Central
Asia has long had a reputation for being the badlands of the Islamic world. This
is the region that helped defeat the Soviet empire in the 1980s and a century
earlier had been able to crush the advance of the once-invincible British army.
The UNESCO definition of Central Asia includes Afghanistan, which has generally
been seen as the baddest land of all.
From
the ikat-weaving viewpoint, the center of the region is the area now
known as Uzbekistan. In contrast to the untamed image enjoyed by most of the
region, this is a land of urban centers of near-mythical sophistication.
Romantic and refined, cities such as Samarqand and Bukhara were also home to a
weaving tradition of extraordinary vigor.
Of
these textiles, an important collection is being currently exhibited, until July
2006, at the Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia. Abrbandi: Ikats of Central Asia
is the first show of its type in Asia and should open many eyes to an art form
that has so far been appreciated mainly by audiences in the West.
Ikat,
the Making of a Cheerful Dream
Ikat
is among the most elaborate yet most misunderstood products of the loom. The
first obstacle it has to overcome is the terminology. Ikat is a Malay
word that is now widely used to describe a weaving technique that exists in a
variety of locations, many of them far from the Malay archipelago. The original
meaning of the word ikat (tying) conjures up images of cheerful textiles
— tie-dyed and ready for tourists in need of a sarong or pareo on the
beaches of Southeast Asia. In some ways, the ikat technique is similar to
tie-dyeing, albeit on a much smaller scale. Instead of an entire cloth being
immersed in a dye bath, with certain areas protected from coloring, ikat
requires each thread to be dyed separately before weaving.
This
would be a relatively simple matter if it were not for the
patterns that have to be created at the dyeing stage. It is
similar to an artist having an image of a painting in his mind and
applying every color on different, tiny pieces of canvas. They
then have to be fitted together in the hope of forming a
harmonious whole. The chances are that they will not. The creators
of ikat also tended to fail, but by such a small margin one
has to marvel at their conceptual and technical ability.
The
difference between perfect and almost perfect in their art is the
same as that between machine and man. While many Muslim artisans
have deliberately added imperfections to their carpets or wall
hangings, the ikat weavers of Central Asia haven't needed
to. There was no danger of anyone suspecting a challenge to
God’s omnipotence in their work.
Home
of the Ikat Tradition
Upon
a close viewing of ikat, the first impression is that it is
slightly out of focus. The patterns have none of the crispness
that comes with mechanized production. Instead, there is a dreamy
quality. From a distance, the impression is different; dazzling
combinations of color become the overwhelming factor. These show
the urban landscape of 19th century Central Asia with a vibrancy
that would be hard to imagine in most parts of the Islamic world
today. While Muslims increasingly favor traditional-looking
monochrome for their outfits, in colorful enclaves of Islam, such
as Malaysia or Indonesia, eye-catching acid hues for men and women
are still very much part of the sartorial scenery.
Great
oasis cities such as Samarqand and Bukhara revived a little of
their former imperial glory during the 19th century and at the
same time created a fashion revolution. Like most revolutions, it
was short lived. By the early 20th century, Central Asia had been
largely subsumed into the Russian empire, and worse was to come
with the arrival of the Soviets. Before this was a belle époque
of bright colors and cultural pride.
Men
and women of sufficient means dressed in a splendor that matched
their optimism. Their preferred medium of expression was silk, a
sensitive issue in Islamic teaching regarding men's dress codes.
It has to be said, in defense of the male population of Central
Asia, that silk was so commonplace at the time that it was not
making quite such a gesture of ostentation as would have been the
case in the Hijaz (Arabian Peninsula) during the early years of
Islam. Twelve centuries before, silk had been declared to be an
appropriate attire for ladies only, along with males suffering
from skin afflictions.
During
this last mentioned flowering of Central Asian culture, men and women alike
would flaunt their wealth. Looking at the condition of their homes — as
recorded by photographers at the time — it would seem that their financial
resources were limited, or that most of their money was invested in their
clothing. Robes were long, lavish, and often worn in layers for maximum
effect. The patterns on these coats and on textile panels for brightening
the home were inspired by tradition and their surroundings. Among the most
common motifs were boteh, the tree of life, amulets, and stylized
versions of ram’s horns. Although many of these symbols are of pre-Islamic
origin, none of them are un-Islamic. There are no Greek-style nymphs
disporting themselves in the way they may have appeared in those parts of
Central Asia that have an entrenched Buddhist past.
Beyond
a Deep-rooted Tradition
More
than one factor encouraged this Central Asian art to flourish. The
region’s position on the Silk Road was vital to its ikat history.
Not only was silk more easily found, and the secrets of its creation
revealed, but there was also a cosmopolitan environment in which to enjoy
this most exquisite fabric. Individuals of different ethnic and religious
backgrounds coexisted with slightly less tension than in Europe or Russia.
Textiles
were no guarantee of an easy life for their makers, however. For the
different communities involved in ikat production, the brilliance of
their output belied working conditions that were little different from
sweatshops of the 21st century. Whether it was the satanic mills of
England’s Industrial Revolution or the worst excesses of contemporary
globalization, textile workshops have generally offered an alternative to
the rigors of life on the land. Yet, what is beyond doubt is that ikats
will live on in more museum collections than Nike T-shirts.
The
collectibility of Central Asian ikats has increased enormously in
recent years. As with most textiles, they have gone from being items of
ethnographic interest to acquiring the status of art objects. Admiration for
textiles of the Islamic world has not increased at quite the same rate as
for those from China, a market that has developed at an extraordinary rate.
Over
the past decade, the only market to have risen faster is Russian art that
encompasses more than just the sentimental 19th paintings that Russia’s
nouveaux riches enjoy so much. Soviet-era plates and other surprises have
become highly sought after. It is just possible that Central Asian ikats
could join this oligarch shopping list. Not only do they have chintz linings
that were usually made in Russia, but they were also a vital part of the
Russian orientalist tradition. During the 19th century, it was common for
Muscovites and other sophisticates to pose for photographs wearing ikat
or to hold theme parties based on the culture of their southern neighbors.
At
the moment, ikat collecting activity is concentrated solidly in the
West. As with so much Islamic art, interest from other Islamic countries
tends to be limited by nationalist considerations. Iranians and Turks tend
to collect Qajar and Ottoman works because they are Iranian or Turkish,
rather than because they feel part of the great creative urge of the Muslim
Ummah. Seeing the connection, though, between all the arts of the Islamic
world is vital to understanding that world. This unity in diversity is what
makes the contribution of the Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia especially
significant.
