When she was in her late 20s, Yuma Taru decided to dedicate the next 50 years of her life to passing on the traditional textile weaving of the Atayal tribe.
In the early 1990s, the textile craftsmanship and unique Atayal patterns were considered a lost legacy, and only a few old people still produced woven products.
Of mixed Atayal and Han Chinese heritage, Taru was a full-time civil servant at the Taichung Cultural Center. Before reaching her decision, she had never practiced traditional weaving and knew almost nothing about it. But in 1990, she planned an event showcasing traditional textile arts for the cultural center, and in the process came to realize how little she knew of her own aboriginal roots.
In 1992, with “an emerging self-awareness and self-identity as a member of the Atayal tribe,” Taru began to seek out, preserve and pass on traditional Atayal weaving techniques and designs. “I decided to go after my dream and live for myself after having strived for 29 years to live up to my parents’ expectations,” she said.
After quitting her job at the cultural center, Taru went back to school for studies in textiles and clothing. In the meantime, she began gathering a small group of Atayal mothers to embark on a quest for the Atayal textile culture. Her husband Baunay Watan, then between jobs, also joined the group.
In addition to learning how to weave from her grandmother, Taru and Watan visited dozens of tribal elders to learn about surviving artifacts and knowledge of traditional Atayal weaving. Whenever they found a pattern they had not seen before, the weavers then worked together, through trial-and-error and exchange of know-how, to try to reproduce the exact same design. “We would analyze how it was composed and drew templates so it could be easily duplicated afterwards,” Taru said.
As Atayal weaving was used mostly in clothing in the past, the weavers focused on reproducing traditional dress. “Atayal groups living in different river basins all had developed different weaving styles, as manifested in their clothes,” Taru said.
Her group had successfully reproduced traditional Atayal attire in the majority of all known styles by 2007, leading to the completion in 2009 of photo archives cataloguing more than 10,000 Atayal textile designs and more than 300 basic weaving patterns. This achievement counts for more than just weaving some fabrics that had not been seen for generations, as it provides the younger Atayal with a deeper understanding of their culture. “It helped rebuild our children’s confidence in their aboriginal identity,” Taru said.
Though some tribal members had doubted whether such a daunting job could be accomplished by a group of some 20 women, the accuracy of the vivid patterns they brought out in traditionally woven fabric has eventually garnered support and positive responses. “Many elders were touched and even moved to tears when they saw their traditional clothing brought back to life again,” Taru said.
This accomplishment, however, did not come easy. According to Taru, Atayal weaving skills are very difficult to learn, as pattern design alone requires precise calculations to ensure the different colored threads go into the right positions, and at the correct widths. A missed calculation will very likely mess up the entire work, she noted.
The group spent their first three years solely on exploring Atayal weaving technology and learning its skills, with each member spending an average of eight hours per day on this training. Taru said she cannot remember taking a day off in the last 17 years.
Apart from a growing sense of their indigenous identity, the group also began to receive unexpected income in the late 1990s when they began taking on public art projects from museums, cultural centers and government agencies. Most of the members were unemployed before they joined the group, so the unanticipated income not only helped improve their family finances but also boosted the importance of these women’s roles at home, especially when their pay gradually rolled up to the level of a full-time salary.
Up to this point, the group has earned as much as NT$6 million (US$184,963) from their projects, Taru pointed out. Their handiwork can be seen in Taitung’s National Museum of Prehistory, Taipei’s Academia Sinica and Kaohsiung Rapid Transit facilities, as well as other major public spaces.
With her makeshift workshop in Xiangbi Village in Miaoli County’s Tai-an Township turned into a cultural park dedicated to weaving in 2007, Taru further expanded her work. The park consists of a research center, a teaching center and a design center, with an outdoor garden growing ramie, a member of the nettle family and one of the oldest fiber crops in the world, the major plant source for Atayal weaving.
While the research center continues to uncover artifacts containing elements of Atayal weaving, the design center is dedicated to developing new variations on existing patterns. The group currently offers occasional classes on Atayal culture to three local primary schools, and has been making preparations to start small classes of its own for preschoolers next year.
Taru said her focus for the next 30 years is to pass on all she has learned, especially to young children, for Atayal textiles are an integral part of their culture. “I drew a blueprint for a school 20 years ago, hoping it could be built one day, but supporting funds are always our biggest issue,” she said.
“In Atayal custom, each stage in a person’s life is accompanied by a piece of fabric,” she said, referring to the cloth wrapping for an infant, as well as the fabrics given as gifts at coming-of-age ceremonies and weddings. A diamond pattern on a piece of cloth presented to a bride in a wedding may appear to be a simple geometric design, but it actually represents a copper cooking wok, regarded as a treasure in Atayal tradition. The diamond pattern symbolizes a mother’s hope that her daughter will be as prized as the wok in her husband’s home, Taru explained.
Sun Ta-chuan, minister of the Council of Indigenous Peoples, said in the closing session of this year’s International Austronesian Conference, “To revitalize indigenous culture, we need more people like Yuma Taru, willing to devote so much time and effort.” To restore a people’s cultural heritage, it takes at least 15 years of hard work to achieve any visible results, he added.
Taru said in order to stay focused on her initial goal, she simply cut off all distractions in life, including constant suggestions that she change careers. As for her philosophy of life, she said, “I’m just more of a doer, not a talker. I believe dreamers will become most empowered when they take action to fulfill their dreams.” (THN)
Write to Audrey Wang at audrey@mail.gio.gov.tw