Post by Honorebu on Jan 11, 2016 6:46:50 GMT
Busayo Olupona
One of several odd outcomes of the African colonial experience was the introduction and wholesale embrace of Dutch wax print by African people, primarily in West Africa. If you are wondering what Dutch wax print looks like, just peek at any African “inspired” fashion spread and there it is. What is fascinating about these prints is that they are not African at all.
A bit of a history lesson: When the Dutch occupied Indonesia, they discovered a rich tradition of dying fabric known as Ikat. Invariably, the Dutch poached the design of these colorful fabrics and manufactured the textiles, creating their own machine-made versions of the Ikat print with the intention of giving the locally dyed fabric some competition. Unfortunately, the Indonesians did not go for it. The Africans, on the other hand, went crazy for the stuff. Somehow in the trade route, although the stories are disputed, these textiles ended up in West Africa and women in particular went nuts for these colorful prints. The rest is history.
Now, I haven’t always loved African prints. As a recent immigrant to the United States, I made the mistake of wearing them to Junior High, and let’s just say the mockery that ensued taught me to pack these pieces up. As I returned to African textiles later in life and began using them in my work, I discovered that, although I liked wax prints fabrics, they didn’t arouse the same obsession as what I call, “the other Africa print” also known as Adire in Yoruba.
Adire, similar to Japanese Shibori, is the art of transforming textiles using human ingenuity to create contrasting color patterns and subsequently introduce the fabric into dye. In the hierarchy of textiles in Nigeria, a country in which fabric obsession is often a contact sport, Adire is the undesirable step-child in the hierarchy (the categories of fabrics are numerous, at the top of which sits Aso-Oke, followed by lace, wax print, and then “lowly” Adire at the bottom).
Adire, however, is the quintessential African fabric as far as I’m concerned. The fabrics are hand-dyed, they’ve been around since the nineteenth century, and most importantly, the designs are indigenous to Nigeria.
A bit of a history lesson: When the Dutch occupied Indonesia, they discovered a rich tradition of dying fabric known as Ikat. Invariably, the Dutch poached the design of these colorful fabrics and manufactured the textiles, creating their own machine-made versions of the Ikat print with the intention of giving the locally dyed fabric some competition. Unfortunately, the Indonesians did not go for it. The Africans, on the other hand, went crazy for the stuff. Somehow in the trade route, although the stories are disputed, these textiles ended up in West Africa and women in particular went nuts for these colorful prints. The rest is history.
Now, I haven’t always loved African prints. As a recent immigrant to the United States, I made the mistake of wearing them to Junior High, and let’s just say the mockery that ensued taught me to pack these pieces up. As I returned to African textiles later in life and began using them in my work, I discovered that, although I liked wax prints fabrics, they didn’t arouse the same obsession as what I call, “the other Africa print” also known as Adire in Yoruba.
Adire, similar to Japanese Shibori, is the art of transforming textiles using human ingenuity to create contrasting color patterns and subsequently introduce the fabric into dye. In the hierarchy of textiles in Nigeria, a country in which fabric obsession is often a contact sport, Adire is the undesirable step-child in the hierarchy (the categories of fabrics are numerous, at the top of which sits Aso-Oke, followed by lace, wax print, and then “lowly” Adire at the bottom).
Adire, however, is the quintessential African fabric as far as I’m concerned. The fabrics are hand-dyed, they’ve been around since the nineteenth century, and most importantly, the designs are indigenous to Nigeria.