 |
| Zurra Village, Pakko hand embroidery is done here. |
Or
anywhere.
My ideal
black, unsweetened coffee sits at the opposite end of the taste bud spectrum
from the powerfully sweet and milky chai of the Kutchi palette. But here I am
at Gopika’s invitation to Garam masala chai (and she knows my preference) to
share my experience of working in Kutch
 |
| Young woman doing Maggie's embroidery |
Twenty
something years ago, I had never heard of Kutch and for those blog followers
with the same question mark in their heads, it is the district with a very
singular identity that sits at the northern end of Gujarat, next to the
Pakistan border.
Neither did
I have a burning interest in the craft sector – just a vague idea that traditional
Asian textiles could be an interesting platform for contemporary art.
My
induction into and subsequent fascination with the textile traditions of Kutch
came about from a chance meeting in my home city of Perth, Western Australia
with Indian designer Kirit Dave. He suggested I go there, and without much forethought,
or research, I did.
Kutch is
not an easy climate and terrain even now, but back then it was much more
rigorous. The roads were poor, the electricity was off more than on, telephones
barely existed, and travelling was in old Ambassador cars well past their
retirement age.
Luckily
I had travelled regional Australia. If I was hot, bothered and dusty, I was
used to being hot, bothered and dusty in Australia too. If the village water
was dodgy, I had thrown up on bore water in Australia too. But, at certain
times of the year, Kutch is just one bit too challenging.
What
draws me there? I have joked that it is like in being in a slightly
dysfunctional long-term relationship. Old diary entries tell it all: the good,
the bad, the endlessly frustrating, and the much-needed tranquillity.
The Good
Kutch
has an amazing confluence of textile crafts stemming from centuries of
migration from what are now Afghanistan, Pakistan, the Middle East, and other
parts of India. There are weavers, printers working with four types of block
printing and at least 16 different styles of embroidery done by different
communities. 
What
first intrigued me were the endless possibilities inherent in block printing –
not within the existing traditions of exquisitely accurate registration of
patterns, but more in the way of reproducing an abstracted form of drawing:
lines and marks floating without symmetry on the fabric. I am still as excited
by block printing, as I was when I started. It took me longer to decode embroidery
and work out how to connect it with my linear mark making.
Monday
22 December 2003
‘Grid forms, and lines contained within
grids are where I am starting. I have also used some photocopies of the
structure of Japanese cloth as an impetus.
As I was drawing I started to think about
using the blocks in simple, but strong graphic black and white, with a large
border of brightly coloured embroidery. Maybe this will be left to Rabari[1]
women, or maybe I will do the design and get it done with Sodha[2]
women in Pakko[3].
This is in keeping with local odhnis [shawls], which have fields of black wool
with simple tie-dye and then amazingly rich borders.
I am also keen to explore the same design
in a number of different techniques…the rug design is about to be done in Ikat…’
The Bad
August
1991 (My first visit to Kutch -why did I ever go in oppressively humid August?)
The horizon began to fill up with a
sinister, foreboding, dark heavy purple cloud….As we left [the main city] Bhuj,
a powerful wind started to pick up dirt and debris, flinging it around
unpredictably, reducing visibility to an impenetrable pale red murk…The storm finally broke….great
columns of lightning and torrential rain smashed to the ground…. Our car only
had one windscreen wiper.
The road to the farm was a mess of fallen
branches and mud. One large tree trunk had fallen across the road. The guys got
out to shift it and I started to go with them but they stopped me…I told them
later that they are more chivalrous than Australian men, who would have told me
to get out of the car, roll up my sleeves and push hard.
When we finally got to the farmhouse there
was no food left. The rain made the air even more clammy and humid. I sat on a
bench and disturbed a cloud of insects, who retaliated by swarming down my blouse.’
The Tranquil
February
2004.
‘Sunday… Very quickly it has gone from
winter to summer in Kutch. Just two weeks ago there was snow on the Himalayas
and a biting wind hurried across the salt marsh deserts, through our clothes
and right into our bones. Now the evenings are balmy and the air is perfumed
with the scent of lime trees in flower….
Since 6.00 a.m. Rimalbhai, the farmer has
been coaxing his bullocks and cows to wake up. His voice is louder than truck
horns on the highway and has the same tone.
[In the morning] I sat on the verandah of
my bhunga[4]
eating breakfast and watching the passing parade of people. The farmer’s wife
Leriben made bhakuri[5]
on the griddle and, to escape the chai, I have Twinings ginger and lemon tea
and coffee with me.
There is a constant flow of visitors [to
the farm] from nearby Bhujodi village. Some of the women wear traditional
clothing…. we have nicknamed one ‘Mrs Mix not Match’ because of the astonishing
arrangement of colours and patterns displayed in all her outfits.
One day it was a loudly floral orange
ghagra skirt over a red petticoat. A long turquoise odni [shawl] with a diamond
print hung from her head, long enough to tuck into the ghagra forming another
over skirt. Above the waist she wore a purple backless choli [blouse] with
turquoise sleeves and a turquoise and orange hem. A choli is shaped a bit like
a brassiere with two cups in the front for the breasts….gravity had triumphed
and the cups were in one place and the breasts another. Big rolls of fat poured
over the sides of the choli. But she was nicely unconcerned about any of this.
The
Frustrating
Production
September 2004
‘The fabric that I wanted from Devjibhai
was a nice cotton and silk mix with a subtle texture that would suggest
parchment. But as soon as this was selected, it turned out that the silk fibre
was not available.
Unseasonal rains came. Block printing
stopped at Ajrakhpur. They have no shelter for the fabric to dry out, which
seems incredible in a village that relies entirely on printing and dyeing for
its livelihood….
Tailors suddenly went into short supply.
There is a huge pilgrimage in Kutch…70,000 people were estimated to be walking
through... And in amongst this throng were all my tailors. Who cares about a
Delhi deadline when the Mata[6]
is calling? Let’s hope that when they return blessed, they are also refreshed
and ready for the challenge I want to inflict on them’.
But, in
that astonishing and miraculous Indian way in which disaster is averted at the
11th hour, collections do come together. What has strangely evolved
over the years is that complicated, one-off pieces suitable for exhibition in
art galleries work best and that is what we have been doing for the past
decade.
None of
this could happen without the extraordinary skill and willingness of all the artisans
that I work with and I salute and honour them. Equally the work can only come
together because of the mediation of Kirit Dave, who has over the years
translated my ideas from English ‘artspeak’ to Gujarati, and his production
manager Dhaval Raval, who, after I have left, ensures deadlines are met.
In Ahmedabad earlier this year I happened to have lunch with a group of women
travellers, one of whom had taught at the Kala Raksha Vidhyalaya Design School
for traditional artisans in Kutch. The exercise that she set her group was to
design in response to music, letting their tie-dye or blocks flow over the
cloth as the chords suggested. She told me one of the students in the class
said ‘Ah, there is this Australian designer who has been coming for years and
now we have designed to music I finally understand what she was doing’. 
Thank
you, I really appreciate that you said that, and to all the artisans in Kutch,
long may we continue to make music together. But it is still no to the chai.
Maggie Baxter is an Australian artist,
writer, curator, and public art coordinator.
[1] Members of the Rabari or Rewari live throughout the Rajasthan and Gujarat
states in India. There are some Rabari families who also live in Pakistan especially in the region of Sindh.
Rabaris are also known by other names such as Desai, Dewasi, Hiravanshi, Rebari, Rebadi, and Rayka or Raika.
The word "rabari" basically means the "Path breakers". This
is because hundreds of Rajputs migrated to the desert in protection of the
Jaisalmer state against the Mughals. Since then, they were left out of the Rajput
community and were later known as Rabari. The Rabari's main business has been
to be raise cattle, camels and goats; for some traditional-minded families this
is still the case. However, the new generation, as they become better educated,
are slowly moving away from this way of life.
[2] Sodha
Rajput migrations to Kutch started in 1971 after the Indo-Pak war. Originating
from Thar Parkar in east Sindh, Pakistan they had relatives in Rajasthan,
Gujarat, and Kutch, hence, they settled here and have led a contended life in
Kutch. There are 32 Sodha villages in Kutch about 25,000 members of the group
with 4,000 artisans among them
[3] Pakko embroidery is done by the
Sodha, Rajput and Megwar communities. Pakko literally means solid. The designs and motifs are very similar to
Aahir, but slightly more geometric. The outline is done with a square
chain-stitch, but the filling is a dense variation of a buttonhole stitch,
which gives a raised appearance. Mirrors are used frequently. The original
design is drawn freehand and then transferred to the cloth through a stencil
[4] Bhungas are closely linked to the identity of Kutch desert areas. They are
single cylindrical structures put close to each other to form a house. In
common terminology, each bhunga would be equivalent to a room in a house. As
per one story, after the 1819 earthquake, all building craftsmen from Sindh and
Kutch region got together to discuss the damage caused to the houses in the
region by the earthquake. After a series of discussions, they came up with the
circular house-form design of bhungas which is in practice since then. Even after the earthquake of 2001, it
was observed that most of the bhunga houses survived the earthquake despite
being very close to the epicentre of the earthquake, while many other
constructions failed.
[5]Bhakri are a
dense form of roti made from
coarse wheat flour and ghee. They are found throughout the western states of
India and can be either soft or hard. In Kutch they are hard and biscuit like
and can be eaten at any meal with sabzi,[veggies]
curd and pickles. I eat them for breakfast with fruit and honey, but this is
not traditional.
[6] Goddess
