Dipping into nature’s palette
By Toh Ee Ming
Against scenic mountains and in the quiet countryside, these artisans from China, Singapore and Cambodia are embracing slow fashion, keeping the art of natural dyeing alive
It’s a chilly October afternoon in a tiny village on the outskirts of Shaxi, Yunnan, nestled within rugged mountains and golden paddy fields. I’m here on a slow living retreat to learn natural dyeing, hosted by Shenzhen native Ting Wang.
In the backyard of her rustic two-storey home, we peel and chop five kilos of overripe bananas and apples. The airy space is scattered with a dozen or so dye vats. Hundreds of walnut shells lay drying across the ground, while piles of chopped firewood sit neatly in the corner. We boil the fruits over a hot charcoal stove until they become pulped water. Then, we stir this into a mixture of indigo paste and limestone powder, carefully transferring it all into an enormous ceramic vat.
Come next morning, a layer of purple and blue-green bubbles forms over the surface of the vat like gems. The longer I gaze at this pool of midnight blue, the more it feels like the depths of a galaxy.
“Congratulations – you have witnessed the birth of the indigo vat,” says Wang as she stirs the surface of the vat happily with a long wooden pole. Reverentially dipping the first fabric in, she thanks the indigo for giving us its colour. The vat is the strongest at its birth, yielding the deepest, purest and most vibrant deep blue.
To a city girl like myself – so used to quick and easy clothing purchases from fast fashion chain stores – it feels like a miracle to work with my own hands and experience the slow process of natural dyeing in action.
But this ancient craft has existed for thousands of years. Before synthetic dye was invented, it was nature that provided colour to clothing via techniques that were gentler on the environment, the makers and the wearers.
From Bogolan mud dyeing rooted in Mali and aizome (indigo dyeing) in Japan to ayurvedic dyeing in India, civilisations across the world have used nature’s colours for cultural and spiritual expression as well as to create beauty.
While the craft of natural dyeing experienced a decline since the introduction of synthetic dyes, the former has recently been enjoying a global resurgence of interest. An increasing demand for ethical and sustainable practices within the fashion industry, and consumers’ growing curiosity about the slow craft lifestyle, feed this trend.
A way to live a life more connected with nature
For Wang, her journey with natural dye began in Singapore during the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown. Originally trained as a wedding photographer, she took to exploring other artistic pursuits such as natural dyeing when work dried up during the pandemic.
An opportunity arose when Wang got to know of a Chinese dyer who was willing to share his knowledge of the craft, in exchange for photographing his creative processes for three months. Arriving in Shaxi, Wang fell in love with the natural dyeing process and how its colours, textures and fabrics tell a unique story.
In 2022, her desire to live a life more connected to nature led her to uproot from Singapore to Yunnan.
Today, the 39-year-old periodically opens her home for retreats for solo or duo travellers who wish to spend quiet quality time in a mountain village for “mind-clearing and recharging.”
They can also choose to participate in Wang’s daily activities, such as trying their hand at dyeing, seasonal food preservation, cooking, herbal baths and meditative walks to nearby villages.
Last December, Wang launched her online shop A Bright Place, where she sells one-of-a-kind wearables and home décor pieces. She has released several collections to date, each featuring a different dye ingredient and inspired by a beautiful philosophy. Each piece is a labour of love, a gift from the mountains. “Each piece has a connection to the seasons before reaching you,” she says.
Her latest collection is called Letters from Sun. It features shawls, dresses and bags that have been kakishibu dyed, appearing a deep, earthy amber derived from unripe fermented persimmons. This colour gradually emerges when the fabric is steeped in sunlight for long periods of time. The plant-dyed scarves are hand-woven by ethnic Dong women in the mountainous province of Guizhou, southwestern China, using indigenous Guizhou cotton.
During our downtime, Wang and I go on walks around the neighbourhood and its surrounding forest, sourcing for wild flowers and eucalyptus leaves. We pound the petals with a hammer onto a cloth sheet, creating imprints of the organic matter. It’s a different – and more beginner-friendly – way of dyeing with plant matter, yielding prints of the botanicals rather than uniform planes of colour.
Growing a community inspired by natural dyeing and travel
Meanwhile, Autumn Brown, a Singaporean graphic designer-turned-chef who now runs a natural dye studio, stumbled on this craft by accident.
It all started with a skin allergy incident in early 2018 that fuelled Brown’s desire to improve her skin condition. Researching fibres, dyes and detergents, she came across naturally dyed textiles as an alternative to mass market clothing.
No stranger to working with culinary ingredients, Brown began her home experiments. She first dabbled in dyeing with beetroot, spinach as well as herbs from traditional Chinese medicinal stores. Brown laughs as she recalls her eagerness at the time. She had not even known how to pre-treat fabrics with mordant – a dye bonding agent – which is a crucial step that ensures colour-fastness. The result was “a pale, disappointing stain,” she recounts.
Unfazed, Brown dove deep to learn the art and science of natural dyeing, even signing up for an intensive week-long workshop with longtime textile studio Threads of Life in Ubud, Bali. It was here where she filled the gaps in her knowledge, gaining a much better understanding of key techniques such as using oxides and iron to control the saturation of colours when dyeing with tannin-rich materials.
And yes, she also learnt the oil mordant process needed to achieve the deep red she had been obsessed over, with the help of the morinda citrifolia (noni berry) plant.
Eager to share her knowledge, Brown founded With Autumn later in 2018, a boutique textile art and natural dye studio. Here, she runs indigo dyeing and other craft experiences in Singapore’s bustling Chinatown, drawing a mix of creative folks and curious crafters.
“Singaporeans are very well-travelled, and they know of natural dyeing from trips to Japan, Thailand or Laos. They want to do something with their hands, and see such workshops as a form of learning, investment and self-love,” the 37-year-old remarks.
Last year, Brown organised her first indigo shibori retreat at Sukasantai Farmstay.
A family-run organic farm three hours’ drive from Jakarta in the highlands of Gunung Gede, Sukasantai Farmstay offers activities such as bamboo valley trekking and cempedak (a type of fruit similar to jackfruit) harvesting along with delicious, hearty fare made from their local farm produce. Brown thought it was an ideal escape from hectic city life, and a perfect place to weave in her natural dyeing experiences.
Over five days, participants learnt to start their own vat using gula merah (brown palm sugar) and indigo paste. They also explored different shibori (Japanese tie-dye) techniques, binding, folding and stitching fabric before immersing them in their dye vats.
“My favourite moment is seeing everyone’s eyes light up when they reveal their beautiful creations. I love how present everyone is, away from their screens, just trading stories and forging new friendships,” said Brown.
Even more heartwarming is how those hours of crafting together has organically created a sense of community amongst those who participated. Though the retreat is long over, its attendees continue to keep in touch over the occasional craft meetup back in Singapore.
Brown is reprising her indigo dyeing retreat at Sukasantai later this year. She also hopes to partner dye houses in characterful destinations such as Peru and India, to create more opportunities that combine learning and travel for curious crafters.
“In the past, much of textile travel used to be touch-and-go. You’d take a bus and visit a factory where you purchase the items. These days, there’s greater interest in learning and giving back to the community while enjoying the destination,” the crafter notes.
Restoring time-honoured traditions in Cambodia
For some communities, reviving natural dyeing has been a cornerstone in preserving their near-disappearing cultural heritage.
Takéo, a province in south Cambodia, had once been a thriving weaving centre. But much of its weaving heritage was lost during the tragic years of civil war. The ensuing poverty and the deteriorating conditions of the land have also led many women to leave their home villages to work in garment factories despite the poor wages and difficult working conditions.
In 2006, Korean missionaries started Goel Community in Phnom Penh with the aim of reviving weaving as a viable livelihood for locals. Running it from a traditional Khmer wooden house, this fair trade enterprise sells products handmade by Takéo weavers using natural fibres like cotton, linen and silk. These craftswomen use natural dyes sourced locally, producing up to 20 different colours, including the precious Khmer indigo. The centre also conducts workshops for visitors to gain hands-on experience with natural dye preparation.
This fair-trade enterprise enables its women workers to look after their children and households while working in the community or weaving from their own home. At the same time, it revives an integral part of Khmer cultural heritage.
“Our hope is to restore this rich Cambodian heritage so that such artisanal hand weaving and natural dye skills are an embodiment of cultural pride again,” says Goel’s spokesperson Vouchleng Ly. “We believe there is great value in traditional craftsmanship and sustaining healthy local economies that strengthen the fabric of the community.”
An experimental journey that has no guarantees
During my last few days in Yunnan, I become intent on creating a forest green scarf for myself. There are no guarantees, Wang warns me.
I first extract an earthy yellow from Chinese rhubarb using the heat dyeing method. Achieving a base yellow for my scarf, I dip it into the indigo vat, holding my breath.
It turns green and my heart leaps.
But I mistakenly assume that the longer you submerge the cloth in the dye vat, the deeper green it would be. Alas, a dull blue fabric emerges when I pull it out after five minutes.
As a last-ditch attempt, I soak it in another neon yellow mixture, concocted from the Chinese herb Phellodendron amurense, or Amur cork tree. It becomes an exercise in patience to rinse the colour out and let the scarf air dry after every single dip into the dye mixture.
My efforts are rewarded.
On my very last day, Wang presents me with my scarf, a deep forest green. As I hold the diaphanous fabric in my hands, a deep sense of happiness wells up within me.
It’s a tangible reminder of the value of being fully present, the child-like joy to be had from experimenting, and most of all, the wonderful natural world that we live in.
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