Yampanesi - Batik influences in Suriname

Like her history, Surinam dress is a melting pot of influences. The angisa and koto have for long been recognised as the national characteristic dress, but each separate ethnic group has its own fashionable take.
The often colourful dresses feature clashing prints, mostly with clear provenance (Vlisco fabrics, imported Java batik, fashionable European prints etc.).
Some prints, however, were homemade by local artists and industries. Most research on Surinamese dress has focused on the complex messages the clothing is able to convey to the insider, and actual numbers on the use of these fabrics is unknown.



At the Dutch Tropenmuseum, the collection makes a division between embroidered angisa, embroidered angisa with printed border, printed cloths and striped pattern madrasi cloth.
Printed cloths are then subdivided in machineprints, blockprints, imitation-batik, imitation-embroidery and border-only.
Healy states that most of the blockprinted cloth is red, yellow or dark-blue (seen as black by the Maroons), and suggest an African connexion in this colour scheme.
Most texts by Sally and Richard Price, however, who did extensive research on the development of Maroon clothing, suggest a less straightforward and direct link to Africa, and, for me, this needs more careful research.
The fine brochure 'Let them talk' states that imitationbatik (called Yampanesi, Javanese in Sranan) was much more used than true batik. However, in the angisa that are only decorated at the border, a reserve dyeing technique was used in part.
At first glance, I would say that the batik forms developed in Surinam have had clear typographical influences from Indian blockprinting, but I will to see more angisa to substantiate this claim. Again: to be continued, hopefully.

The war to promote cannabis

Cannabis is nowadays mostly viewed as a forbidden drug, but in the 19th century cannabis was a respectable fibre producer.
Dutch Cannabis (or hemp) never grew popular, as the soil was deemed not suitable for large cultivation areas. It has been cultivated mainly in some minor valley peat areas in the south of Holland, such as the Alblasserwaard.
Staring (1862) estimated the total of hemp culture at 1324 hectares, of which 1157 in the Zuid-Holland province. But even then, these 1157 hectares were a mere 2% of the total agricultural area.
More extensive hemp culture has been promoted in several pamphlets, but none of these were truly successful. Still, Cannabis culture had its typical ups and downs in the meantime, before a decline at the end of the 19th century.
Verrips (1978) offers a nice explanation about the final decline of hemp culture: hemp culture has its most intensive period of manual work in exactly the same periods as diary farming, which was the most important subsistence method of the Dutch farmers. As prices of meat and diary products rose in the later 1800's (mostly because of foreign demand), farmers (who earlier still balanced between cattle and hemp) decided against the fibres. Besides, fibre demand had weakened because of cheap foreign imports.
These foreign imports had various reasons, but partly came from a combination of low grain prices and war threats around the Baltic Sea. War gave a boost to the rope and sail industry, which was the main use for hemp.
From comments in Kok's 'Vaderlandsch Woordenboek', it seems that also in Baltic countries, farmers switched between cultures (in this case grain and hemp), and that hemp served as a compensating trade in times when grain prices were low. The Baltic grain trade has been extensively researched in van Tielhof's book (2002), and it would be interesting to investigate whether the hemp trade was indeed anticyclical to the grain prices.
Though it must be noted that exact data for hemp culture are sometimes diluted by the fact that in older literature the term 'linen' is used for both cloth of flax and hemp origin.

Dutch technical literature neglected knowledge on hemp for long, and the main treatise on hemp, that of the French Duhamel du Monceau (first published 1747), was never translated into Dutch. Not because of ignorance: several other treatises by du Monceau did get published in the 'Volledige beschrijving van alle konsten', published by Blussé from 1788 to 1820. But as hemp was a minor culture and the Netherlands were mainly depending on imports, it was probably felt that an practical instruction was not needed.

Napoleontic wartime needs, however, made way for the first promotional brochure, 'Onderrigting wegens de hennip-teelt in Holland', somewhere between 1810 and 1813. As the first page states: 'Voor het zeewezen is hiervan eene groote voorraad noodig, en het is te wenschen, dat wij den Hennip telen op onzen eigen grond'. During the last twenty years, the brochure states, prices for hemp had more than doubled (that is, shortly after the French revolution, and a period of continuous tumult started), making the trade highly profitable at that moment.
During the same period, the last phase of Napoleontic rule, an article described the culture du chanvre dans le royaume des Pays-Bas as steady, but important.
Of course, 'important' was relative: at the end of the imperial era, homegrown hemp literally represented a lifeline for the fighting marine ships.



After 1813 and the return of Willem I as king things around hemp became more quiet again. The Groningen professor Van Hall provided a new booklet in 1830, but for a different reason. He was trying to promote a more diverse cycle of cultures. The high input necessary of manual labour for the retting, however, still made it hard for farmers to start growing hemp.
Retting still is a hard and intensive method in modern times, and in the 19th century, retting was even more a breakpoint for the fledgling fibre industrialization.
In the meantime, the French engineer Christian had developed a machine for processing hemp (and flax) without retting, Christian enthusiastically published a promotional brochure in several languages, called in Dutch 'Handleiding voor landlieden over de wijze om vlas en hennep zonder roting te bereiden', with six folding plates copied from the French edition. Practical testing by others, however, proved the machine to produce too much short fibre fragments. Long fibres are wanted for more sturdy and durable fabric, and the machine never became a success. The Dutch booklet version had an imprint in Brussels, but this was surely targeted at the then abundant flax culture in Flanders.
Similar annunciations of new methods were indeed also published for flax, but, as in hemp, retting remained the favored method of separating the fibres from the raw crop.

The subtle glow of lichen dyeing

Lichens are known for an often large amount of secondary metabolites (substances not produced for vital processes). Many of these have been used as dyestuffs. Nevertheless, they never have been really popular. They may hold well in washing, but their lightfastness in sunlight is almost desastrous.
On the other hand, lichens provided a broad range of colours, not readily available from other (plant) sources. They remained in use as a addition to other dyes, especially in coastal and Northern areas where lichens were abundant. Annette Kok, in a much-referred-to article in The Lichenologist puts it: "It is not only the shade but the quality of the color which seems to be unique; these dyes actually impart a softness and lustre both to silk and wool, whereas many dyes from other sources and their associated processes of mordanting are harmful to these fibres and have to be used with the greatest care so as not to produce harsh cloth and lustreless colors."

One of the earliest articles on lichen dyeing is the brilliant thesis of German biologist Georg Franz Hoffmann, printed in the Erlangen of 1786.
Dedicated to the general uses of lichens, it describes many old uses of dyeing. 27 species are mentioned. While the colours produced are rather vaguely put down ('armeniaco-cinnamoeus', 'cinereo-cervino' and 'spadiceo-flavescentem' for example), Hoffmann later provided plates to the work in a new version ( with a French summary).

Madder munjeet and family: time for a revision of Rubia sp.?

Several plants in the genus Rubia are known for the dyeing properties of their roots. Throughout history many variant qualities have been noticed, but commercial quality is hard to tie to distinct species. Not only soil properties and growing conditions are clearly huge influences, also adulterants were much more common in historical reports.
For a modern artcle on Rubia adultery, see this comparison between R. cordifolia and R. tinctorum

Nevertheless, it could be interesting to investigate the chemotaxonomical variety of Rubia sp. Most known are the 'common' (European) madder (Rubia tinctorium), the 'wild madder' (Rubia peregrina) and the 'Indian' madder, called 'munjeet' (Rubia cordifolia).

Also other Rubia sp. yield red dyes, and other Rubiaceae yield dyes, all from root material.

Recent reports show that characteristical flavonoids known from Rubia tinctorium might also be present in Rubia cordifolia, suggesting that chemical variation in R. cordifolia could be an argument for seperating some plants in a new species.
On the other hand, one could argue that all three species have long been used as culture plants. There is an unfortunate lack of research in what respect the breeding of different cultotypes during the heighday of the cultivation and their subsequent reintegration into the 'wild' species have augmented to the variation of the original species. Would it still be possible to recognize old races, and could that explain the variation (and similarities) between Rubia species?

A wooden library from Sumatra

Knowledge on plants was spread in many ways during the long eighteenth century, when plant systematics took a huge leap forward. One decorative way that gained popularity in the last quarter of the eighteenth century was the wooden library. It proved an interesting but shortlived fashion, that quickly faded after its main creators (who also were its main promotors) had died, somewhat about 1830.
Wooden libraries were mainly a German product, and only a few (but productive) makers are known.

I recently acquired a rather strange echo of this fashion: three 'bindings', remains of wooden library made in Sumatra circa 1840. The three bindings are labeled 'Paning-paning of Eikenhout', 'Marabouw hout' and 'Lasso hout'. I will refer to them further as books, but of course they are only book-alikes.



Paning-paning is an alternate name for Lithocarpus gracilis, now commercially called 'Mempening' (and, as the Dutch name Eikenhout already refers to, once placed in the Quercus oak family).

Marabouw is the tree now called 'Merbau', both used for Intsia bijuga and Intsia palembanica, two closely related species. Merbau is still a major and valuable timber for the region.

Lasso was much harder identifiable. Translation from Malay to European languages were not yet standardized, and this makes the search in old dictionaries harder.
Filet's oldest specialist plant name dictionary for Indonesia (1876/2nd. ed. 1888) mentions 'lasso' as a name for Parthenoxylon pseudo-sassafras (now named Cinnamomum parthenoxylon). Miquel's even older botanical book on Sumatra (1861) mentions 'lasoh' as name for the same tree. Later ('cleaned-up') dictionaries from Dutch-Indonesian/Malay origin maintain more modern orthography (for example
Van Eeden's book on Indonesian timber (1905), calls 'laso' as a local name) Strangely enough, the name is not mentioned in De Clercq's extensive plant name dictionary of 1909.

This orthography problem remains in the search for references to all three names. However, in general (and not surprising), the oldest dictionaries give the most comparable names (Filet has all in exactly the same orthography). Especially 'Marabouw' for merbau is a constant factor, as the huge commercial importance made a standard name necessary in daily communication.

Why would someone in rough tropical condition take the time to present botanical material in such an elaborate way? The answer may well lie in the fact that many (if not most) of the researchers were Germans. As German-originated fashion, wooden libraries would have been easy to encounter during their education (indeed, most of the extant wooden libraries are still in the possession of German institutions), and inspired a researcher to make this 'tribute' to his upbringing.
But as much is unclear about the set, further research is needed.

The books have clearly remained for some time in the tropics after they were made.
As was usual for books, they have received a petroleum treatment regularly, as prevention against the main tropical book enemy: insects. This may have been essential for their survival, unfortunately it destroyed each trace of plant material that could have been inside of them. Without these materials, they can only be judged on the text written on them.



Inside, their places of collection are stated, twice 'Padang' and once 'Fort van de Cappelle' (= Fort van der Capellen, now Batusangkar, curiously enough with triple spelling error).

The books are numbered 17, 20 and 22, suggesting they were part of a larger set. The three that I have at hand now are specimens of timber trees. Typically, as the libraries were meant as educational tools for (economic) botany, the wooden libraries would also have included trees that are used for their fruits, resins or dyeing properties.

The books are somewhat hard to date, but the lettering (especially the highly decorated P of the Paning-Paning) suggests a date around 1840. Fort van der Capellen (named after the Dutch governor who ruled till 1826) was built between 1822 and 1826. The triple spelling error could point towards a rather early date, when the fort was still relatively unknown. It later became an important and well-known stronghold, making it hard to get the name wrong.

The front sides of the books are numbered in an army type font, which suggests that the set was once stored in an army library or archive. Van Eeden (1905) gives a rather complete overview of the botanical collections that were part of the Koloniaal Museum at Haarlem (which served as central storage and true Wunderkammer for everything brought back for the colonies), but from his descriptions it is hard to determine exactly whether these books were part of the Museum.

During the 1830-1840's, Minangkabau territory was under Dutch 'influence', but not strictly under Dutch rule. Botanical expeditions were made only a few times, as military guides were expensive, and other (military) explorations were seen as more important/necessary. The only major expedition, the one of P.W. Korthals and S. Müller from 1833-36, could well be the source of this collection. Korthals' dairies are kept in the Nationaal Herbarium at Leiden. When I have time to see these, this part will probably be continued..

Only a guess now: Korthals travelled with a French draughtsman to put his discoveries on paper. Could this explain both the spelling error and the calligraphic quality of the inside texts?

Delormois, Delorme and the 'Teinturier Parfait'

At the end of the 17th century France found itself at a turning-point of the dyeing industry. New ways of dyeing were being developed and new dyestuffs (such as indigo, whose imports proved a vast concurrent of the local woad cultivation) were up and coming.
While France tried to turn the tide with protectionist measures, these turned out to an economic backlash when the public opinion still favored the imported product.
But most damage was done when a lot of (Hugenot) artisans fled to neighbouring countries, leading to a huge braindrain. And with them they took their books and the rules of their (still almost guild-like) profession.

First of all the most important book then were the regulations put down on order of French minister of economy Colbert in 1669. The 'first edition', the law itself in its dry form, was printed in three parts by F. Leonard in 1669, but proved inadequate under working conditions. Together they consisted of some 60 pages.
Popular demand (of controllers and dyers, confused by the multiple possible interpretations) caused the law to be rewritten for daily use, in the form of the 'Instruction générale' in 1671. Hübner names a certain d'Albo as the author (but I have not been able yet to trace that author). It expanded the regulations to 175 pages, and a extended forword filled with protectionist dangers and harsh words for the 'inferior foreign product'. Court printer Francois Muguet printed the work with a privilege, but in the years following counterfeit editions crept onto the market, for example a copy 'suivant la copie imprimé à Paris' (in Elsevier style) in 1672.
Rodon y Font also mentions a Carcassonne edition, still of 1671.
The foreword mentions the immediate danger if the regulations fell in foreign hands. Funny enough, though, the next edition would be in the Dutch town of Leiden, where the work was printed at Theodore Haak. It was an exact reprint, and Haak was mocked in later publishing for his almost too affective 'foreword'to a non-existant maecenas ('George Stattmiller', of course a complete unknown in Leiden archives), in which he suggests to have written or commanded the work himself. The only true invention of Haak was the new title, 'Le Teinturier Parfait'.

Not much later, in 1716, Parisian printer Claude Jombert, reused (with or without knowing?) the same title for a new work. It was published anonymously, although the book frequently acknowledges the true excellence of a recipe by saying it came from 'a nephew of the great Gobelin', and mentioning this nephew as a kind of general editor.
Barbier, in his famous Dictionnaire mentions Delormois as the author, but clearly is confused with the 'Nouveau teinturier parfait' (which he correctly mentions with the same author). To make even more confusion, later and less rare editions were made by Avignon publisher Claude Delorme.
The first edition was published with a second part, a translation of the much earlier Venetian Plictho dye book, but already in the 1721 Nancy edition, this part had vanished. The work was very popular and enjoyed many reprints, especially in France and Belgium, sometimes with several different editions in a year. In the period of 1745-1770 alone 5 reprints were made in Bruxelles 'a la Compagnie' (a kind of John Doe for publishers that had too much prestige for tying their name to such folkish secrecy), each mentioning a 'nouvelle édition, revue, corrigée et considérablement augmentée'. But in fact they were just exact reprints, with only minor typographical variation, and the new edition might consist of newly added header borders, as in both the 1747 editions.
Probably the vanishing of the embargo on use of indigo in France and the fancy for manycoloured printed fabrics of the time fed an interest in the dyeing trade, and made the handbook (however cursed as 'utter crap' and absolutely useless by enlighted authorities such as Hellot) a steady reference in the dyer's practice.
In 1769 a 'Nouveau Teinturier Parfait' appeared, anonymous, but by a certain Delormois (who introduces himself as the writer of the Nouveau Teinturier Parfait on the title-page of his next book: the not originally but clearly fashionably titled Vanisseur Parfait - numerous titles claiming perfecy sprout throughout the whole 18th century). It never became as popular as the good 'old' Teinturier Parfait, who was reprinted until far in the 19th century.
But who actually wrote the manual is some kind of a mystery, but it seems kind of fitting. The nephew of Gobelin, cited thoughout the book, is not always put in a good light. His uncle would have sold his soul to the devil, and would only have escaped from hell by hiding in a dark pit where the devil could not find him. And neither could the bibliographers.

The Hunt for Red September

Often dye recipe on red start with warnings: do not say that something is red until you see it really is 'the' red. Maybe because red is an emotional colour: it can be an agressive colour, it lights up many dull ensembles and the sayings involving red are innumerable.

That's why it has to be right: red can be radiant as no other colour, but could easily be converted into 'just another staple'. As fashion magazines recently claimed: 'red is the new black'.
But that was not as quickly as they would like you to believe.
Because Red, to name the colour with a capital, known in various tints and marketing guises (most famous as 'Turkish Red') is not easily replacable, not a background colour, and, for that reason, not everybody's colour.
Red has to be warm and deep. Of course it will dull a bit of age and wear, but will still have that special charm.
And maybe exactly for this same reason, the subtle warm hues of natural Red are coming back into the spotlight.

The dyestuff that is most recognisable associated with red is madder, a plant that stacks its deep colour in its long roots. Cultivated throughout Europe, it has long been recognized that the best madder stems from the Dutch shores. Two-three year old plants were harvested in September, cut in local mills, and sold through the harbour of Dordrecht and other cities.
Philip Miller wrote a nice book in 1758 about the madder culture in Zeeland, and had extensive contact with botanist Job Baster on the million-guilder trade. He tried to convince England to start growing madder themselves, but the 'fat clay' of the Schelde area proved hard to beat.
Finally, the threat for the trade came from an unsuspected new enemy.
After commercial synthesis of alazarin (the red pigment involved) from oil during the 1860's improved, madder growing slowly vanished into a side-trade for those lagging behind.
But as the costs (and pollution) of chemical dye-industries rose in the end of the 20th century, companies began to see renewed profit in the growing of madder.
The Dutch fim (http://www.rubiapigmentanaturalia.nl/) that started in this trade is now even expanding into research of yellow dyes, and have shown repeatedly on the Première Vision in Paris.
It would be interesting to see which products will actually be using their prodcts. Curtain producers Ploeg have shown interest because of the deep and well fading colours, and I could foresee a well produced line of nicely aging pants in bright red colours.
Now that aging and indigo-dyeing are showing at the forefront of the interests of the apparel-industry, this should not be so hard.
Red jeans, anyone?