sampur borna Cat 9.1.5 is a jacket
20 Two strategies are recorded in the
literature. Both strategies are wellknown in the Silindung Valley see
Maxwell 1990:119, fig. 171. One strategy
makes use of the female supplementary
weft motif found in one white end of the
textile. Each of the repeating motifs
composing this pattern is counted off in
succession while a line of a verse is
recited for each motif. The fate of the
recipient of the textile is believed to be
bound up with the meaning attached to
the line of the verse where the recitation
ends see Gittinger 1975:22; Myers u.p.:
276-278 offers a variant description. In
this case, it is not clear whether there is a
numerological correspondence between
the verse and the pattern arrangements
in the textile.
design foundations
stitched together from (imported) fabrics of different colours.
While this was not confirmed for me during fieldwork, it is
likely that such a jacket expressed the same principle as the
tricolour so that, by wearing it, the wearer was assured of
‘composite’ spiritual power. Such jackets were worn exclusively
by magico-religious specialists.
Comparable to a sampler, the harungguan textile type Cat
2.14, is a composite of the patterning found in other textile types
Detail. Such a textile is usually acquired on the advice of a local
healer. It is believed that at least one of the range of patterns
displayed in the cloth will appeal to the soul of its owner, who
will then derive protection and strength from it. This belief
suggests that the range of patterning in Toba textiles is
perceived as corresponding to the variety of tastes and needs
of the human soul.
In Javanese court culture, sacred patchwork patterns with
extraordinary magical and protective power are associated
with, and reserved for, the exclusive use of social and spiritual
leaders on special occasions Veldhuizen-Djajasoebrata 1984:74–9;
Guy 1998:102–3. At the folk end of the Javanese culture spectrum,
Heringa describes how the theme of totality is infused in
textiles in the East Javanese village of Kerek. In that village,
colours are multivalent symbols; they mark phases in the life
cycle of the human, and correlate those phases with the order of
the universe. Here, too, totality is represented by the composite
of all colours, as in the cloth called pipitan.
When the young wife becomes a mother, she is allowed to wear the
pipitan cloth. Blue and red have now mingled to become black,
symbolizing the union of husband and wife … The pipitan though it
looks blue and black with red, can also be considered to be multicoloured – incorporating all possible colors …’ Heringa 1989:127
Tobing recognized the ragidup Cat 7.1; Detail (the variant
with stripes in the centre field) as being a symbol of the Toba
Batak High God 1956:185 and, as such, a symbol of totality.
The composite character of the cloth is expressed in local
explanations of its design. As its name indicates, the
textile comprises ‘motifs of life.’ I was told that the black
supplementary-weft patterning in the white end fields
represents the earth, flora, fauna and humans. The stripes in
the centre field are the sun and precipitation hitting the earth,
and the side panels are the cultivated fields Niessen 1985a:225.
The cloth, in other words, was perceived or interpreted as
representing the Batak universe Detail.
Design 1 43
The meaning of the ragidup varies from region to
region, and from person to person. However, in the
design of this cloth, the principles of textile layout
are more elaborated than in any other textile in the
repertory Niessen 1985a:167–228. That this complex
textile is locally perceived as the ‘number one’ Toba
Batak cloth, underscores the respect that the Toba
have for repetition and elaboration of design
principles. It may be argued that if this textile
symbolizes totality, this has as much to do with the
composite of principles manifested in its design
as the meanings associated with its patterning,
summarized in the previous paragraph.
The ragidup has a key ritual function as a soul
cloth (Toba ulos ni tondi). In this capacity, it is given
by her parents to a woman pregnant with her first
child. Such a cloth will be kept carefully because of its
power to promote well-being and protect the life of
the mother and her progeny. It makes sense, given
this important function, that such a complex textile
representing totality is also one of the
accoutrements of divination rituals, and that it is
consulted to determine whether it will be auspicious
for the owner.20
The aesthetic expressed by Batak textiles could
scarcely be more different from the exuberance of
the spontaneously constructed tie-dyed cloth from
Ecuador in which much appears to depend on mood
and chance. Batak textiles, whether complex or
simple, are thoughtful, consistent, methodical, and
regular: in short, rule-bound. But the twentieth
century has been tumultuous. As a consequence of
external influences, the design of Batak textiles has
undergone change so considerable that it is better
described using the term revolutionary. The concept
of ‘progressive elaboration’ of the ancient design
elements fails to successfully describe what is going
on. These changes are addressed in the following two
chapters on Early Design History Des 2 and Modern
Design History Des 3.
ragidup Cat 7.1. Detail.
harungguan Cat 2.14. Detail.