Feature Article

Alina Itucama, Wounaan Master Weaver—Part II of III

© 2004 By Charlotte Meares

Photography © 2004 Lorran Meares, All Rights Reserved

The Wounaan and Emberá are adamant that they are clearly distinct peoples with now-distinct languages—Wounmeu and Emberá pedee. Like master weaver Itucama and Aji, her husband, couples inter-marry, yet work at maintaining their individual cultural traditions. Each group cringes at being lumped collectively as Chocó and will go to great lengths to explain that the term now has derogatory connotations, which many Wounaan and Emberá find offensive.

In sessions of their congreso, where each village is represented and momentous decisions take place, listeners hear 21st-century catch phrases such, as “Indigenous intellectual property.” The new vocabulary may seem obtuse. Yet its intent speaks volumes for the insight of contemporary Third World peoples that their cultural and economic survival—and progress—within the global community require global awareness, recognition, appreciation and understanding.

Itucama believes that it also takes demonstrating to the world that though their countries of origin may not be quickly pointed to on a globe, the hand crafts and folk art produced by its artisans can be and are being elevated as art forms of substantial cultural value and distinction. It’s that sense of achievement and progress that Itucama says makes her proud to represent the indigenous people of the Darién.

For many indigenous cultures, the story behind the evolution of their craft is similar: utilitarian items transmogrify from tools and equipment for personal use to economically viable goods for sale or trade. Sometimes it takes a person or organization to facilitate that leap.

Itucama talks about the two people credited for “discovering” the art within the craft, nurturing it and facilitating basket-making as viable economic base. One, she says, was an American missionary linguist, Ron Binder, who lived with his family among the Wounaan nearly two decades ago. The other, Llory Gibson, was a Panamánian-born American and former gallery owner who creatively influenced the weavers whose baskets she promoted.

In 1996 the Mennonite Brethren Church, launched in the road’s-end commercial town of Yaviza by Itucama’s husband, Aji, began funding the fledgling basket cottage industry. Itucama and another master weaver were charged with coaching women in villages, not only those easily accessible from roads, but also those deep in the rainforest.

But building a viable, sustainable economic base meant more than just learning a new skill. In the case of these rainforest artisans, it also meant assessing the ecological ramifications of the cottage industry itself. Environmental concerns for the rainforest—traditionally taken upon the shoulders of world organizations and their Panamánian counterparts—were now the topic of avid discussions in tribal congresos.

Strategies for ensuring the ongoing supply of raw materials to protect this new and substantial income source had to be devised and implemented. Village leaders and representatives concurred that conservation and economic security were not mutually exclusive goals.

As more rainforest baskets reached the world’s collectors and shoppers, the need for a unified vocabulary to talk about them became helpful. It had become evident that basket designs fall into two categories.

Pictorial designs reflect the flora and fauna of a weaver’s surrounding rainforest or coastal environments. Jaguar, ocelot, pumas, monkeys, parrots, macaw, even sea creatures, such as octopus, orca, marlin and coral adorn the Hösig Di. Occasionally, kangaroo and bear—copied from the pages of books or magazines—create surprise on small whimsical baskets destined for the European tour-ship trade.

Cultura, or cultural, designs are adaptations of traditional geometric body painting or elaborations of pre-Colombian pottery motifs. These baskets may be nearly monochromatic or boldly colored.

Itucama’s butterflies and flowers show off the brilliant dyes derived from roots, berries and leaves. Dyed fibers are sometimes enhanced or completely changed by burial for a night or two in caliche-fine river silt.

The high-quality baskets artists now weave, Itucama explains, “didn’t really emerge until 1990.” Today, a daughter may create a much-more desirable basket than her mother—her work promised before each new piece is begun.

Itucama is aware that some buyers think that just because a weaver lives in a hut in the rainforest, she will accept any low offer for her basket. “A fine weaver would be insulted,” Itucama explains, “if someone asked her ‘what she got out of it.’ The implication is that she would accept a few dollars “because she’s ignorant of the true value and collectibility of her work on the craft or art market.

“That’s just not so,” Itucama says. She pauses to give her translator-husband time to catch up. “The most talented weavers get their asking prices. And weavers with considerable exposure to the world outside the rainforest have learned that there are many layers of expenses and markup before a basket ends up in the hands of an astute collector who deals with a fine gallery in the U.S. or Europe.”

(Click here for Part III of this article.)