#sa-u-yan

[bukoforthesoul]

SILIP

“Pa silip! Let me take a peek!” 

“Bawal ang sumilip!  Peeking is not allowed!”  

In the tradition of Noche Buena, in my family no one was allowed to take a peek at any of the presents before the Misa de Gallo midnight mass and the Christmas Eve feast.

Silip in Tagalog means to take a quick look.  Personally, it connotes the element of joyful surprise.

As we weave, each weft builds on top of each other, the textile slowly growing longer underneath the loose warp.  Weaving requires the graceful alignment of mind, body and spirit to focus on ensuring that the weft moves precisely through the warp.  

When I am attached to my laga, all of my focus goes to maintaining my presence of heart and precise movements.  After a while, I stop paying attention to how much the weave has grown.

Unang silip is the first peek.  

On the Sunday morning of June 2, 2013, an unexpected moment arrived when I was suddenly surprised with a quick glance into what was to become the completed face of my takyed belt.  My curiosity was instantly piqued on why it suddenly felt like weaving became less of a struggle.

I asked my Teacher what they call the phenomenon when the first row of the woven fabric finally peeks over the highest mountain peak of the laga called the sa-u-yan.  She explained that in Kalinga, they say tumamaang, to peek.

After the tumamaang, weaving was surprisingly a whole new experience where every movement felt more stable and balanced.  A period of ease, calmness and self-assuredness followed until toward the very end of this weaving journey. But that story is for another time.

Later on that day at the Alliance for California Traditional Arts (ACTA) meeting, the facilitator asked each of us to describe what the traditional arts meant to each of us.

For me, “Land is life.  Water is life.  Weaving is life.

"US American culture is built on exploitation and consumerism.  We are conditioned to consume without reverence to the Divine Mother or to each other.  

"In contrast, our indigenous traditions bring us back to life by teaching us to share, to create, to give back and to nurture."

Here’s to living a beautiful life full of joyful surprises!

Mabuhay!

Grace Villarin Dueñas

Photo notes (top to bottom):  Photos were taken on June 2, 2013.                 1.     Tumamaang (in Kalinga), unang silip (in Tagalog), the first peek.              2.     At the Alliance for California Traditional Arts meeting (left to right): Holly Calica, Master Weaver Jenny Bawer Young, Lily Kharrazi - ACTA Living Cultures Grants Program, Mylene Amoguis Cahambing, and GVD.

[bukoforthesoul]

SA-U-YAN

In Kalinga, weavers weave in community.  My Teacher explained that most weavers set-up their loom right outside their homes so that they are easily able to interact with their neighbors. 

I carpool with Leng Leng to weaving class.  It’s the first time I’m weaving with my Teacher and another Apprentice. We try to figure out where to set-up so that we can weave side-by-side.  Leng Leng takes the usual spot by the desk, while my Teacher sets-up my loom right next to it.  She takes my sa-u-yan, the longest dowel in the loom and tries to set-up using the bookcase.  The length of the bookcase is longer than the length of the usual spot.  It requires a longer sa-u-yan to anchor the loom. 

“Let’s exchange,” my Teacher says as she hands me Leng Leng’s sa-u-yan. 

“Okay,” I reply. 

With one swift graceful movement like a samurai adeptly drawing her sword, I rapidly pull out the sa-u-yan from my carefully rolled together loom, and then gently present it to my Teacher, the Master Weaver.

“How did you do that?” she asks.

I pause to reflect on her question.

“Oh my gulay!  What DID I just do?”

Halakhakan. We all burst into boisterous laughter.  Simultaneous giggles.

Without a moment to contemplate the potential gravity of my actions, we were in stitches.

I was left speechless, confused, perplexed, intrigued and in awe.  All at the same time.  Slightly nervous about what I may discover next…I held my breath in prayer.  Then, I was extremely grateful for every thread was still in its proper place. 

We take a collective sigh of relief.

I am still mostly bewildered.  Yet still very amused. 

More spontaneous eruptions of laughter and giggles.  Sobrang halakhakan to da max.

Here in Ohlone territory at Turtle Island, we weave and laugh in community too.

I still chuckle out loud to myself whenever I recall that moment of hearing my Teacher say “How did you do that?”

Mabuhay! 

Grace Villarin Dueñas

Photo Notes (top to bottom): Weaving together at the same time requires a very long shared sa-u-yan, compared to the length of the sa-u-yan when weaving by oneself.