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For Pedan's 'lurik' makers, tradition is in transition
Skilled: Tukinem, 70, manipulates a loom while making lurik in Pedan in Klaten, Central Java
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Skilled: Tukinem, 70, manipulates a loom while making lurik in Pedan in Klaten, Central Java. Ganug Nugroho Adi
Pedan in Klaten, Central Java, was a booming center for making lurik in the 1960s. In the village's heyday, around 500 home industries employed 70,000 people ' all of whom earned a living from making the traditional striped, woven fabric.
Back then, lurik was made through labor-intensive work using manual looms locally called oklak.
One local resident, Rachmad, has been making lurik for years.
The 83-year-old said that the handicraft was introduced to Pedan in 1938 by Suhardi Hadi Sumarto, after he studied at Textiel Inrichting Bandoeng, currently part of the Bandung Institute of Technology.
Returning home, Suhardi opened a lurik business with his family, eventually bringing into the business his neighbors, such as Atmo Prawiro, Rachmad's father. Rachmad, known as a 'lurik guru' and one of the few remaining producers in Pedan, says he had over 50 looms, although only 25 are used regularly.
A single loom can produce about 10 meters of lurik woven fabric a day, or around 250 to 300 meters a month. In comparison, a mechanical loom can make 30 to 50 meters of lurik a day.
'The heyday of the lurik business is now a memory of the past,' Rachmad said. 'But as I've been in love with lurik, I'm carrying on my production more for the preservation of 'Pedan lurik' than for the mere purpose of money making.'
In Pedan, only two lurik home industries are left, including Rachmad's operation, which employs 70 workers, most of whom are elderly.
The other business is run by Ibu Diro, although it is smaller and hasn't adapted to changing tastes in material and motifs, Rachmad said. 'Ibu Diro retains conventional motifs while buyers' interest in such patterns has begun to decline. She has no young workers and nobody dares to experiment.'
Rachmad's business is also struggling to provide a living for its workers, including a 70-year-old woman named Tukinem.
'I can still weave about 7 meters a day and earn Rp 3,000 per meter. It's enough to buy rice and spices for cooking,' said Tukinem, who said she has worked with Rachmad since she was a teenager.
Evidence of the lurik boom can be found in Rachmad's house, where his son Arif Purnawan showed a pile of orders from Australia, Malaysia, the Netherlands, Singapore and the US from as far back as 1950.
'When my father couldn't meet all the orders, he used to share them with other lurik producers so that they also enjoyed business gains amid the boom,' said Arif, who also works in the family business.
Another trace of Rachmad's success is the many unused looms in back of their house ' a common site. Many of their neighbors also have abandoned looms at home. Few are willing to continue in the business.
'They're no longer used but their owners don't want to sell them out of prestige as once-flourishing businessmen,' Arif says. 'They fear that people may regard them as bankrupt and poor.'
Rachmad has survived through innovation. With the help of his children, Rachmad has adopted better quality cotton or silk combined with natural fibers as well as blending classical black-and-white hujan liris (rain design) motifs with turquois green or maroon red.
Once in a while, he inserts batik ornamentation, printed or handmade, into the classical motifs.
'Exploration has to continue, because if we only maintain conventional patterns, lurik will certainly be abandoned by the market. So there should be new designs every month,' Arif said.
Innovation, too, has its problems: Elderly workers find it hard to adapt. 'We teach them patiently, while preparing for regeneration. It's impossible for us to get rid of the elderly,' said Rachmad, who started his business in 1960.
Arif says that he and his father have been teaching lurik weaving, giving away looms to neighbors and evening loaning start-up capital for the last four years to preserve the craft.
Several small-scale lurik factories have emerged in Cawas district, Klaten, and Weru district, Sukoharjo. Although they haven't yet exported their products, some have served buyers from various cities in Indonesia.
'For me, lurik must never be a mere artifact. Lurik must survive rather than just become a legend,' Rachmad, who had once studied law at the University of Indonesia in Jakarta, said.
Arif said that the Klaten regency administration even undercut local operators, who were hopeful when the regency required civil servants to wear lurik on Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Officials declined to order lurik from the weaver in Pedan, instead choosing to buy lurik prints from a textile company in Bandung, West Java.
'It's ironic, indeed ' but that was what happened. The government seems to have pitted local craftsmen against the textile factories,' Arif said.
