Mention the Ayala Museum and people tend to think of the dioramas depicting the history of the Philippines, with occasional temporary exhibits, usually of art work.

In the last year, the museum has been going through a major make-over, setting up new long-term exhibits that are awesome—and I’m not using the word lightly. Last year they put up an exhibit of trade ceramics found in local archaeological sites. I described that exhibit in an article last year, and I will say they are worth revisiting. The exhibit space has been expanded, and there is now a video presentation that explains the different types of ceramics and their sources.

Just this month, Ayala Museum opened up two more exhibits, one of embroidered Filipino clothing from the 19th century and the other of 1059 gold objects, again excavated locally. Together with the trade ceramics, these two new exhibits were formally opened on May 1 with the name “Crossroads of Civilizations.”

It’s an appropriate name because the exhibits tell us about how the Philippines was already being shaped by globalization many centuries ago in terms of what we wore and what we had in our homes. The trade ceramics, for example, tell us that our ancestors already had an appetite for imported items a thousand years ago. That exhibit hints, too, at the relationship we had with our neighbors, notably China, Thailand and Vietnam, our main sources of these ceramics. Clearly there was flourishing trade, our neighbors coming in for local products. With trade comes cultural exchange, traces of which remain today in our languages, food, clothing. It was never a one-way exchange—among the trade ceramics, for example, are jars in the shape of the “balimbing” [star fruit].

I’ll save the gold exhibits for my Friday column and focus today on the smaller but still interesting exhibit, “Embroidered Multiples: 18th-19th Century Philippine Costumes.” The exhibit takes up only one corridor but you shouldn’t miss it because it shows actual samples of old clothing which have never been shown before. Until this exhibit, all we had were illustrations, notably in watercolor prints by the 19th century painter Damian Domingo. The Domingo prints were exhibited at Ayala earlier, almost like an appetizer, and have been reprinted by Ayala Museum in a book, “Multiple Originals, Original Multiples” by Florina Capistrano-Baker.

It was Capistrano-Baker who stumbled on a collection of Filipino clothing while doing research at the Leiden National Museum of Ethnology. The local Dutch embassy was eventually able to arrange for the materials to be loaned to the Ayala Museum for the next five years, complemented by additional clothing from the private collection of Rina Ortiz.

What you’ll find here are blouses, handkerchiefs, “pañuelos” (a scarf worn on the shoulder), shirts, “tapis” (wraparound skirts) and trousers, which are eloquently simple. These are not our usual “borloloy” designs, where every inch of empty space is filled with some design. Instead, you have the embroidery along borders or corners. From afar, they call attention by accenting the clothing. Up close, you realize how intricate the embroidery is. These are materials that offer potential designs for today’s clothing designers and manufacturers as well as the fashionista trying to transcend fashion.

Fashioned identities

Make sure to watch a video presentation, Fashioning Identities, which sets the context for the exhibit. First, we learn how these clothing items came to Ayala. The Leiden museum bought the clothing from a French diplomat, Brejard, who had been assigned to Manila from 1881 to 1886. The small collection was not given too much attention because the interest, at that time (and perhaps even today), was in the so-called “pure” tribes.

Even the word “costumes” carries some of this bias. Cora Alvina, the director of our National Museum, pointed out in a recent lecture at the University of the Philippines that the word “costume” should be discouraged because of the way it exoticizes people. How come we refer to the barong Tagalog as a national “costume” but never call a coat and tie a “western costume”?

The Europeans were looking for something different, something exotic. The clothing from the Philippines that ended up in Leiden showed “hybrid” culture. It was too familiar, too European, and therefore dismissed.

I’ve noted this disdain for the familiar even in historical accounts. The German Fedor Jagor, visiting the Philippines in the 19th century, noted with dismay that the “indio” [native] seemed to imitate everything from Spain, including clothing.

This was not true of course. What the visitors failed to see was the way we would “borrow” something from other cultures, and then indigenize or localize it. This was clearly happening with the clothing. While aspects of European fashions did seep in, we would modify the designs, and use local materials. More observant Europeans, for example, marveled at the way we created fabrics like piña.

“Embroidered Multiples” shows actual samples of clothing made from these fine materials but make sure, too, not to miss two other examples of local adaptation. Look for two hats in a glass case which, unfortunately, are a bit dark because the museum has to protect the materials from glaring light. One hat is a “salakot,” not an ordinary one but made from carabao horn and silver. The other item is a top hat which you’d presume is made, European-style, from horse hair. But look more closely and you’ll realize it’s woven as one does a basket, but shaped into a hat and painted black.

Go through the exhibit leisurely and think of the people who wore them. You can see from the clothing they were much shorter and smaller than the average Filipino today. The men were certainly dandies, with a love for embroidered designs. This is best reflected by the “sayasaya,” or embroidered silk trousers imported from China. The ones on exhibit are the only known surviving items of this type from the 19th century.

Think, too, of the way the clothing might have been, as the video title suggests, fashioning identity. Remember that until the late 19th century, “Filipino” was a term reserved for Spaniards born in the Philippines. A nationalist movement was germinating, and our fashions may have helped to “declare” ourselves. The hybrid fashions tell us something about an emerging Filipino bourgeoisie that came from the indio, but who also wanted to display their being bourgeoisie. It was so typically “ilustrado” [of the educated class], attracted by the western, the European, but was also conscious of the local, from the choice of fabrics, to the type of embroidery work. Try to imagine, too, a “Filipino” demeanor—posture, gait, body language—that came with wearing Filipino clothing.

Visit www.ayalamuseum.org for exhibit details and museum hours.