The Khamu Jacket

When we were in Luang Prabang, Laos this year, I paid not one but two visits to my favorite silk weaving establishment in the village of Xang Khong, Lao Textile Natural Dyes. I have been visiting this house since 2005; the original old teak house, the new air conditioned building across the dirt road that housed their collection of antique costumes and fabrics, again when the whole house was completely demolished, and this year. To my delight, the new house was built in the old style, new style concrete outside, but all wood interior. I was excited by the good supply of hand woven, naturally dyed silks in a variety of weaves. After amassing a large and expensive pile of new silks in solid colors, Veomanee reminded me that they had moved their collection of antique textiles upstairs and invited me to see them. Removing my shoes, I followed a young woman up cool smooth wooden stairs where she unlocked the doors to a large room that took up half the top of the shop house. It was very dark inside, and very cool, perfect for preserving fragile fabrics. I waited for my eyes to accustom to the gloom while she went from window to window, opening the exquisitely carved shutters to let in more light. The room was dominated by a large traditional bed frame hung with antique silk mosquito net borders. On top of the bed slats were piles of bedding and household textiles. Ranged around the walls were stacks and stacks of baby carriers, phasin (skirts), ceremonial shoulder cloths, jackets, shaman cloths, more bed sheets, curtains, blankets and wall hangings. She invited me by gesture to look at whatever I liked. When I sat down on the floor, she ran to get me a low stool and when she saw my interest in a certain item, she went around the room gathering more of that style. Things were arranged by use and tribal group. On another low pallet bed of wood were pieces of old textiles that had been removed from items that were too far gone to save. The embroidery or supplementary weaving examples were too precious to discard. Many would find their way into frames on walls, or as cartoons for young apprentice weavers to study. There were countless phasin borders, jacket trims, ribbons and ends of head wraps and shoulder cloths. Phasin borders are a specialty in Laos and are often removed when the body of the skirt has worn out. Lao skirts are made in 3 separate sections, waist or hip band, skirt body, and skirt border. I spent quite a bit of time looking through the beautiful hand work, asking about the identity of tribal groups they came from, and indulging a textile junkie's passion in all things made by hand. I didn't buy any old pieces that day. I left with 3 large hand made saa paper bags full of new fabric to use for my own designs back home.

Four days later I returned, bringing a new friend that I had infused (or should I say overwhelmed?) with my own passion and wonder. I met Ann Crittenden on our way up river to Nong Khiaw and I promised to take her to Xang Khong to help her buy some silk which she could have made into a blouse or two when she returned to the States. Veomanee was thrilled to see me again and even more excited that I brought a friend. I asked if Ann could see the treasures upstairs. Together we ascended the stairs to the almost mystical storeroom. Once again one of the girls scurried around, throwing open the shutters to let in the light. From one of the piles near the largest bed, Ann picked out an antique wall hanging from the far north. It was a classic black (actually dark dark indigo) and white geometric supplementary weave bordered by white cotton. I spent time with a pile of jackets against one wall, and revisited the distinctively woven antique silk phasin from the Sam Neua area. Veomanee told me his mother was the impetus for the collection. His mohter was from the Vietnamese border, near Sam Neua, and had traveled from one end of Laos to the other collecting old textiles and costumes. As we were getting ready to leave and go downstairs, I walked over to a rod hung from the ceiling where longer coats and jackets from the Hmong, Lienten, Khamu and Yao Mien hung. Among them was one odd, longish jacket. As I pulled it down and from the doorway, I looked up and saw Veomanee's mother watching me. Veomanee's mother was elegant. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly into bun at the nape of her neck. She wore an expensive cardigan over a traditional subtle striped silk Luang Prabang style phasin, complete with intricate, elaborate border. A very tasteful beautifully woven Lao shawl hung around her shoulders. She looked right at me, "Khamu". I turned to Veomanee with a questioning look. "It is Khamu jacket. From Khamu people, very very old." Indeed. I had been through Khamu villages further north, but I had never seen anything like this jacket, nor could I remember having seen it in any of my textile books. It was thick black polished cotton on the outside, lined with a coarser hand woven indigo hopsacking I had seen used for the long jackets worn by the Yao Mien. I looked more closely. Completely hand sewn, the two layers fitted together perfectly to make a heavy, warm jacket for the cold highlands where the Khamu used to live. Every seam was worked in such tiny stitches I didn't see most of them until I returned home to the US and saw them under the bright electric lights of my sewing room. They were worked in red thread. The side gussets were topped by a thin column of red satin stitch along the seam. The frog style fastenings were red cotton attached with green embroidery thread. Mother of pearl buttons were used as fasteners on one end of the loops. I fell in love with this jacket. I didn't pay a lot for it, not by Nordstrom standards, but for something I could not wear and something so unremarkable at first glance, it was an extravagance. Veomanee's mother motioned for the doors to the room across the hall to be opened, where even more wonders were arrayed, this time in more of a museum like setting. We ohhhed and ahhhed and were properly appreciative, but I had the Khamu jacket clutched under my arm, and Ann had already made her choices, so we went back downstairs to complete our purchases. As I walked into the main room, Veomanee moved toward me with a small folded piece of silk. "My mother thinks you may like this." I unfolded it carefully and held a piece of soft, aged mat mee in my hand. It was a gorgeous antique phasin. I knew immediately that it was very valuable. I had purchased one very similar on my first trip to Southeast Asia in 1990. I had paid $15 at the time and felt myself ill used. I brought it home and cut it into a loose overblouse. I knew that the $85 she was asking from me for this lovely antique skirt was a good deal. I could buy the exquisite phasin or the Khamu jacket. Not both. It was no contest. I would never find another Khamu jacket.

I have been working on a pattern from this jacket. It's a sweet jacket, very flattering, but very very tiny. I realized part way through the pattern process that the jacket was probably for a man. That made sizing for a woman a little tricky. I love ethnic clothes. I love their deceptive simplicty, their use of the maximum amount of fabric with the minimum of cutting, their economy in using what is to hand, and their surprising, sometimes whimsical details. It soothes my sense of purpose and attention to make things that are one of a kind. The pattern may be the same, the intent and materials, never. I have included photos of the original and the one I just finished. The new one is done in linen/rayon hopsacking lined with Kaufmann cotton sateen...a fabulous find. I used DMC Perle cotton for the embroidery. The frogs were purchased in Bangkok and attached with a herringbone embroidery stitch. I tried to show the red embroidery above the gusset, but it is a little tricky and didn't quite some out in the photo

I changed a few things. The collar is not quite as long as the original and I will remedy that on the next go round. I put darts in the back and used one large side gusset rather than the two smaller ones on the original. I may change that as well. It still needs a few adjustments, but it is quite wonderful, and can be tailor made to fit almost anyone!