by its rich penetrating tone, the degree to which it is colorfast, and how well it resists abrasion. Small wonder that, in batik making, dye recipes are as secret as the wax mixtures, often passed by word of mouth from one generation to the next. Originally, the colors found in batik reflected the place of origin, as well as the cultural attitudes of the people who produced them. That is usually not the case today.
Though synthetic dyes have now largely replaced natural dyes, it was from nature that batik received its original colors. Certain roots and leaves of plants are known to produce color when boiled and mixed with special ingredients. Local water and local plant species greatly affect shades of color and thus each region of Java was to have its own characteristic tints.
Among the many colors found in Javanese batik, four are by far the most popular. The most common one, also believed to be the oldest, is indigo, derived from the plant of the same name and called torn by the Javanese. Forty of indigo's many species produce this particular shade of blue. Batik using this blue is called biron (from biru, the Javanese word for "blue").
A second common dye is mengkudu, a deep red from the bark and roots of the Morinda citrifolia plant; batik using this color is called bangbangan from abang, meaning red. Tegerang, from the Cudriana javanesis plant, is yellow. And soga is a rich, uniquely Javanese brown characteristic of batik from the central Javanese towns of Yogyakarta and Surakarta; it comes from the bark of the Pelthophorum ferrugineum tree. The Mangkunegara family in Surakarta was famous for its method of dying cloth with soga and the process is still used today by a family member, Ibu Praptini.
After each waxing cycle in the batik process, the cloth is ready to be dyed. In batches of twelve kodi—one kodi equals twenty pieces of batik—the cloths are placed in appropriate dye baths three times a day for ten days. They are then put into a bath of lime and water, which sets the dye. Traditionally on the fourth Sunday of each month the batik is dried on bamboo racks, ready for sale.
Under ordinary circumstances, cloth is usually dyed in boiling solutions. Not so with batik. Because wax has such a low melting point, batik must be dyed in a cold or lukewarm bath. This solution contains a pharmacopoeia of secret ingredients to facilitate penetration of the dye into the fiber and to enhance the luster of the finished batik. These mysterious potions include oils from fruit seeds, brown palm sugar, fermented casava, bananas, even shredded chicken.
Caps were first developed in the 1850s to "industrialize" the batik process. Made of copper, the finer ones today are collectors' items.
The cloth is immersed as often as necessary in a coloring vat to achieve the desired shade. It is then soaked in another solution of lye and water, to fix the dye. After each color has been set the wax is scraped off and reapplied; sometimes additional designs are drawn on the cloth between dyeings. Overdyeing is used to produce certain colors. Green, for example, starts off as a light blue (from indigo), which is then overdyed in a yellow bath; black is produced similarly, by overdyeing indigo with red or brown.
At the turn of the century, advances in science and technology produced synthetic dyes that gradually replaced the natural dyes of the Indies. Aniline dyes were used after 1898 in Java, and naphthol dyes became available in 1926. Other synthetic dyes used today include synthetic indigo, reactive, and Indrathrene dyes, which are easy to maintain and use and do not require the long preparation of natural dyes. Synthetic dyes made possible the pastel tints and jeweled tones so characteristic of north-coast Javanese batiks.
After dyeing is completed and the last of the wax is either scraped or boiled from the cloth, the finished batik is draped over bamboo racks or laid on the ground to dry. It is then folded and put under a press for "ironing." If the batik is destined for Chinese customers, another process takes place before the cloth leaves the factory: shells are rubbed across the surface of the cloth to give it a chintzlike quality. After a thorough rubbing—usually done by two men who sit on a bench facing each other with the batik between them—the piece is shiny and crinkly, a Chinese preference when buying "new" cloth. Numerous washings will eventually remove this chintzlike surface.
Wax is boiled from the cloth to prepare it for the next waxing and final wash.
After dyeing is completed and the last of the wax is laid out to dry, as in this Surakarta cooperative, which dyes and dries cloth for local batik manufacturers.
When the batik is finally ready for packaging, each piece is folded and wrapped in cellophane. Five pieces are bound together by pattern, not color, and counted by kodi. Special tulis pieces are always boxed or wrapped individually, while yardage goods are normally rolled on tubes.
Let us now look at the spectacular works of art created in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries by this intricate process. Here is a visual archive of the geographic and historic forces that have pressed upon Java for centuries. Batik was recast by the coastal Javanese eye into a vibrant cloth with a diverse artistic vocabulary. The following pages chronicle some of the finest examples.
Looming over the lush green flatlands of central Java stands a mountain that spews a wispy stream of smoke. Its name is Merapi—"mountain of fire"—and within it, so local legend has it, dwells a spirit that must be humored, honored, and generally reckoned with. In Javanese culture there is a fifth direction, in addition to the usual four. That direction is the center, and the center is the mountain, the dwelling place of the gods. From the center all other directions begin. Because Merapi is just such a spiritual landmark, it is a good place to start a journey tracing the mysteries of batik.
Central Java is about two hundred miles from the island's north coast—about a five-hour drive these days on bumpy roads. For centuries the people of central Java have been farmers, tilling soil that is among the richest in the world; for hundreds of years they have paid fealty to their various rulers. Near the volcano Merapi, farmers still follow their ancient ways, plowing with oxen, sculpting the land row by row, and preparing it for the planting of rice, coffee, and other crops. Harvesting the crops women carry baskets tied to their bodies by long pieces of batik or cradled in a woven fabric slung around their shoulders.
Agriculture has always been vital to the economy of the region, but it was in the ancient royal courts of Yogyakarta and Surakarta that the arts and culture of central Java were nurtured, subsidized, and developed. Today Yogyakarta has a population of half a million and its university is the educational center of Indonesia. Surakarta, a city of similar size some thirty miles away, is a bustling business town. In both, the ancient art of batik making survives.
The sultans still reign, and at the center of Yogyakarta and Surakarta the old courts, or kratons, still stand. Surrounded by high white walls and graced at the entrance by banyan trees, each kraton overlooks a square common called the alun-alun. Every day at eleven and four o'clock, ladies of the court, carrying bronze pots and yellow umbrellas, parade to the center of the kraton's dirt courtyard for the traditional tea ceremony. And in a dozen or so low buildings, work and prayer go on as they have for centuries.
As
