FLOWPhoto Series
2021–202210 Artworks

FLOW (silk & cotton, 2021) and IKATIKAT (silk velvet, 2022) are two photographic sculptural series that reference intertwining histories, cultural narratives, and creative processes associated with ikat, borrowed from the Indonesian word meaning “to bind.” While it is believed to have originated in Java, the fabric maintains roots across the globe, including India, Uzbekistan, Argentina, Bolivia, Mexico, Yemen, and Central and Southeast Asia. Around the world, ikat is known by different monikers and carries varying degrees of significance. Ikat is also known as endek to Indonesians, kasuri to the Japanese, atlas to the Uyghurs, matmi to the Thai, jaspe to Oaxaquenos, pochampally to Hydrabadis, patola to Gujaratis, darayee to Iranians, and tiraz to Yemenis. Regardless of the different names used as reference by each community, the process remains consistent. This particular cloth—considered to be one of the “holy weaves”—is regarded as a fabric for the wealthy and/or the sacred. Today it is most commonly referred to as ikat, and this name has been adopted into other Indo-European languages where the practice was never developed, but rather appropriated.

Ikat employs a complex process of production using a resist dye process similar to that of batik, which also originated in Java, but unique in that the dying process takes place before the threads are woven together. The process by which ikat is created engages a team of master artisans and time-tested methods. Once the cotton or silk is rendered from the cotton tree or silkworm’s cocoon, artisans create long threads that are wrapped around two wooden bolts. This process is referred to as “the weave”. The weave is then brought to a specialized artisan who sets the ikat’s design. This process is achieved by dividing the bolts of thread into equal amounts, encasing parts with wax or wrapping them with tape, and then dipping each portion into specific dyes to create a dye-resistant result. The wax is then boiled off or the tape is removed. Finally, the unbound threads are carefully and systematically aligned to reveal exceptional patterns that evoke dramatic visual shifts. An opposing thread—known as “the weft”—is used on the loom to produce horizontal stitching. While the width of the fabric is restricted to the loom, the length is not—thus offering repeated sequences rippling across potentially infinite lengths of vibrantly rich cottons and silks.

FLOW and IKATIKAT draw the viewer’s attention to this highly enigmatic textile, and also question ikat’s vulnerability to the historical and geopolitical implications of its production, especially in the context of an ever-consuming capitalist and globalized world. The fabric’s eventual migration to Europe occurred  in the 20th century, as a result of the Dutch colonization of the West Indies and Indonesia.

As a child I was exposed to exquisite textiles through travels with my mother. Ikats were among the many textiles that I encountered along these journeys, mostly in bazaars, on people, across surfaces. The patterns enthralled me, vibrating as my eyes poured across the flowing gowns and garments of those who wore them. It was only years later, in my adulthood, when I discovered that my native land of Yemen was famous for this cloth, and renowned across the Muslim world for the high-skilled workmanship produced by Yemeni masters. Ikat was once found throughout Yemen in silks and cotton, often including gold leaf. According to the Cleveland Museum of Art, some of the oldest forms of ikat can be traced back to textile workshops in Sana’a, Yemen during the 9th and 10th centuries. This form of ikat is referred to as cotton warp-ikat tiraz, and often includes shades of indigo, tan, and ivory, embellished with inscriptions. Remnants of these noble textiles have been found as far as Egypt, as referenced in the following scholarly account:

“More than a thousand years ago, Baghdad was capital of the Islamic empire under the Abbasid caliphs, and Yemen was a flourishing center of agriculture and trade. Among its famous products were dyestuffs, and cotton cloth with warp stripes, patterned using techniques of compression resist. As the strength of the Abbasid caliphate declined and claims to power gained hold in the provinces, regional artistic styles began to emerge. Provinces, regional artistic styles began to emerge. The rulers of Yemen adopted one of the prerogatives of the Abbasid caliphs, bestowing honor by rewarding their subjects with inscribed textiles called tiraz. From burial sites in Egypt, many such textiles have survived in fragmentary condition, often with warp fringes, and occasionally with Arabic inscriptions bearing historical names and dates, Qur’anic excerpts, and pious invocations. Acquired by dealers in the middle of the 20th century, they found their way to museums in Europe and North America (The Textile Museum, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Cleveland Museum of Art, Royal Ontario Museum, Victoria & Albert Museum, David Collection, etc.). The carefully wrought Arabic inscriptions are executed in white embroidery or in black ink outlining an application of gold leaf applied to a plant resin.”

Unfortunately this part of our heritage would be erased––a repercussion of colonization, war, and the fragmentation of our people; our diaspora spread across the globe.

In 2016, the allure of the textile would draw me in once again, deep into the Fergana Valley of Uzbekistan, in a town called Margilan. I spent several weeks there with master ikat designers, dyers and weavers, in what is considered to be the oldest, continuously-operating ikat mill along the historic Silk Road. This area served as a crossroads between cultures, and became a vibrant place where the exchange of textiles, stories, myths, and symbolism took place across time and space.

Today, Margilan is a sleepy town that attracts occasional tourists who make their way off the beaten track, away from the more renowned Samarkand and Bukhara. Its last claim to fame was in 2013, when the celebrated fashion designer Oscar de la Renta sourced fabrics here for his Fall 2013 collection. Though the kaleidoscopic designs of versicolored textiles took the fashion industry by storm, Margilan remains unchanged. The fashion industry’s appropriation of the pattern continued, while its origin was confused and co-opted as something other than Uzbek. Ikat-tiraz has been alarmingly removed from its source(s), and as such is widely recognized to be associated primarily with “Eastern'' cultures. In many instances, when searching online for example, ikat is often misattributed to Turkey or Morocco, when in fact the source lies in Uzbekistan. Ultimately, FLOW and IKATIKAT remind the viewer of where the fabric did originate, and signify the unseen master artisans themselves.

Upon further consideration, what goes amiss in the wide consumption of this textile is how pattern functions as a lexicon. The team of master artisans engage in a developed mathematical and organizational system to produce the cloth, requiring each of them to be highly skilled and fluent in the entire lexicon of ikat symbolism. Artisans memorize the full canon of motifs presented in ikat fabrics, understanding the meaning of all symbols and their carefully calibrated measurements. Examples include rams’ horns, pomegranates, the evil eye, blueberries, snakes, and paisley. Fabrics with particular symbols are worn for different occasions, both in daily life and ceremonially. The symbols are thus activated as expressions of specific qualities and narratives, and most importantly as protection. The fabric becomes a shield, not for the fine quality of the cotton or silk being used, but rather for the power of the symbol portrayed. Visually, the movement within the fabric, and the shifting shapes in the textiles, can cause a rupture in the viewer’s perception. The fluctuations in the fabric as well as oscillating symbols and colors interfere with notions of categorization, troubling any fixed definition.

FLOW and IKATIKAT conceptualize this collaboration of thread, dye and meaning––wherein the cloth itself takes on frequencies of the individual and of the materials––that builds  the sense of omnipresent movement in the final creation. A hyperoptic effect is created, allowing the textile—and ultimately the wearer—to stand out while simultaneously camouflaging the curves and lines of the body. Ikat is also used in the decoration of interior spaces where entire rooms are upholstered from floor to ceiling, including furniture and the people who inhabit the space, creating dreamlike experiences. Ikat manifests an expression of the land from which the materials are harvested, and the imagination of those who exist upon that land.

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Baginski, Alisa, and Orit Shamir. “The Earliest Ikat.” Hali: The International Magazine of Oriental Carpet and Textile Art, Nov. 1997, pp. 86–87.