Ms. Crafty learns a new craft

Another country, another new craft... Or maybe two. But I'll hold off on sharing about the second one. First things first and all.

I have been wanting to try batik for decades, literally. I think I was still in elementary school when I first decided that I want to make my own fabric. And tie die did not cut it. Over the years, I've looked into fabric and yarn dying classes but couldn't work up the courage to fork over a handful of hard-earned dollars to make it happen.

That is, until Bali. Things here are affordable. And Indonesia is the center of modern batik. The tradition of dying fabrics with a wax resist dates back a long time, some say more than 1,500 years. The last couple hundred years, Indonesians living in Java have really pushed the art form farther and, lucky for me, my instructor Widya grew up in Java and has been practicing his craft in Bali for the last 25 years.

So what exactly does batik entail and what did I make this time? Well, as the saying goes, a picture is a worth a thousand words....

First I drew on paper some elephants I'd seen in South Africa's natural park. Then, I traced those onto my white cotton fabric, along with some lotus flowers and other greenery.

Next, it was time to get waxed! Not me, silly. Rather, it was time for me to attempt to retrace my pencil lines using hot wax that drips from a special tool called a chanting (or djanting, depending on who's spelling it). Yes, this wax hurts when you drip it on yourself as I inevitably discovered firsthand.

When I was done with the chanting, Kumon (Widya's brother-in-law) held my fabric up to the light, noting where it had not soaked through and then retouched my work. A lot.

Then it was time for the wax stamps. One of ways to speed up the batik process is to use bronze stamps dipped in wax and then applied to the fabric. This is also a handy way of making repetitious designs and covering the edge of the fabric which is more challenging than the middle.

With the first round of waxing done, it was finally time to paint! and paint-by-numbers I did.

 

I even made a cheat sheet of my design with colored pencils indicating my choices.

Using this handy color swatch as a guide. (Luckily I'm not the only Type A person in this craft!)

After the first round of painting was through, I opted to do another layer of waxing. This is totally optional, but it makes for more complicated and beautiful designs. It also takes longer, making mine a two-day project. And again proving that persistence leads to perfection... Or at least interesting results.

After waxing, comes painting. Again I relied on my trusty notes and Kumon helped out so as to speed things along.

Once the second layer of ink was dry, it was time to dunk my work five times:

1. First in the fixative so the dyes would be permanent,
2. Then in cold water to rinse off the fixing chemicals,
3. Next in hot water to melt off the wax (be sure to stir well with a big stick!),
4. Then back into the fixative to preserve the dye which was under the second layer of wax, and
5. Finally back into the cold water for one last rinse.

Then hang to dry and celebrate!

I know you are all so impressed with my handiwork, but just in case you're having a tough time imagining what one might create in 5 days on a single project, here are some shots of Widya's and Kumon's beautiful works:

And since 2 days wasn't enough for me, I'm planning to head back into Widya's batik studio this weekend for another go.

 

Paradise or Pirate Port?

It's so hard to know if you're getting taken advantage of when in a foreign land. The usual clues, like misinformation or a weird smile, can often be chalked up to language and cultural barriers. When I find myself in situations like these, I prefer to give the locals the benefit of the doubt, especially when it the result doesn't present a financial or physical hardship.

 

Other people, though, I have noticed sometimes react with anger, sadness or indignation holding firm to the belief that locals should feel privileged to be visited by westerners and should therefore treat us as they would treat an honored guest. I do not share this belief. Instead, I often feel proud of locals who maximize their own fortune when besotted with tourists like myself. In a world with disparities in wealth and power such that I can travel nearly anywhere I wish while inhabitants of the places I visit can rarely afford to leave their hometowns much less gain permission travel to the USA, I feel it is their due to make the most of their situation.

You might be wondering what spurred this rant, given all my previous posts about the beauty and peacefulness of Tonga... Well, travel isn't without its difficult moments and awkwardness and despite being paradise Tonga isn't sheltered from these realities.

It all started when I was admiring the handicrafts at the market in Neiafu. The intricately woven baskets caught my eye (surprise) and as I picked up one to inspect the workmanship, the lady manning the shop informed me that she had made the lovely basket in my hands. I turned the basket over, looking for a price, finding none. "Free!" I jokingly thought to myself.

Instead of asking for the price, I voiced my desire to learn how to make such beautiful weavings. The woman smiled and shared that she had been teaching an American woman all week to make this type of basket and that she could teach me too. I was delighted and asked after the cost of the lessons and when she would be available to teach me. By this point, I'd been joined by Cheri whose sailboat I was staying on. We agreed to meet on Friday at 10am at her stall, pay $20 Pangan ($12) per person and bring all the friends we wanted.

When Friday came, Cheri and I were joined by two other western women and one of their 9 year old daughters. The local weaver, Bianeta, laid out a cloth on the concrete floor of the market between the tables where her baskets and those of a friend where on display. We lowered ourselves to the hard ground, took off our shoes and sat cross-legged, waiting for the instruction to begin. Bianeta handed out pre-started basket centers and showed us how to weave in the pandanus leaves to continue the basic weaving pattern. In a few minutes we were weaving away, slowly but surely picking up the simple stitch and then learning how to add in extra reeds to maintain the stiffness of the work as it wound round and round, enlarging the piece as we persisted.

My pre-started weaving, reeds coming out towards the left and pandanus leaf making the next stitch.

Occasionally when one of us would spot an error in our work, Bianeta or one of her friends would fix our weaving and return it to us. But for the most part, we were just enjoying the quiet company of each other and the local weavers as we worked along. After about an hour, the young girl decided she was done and her mother paid Bianeta $20 Pangan, packed up the 3" unfinished coaster-like weaving and left. Cheri, our friend Caroline and I continued for another hour after which we planned to get lunch.

A glimpse of our group, weaving away with the help of kind local women.

As we wrapped up our second hour, I asked Bianeta if I could get supplies to finish my project and she happily said yes. Then it was time to pay. I asked how much I owed, assuming the supplies cost extra. I was surprised to hear that the price was $20 Pangan per hour plus another $20 for the supplies, so $60 Pangan ($36 US) in total. It was double what I was expecting but I paid anyway without argument as it wasn't going to put much of a dent in our savings and I had enjoyed myself. But Cheri and Caroline were a little less comfortable with the new price. Cheri felt bad that she'd told her friend it was a flat rate of $20 Pangan for the lesson and Caroline felt the price was too high for what we'd gotten. That's when the awkwardness ensued. Bianeta held firm to her price, and eventually Cheri paid and we left Caroline to settle up her account while we went off to lunch.

A sampling of the supplies I took home. Top to bottom: pandanus leaves cut thin for weaving, uncut pandanus leaves curled up, and reeds made from coconut fronds.

Later we learned that Caroline had voiced her discomfort with the price and had negotiated a price of $50 for a handcrafted basket made by Bianeta with the lessons thrown into the deal and no supplies to go. She left upset by the interaction and feeling like Bianeta had tried to treat her unfairly. I felt bad for Caroline and didn't want to her be unhappy, yet I still felt positive about our weaving adventure.

Sometimes when I travel with other people, I find myself wondering why I experience things so differently than them. Introspection is helpful in these situations and I eventually settled on the following as the explanation for why I was content with how things had gone:

1. The basketweaving lesson was my idea, not that of a pushy salesman
2. I had learned a new skill taught to me by a friendly local
3. I only spent $36, including supplies to continue crafting for hours back on the boat
4. A two-hour basket weaving class costs at least $100 in the United States, supplies not included

I believe paradise is in the eye of beholder. And I choose to believe that Tonga is paradise, basketweaving lessons included.

 

An all-American sort of day

Today I woke up with stereotypical American activities on my to do list. First quilting, then baking a pie.

But before I did either, I took a rejuvenating wash in an outdoor shower. The sunlight warmed me and the beautiful view of green-blue mountains and vineyards nourished me. After which, I doned what can only be described as an easy-breezy-patriotic outfit: my navy and white striped skirt with a bright red tank top. Why did I pick this outfit, you ask. Beats me. I didn't even realize I had dressed for The Fourth of July until I saw myself in the mirror. Hilarious. But it seemed to fit the day's theme, so I left it.

First craft of the day: quilting.

I am making a quilt for two friends that are pregnant with their first child. Well, actually she's pregnant, but he's helping decorate the kid's room so we can just pretend they are both pregnant, together. Anywho, I love making quilts for my friends' brethren. So much so that when I packed my "project kit" for this year of travel, I included fabrics for two quilts! (Yes, I also somehow knew that I would need a bin of carefully curated craft projects despite my plans to be abroad all year?!)

Today I accomplished the formidable "quilt sandwich" step in the quilting process. For those of you who do not quilt, trust me when I say this is the crux move of the whole shebang. If you don't make the sandwich neatly, your nicely pieced quilt will end up looking like it was crumbled up by some angsty teenager and then angrily jammed through the sewing machine. In other words your hard work will be turned into a Goodwill donation.

For this task, I summoned my best patience... and set aside about two hours, as that is how long it takes me to (1) cut the top piece to a nice squared off size, (2) tape the bottom evenly and not too wrinkly or stretchedly (words?) to the floor, (3) gently spread the 100% cotton batting on top (no polycrap here, please), (4) finish the sandwich with the top piece on the top (duh), and then (5) pin the heck out of the three layers in a futile attempt to ensure that nothing shifts or bunches as I not-so-patiently push it through the sewing machine at some later date. Phew. Can you believe I did all that today? Well, I did. All while wearing my flag-impersonating outfit to boot!

You didn't think I was gonna reveal the entire quilt, did you? That's for another day. Meanwhile, enjoy this here close-up of my masterful quilt-sandwiching. And yes, I do draw my quilt lines right onto the fabric like a brut.

Second craft of the day: pie-making!

And this is not just any ordinary pie. It is a fresh cherry and granny smith apple pie in a gluten-free crust because of course I want to eat the delicious pie when it is all done baking, and well, of course I can eat gluten because it makes my tummy so swollen I look preggers. Which is really not a fun look when you're NOT pregnant. So, no gluten for me. (Wow, I'm totally rambling today. Sorry about that.)

Well, the pie turned out lovely. Of course! And I'm sure it's delicious too. But for now, it is cooling and congealing and stuff, so I can't taste it. But it smells heavenly. And everyone will love it, because who doesn't like homemade, gluten-free, apple-cherry pie!

An artfully arranged apple-cherry pie baked in a cast iron skillet, because this is my all-American day or because it was the only pie-shaped dish available--you decide!

Oh, and for my final all-American-feat of the day, I shall be partaking in a lively BBQ with friends and strangers who I hope will become my friends. Cheers!