Patterns of Pride
The softest fiber cloth created from
masi was usually for wearing, such as a sulu or
for loin cloth. A tapa sulu ni gone is a wrapped
skirt/dress made for a small child or infant. Generally,
a little stiffer fiber is used for larger pieces or
for ceremony but not so stiff as to make it unfoldable.
One can sense the great pride taken in the intricacies
and presentation of the designs, the skills displayed
and the pliability of the fabric. Because it is used
as a form of exchange of wealth, it is a matter of
village pride to be able to provide the tapa which
displays the superior skills of the women who created
it in terms of texture, colour, intricacy and execution
of the designs. When incorporated into rituals performed
across family lines, in public view, or before chiefs
of high rank, this becomes an even more special honour.
Browns and blacks dominate the tapa
patterns against the ecru white of the fibrous masi
cloth. Made from the natural materials available to
them, the rusty browns are generally made from a mix
of the mangrove plant infused with candlenut bark.
Other reds are from the iron oxides in the red clays
so abundant in parts of Fiji. And the blacks are usually
from the charred candlenuts or the burnt tree resin
of the dakua tree.1
The frigate bird,
fish spines and cross create an interwoven affect
that evokes an almost musical rhythm. Collection
of the Fiji
Museum.
The patterns invoke their creator's
involvement in a sometimes harsh life, yet allows the
suggestion of the general easiness of the Fijian character.
Simple flowers break through more serious patterns
that suggest the waves of the sea, the comb used to
style the frizzy Fijian hair, the patterns of cannibal
forks used for the now tabu ceremonial eating of the bokola (human
flesh). Frigate birds playfully dance through more
intricate geometric shapes suggesting even larger frigate
birds. A Christian cross appears as if giving only
minimal notice of its other meaning.
The patterns give life, like the old
mysteries of elven paintings in Celtic lore. From them
one feels the richness of a life full of purpose. The
rhythm of an inner felt music, to move to in a functional
dance that carries one through the magic of each dawning
day. Everything experienced in play and in work serves
the spirit, from climbing the trees for coconuts, turning
the husk fiber into sinnet, scraping the coconut meat
to create lolo (coconut cream), to the joy of
eating the fruit of the day's labours made from the
village communal efforts of those that fish, that farm,
that clean, that prepare.
The patterns create motion, the forward
movement of life in occurrence, the backwards motion
of the reverie of lives gone past, an homage to ancestors.
Alternating triangles of white and brown create a pinwheel
motion of tumbling, rolling, a playful pattern of light
and dark, like that of a child's toy. And so well this
reflects the personality of the people who in the midst
of the hard labours of day to day living can bring
forth an almost childlike enjoyment and splash and
play in the waters they harvest.
With stencils cut from
palm leaves, or carved from bamboo to be rolled on
and retouched,
the patterns are imprecise, wavy, irregular in width
of line and strength of character. Yet the overall
patterns remain strong and recognizable. As in the
variations and distractions on a life's journey,
when viewed in completion the patterns become clear.
This
is the Fijian tapa. Life given, and life described.
This is the Fijian tapa cloth as it
is in traditional ceremonies, in ritualistic and spiritual
uses. It is a rare sight for the Western visitor, or
kai valagi, to see tapa cloth of such a quality as
to evoke these feelings of mystery and life. To view
the tapas at the Fiji Museum in Suva is to travel back
to a time where the warriors fought, the chiefs ruled
and the white man was only an enigma to be largely
ignored.
