A Beautiful Mess: What My First Batik Attempt Taught Me About Imperfection
- DEA
- Aug 23
- 4 min read
Guest Writer - Jasmin Mampilli
It’s Day 2 of our trip and it doesn’t help that the air is humid and heavy with the fumes of hot wax and faint perfume. We’re staring at a signboard in Bahasa, as our eager guide, an elderly gentleman promises an “authentic Indonesian experience"—a phrase that many reddit users term as a "tourist trap."
As we proceed to walk into the workshop space, it’s small, open and there are more artisans than tourists. Each dressed in a brown shirt with the traditional Indonesian Batik print to distinguish themselves. They’re focused on creating and refuse to make eye contact unless it's to consent to being photographed by over enthusiastic tourists, like myself.
Ten minutes of observing the artistry was all it took to convince me that the 30-minute introductory session into Batik that they offered was all I needed. Within seconds of asking to try, I’m paired up with an artisan sitting on a low stool and her hair pulled back into a practical bun. Her hands move with mesmerizing precision, leaving a delicate, shimmering caramel stroke behind and I'm confident I can achieve the same. How hard can it be, I ask myself as she finishes up a large leafy pattern.
“This canting“ she tells me while pointing to her small copper tool that she dips into a pot of molten wax. “Very hot okay?” she warns me as her hands dance across the stretched piece of white cotton. She signs off a name at the bottom of the cloth. After another very brief set of instructions and warnings, she senses my eagerness and chuckles warmly inviting me to hold the canting or pen - I finally embark on my first batik attempt.
The Meltdown
With great confidence, I start to freehand a simple line. Nothing happens. And in a blink of an eye, I suddenly watch a giant blob of wax gush out and turn into a stain. The wax, instead of forming a clean line, seeps beneath the fabric and hardens into a mess. What’s worse is that I could suddenly feel the heat of the wax against a finger and start to mentally panic. The last thing I need on this trip is a second degree burn. And so I try again and again, until all I have is a series of amorphous shapes covering a quarter of my fabric.
An intermediate medium, Batik wax is rebellious with a mind of its own. It has to be heated at a certain temperature, to form a certain liquid consistency in order to work. Each artist additionally customizes his/her canting pen in order to achieve the quality of line work they desire. Making the art even more unique.
After only 20 minutes left, I'm ready to give up as the artisan intuitively senses my frustration. She gracefully intervenes by asking me to first draw lines with a pencil and then trace over with the wax. “Practis” she mumbles. While I start to trace over the different shapes, my vision of creating a graceful repeat floral pattern diminishes. The humiliation kicks in as my supposed 'qualification' in design seemed laughably irrelevant, even disrespectful, in the presence of someone who had dedicated their life to this art.
Photos courtesy of Jasmin Mampilli
Finding Beauty in Imperfection
After a good 5 minutes in, I slowly feel a hand support my trembling wrist. The artisan starts to guide my hand along the shapes and it feels gentle and meditative. Her rhythm signals that a subtle pressure and roughly a 45 degree angle was key to holding the Canting. It helps anticipate the flow of the wax better.
As the mess slowly started to turn into organic lines, which eventually formed floral shapes, I started to drift off into another universe. No wonder the artisans were so intensely focused and never looked up. There was a sense of respect they had for their medium and the only way to respect it was via working with, not against, its nature. How beautiful is that?
Embracing the poetry
To most of the world, Batik is simply a dyeing technique that uses wax resist to create patterns. But to Indonesians, Batik is so much more: it's an identity rich with philosophical beliefs, traditions, and hope. Even though modern batik techniques now include electric canting pens and mass-manufactured stamps, I can assure you that those 30 minutes I spent surrounded by the scent of wax and dye could never be recreated using the modern tools. That unfiltered vulnerability was what truly allowed me to grasp that deep feeling of hope and pride in heritage that they embody. Each stroke felt like an expression rather than a connecting line. If you ask me today, it's the mindset of perfection that is the real tourist trap, not my "blobs" or "splutters".
In a world that often demands a well constructed image, where filters and edits create an illusion of perfection, this raw, tactile experience taught me the profound beauty of the culture.
To embrace imperfection, or a "beautiful mess," is to learn how to celebrate life's unpredictable, perfectly imperfect flow and to me that was a lesson far more valuable than any souvenir I could have bought.
An independent textile print designer and cultural enthusiast, Jasmin believes patterns are global conversation starters, cultural preservers, and connectors. Her multicultural upbringing across Dubai, Bangalore, and Singapore cultivated a keen interest in culturally-contextual design. Holding a BA (Hons) in Fashion Design & Textiles from LASALLE College of the Arts, Singapore, Jasmin specializes in creating prints and visual concepts for fabric and paper.
Instagram: @allthatsjazzie
Website: www.jasminmampilli.com
LinkedIn: Jasmin Mampilli
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