ALAN TEH LEAM SENG
“MALAYSIAN silverware? I’m not sure if there are any in stock but feel free to have a look around. You can never know what catches your fancy,” quips Robin Ninkov when I happened to stumble upon her antique shop recently.
While scouring the countless display cabinets filled primarily with Australian and European antiques, it suddenly dawns upon me that the chances of finding something even remotely related to home seems like wishful thinking.
I am, after all, nearly 7,000 kilometres from home, in the small New South Wales village of Berry. Then, just when it seems like all hope is lost, a small cupboard with the words ‘ASIA’ stuck to the top panel comes into view.
Excitedly, I make a beeline for it and start scrutinising its contents. Among what appear to be mostly items from the northern part of the continent, I see a small selection of items bearing the distinctive style of Kelantanese silversmiths.
My heart skips a beat when the tags on the teapots, spoons and other items made by the craftsmen in the past reveal extremely affordable asking prices. Obviously Ninkov doesn’t place much value on these items compared to the British sterling silver pieces in her shop.
Perhaps this attributed to perceived inferior silver content in Kelantanese silverware as opposed to the British ones which are guaranteed to contain 92.5 per cent silver by the assay office's lion passant hallmark.
Personally, I feel that the Kelantan silver pieces have their own distinct identity and are far more superior in terms of artistic value compared to their rather plain looking British counterparts.
ITEMS OF GREAT BEAUTY
My opinion happens to be shared by 19th century Malayan administrator, Frank Swettenham who was reported to have said that Kelantan silver items were as beautiful in form, as original in design and almost perfect in workmanship as anything of a similar kind found in the East.
Naturally, as British subject, he stopped short of admiring the intricate pieces, I recalled a research paper written by renowned historian A. H. Hill back in the 1950s. Published in the Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, it tells of Hill’s visit to the newly opened Kelantan Arts and Craft Depot, an organisation established to give the Malay silver work industry a timely boost in terms of marketing support and research development.
Apart from fixing retail prices that provided a reasonable profit margin for the craftsmen, the depot walked the fine line of both providing suggestions on contemporary designs as well as giving the skilled workers full freedom in using their time-tested traditional composition. This attractive arrangement had the local silversmiths signing up in droves.
SILVERSMITHS IN THE 1950S
In the 1950s, the silversmith industry was completely dominated by males who worked from home or in specially constructed atap sheds located within the vicinity of their abodes.
A majority of the craftsmen lived in Kampong Sireh, an upriver suburb of Kota Bharu while the rest were found in villages on the western bank of the Kelantan River. The largest working centres of this cottage industry only employed up to 12 men and specialised in ‘heavier’ products like trays, flower bowls and sporting trophies. As there was no division of labour, silversmith worked according to his time. While this drastically limited output, it inevitably gave rise to individual creativity that gave Kelantanese silverware its unique identity.
Interestingly, the more experienced craftsmen tended to work on their own or at smaller production centres. The relatively quiet environment allowed them to produce very delicate filigree work seen on brooches, pendants and bracelets. Hill felt that these products represented the finest expression of Kelantanese art.
Just like filigree work, the general process for making silverware was both laborious and time consuming. To start, the Malay craftsmen acquired pure silver in the form of finger-shaped ingots from Chinese dealers who traded in precious metals around Kota Bharu.
LABORIOUS PROCESSES
Back at their workshops, these refined silver pieces were hardened by alloying them with 10 per cent copper. This was achieved by heating the metals in crucibles under the intense heat of a forced draught furnace which received a continuous flow of air from two large side bellows.
In the early days, crucibles were made locally from river clay mixed with sand and padi husks. These, however, were very fragile and often cracked on firing. The silversmiths began opting for imported makes which became available in Malaya after the Second World War.
Despite the slightly higher cost, each of these foreign made crucibles could withstand at least 20 continuous meltings. That gave the silversmiths a considerably large amount of free time to concentrate on other more important aspects of his work. To make the crucibles last even longer, some craftsmen re-glazed them with coconut syrup.
Once completely molten, the glowing contents in the crucible are poured into a suitable mould, which had earlier been rubbed with coconut oil to prevent sticking, and left to cool at room temperature.
Upon solidification, it was removed with a pair of pincers and plunged into an urn filled with cold water. After that, the block was hammered or worked through metal rollers until it became a thin laminate. To give the objects like bowls, basins and other round objects their recognisable shape, silversmiths turned to their wide arsenal of standard moulds that comprised wooden blocks with corresponding punches made of similar material.
INTERESTING TECHNIQUES
Several pairs of large silver forks and spoons huddled at the back of the shelf catch my attention. It’s the handles that I’m attracted to. A few older looking ones are made completely of silver while the others are fashioned from animal horns.
In his report, Hill mentioned that early cutlery handles and other flat objects were made using cuttlefish moulds. Never living very far from the sea, the craftsmen made occasional sojourns to the shore to collect dry cuttlefish carcases. These are left in running fresh water for 10 days to leach out the salt and would be ready for use after drying and hardening in the sun for several days.
The body was then sawn in half down the line of the backbone and the inner surfaces were smoothened by rubbing them against a wooden platter. Then, a spoon handle would be pressed onto the soft centre to create a clear and sharp impression.
The two halves were tied together and molten silver alloy was poured in from the top until the mould was completely filled. Once hardened, the mould was broken and thrown away. Hill mentioned that the method required great skill to ensure success and its usage allowed silversmiths to make exact replicas quickly and efficiently.
That was the nearest thing to mass production in the industry. Unfortunately, the inconsistent supply of cuttlefish carcasses and the high cost of edible cephalopods from the market shifted the craftsmen’s focus to buffalo horns which were abundantly available at practically no cost at all. Kelantan’s padi fields were filled with these animals and many were slaughtered for their meat while their horns were just discarded.
UNIQUELY KELANTANESE
Shifting my attention to the lower portion of the cutlery, I marvel at the intricate patterns on the silverwork. It’s obvious that the Kelantanese craftsmen do not lack originality. Among the most popular motifs are simple stylised illustrations like the bunga jawa and setapak lembing, both adapted from the flora and fauna commonly found in Kelantan.
Adhering to their strict Islamic teachings, the Malay silversmiths never depicted human figures in their work. Back then, their creations did, however, feature elephants, serpents and the Undok-Undok, a mythical monster that closely resembles a sea-horse.
Kelantanese silverware in the 1950s also featured many better known shadow-play characters like Seri Rama, Sang Hanuman and the Garuda bird. According to Hill, this depiction reflected the deep domination Siamese culture had on the Kelantanese.
Like the other northern states in Malaya, Kelantan was under the influence of Siam (now Thailand) until complete suzerainty was transferred to the British in 1909.
Intrigued by this impact, Hill travelled north to Thailand and visited several private silver enterprises as well as the renowned Rong Rien Art School in the Nakhon Sri Thamarat province.
According to Hill, the Thais at that time concentrated on a form of nielloware called chutam. Items made using this technique, which involved filling the hollows of patterns with jet black enamel, was very popular throughout the Southeast Asian region. Buyers clamoured for waist-buckles, bracelets, cigarette cases and chalices made in this style.
KEDAH CONNECTION
While acknowledging that this Thai ornamentation technique was entirely different from those found on Kelantanese silverware, Hill was quick to point out that niello work was already practiced by craftsmen in Kedah at the beginning of the 20th century.
In one of his research papers, renowned Malayan historian, Richard Olaf Winstedt lent weight to the idea that the Siamese nielloware industry in the country’s southern region was helmed mainly by a group of Malay exiles from Kedah.
Unfortunately, Hill failed to find any evidence during his Nakhon Sri Thamarat visit to support Winstedt’s research. At the school, Hill noted that the chutam department occupied one of three spacious sheds with the other two being used for wood-carving and cabinet-making.
The three-year nielloware-making course was attended by apprentices aged 14 to 18, selected after passing a series of competitive examinations. The students each paid monthly fees of 15 ticals but received a commission on all completed work accepted by the trade.
While the school recorded a high monthly output of 400 bracelets and 200 belt buckles, Hill was surprised to find that there was little evidence to indicate the use of mass production methods.
“Found anything you like?” Ninkov’s voice jolts me out of my reverie. Turning towards her, I sheepishly confess that I’d been so captivated by the beauty of the pieces that I completely forgot to set aside the ones that I wanted.
She beams before informing me that there’s still time before she closes for the day and offering to help me with my task. We spend the next hour making comparisons and sharing interesting anecdotes related to our common interest in antique silverware.
Ninkov becomes particularly intrigued when I tell her that most of the Kelantanese silverware in her shop originated from a century-old family enterprise that goes by the name Mohd Salleh & Sons.
Each of their products has a Jawi script mark, which when translated means ‘Kelantan’. Their early pieces also bear the mark 1260B, which is actually part of their address in Jalan Sultanah Zainab, Kota Bharu.
Just before leaving, I take a close look at my receipt and, out of curiosity, enquire about the shop’s name.
“This building was built in 1916 to house a hardware store and operated as such until 1988 when we turned it into Broughton Antiques. Before this town was renamed in honour of the brothers Alexander and David Berry, it was called Broughton. So we decided to maintain the original name to remind us of our town’s heritage,” explains Ninkov, concluding our meeting.