JAKARTA -- If I had to choose a favorite textile, and a favorite place to admire its infinite forms, it would be Indonesia's traditional batik in Thamrin City, a windowless multilevel market in the capital that is dedicated to the sale of clothes and fabric.
Literally thousands of small stores in the building's labyrinthine passages are piled high with cloth in ochre browns, creams, blacks, reds, yellows, blues and greens. On each there is a pattern varying from abstract geometric forms to flowers, animals, mythical beasts and human figures.
Two things define batik. The first is the production technique. Wax is either drawn or stamped onto cotton sheets in elaborate patterns and the sheet is then immersed in dye. When it is removed, the areas not covered with wax are dyed and the waxed parts are untouched. Elaborate multihued patterns can be formed by repeating the process.
The second, Indonesians will proudly inform you, is that batik is the national cloth, replete with indigenous history and philosophy. It is worn at formal occasions from state ceremonies to business meetings and weddings, and there is an elaborate (though blurry) etiquette governing which forms are acceptable when. As I prepared for a meeting with one senior Indonesian politician I was firmly instructed not just to wear batik, but also which color palettes and motifs would be appropriate, and which to avoid.
The truth of claims about batik's national character is also blurry. The tradition of batik-making extends beyond Indonesia into the wider Malay world in Malaysia, Singapore and southern Thailand. A UNESCO declaration in 2009 that batik was part of Indonesia's heritage sparked celebrations in Indonesia and denunciations in Malaysia.
Within Indonesia, batik is far from national -- its origin is most strongly associated with Java, an island that contains the majority of the country's population but only a fraction of its landmass. In the east, where a vast ethnically complex hinterland of islands has long felt dominated by Java, batik has little or no local history.
Nevertheless, the reaction to batik's nationalization has not been resentment but enthusiastic adoption. In areas from Kalimantan to the Kei Islands batik cloths that integrate motifs seen as reflecting local culture have emerged -- a simultaneous statement of national belonging and local particularism.
Take for example, sasambo batik from West Nusa Tenggara province. Created in 2010 by local vocational school students, it uses patterns that include geckos, traditional local houses, and geometric patterns drawn from local weaving traditions.
The teachers behind it were explicit in their motivations. Yes, batik was not a local tradition, but since it had been declared a national cloth it was now as much their tradition as Java's. But if they were going to start making batik they wanted it to be in a local -- not Javanese -- style.
Some might see the process as artificial. Sasambo batik's success seems to owe a great deal to the provincial government quickly declaring it the official local batik, placing large orders and instructing civil servants to wear it. Even the name is an acronym that mashes together the names of three of the province's biggest tribes -- Sasak, Samawa and Mbojo.
For me, though, this seems an evolutionary development that is in keeping with both batik's history and the often self-consciously constructed nature of Indonesian nationalism.
In Java, the cloth was seen for a long time as a signifier of individual origins and social status. Surakarta's cloth is known for its restrained browns and small motifs, Yogyakarta's for its bright whites, bluish blacks and larger patterns. And at the sultans' courts in both cities certain motifs were reserved for royals and aristocrats. Even today visitors to the royal courts will find the rules still linger, even if they no longer carry the force of law.
Meanwhile, in the 19th-century batik produced on the commercially oriented north coast of Java burst with cosmopolitan creativity. Bold colors prevailed as Chinese migrants created batiks with dragons, phoenixes and peonies, and women from European and Javanese mixed marriages introduced Western botanical motifs and lace-like patterns.
When ethnic-Chinese residents of the Dutch East Indies (a colonial name for the islands now called Indonesia) became Dutch subjects in the early 20th century, European-style motifs became popular with them too. It was a sign of their new status in the colonial system.
The latest adaptation of batik by different ethnic groups is therefore part of a long tradition. If the process is a bit self-conscious, that is typical of modern Indonesian nationalism. This is, after all, a country whose national language, flag and anthem all emerged from a conference of nationalists in 1928. Then -- as now -- there was a careful attempt to balance Javanese predominance and outer-island sensitivities.
In the uses of the cloth we can also read changes in the economic and political order. Once the cloth design could signal position in social hierarchy -- aristocratic or racial. In today's nationalist democratic age local batiks speak of citizenship in a country whose slogan is Unity in Diversity. This, plus mass production, has helped turn a status-marking elite product into everyday workwear.
Contemporary batik designs -- often tied more to individual designers than any locality -- also reflect such changes.
For Olivia Ong, a designer based in Yogyakarta, her new batik designs -- which include ancient Javanese queens and Buddha figures -- carry meaning. But the meaning is more personal to her than the fixed social symbolism of older designs still found at the city's royal court. And like the rowdy batiks of the 19th-century north coast, it is not afraid of foreign influences -- seen, for example, in her kimono-inspired long jackets.
Perhaps reading the changing social fabric of Indonesia in the literal fabric of this cloth is a stretch. But, at the very least these social developments have helped to retain the vitality of an old craft tradition. So while it is unusual in the art world to give such an accolade, it seems appropriate to raise cheers for batik -- and also for Indonesian nationalism, capitalism and commercialization of a unique art form.
Joseph Rachman is a contributing writer.
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