Fragile History and the Art of Pabalat

Candy wrapper art: Pabalat ng Pastillas de Leche

Not long ago, I read with great interest an article about Tukluhan, an obscure festival unique to the village of Santa Cruz in Marinduque Province, which takes place every May 15th on the feast day of San Isidro de Labrador (the Laborer), patron saint of farmers. The central event is a religious procession for which residents decorate fences, trees and other structures along the route with garlands of fruits, vegetables and various foodstuff. Parade-goers then eagerly collect¹ the hanging comestibles as they trail behind the passing procession, in what sounds like a rural Filipino hybrid of Mardi Gras, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and a self-service Halloween.

As I read, I hoped the article would satisfy my need for details: When did this tradition start? Was it some cool pre-colonial pagan harvest ritual adapted to Catholic themes? Most importantly, why was it done in the first place? Unfortunately, I came across a paragraph that pained my history-loving heart:

"Librada Ricamata, 75, who gathers and sells edible seashells for a living, said villagers can't remember when and how Tukluhan originated. 'By the time we were born, Tukluhan was already celebrated here,' said Ricamata. She said the festival has been held since the time of her parents. 'The tradition was passed from their generation to ours, and knowing its origin is not our concern anymore,' she said."

from "Marinduque Villagers Reach Out for Tukluhan" (PDI 5/26/11)

A Question of History

I couldn't disagree more with Ms. Ricamata's final statement - our histories should always be our concern. Why is knowing the origins of Tukluhan or any other tradition so vital? The answer is in the question. All other queries record factual details: Asking what defines the tradition and how tells us the manner in which it is done; who reveals the participants while when and where establish time and space. But why is a glimpse into elusive meaning - the answer shines a light, albeit dim or filtered, into the needs and motivation  behind our customs, which in turn helps us to understand their importance to our personal and group identities. The answer to why allows us to look at ourselves from the perspective of the past.

Young folk musicians in Gasan, Marinduque, Easter '11

If the why is forgotten or brushed aside as irrelevant, then traditions may lose much of their powerful symbolism and risk becoming irrelevant themselves. How long might Tukluhan last if no one knows or seems to care why they participate in its festivities? Already, the custom is changing: according to the article, the foods displayed along the parade route traditionally came from the town's agricultural bounty. Now, they are slowly being replaced by packaged, processed items such as chips and candies. How has the festival's meaning been changed by this development? We can't know because without knowing its history, we have little reference to evaluate.

Celebrations and Crafts

In a kind of cultural Darwinism, unique traditions fall by the wayside all the time, unnoticed because they are so little known, much less practiced, beyond the communities in which they first developed. Happily, some find a measure of outside fame to ensure their continuation, like the Moriones Festival, which originated in a tiny Marinduque parish and is now world-famous. That such a local cultural event can remain vibrant may be due, I believe, to an important distinction that the Tukluhan lacks: an active interest in its history that remains central to its tradition.

The Moriones Festival is celebrated during Easter Holy Week in municipalities throughout the province and has inspired similar festivities all over the Philippines, but the townspeople of Mogpog proudly preserve the story of how their own Father Dionisio Santiago staged the first re-enactment over 200 years ago. Furthermore, even as their tradition becomes a tourist attraction, the residents who participate in it do so in faithful practice to the event's original intent as a time for penance and prayer.

Moriones parading through Mogpog, Marinduque/Easter '11

Such festive occasions stand a fair chance of survival, if only because everyone, including 'outsiders', has an opportunity to participate in some way, whether as players or spectators. More precarious, however, is the fate of small traditions such as time-consuming and skillful craftwork that have many admirers but dwindling numbers of practitioners. Without subsequent generations willing to learn about their histories or perpetuate the art, some craft traditions may suffer the sad indignity of being met with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders and set aside.

Paper-Cutting: Folk Art and Candy Wrappers

That is the possible future facing the Filipino folk art form called pabalat². This lovely example of decorative paper-cutting is unique not only for being practiced primarily in one area, but also for its singular purpose - to make colorful wrappers for pastillas de leche. In a previous post, I discussed how the history of this Filipino milk candy is rather fuzzy for lack of recorded details; unfortunately, it extends to the special way this confection is presented. What little is known (or remembered) about how pabalat began is closely related to the origins of pastillas de leche in the town of San Miguel de Mayumo in Bulacan Province. But the reason behind why this particular candy, among all the many other treats and sweets, deserved such special wrappers has been lost.

Decorative paper-cutting is popular in the Philippines and its most recognized form is the famed parols, or Christmas lanterns, that sport fluttering 'comet tails' of delicately cut paper, of which pabalat is reminiscent. Filipino papercraft was likely adapted from Jian Zhi, the 1500-year old Chinese art of paper-cutting. Interestingly, jian zhi may have arrived in the Philippines via two routes - one direct, the other quite circuitous. Chinese traders and settlers probably brought paper-cutting directly to the islands, but a distinct influence may also have come from Mexico by way of the Manila-Acapulco galleon trade.

In pre-Hispanic Mesoamerica, Aztecs made a form of paper called amatl (Sp. amate) from mashed tree bark, on which images of deities were cut out with stone knives. Spain's own history of papercraft³ began in the 12th century when the material and art were introduced by Muslim rulers and Arab traders who brought the practices back to the Middle East and Europe from Asia. After the Spanish conquest, the Aztec craft, influenced by its European colonizers, evolved into Mexico's distinctive papel picado ('perforated paper'), used to create festive banners for special occasions. The influence of Mexican papel picado on Filipino papercutting is strongest in the colorful flag garlands called banderitas (from Sp. bandera, 'flag'), which add festive decoration to local pistahans (festivals).

Papercut candy wrapper

Preserving the Past

Neither parols nor banderitas, however, are as closely related to a specific place and purpose as pabalat. Presumed to be as old as pastillas de leche, these pretty candy wrappers are made from papel de japón and were traditionally used as decorative table centerpieces in Bulacan's fine homes⁴. Sadly, this unique Bulakeño craft - once taught in local schools and practiced in many families - is slowly disappearing. Most practitioners are now elderly, their ranks dwindling, and pabalat is now often made only by special order in association with local pastillas-makers and retailers.

Concerned by the possibility of losing this folk tradition, master pabalat-maker Luz Ocampo⁵, affectionately known as Nanay (mom), still  tirelessly practices and promotes her craft through media interviews and attendance at art shows and craft fairs, despite her nearly 90 years. Having learned the art at the age of twelve in her hometown of San Miguel (where pastillas de leche originated), Nanay Luz is determined to pass along as much of its history as she knows in hopes of keeping it alive for new generations.

Fascinated by the delicate beauty of pabalat and feeling a particular affinity because of my personal ties to Bulacan, ancestral home of my father's family, I was inspired to try my hand at it. I had never previously seen an actual pabalat, other than photographs on the web, but with some online guidance, I gave it a go. I hope that, in some small way, I can help preserve a small part of our history.

Colorful candy

Notes:

1. Tukluhan ostensibly means "to reach". However, I could not confirm to which Filipino dialect this word belongs, and my mother - born in Marinduque and a native Tagalog-speaker - is unfamiliar with it.

2. Pabalat comes from the Tagalog word balat, meaning a covering (e.g. skin, bark, peel, husk, etc.)

3. Although Spain does not have a specific, named tradition of paper-cutting (at least, none that I could find online), the introduction of paper and papercraft to the region by Muslim traders was apparently the originating point for vibrant paper-cutting arts in other European cultures. The oldest may be the Jewish form, which is traditionally used to decorate mizrachs (a wall plaque indicating direction of prayer) and ketubahs (marriage contracts). Other papercut art forms include Scherenschnitte ('scissor cuts') in Germany and the Polish wycinanki.

4. Mapanoo, Sherwin. "The Pastillas Papercut Tradition" n.p.

5. Read more about Mrs. Ocampo in articles from Balikbayan Magazine and The Philippine Star.

Other sources:

Instrument of Karma blog - "Disposable Art"

www.jewishcraftcuts.com

Museum of International Folk Art: Papel Picado

Pabalat ng Pastillas de Leche

No recipe today! Instead, check out my earlier post about Pastillas de Leche for a recipe, then try crafting some pabalat for the candies you make or, as a quick alternative, use store-bought pastillas and other small candies such as Tootsie Rolls.

Materials and Tools

Papel de japón (tissue paper) in different colors
Ruler
Pencil
Fine-tipped scissors (curved cuticle scissors work beautifully!)

To make 2 wrappers:

Cut 1 sheet of tissue paper to 13.5 inches long by 10 inches wide. Fold in half lengthwise, then fold in half again lengthwise. The folded sheet should now be 13.5" long by 2.5" wide. Using a ruler, mark off a 4" x 2.5" section: this will be portion where the pastillas/candy will be wrapped and should remain uncut.

With a pencil, draw your pattern! A workable design is part trial, part error and all personal creativity.Start by drawing simple shapes such as flowers or stars all over the area. Then, 'connect' the shapes together by drawing 'bands' between them. For best results, keep the cut-out sections small but numerous to get a more lacy look. I also suggest keeping the edges intact to give the pabalat more structure and support.

With fine-tipped/cuticle scissors, begin cutting, starting inside and working out toward the edges. Don't worry about perfectly following your pencil lines - they will show up only on one panel. Besides, I think it adds a quaint roughness, a hand-made quality to the pabalat.

When done, open the sheet and cut in half lengthwise to make 2 panels. Take one half-sheet and cut in half again, beginning at the top of the cut-out section and stopping just at the untouched 4" x  2.5" portion.

If using homemade pastillas, wrap each piece in wax paper or plastic wrap to keep any moisture from saturating the paper. Place the candy lengthwise on the uncut portion of the pabalat and roll up, then gently twist both ends to close.

Place the pabalat-wrapped pastillas in a bowl or glass jar to show off your handiwork!

A bit of self-indulgence...

Starry, Starry Bento: A Twitter Challenge

Tangled Bento

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are."

The answer to this innocent musing depends on one's preference: warmly sentimental or coolly factual.

On the warm and fuzzy side, a star is something we wish upon, thank for our good fortune and observe intently in hopes that our fates are revealed in its movement. Stars represent secret dreams, auspicious destinies and plain old good luck, and we gaze upon them with a twinkle in our own eyes.

On the cool and practical side, a star is actually an enormous flaming ball of gas, floating in the infinite inkiness of outer space. No fairy dust here: the shimmering, glittering pinpoints in the evening sky are just the result of visible electromagnetic radiation distorted by the Earth's atmosphere. As a couple of astronomers have observed, apropos of the rhyme above:

"Opaque ball of hot dense gas

Million times our planet's mass

Looking small because you're far

I know exactly what you are.

"Fusing atoms in your core

Hydrogen, helium, carbon and more

With such power you shine far

Twinkle twinkle little star."

Read the rest of this scientifically-accurate nursery rhyme by Julia Kregenow, PhD & Jason Wright, PhD.

While dry scientific fact and other scholarly studies provide utmost value to our store of knowledge, they can put a damper on more starry-eyed perspectives.

Constellation Bento

Bento: Lessons in Cuteness

For instance, consider bento (formal: obento), the Japanese boxed meal for one consisting of rice, protein, fruit and vegetables, arranged with varying degrees of intricacy in a sturdy container. While many bentos made for adults may be as aesthetically regular and mundane as any home-packed lunch, those made for children are les enfants adorables of the food world - sometimes too cute to stand, often obviously labor-intensive and always 'awww!'-inducing.

Just as we gaze upon a clear night sky a-glitter with stars and see magic, not nuclear fusion, we can marvel at the unbearable cuteness of bento without discerning hidden meanings in its composition. But just as a powerful telescope reveals the true nature of stars, somber interpretation of bento uncovers a lot more to these kids' meals than cartoon characters rendered in artistic edible form.

In an article for The Japan Times, Makiko Itoh of the superior bento resource, Just Bento, wrote of how these school-bound lunches provide not only necessary nutrition, but also valuable social lessons for little Japanese kindergarteners. Referring to a national education directive known as Shokiuku Kihon Hou, or Basic Law on Nutritional Education, Itoh explained:

"Presently, the term 'shokiuku' has come to mean educating yourself by being aware of what you eat . . .

"'It really isn't just about eating a nutritious lunch, though that is very important, of course,' says [kindergarten principal Sumie] Kato. 'The children learn about appreciating their parents for providing and preparing food they are given. They learn basic etiquette, such as saying itadakimasu and goshisosama [expressions of gratitude before and after the meal] properly. And most of all, they get to experience how fun mealtimes can be.'"¹

Boxed In: Childhood, Motherhood

But in an essay considered essential reading for students of sociocultural anthropology and gender studies, Duke University anthropology professor Anne Allison argues that bento represents much more than early childhood training in food appreciation and etiquette in Japan. Writing in "Japanese Mothers and Obentos: The Lunch-Box as Ideological State Apparatus", Allison posits that this very common foodway serves as a tool of cultural and gender indoctrination aimed at children and women, as situated in the context of kindergarten education.

For the child, it is a comforting bridge between the familiarity of family and home, and the strangeness of the outside world, while also helping to teach "the rules and patterns of 'group living' (shudanseikatsu), a Japanese social ideal that is reiterated nationwide by political leaders, corporate management, and marriage counselors, [that are] first introduced to the child in nursery school."²

For the mother, bento represents her primary societal role - that is, the responsibility of positioning her child on a course toward lifelong success. As summed up by Allison, "If the child succeeds, a mother is complimented; if the child fails, a mother is blamed."³ In this regard, bento during nursery school is a first step. Expectations are simple and straightforward: a child should eat his or her meal in its entirety, and a mother should ensure this by preparing an appetizing, easy-to-consume bento. Their mutual cooperation in this endeavor is key to their successful joint conformation to social expectation⁴.

Reaching into her own family's experience as foreigners in Japan, Allison recounts being taken aback by the emphasis her son's teacher placed on her youngster's eating habits. In time, she began to understand that his complete consumption of bento wasn't as trivial as it seemed:

"David's teacher marked his successful integration into the school system by his mastery not of the language or other cultural skills, but of the school's daily routines... My American child had to become, in some sense, Japanese, and where his teacher recognized this Japaneseness was in the daily routines such as finishing his obento."⁵

That's putting a heavy load of meaning in some heart-shaped carrots and a ball of rice shaped like a panda.

Allison emphasizes, however, that very few of her informants expressed any unhappiness or sense of oppression from bento-making⁶. In fact, most of them found great satisfaction in it, not only as a way of nurturing their children, but also as an expression of their own creativity and playfulness. And that's precisely what I see in the boxes displayed by bento-making blogger moms and aficionados such as Sheri of Happy Little Bento and Yuri of Chef Pandita - artistry and fun combined in edible form.

It was also the directive when my dear friend Jenni of Pastry Methods and Techniques set in motion a Twitter event: #bentocuteness (and its off-shoots #badassbento and #halfassbento), in which we were challenged to muster as much food imagination and cuteness that could fit into a lunch box. So, while I can appreciate a factual and theoretical perspective, it's so much more fun to look at the world with stars in my eyes.

Starry, Starry Bento

Although #bentocuteness' only guideline was to enjoy our bento-making, I couldn't help but take note of Allison's observation of three 'codes' of food preparation in Japan. The first calls for "smallness, separation, and fragmentation"; the second, for opposition in color, form, texture, etc.; and finally, for naturalness, or evoking nature⁷. With these in mind, I put together my two-tier bento.

The bottom tier held three molded stars made with steamed white rice mixed with a bit of soy sauce and garnished with bits of celery, julienned carrots and black sesame seeds, and surrounded by mini-star cut-outs of cucumber and carrot.

In the larger section of the top tier, I made a simple omelette accompanied by sliced cucumbers and carrots, and more star cut-outs made from vegetable-studded Lyoner (a type of German bologna). For dessert, fresh kiwi flanks two satisfying bites of strawberry cream-filled sponge cake.

For more #bentocuteness, please visit Yuri's round-up of all the contributions.

Itadakimasu!

Notes:

1. Itoh, Makiko. "The best kindergarten lessons are at lunch time" The Japan Times Online. 7 Apr 2011.

2. Allison, Anne. "Japanese Mothers and Obentos: The Lunch-Box as Ideological State Apparatus" Anthropological Quarterly. 64:4 Oct 1991: pp. 199

3. Ibid., 203

4. Ibid., 200

5. Ibid., 201

6. Ibid., 203

7. Ibid., 197

Wrap It Up: Furoshiki

In the course of reading about bento, I came across mentions of this traditional wrapping cloth used for everything from gift-wrap to shopping bag. While paper and plastic have replaced them for most uses, furoshiki are still used to carry bento, with the added convenience of serving as place mat for the meal. If you're interested in an eco-friendly alternative to paper or plastic bags and wraps, check out this handy diagram on how to use furoshiki. Thankfully, there is no specific standard for size or material - it just needs to be large and sturdy enough for the purpose in mind, such as the rectangular cotton dishcloth used here. Have cloth, can wrap!