"IT's been so long…" "When are we going to dance again…?" "Is he ever going to let us see daylight…?" "Shusshhhhh, someone's coming!" The sound of soft footsteps approaching is enough to silence the commotion in the cocoon of darkness that is the spacious family bedroom.
A last noisy rustle as the cloths rearrange themselves neatly in the drawers and cupboards, lest anyone were to notice anything amiss, and then quiet, with only the humming of the air-conditioner disturbing the calm.
Before long, the blanket of darkness is replaced by a glaring sheet of white, as the light switch is flicked on and a diminutive figure walks in. The man, complete with an elegant songkok perched jauntily on his head, his face wreathed in smiles, has returned from a soiree and is looking forward to checking his vast collection of treasured textiles, which he hasn't seen in weeks.
"To me, all my cloths have magical powers!" exclaims textile collector and Asian art history expert, John Ang, his mischievous chuckles permeating the cavernous exhibition space in Menara Ken, Taman Tun Dr Ismail, and slicing into my wandering thoughts.
Then, leaning in conspiratorially — and somewhat spookily — an eyebrow raised for effect, he says softly: "Because in the night they come to my bedroom and wail, 'John, why are you letting us stay in the drawer? We're so bored with life there. We're hundreds and hundreds of years old, so why don't you just pull us out and take us to a party, like the ones we used to attend in the old days?'"
So now the splendid cloths have been taken out of their "resting place" to shine in the light and bask in the admiration of those who stroll into this gallery, lured in droves by the magnificence of these aged textiles in an exhibition entitled "Splendours of Malay World Textiles", which has taken 3 ½ years in the making.
"I actually have more than 5,000 pieces but on display are only 700," shares the Chicago-born Ang, whose Singaporean parents married in the United States before eventually returning home with their young son in tow.
"My dad was the first speech therapist in Asia, and mum worked in a medical department in Singapore. I was born in the United States but my parents decided that we should return home because they missed Singapore," elaborates Ang, who moved to Malaysia for the first time four years ago.
His precious collection, he tells me, is all kept in his house. "I hope you took out an insurance for them," the words in my mind come rushing out before I could stop them. Ang chuckles again before nodding in response. "I don't have a family, so I turned the whole family room in my house into my storage."
"When I bought the house, I was still living in Taiwan," says Ang, who holds a B.A. and M.A. in Asian Art History from the University of Michigan. Continuing excitedly, he shares: "Do you know, when my staff measured the walls, they told me that all the drawers for my textiles fitted exactly into the family room, perfectly covering the four walls. Isn't that interesting?"
Fortunately, his house doesn't have a moisture problem, which means there's not been a need to put in humidifiers. "But I do need full-time restorers," confesses Ang, before adding: "I only have two part-timers at the moment. Each piece takes about six months to repair and they cost around RM2,000 to RM3,000."
EVOKING NOSTALGIA
"Shall we start from the beginning?" The collector's invitation as he motions for me to join him at the welcome hall jolts me from my brief reverie. I'd been engrossed in scrutinising one of the pieces, a late 19th century lapit pahar kertas emas, or place mat with couched gold leaf from Terengganu, which is pinned onto a display board.
Throughout the process of collecting, Ang had been struck by the immeasurable beauty of Malay textiles in terms of their colour combinations, creative designs and amazing array of forms and sizes. The many diverse categories of techniques also impressed him.
In addition to songket and batik, he discovered that there are at least 10 other lesser-known categories of Malay textiles, namely limar (weft ikat), telepuk/prada (gold leaf application), sulaman/tekatan (embroidery), Pelangi (tie-dye), ikat loseng (warp ikat), tenunan (weaves of stripes and checks), tapestry, cetakan (woodblock or machine prints), renda (lace) and anyaman (woven unspun plant fibre, usually for floor mats and baskets). What better way to share these than through a comprehensive exhibition that would showcase all the categories, thought the affable collector.
"Here we are in the welcome hall," begins Ang with a flourish, leading me to where he wants our tour to commence. "Guests are welcomed with a display of songket baju Melayu (Malay clothing with gold supplementary weft decoration). These elegant clothing come from the east coast, namely Terengganu and Kelantan. I also wanted to show the elegance of the old courts and highlight the quality known as elok, which today means good looking, but in the past meant refinement in terms of your mannerism and behaviour, the way you dress, eat, place your table settings, and so on."
Ang confides that through this exhibition he aspires to revive certain Malay values that have been lost to the young generation. Pursing his lips, he says: "Nowadays, for example, when young people go to someone's house, they don't bring a gift, a buah tangan, like people in the past. This etiquette is actually part of this elok concept."
Ang adds that because he discovered so many things through the course of putting this exhibition together, he wanted to share his knowledge, especially with his many young Malay friends.
"I belong to the old school. That's why I moved to Malaysia," he confesses, before adding softly: "This country evokes pangs of nostalgia for me;. Of those days when I lived in Singapore — back in the 1960s. I used to see kampung, which are no longer there but which can still be seen here in Malaysia. This country makes me nostalgic and I want to evoke that nostalgia in Malaysians too."
His gaze looking thoughtful, Ang continues: "It's a natural thing to want to remember parts of your youth. It pulls you back as you go further. Home becomes sweeter when you're away and your youth becomes sweeter when you're older."
AN EPIPHANY
The other reason, which propelled him to do this "show" had something to do with a near-death experience, confides Ang, who once spent two years in Tokyo as an art journalist for the Japan Times before moving to Taipei and establishing a gallery specialising in Asian antiques, furniture, textiles, ceramics and jewellery.
"Most of us work so hard throughout our life — whether it's for our career, or family or to have a certain kind of lifestyle," he muses, before sharing: "When I was 50, I had an accident. I was doing yoga and fell on my head. I ended up with 18 stitches."
According to the doctor, Ang almost died because the fall raised his blood pressure so high to the point that he could have had a stroke. Solemnly, he recalls: "I remember going for a vacation after that and suddenly started reflecting about what I'd done thus far in my life. It dawned on me that all the while, I'd been doing everything only for myself and nothing for others. I decided it was time to change."
And he certainly did that. Almost immediately. Remembers Ang: "I was in my hotel and I placed a call to an organisation in Cambodia. After some arrangements had been made, I immediately flew there (Cambodia) where I ended up teaching yoga to prostitutes. I now have a yoga school in Cambodia which is still running."
Something else that gnawed at Ang, who has 53 years of textile-collecting experience, was the fact that despite being so beautiful, Malay textiles continued to be rather elusive in terms of its status in the eyes of the world.
He muses thoughtfully: "I used to collect Chinese textiles, Indonesian textiles, Laotian textiles, Cambodian textiles… there are so many books on them — but not Malay textiles. So I said to myself, maybe I should play my part by sharing more about it. And that's the other reason for putting this show together."
Once he'd made the decision to immerse himself in this new mission, Ang, who was living in Taiwan at the time, decided to move to Malaysia.
CLUES TO UNRAVEL
Another reason for building this collection and for even having this exhibition, elaborates Ang, is because it unravels interesting connections that we've never heard about. "It's not recorded because the people who knew about it have died. The textiles are the clues to the existence of these connections," he says, simply.
Then, pointing to what appears to be a shawl in front of him, Ang adds: "This was my first piece of Malay textile. The colours have almost faded, but I bought it for two reasons. It's unusual for a Malay textile because it measures 3.2 metres. The longest Malay selendang would be about 2.8 m, but generally, it would be around 2.1 m."
Motioning me to take a closer look, he points to some lines. "See, it has double green lines," he adds, excitement dancing in his tired eyes. "When I saw this, I immediately went for it. All my Cambodian textiles have these double green lines, so what this piece was showing me was the existence of a connection between Cambodia and the Malay world. I remember the prominence of this piece gave me goosebumps."
Acknowledging my confused expression, Ang goes on to share that it belonged to the Kelantanese royal family. Patiently, he explains: "It had been given to them by a Siam king who'd commissioned it from the Chams or Champa people, which is exactly the same provenance as some of the textiles in the US embassy that had been given to the US president by the Siam king, King Mongkut. They also have the double green lines and were made by the Chams."
Passionately, he continues: "So you see, the Chams connected with Siam and Siam connected with Kelantan. That golden triangle has been created by these two cloths. Textiles are building a story that I think the world should know about because when we see how connected we all are, then we'll become more interested in these cultures."
Suddenly training his gaze intently at me, Ang poses: "Did you know that there are villages in Vietnam where the people only speak Malay, dress in the Kelantanese Malay way and eat Malay food?"
The shake of my head is met with a forlorn smile. Softly, he continues: "There are pockets of these villages. When we know all this, we can become friends again and exchange all these things. It got me really excited. I flew to Vietnam to visit these villages and discovered so many interesting things. For example, what they were doing there was very similar to what was being done in Kelantan, except for the fact that there was only one weaver left there. I'm doing my best to support that so it doesn't just disappear."
Asked what has excited him the most about this journey, he tells me that it's the intimate connection between distant Malay kingdoms, which was revealed to him through similarities in the textile structures and designs of different lands despite being separated by vast stretches of sea. "For a deeper understanding of the significance of these diverse textiles, studies have to be conducted trans-regionally and not regionally," explains Ang.
Continuing, he shares that this is the reason why this exhibition isn't really about Malay textiles of any specific region, but rather, it's about the textiles of the Malay world, incorporating all the Malay communities of Southeast Asia.
Excitedly leading me to another display wall, Ang points to a green piece of cloth, which is patterned with some unusual symbols. "This one is very mysterious," he says, before telling me that it has symbols that nobody talks about anymore. "So a lot of the meanings are lost. To me, there must be a strong meaning otherwise it wouldn't be duplicated in the cloths of other regions."
Showing me two cloths whose patterns, which upon closer inspection seem to mirror each other somewhat, Ang continues: "This one is from Siam and the other is from Kelantan. This royal paraphernalia is a cogan — fan-shaped and with a flower blooming above it, and usually held behind the sultan. The sultan can't be crowned without a cogan. It gives the sultan daulat or sovereignty. Without it, the whole kingdom would fall. It's all very symbolic. Meanwhile, the Yang di-Pertuan Agong has the cogan agama and the cogan alam."
Slowly, we make our way in companiable silence to another section of the gallery where I couldn't help but 'ooh' and 'ahhh' over a collection of dazzling attires from different kingdoms. The true splendour of the Malay world becomes immediately apparent.
From the 1840s to 1940s, the Malay world experienced an unprecedented surge in wealth and economic prosperity. With the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, which unveiled new markets for trade with the Malay world, virgin lands were opened for the cultivation of pepper, tobacco, gambier, coffee and rubber. Meanwhile, new areas of tin, gold, diamonds and petroleum were also discovered.
"The size, the immensity, the grandeur, the sumptuousness, the extravagance… oooh, when the Malays reached the height of prosperity during that period, they really splurged," enthuses Ang, adding: "When they had all these wealth, they built palaces, ballrooms, and they partied. And this is how they dressed when they partied. This is the couture. They had all these sequins, gold and silver, and cloth from Turkey. Even for circumcision, they'd embroider the belt to put under the sarong."
OF PASSION AND MISSION
The sound of a sudden ping as we're strolling through the semi-darkened gallery causes Ang to reach for his phone, which has all this while been lying silently in the pocket of his dashing baju Melayu. It seems he has another appointment.
"You can leave me to wander by myself," I assure him and he beams gratefully. One last question, I signal and he nods happily. What drives your passion, I ask, as I motion for him to give me one last pose against one of the walls.
His brows furrow as he reflects the question. But it's not long before the former gallery director replies: "My passion is driven by the concept of mission: That we came to this world to do something useful, not just to enjoy life. I used to wonder whether my great-great-grandfather Mejar Cina Tan Hiok Nee came to this world just to make a lot of money. But then, the more I read, I discovered that he'd actually built a temple in Jalan Tan Hiok Nee."
The temple, adds Ang, is special because it incorporated the gods of all the Chinese dialect groups. "Before, there were riots between all the different dialect groups, and thousands of people died. When this happened, the whole of the Malay economy dropped. It was the sultan who wanted him to bring the people back together. And he did that through this temple, which still exists today."
Pride lacing his tone, Ang, who cites Mahatma Gandhi as his hero, says: "My great-great-grandfather also donated money to schools. I guess that's why I wanted to set up that school in Cambodia. And it's the same with this exhibition. It's a mission."
Concluding passionately, Ang postulates: "You can do a lot of things that you like. But when you do that, only YOU are happy. However, when you do things that are based on your mission, you experience bliss. So, despite all the difficulties I've had putting together this exhibition, I can say there has been a deep joy inside too."
Splendours of Malay World Textiles exhibition
Where: M Floor, Menara Ken, Jalan Burhanuddin Helmi, Taman Tun Dr Ismail, Kuala Lumpur.
When: Daily until Oct 30; from 10.30am to 6.30pm.
Entrance fee is RM35 and tickets can be purchased from johnang.com.my, where you can also book tours.