SUNDAY VIBES
CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: mind for fragments of memory.
“That one I purposely put out here to weather the elements so it can naturally age,” says Ismail, his bemused voice slicing into my thoughts. “The wood gets darker when it’s left out here, day and night, rain or shine. Over time the walls will begin to crumble... just like an abandoned house.”
A lot of people, shares Ismail, have asked him how he has been able to achieve the kind of “authentic” effect seen on his miniature houses. “They think that I’ve used special old wood to get that rustic appearance,” elaborates the father-of-four, adding: “Actually, I can use any type of wood; the secret is to leave the wood outside for at least four to five months to be exposed to the elements and be eaten by termites. See the walls? I made them from old carpets, which I’d left exposed under the sun. Eventually they harden and the colour changes.”
Beckoning me and Fendy to follow him to another structure placed on a long table, Ismail exclaims: “Hah, that one I recently finished. It took me a few weeks to complete everything.” And again, I can barely stifle my gasp, awed at the handiwork of this simple man, who, in his own words, “... just happened to stumble into this art.”
With its distinctive long roof and features such as the rumah ibu (main house), rumah tangga (staircase house) and many pillars (tiang seri) supporting the entire house, this particular miniature Malay house is simply exquisite. “Such attention to details,” I muse aloud to Fendy and he nods, similarly impressed.
“This is the Kutai house,” declares Ismail, before adding matter-of-factly: “You find them in Perak.” A quick check reveals that the Kutai house in Perak is the oldest surviving traditional Malay house, having been in existence since the 1800s (hence the name “Kutai”, which means No 63, Pesara 14
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old or ancient) and one that, according to researchers, is gradually disappearing from the indigenous cultural landscape of Malaysia, due to, among other things, the high cost of maintaining it.
These houses can be found mainly along the Perak river in three districts, namely Kuala Kangsar, Perak Tengah and Pasir Salak. The most interesting thing about the Kutai house is the fact that the pillars are not planted into the ground. They’re simply laid onto a base made of cut stone, bricks or concrete. The Kutai house is constructed in such a way so that it can be lifted en masse and moved to another area.
Inching his way to where I’m crouched down, scrutinising his handiwork, Ismail, whose background is in construction, smiles contentedly. “I enjoy making traditional kampung houses. I like to mix up some design features sometimes. But if someone commissions me to say, make a Rumah Melaka, of course, I’ll make sure that I design accordingly,” he says, before sharing that aside from the “big stuff”, he can also craft furniture pieces, animal carts, cooking utensils and “... basically anything that you can make using wood.”
Pointing to another charming miniature house, its origins I’m unable to ascertain, Ismail tells me that it took him only a week to complete it. “But you need to really focusla,” he says before adding that doing what he does is a pretty solitary activity. He cannot have people around him otherwise it’s impossible to focus. “Your soul and spirit must be in the work,” he adds, expression earnest.
Another factor that can sometimes be a hindrance to his process is the unavailability of wood. “I don’t buy my wood. It’s too expensive. Like one piece can cost me RM30 — and that’s without the grains. If I had to buy, the price I sell my work for would be higher,” says Ismail, chuckling.
Pointing to one of my favourite miniature kampung houses placed on the floor that Ismail’s cat seems to be guarding attentively, he asks me to name my price. “I’d say it’s about RM1,000?” I reply, hesitantly. A toothy smile ensues in response and Ismail exclaims: “300!”
Rather than trawling the shops, Ismail prefers to spend precious hours scouring for discarded wood, which can be found in people’s trash, construction sites and the nearby woods. “Semua barang terbuang (everything is discarded materials)... so if you think about it, I’m essentially recycling,” he declares simply, while absently organising his tools on the work table — a small carving knife, saw, glue and the carpenter’s square.
What’s the most challenging thing about doing this, I ask the soft-spoken artisan. Ismail scratches his head before exclaiming: “Nothing!” Noting my look of incredulity, he eventually concedes: “Well, those tiny furniture pieces and pots and pans can be quite finicky, I guess. Just because they’re really small, that’s all.”
“In my younger days, I use to love following my uncle who was in the business of building kampung houses,” recalls Ismail, who originally hails from Selangor, when asked to trace his beginnings. “Of course, he was constructing real houses. But I used to watch and saw how elements were put in place.”
Ismail would help his uncle carry all the wood, observe with diligence how he carved them from nothing to something, and found plenty of excuses to join his uncle on his work outings. “When I got older and my kids grew up, the interest to dabble in carpentry was triggered.”
When he first tried his hand at carpentry, he crafted a spinning top. Then, Ismail graduated to making kites and other smaller items. “Soon I thought to myself, why not try making those houses that I saw my uncle built. But on a smaller scale, of course.”
He only started to seriously pursue this art when he retired from his construction job at the age of 55. “At the beginning, I was just doing it on the side, whenever I came home from work or had some free time on the weekend. Whenever my friends asked me to build something for them, I did. But it was never a serious undertaking for me then. I did it for the passion.”
Somehow, one gets the feeling that it still remains a passion for him rather than a moneymaking venture. Asked whether he plans to grow his “business” further, Ismail shrugs his shoulders non-commitally. “I send some of my stuff to handicraft shops here and there. And if anyone wants to buy, just come here la .I don’t advertise my work on social media either. Everything has been word of mouth and I’ve had buyers from as far as Sabah and Singapore. I’m just happy to sit here, create and see my work come to life. There’s no price on that kind of contentment.”
Some of the “real” traditional Malay houses he lovingly replicates will one day disappear and become a slice of nostagia. What of his craft? I ask Ismail as I prepare to take my leave.
His eyes under his glasses downcast, Ismail confides: “Well, I’ve had people come here wanting to learn the skills. But at most, they last a month and then they give up. You have to be very patient and meticulous. Unfortunately, these aren’t traits that you can find so easily in the young anymore. Even my own children aren’t interested. I just pray that there are others out there who will continue to immortalise our disappearing heritage.”
intanm@nst.com.my