Lim with several kebaya pieces at her shop.
Traditional crafts remain an important connection to Malaysia’s history and a part of its cultural identity.
A number of these pursuits, once a means to make a living for some, are a showcase of people’s creativity and resilience.
In times past, these crafts were proudly passed down from one generation to the next, but now, they are teetering on the brink of extinction.
As younger generations gravitate toward more lucrative and less labour-intensive professions, a handful of artisans remain as guardians of these trades.
Embroidered elegance
In her small shop in Kuala Lumpur, 54-year-old Lim Yu Lin carefully guides a needle through delicate fabric, creating intricate patterns that tell a story of a rich cultural heritage.
Lim says the kebaya is a piece of artwork and not just a clothing item. — LOW BOON TAT/THE STAR
Lim is a third-generation baju kebaya artisan who learnt the craft from her mother and grandmother.
The baju kebaya, often adorned with floral and fauna motifs, is a traditional blouse worn by the Peranakan, a community with roots in Chinese and Malay cultures.
Lim describes her work as a labour of love that requires incredible patience and precision.
“When the kebaya is washed and worn several times, the threads kind of combine together, becoming compact.
“To me, it becomes an art piece of its own; it’s no longer just a piece of clothing,” she said.
Each item she creates is unique, making them as distinctive as the women who wear them.
According to Lim, the handmade kebaya is more than just a fashion statement; it’s a piece of history.
The motifs, like the phoenix and dragon, represent femininity and masculinity, respectively, and are traditionally worn during weddings.
Other popular motifs include the goldfish, which symbolises prosperity, and peonies, which represent nobility and honour.
These intricate designs are embroidered by hand, a process that can take anywhere from one to three months depending on its complexity.
Despite the beauty and cultural significance of the baju kebaya, Lim said the younger generation showed little interest in learning the craft, deterred by the time and effort required to master it.
She added that even her own daughter, who is 18, might not continue the family tradition.
“Without the kebaya, I am not who I am today,” Lim said, fearing that when she retires, there would be no one to continue the craft after her.
To keep the tradition alive, Lim is trying to adapt to modern tastes by introducing kebaya with more minimalistic embroidery and pastel colours to attract younger customers.
She is also keen to dispel the misconception that the kebaya is only for special occasions, insisting that it can be worn daily, by anyone, regardless of race or religion.
But with few artisans left in the market and the youngest in her workshop already in their forties, the future of this iconic Malaysian garment remains in jeopardy.
Detailed beadwork
In Melaka, Raymond Yeo, a 70-year-old artisan, makes beaded Peranakan shoes, a traditional craft passed down from his grandfather over a century ago.
Yeo trimming off excess fabric after sewing bead motifs on the cloth.
These shoes, known for their vibrant colours and detailed beadwork, are an essential part of Peranakan culture.
Yeo’s workshop is one of the last places where this dying art is still practised.
“The smaller the beads, the better,” said Yeo as he painstakingly threaded tiny manik potong or seed beads onto fabric to create elaborate designs.
This meticulous work requires not just skill, but also patience — something that many lack in a world that values speed and efficiency, he said.
Despite a recent resurgence in interest, largely driven by a newfound appreciation for heritage and traditional fashion, he is concerned about finding a successor to take over the business.
The younger generation, he said, preferred modern careers over this type of bead threading.
Yeo is hesitant to train someone new because “it’s very difficult to teach this craft.”
This reluctance stems from a fear that even if someone learned, they might not stick with it, leaving the craft in the lurch once again.
Over the past 45 years, Yeo has found joy in seeing his customers happy with the shoes he creates.
But he knows that this happiness may not last much longer as he could well be working on some of his last pairs.
Artful batik stamps
Md Ghani hopes to protect the traditional art of making batik blocks. — Courtesy photo
Md Ghani Mat, 68, is one of the last few batik block makers in the country.
Batik blocks are used to stamp designs onto fabric and he said making them was a skill that would take years to master.
Unfortunately, it is also a skill that few are willing to learn today.
Md Ghani, who hails from Kelantan, began learning the craft at 15 and it took him two years to become proficient.
The first step in batik block making is drawing the design, a task that requires a keen eye and steady hand.
The design is then meticulously shaped out of yellow copper, a material that is becoming increasingly difficult to source, he said.
“If you don’t know how to draw, you’re not really considered a craftsman.
“You’re just someone who knows how to make a batik block,” Md Ghani said, highlighting the importance of artistry in this craft.
The scarcity of materials and physical demands of the job have made it challenging to find new apprentices.
Md Ghani has trained about 50 people over the years, but most have abandoned the craft, finding it too difficult and unprofitable.
Currently, two of his sons are learning the craft from him.
The difficulty in sourcing the right size of yellow copper has also forced Md Ghani to adapt, using an alternative that requires putting in extra work.
With just three batik block makers left in the country, he said, there was no guarantee that the next generation would continue the tradition.
He often performs demonstrations in Terengganu, hoping to spark interest in the younger generation.
As orders pile up and deadlines loom, he is forced to turn down work, unable to meet the demand alone.
Stitches of tradition
High in the hills of Sabah, pis embroidery or kain tinohian, is a craft deeply embedded in the cultural identity of the Rugus people.
This unique embroidery technique is used to create the sigal headwear, which is part of Rugus attire.
The most difficult part is ensuring the neatness of each stitch, says Crisna.
For 54-year-old Crisna Mojupi, pis embroidery is a way to preserve her culture and provide a sustainable livelihood for Rugus women.
Crisna learned the craft from her grandfather when she was just a child.
Back then, every household had at least one sigal and it was customary for family members to know how to make them.
But now, most young people leave their villages for the cities, seeking better-paying jobs and showing little interest in the embroidery.
Determined to keep the tradition alive, Crisna has started to innovate.
She now creates modern items such as wallets and shirts, hoping to appeal to a broader audience.
The designs, which often feature elements from nature like plants and sea creatures, are her way to connect with the past while making the craft relevant for the present.
The traditional inandaha design is a dragon body wrapped around twice with the head of a rooster.
Despite her efforts, Crisna faces an uphill battle.
Without a younger generation willing to learn and carry on the craft, she fears that pis embroidery is at risk of becoming a forgotten art.
“I want more people to learn about pis embroidery, so that Rugus women can sustain their lives without having to move to the towns,” she said.
Legacy in jewelry
In a small workshop in Penang, a couple of goldsmiths specialise in handmade jewellery, including the traditional thali and other Indian wedding accessories.
Raju polishing gold jewellery as a final touch. — LOW BOON TAT, ZHAFARAN NASIB, SHEELA CHANDRAN and HAZEL TAN YAN LING/The Star
Thanalaxmi Veerappan and her husband Raju Murugesan, both 65, learned the craft of making traditional Indian wedding jewellery from the latter’s grandfather in India.
The process of crafting these pieces is labour-intensive and requires a high level of skill and precision.
The gold, Raju said, was meticulously worked by hand, with each piece taking up to several weeks.
But the cost of gold has skyrocketed in recent years, making it difficult for traditional goldsmiths to compete with mass-produced jewellery.
The time and effort required to create each piece also means that the prices of handmade jewellery are higher, which can be a deterrent for cost-conscious buyers.
Despite these challenges, Thana remains hopeful.
“As long as there are people who appreciate the value of handmade, traditional jewellery, there is hope,” she said.
She added that if there was anyone who was willing to learn the craft, her husband was very willing to teach them.
“The only thing I require from them is their patience and dedication to learn,” said Thana.
