Threads of heritage

By Herman M. Lagon 

Traditional weaving of piña fabric is a tangible, intricate, and resilient way to unite a community. At Kaangtanan 2024, academics, artisans, advocates, and cultural workers discussed the significance of piña weaving in Western Visayas, revealing a rich history of resilience and innovation. This delicate but durable pineapple-based fabric has symbolized Filipino identity for centuries, from Spanish colonial rule to today’s slow but hopeful revival.

Piña’s journey begins in the late 1700s and early 1800s, when the country flourished under Spanish rule. Luxury fabric was reserved for the elite and symbolized wealth and status. The art of piña weaving was a family tradition, with each member contributing to the intricate process of creating this translucent material. In his talk, historian Dr. Randy Madrid emphasized that piña weaving is more than just fabric, as it embodies the Filipino soul, encompassing stories, aspirations, and craftsmanship.

As mass-produced textiles became more affordable, piña production decreased by the mid-20th century. Industrial efficiency seemed to contradict tedious, delicate hand-weaving. Piña could have been lost without visionaries like Senator Loren Legarda, who fought for Filipino cultural heritage. UNESCO’s most recent recognition of Aklan’s piña handloom weaving as an Intangible Cultural Heritage highlights the need to preserve this national treasure.

While the past was marked by elegance, the present piña landscape is one of reinvention. The conversations at Kaangtanan 2024 touched upon how piña weaving has evolved. Once confined to formal national dress, designers like Patis Tesoro and Gabbie Sarenas are now transforming piña into wearable art for everyday fashion. These modern reinterpretations—piña-seda blends, piña-shifu fabrics—are not just about making the fabric more versatile but also about ensuring that piña resonates with younger generations.

However, despite this resurgence, piña weaving faces challenges, many of which stem from its labor-intensive production. Weavers, primarily women, often spend days, if not weeks, meticulously extracting and weaving fibers. As the UP Visayas’ Chancellor Dr. Clement Camposano noted, forms of cultural mapping, such as the promotion of piña weaving, is an attempt “at a snapshot” of the community’s way to “find its own bearings,”  showcasing its ability to adapt while holding on to its cultural roots. This sentiment resonates deeply with the weavers, who often describe their work not just as a means of livelihood but as art and a means of preserving their community’s identity.

In our discussion at Grand Xing Hotel in Iloilo City, artist and cultural worker Anna India dela Cruz-Legaspi shared an intimate story about her grandmother entrusting her with the last 10 meters of century-old piña cloth she had woven. It was a symbolic gesture, passing down not just a piece of fabric but the responsibility of keeping the tradition alive. Today, Anna continues to innovate, introducing piña to international audiences while modernizing the fabric for contemporary fashion markets. But beyond aesthetics, her efforts represent a more profound mission: to empower local weavers by creating sustainable livelihoods. She opined with conviction, “Hindi po mawawala ang pinya weaving sa atin, and it will still go on through centuries.”

The future of piña weaving lies at the intersection of tradition and innovation. Piña’s reinvention as a global luxury fabric is a testament to the adaptability of local artisans, but as we learned during the conference, sustainability must be prioritized. Sen. Legarda emphasized the need for government intervention to address issues such as the diminishing number of weavers and inconsistent fiber supply. Collaborations between scientists, academics, fashion designers, and local communities are crucial in ensuring that piña remains a thriving industry in the years to come.

A forward-thinking solution lies in integrating technology, something weavers once viewed with skepticism. Introducing the four-harness loom and using QR codes to track the weaver’s identity represent steps toward professionalizing the craft. Yet, as piña weaving adopts modern practices, it must never lose sight of its cultural significance. The future of piña depends on maintaining its delicate artistry and meeting the demands of a competitive global market.

Reflecting on the piña fabric at Kaangtanan 2024 gave me an appreciation for this craft’s quiet yet profound role in shaping Filipino identity. It’s more than just a fabric—piña is a metaphor for resilience, community, and national pride. The weaving process, which involves collaboration from farmers to embroiderers, artisans to stylists, weavers to sellers, cultural mappers to policymakers, and proprietors to patrons, embodies the spirit of Bayanihan, a collective effort to create something beautiful and meaningful.

As I left the conference, one insight from the discussions lingered: “We shape and are shaped by what we create.” This perfectly encapsulates the essence of piña weaving. The future of this industry does not rest solely in the hands of our local weavers or designers but in a community’s collective commitment to nurturing its cultural heritage. Piña may have started as a fabric for the elite, but today, it symbolizes a nation’s enduring spirit. We are responsible for carrying this legacy forward, just as Anna Legaspi continues her grandmother’s legacy, weaving past, present, and future into every thread.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.