“Kiribiduru. Erd reeti bidru beku nodi, theppa kattake” Muniyappa said.
He explained that, to weave a coracle they use two kinds of bamboo; kiribidru and hebbiduru. ( dendro calamus strictus and bambusa arundinacea).
“We will weave a kaveri kannu weave, the theppa is usually 8 eyes across. For the eyes, we will use hebbiduru, and as we turn up for the walls, we will start using kiribiduru. It would be easier to use the bamboo when they are a little green. I will divide the hebiduru first, you see, I will have to split it at the knots, or it will break. I’ll thin each division enough to bend. we will split the kiribidru later” he said, in his strong soliga dialect. When we tried to get more clarity on what he meant, he brushed it aside, and said one cant explain as well as one could show, and so saying he lifted up a bamboo and got to work.
Over the last few months, we have journeyed back to our villages, to our forests and our memories. After years of making with clay, earth, stone and other natural materials, after learning and working with numerous techniques of building and crafting, we saw with slight amusement and fascination, objects of the everyday. We spoke to, shared a meal with and walked with shepherds, priests, farmers and even our aunts, and discovered that they were soaked with the knowledge of making and crafting with materials familiar to them. Materials that their communities have co-existed with for as long as they can remember. Materials that simply return to the soil, and survive only through stories and songs. We now interpret these stories, songs and objects as experiences; visual, tactile and immersive. We weave spaces to crawl into, to immerse and whisper within. These are reimagined expressions and new languages derived from rooted crafts and techniques. A meeting of the familiar and the mysterious.