The Hooked Man Hanging on the Air

The Hooked Man Hanging on the Air

The Hooked Man Hanging on the Air

Goddess kali in Standing Position

After dance tired Durga sitting on the Ground

Man representation as Idol of God Shiva

Goddess kali in Standing Position

The Face of Jogini is colouring with red and Yellow

Man Tied the Wig of Goddess Durga

Dakini Wearing Crown

Youth of Naya village are painting varied objects which is a significant traditional art of West Bengal. The skill has been passed down the generations since decades.

The expression of this form of traditional art can be seen in every nook and corner of the village; on walls and doors of every house here.

It is a home of approximately 25 families in Naya village where all excel in Pattachitra.

The paintings by women are lately in high demand. One such lady of Naya village is seen displaying her first sale with a lot of zeal and confidence.

Seniors train the youths since a tender age as the youngsters are responsible in the upkeep of the age old tradition of the village.

Children grow up learning the essence of painting, the themes and the ways to use the paint brush dipped in the vibrant colours.

Being such a rich conglomeration of art work, the children of the village rapidly learn the skill and excel in it.

The creative skills have developed rapidly assuring economic stability and the collaborative working has allowed a satisfactory social life which leaves the mark of joy in the smiles of the children in the village.

The female counterparts of Naya are equally enthusiastic in involving themselves in painting, which they carry out simultaneously while caring for their families' needs.

Respecting the works of the ancestors, working hand in hand with parents, and practicing the diverse art form, the teenagers are assumed to qualify as quality painters.

Tools for beating to Get Hard and Decoration_ One Anvil and two paddle (Ohe Pyauk & Maw Touk (Magic stick))

Feactures of pot after each Forming steps

The Flat of Cowhide For Kneading the Clay

Forming the clay roll on Potter Wheel

Forming Pot By Potter

Beating the Pot by using the Anvil and Paddle

Covering the Cylinder Shape Clay Rolls with Wet Cloth

Preparing the Pots for Baking

Pots; Ready to Sell

Baking the Pots by Mound Firing Technique

Pills of pictures, full of thoughts

Welcome longevity and wealth

Good fortune

The god of wealth

Embrace more wealth

Fish and luck

Good blessing

Bring in more wealth and luck

New year painting with luck

New year painting with happiness

Prince Nasser from Bahrain presented NBH Award to Tiancheng Xu for Acubot

Tiancheng Xu is practicing electronic acupuncture at Jiangsu Provincial Hospital of Traditional Chinese Medicine

Tiancheng Xu with Didrik in YSI clinic

New model of acupuncture robot and digital meridian men

Tiancheng Xu is proposing during panel session of Innovation-driven Heritage Protection

Tiancheng Xu is introducing Acubot to professor from Singapore

Acubot Team members are testing acupuncture robot in laboratory

Tiancheng Xu is introducing the history of auricular point to foreign delegates

Tiancheng Xu is introducing the ancient books protection technology to WFUCA members

Tiancheng Xu is learning acupuncture following the national famous acupuncturist, professor Canruo Sheng

Sheep Shearing as a community process. Men of the village sit along the street and shear the sheep owned by different community members ©Sweta Kandari

A Bhotiya man shearing sheep ©Sweta Kandari

A Bhotiya man shearing sheep using a traditional scissor called chaamba

Women collecting and wrapping the wool in bundles

Wool collected for further processing

Collective wool from one owner. Most of the raw wool is now sold to the Khadi State Board, Nigam Udyog department among others.

A Bhotiya woman washing raw wool in the canal that runs through the village

A Bhotiya woman drying wool in the courtyard of her house. The houses are oriented such that it catches the maximum south sun

An elderly Bhotiya woman scouring and cleaning before the process of carding

In the evenings, the Bhotiya women collectively spinning and knitting in the courtyard of the house

A Bhotiya woman spinning

Drying of spun wool in the sun. After every process, the wool is washed and dried in the sun

A weaving machine

Bhotiya men chatting and socialising after shearing wool for they day

The fields of Xizhou

Sky, Clouds and Mountains in the Distance

Materials and Dyed Cloth

Materials and Dyed ClothⅡ

Materials and Dyed ClothⅢ

I was Embroidering a Pattern on the White Cloth When Experiencing Tie-dye

Soak and Dye

My Final Work

My Father‘s Original Work

My Father‘s Final Work

The Outcome of Putting a Stone in the Cloth

Steps of Tie-dye

A painting of Bai People on the Wall

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots. Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine. Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery. Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches. The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake. My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here. The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along. We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens. When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them. Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest.

The senior member of the Devi Pyakha Guthi lighting the traditional lamp known as Sukunda before the start of the dance practice.

Guthi members playing the musical instruments, which they used to play since the ancient time but unfortunately most of those places are being encroached by the roads as in this case.

The Guthi member of the Buddhist Shakya priest performing the ritual in the public square.

The chariot procession of Living Goddess Kumari crossing the square where God Bhairav being displayed in the temple where he is housed rest of the year. The responsibility of both rituals lies with different Guthi.

The Rajopadhaya (Hindu) priest performing the ritual to the deity Indra before he is being display to the public.

The farmer community of the Maru preparing the high platform for the god Indra to be displayed.

The local person in front of the Ganesh temple with the traditional offering known as Samey Baji.

The member of the Devi Pyakha Guthi practicing the dance. The God he represents is Bhairav (the main deity), which could be, recognized form the mask he wears.

The member of the Devi Pyakha Guthi practicing the dance. The God he represents is Daitya and he just have crown instead of mask. In the background can be seen the team of Guthi members specialized in musical instruments.

The team of Devi Pyakha coming out to perform in the first day of the dance for public. First they perform briefly in front of Nasha Dhyo deity and they come to the square to perform to dance in the square dancing all the way.

The three main deity dancing in Devi Pyakha in the square of Kilaga.

People form the locality as well as from other parts comes to watch this dance as seen in the picture.

The young boys of farmer community playing the musical instrument known as Dhyme in one of the festival.

Manandhar community assembling the structure to make the light stand for the oil lights.

The structure now is used to light in the night during the Yenya Festival (Indra Jatra).

In the first October 2009 at Dubai, Unesco was held to provide a determination that batik is a World Cultural Heritage object belonging to Indonesia, the intangible of herritage.Danar Hadi Batik Museum is a private batik museum belongs to Mr. H. Santosa Doellah, he is the owner and the founder and now occupies as the President Director of Batik Danar Hadi Comapy. The museum was opened by Ms. Megawati Soekarno Putri on 20 October 2000.we use a storyline or theme by the title "batik the influence of time and environment" batik the impact of time and environment.It is precisely from the batik of the Keraton that actually the Intangible values was emerged, because the making of batik in the Palace was carried out by the Keraton's daughter, the king's wife, and the king's children. It is not only for daily needs, but also for the needs of a customary procession. So in making batik must be preceded by meditation, praying, fasting, so that batik patterns are formed.For the example, Truntum batik patterns. This truntum pattern was created during the reign of Pakubuwana III. At that time, Kanjeng Ratu Beruk who was the consort of Pakubawana III could not give the crown prince. So Pakubuwana III is returned to the Keputren. In her sadness, Kanjeng Ratu Beruk or her title is Kanjeng Ratu Kencana. She asked for the guidance for praying to Allah. After fasting for a long time in doing meditation, apprehensive, she suddenly wanted to make a batik.after a while Sunan Pakubuwana III attended at the Keputren to see Kanjeng Ratu Beruk in making batik. Then he was asked the name or motive of the pattern. But answered by Kanjeng Ratu Beruk "no idea" what it's called, he made batik just to forget his sadness and ask for guidance from God Almighty.The arrival of Pakubuwana III apparently continued with subsequent arrivals. When the batik is finished, Pakubuwana III is also touched by the perseverance and the spirit of Kanjeng Ratu Beruk to finish the cloth, So Pakubuwana III was asked Kanjeng Ratu Beruk to return to the palace. After giving thanks to God Almighty, Kanjeng Ratu Beruk returned to the palace and she named the Truntum, which means he reunited with Sunan Pakubuwanan III. It means reverberated Sunan's love for her and she hoped, it would be the last forever. Therefore, until now at the Javanese traditional wedding ceremony in Surakarta style, the Truntum pattern is always worn by the bride and bridegroom.

Shadow Puppetry, a form of theatre art is a customary ritual being carried out religiously in over 100 temples with devi deity in Palakkad, Malappuram districts in Kerala, India. Puppetry is usually carried out in ‘Bhadrakali’, goddess temples, the reason being the ferocious war between the goddess Bhadrakali and demon Darika coincided with the epic war between lord Rama and Ravana. Since goddess Bhadrakali could not witness the war, Lord Shiva blessed the goddess promising the entire story of Ramayana to be portrayed through puppetry at Bhadrakali temples. The ritual is being carried out in Bhadrakali temples till date in all its sanctity.

Kusunda is one of the former hunter-gatherers of western Nepal. Currently, no single person of the tribe is living in the jungle. Due to a lack of marriageable population, Kusunda started marrying people from the villages and gradually settled in villages. nGyani Maiya Sen 92 is one of the last speakers of the Kusunda language. She is also the last surviving member of the tribe who until nine years of age lived with her parents in the jungle. Currently, Gyani Maiya lives with her grandchildren in a house in Lamahi, Dang. She often teaches Kusunda among children and enthusiasts. Gyani Maiya fears that the Kusunda language will be lost along with her.

Foshan Woodblock Painting is a kind of well-known folk woodblock paintings of South China. It is mainly produced in Foshan City, Guangdong Province, Consequently it was named Foshan Woodblock Painting. There has been much important research on the history of Chinese New Year pictures, but there are still different opinions on how to rescue New Year pictures from the brink of disappearance and how to fit them into the modern life. As far as Liu Zhongping can see, the revival of New Year pictures is not something that can be achieved by making one or two field visits and publishing one or two articles, but something that needs to be acted out. That is to say, it is necessary to carry out social practice that help to activate traditional culture with a focus on inheritors rather than researchers. In this regard, from the “Intangible Cultural Heritage Inheritors’ Training Program” to the “Revitalization Program of Chinese Traditional Crafts” to the recent “New Year Pictures Back to Spring Festival”, some explorations and attempts have been made around the inheritance and innovation of New Year pictures. From inheritor’s study and training to holding exhibitions and cross-disciplinary dialogues, from developing experience-oriented craft courses to developing new products and expanding sales channels, under the guidance of the intangible heritage protection concepts of “Seeing People, Seeing Things, Seeing Life” and “Leading by Usage” in the new era, New Year pictures practitioners, local people and all stakeholders have gradually regained confidence in the revival of New Year pictures. The first step is always the hardest. On top of a good start, further progress is needed. It’s imperative to know the sticky issues and difficulties and come up with targeted, creative and feasible solutions. As a practitioner, She takes the liberty of thinking about several key points in practice, offering advice and suggestions to practitioners and decision-makers, and hoping to contribute to the revival of New Year pictures. China has entered the twenty-first century. The social scenes that endow New Year pictures with meaning year after year have vanished. It is very difficult for us to ask people to change their house gates back to the old-fashioned style, and it is also very difficult for young people to observe the traditional festival customs. However, what we can do is not only to enshrine New Year pictures in museums, but also to keep pace with the times and find a place for New Year pictures in modern life. Through her effort and hardwork, she focuses on the innovation of Foshan Woodblock Painting and meets the needs young people She updates some painitngs, such as the mobil phones shell, schoolbags, notebooks as well as painitng gift packs. By the resurrection of the gods through a number of newly designed derivatives,now the paitings are popular among the local people. And she believes her master's dream as well as hers of continuing and spreading the national intangible cultural heritages have been realized

Tholpavakoothu is a form of shadow puppetry unique to central Kerala, in southern India . It is performed in permanent temple theatres as a form of ritual primarily honouring the Goddess of Bhadrakali. It enacts the hindu epic Ramayana in a version based on the Tamil Ramayana of Kambar. A highly flexible narrative allows a typical cycle of Tholpavakoothu to extend between seven and twenty one nights, depending on the performance commissioned and sponsored locally. After remaining largely unknown to the West, until the twentieth century, recent scholarship has established its ancient beginnings, while also highlighting the absence of a detailed account of the Art in performance over centuries of its existence. Long ago the creator Bhrahma blessed a demons and as a result of his blessing she gave birth to a son named Darika. When this Demon boy grew up, he became so strong that he turned out to be a threat and a constant source of harassment to the gods. sages and hermits .They approached Lord Shiva for help .In order to kill Darika shiva created the goddess Bhadrakali from the kaalakooda poison lodged in his throat . A fierce fight ensued between Darika and Bhadrakali ,lasting several days. Finally Bhadrakali killed Darika. While Bhadrakali was engaged in fighting Darika,Rama was fighting Ravana.So Bhadrakali was not able to see Rama and Ravana fight. That is why the Ramayana story is enacted in her presence through Tholpavakoothu. Theme and LyricsnThe theme of tholpavakoothu is Ramayana story extending from birth of Rama to his coronation, presented in 21 parts over 21 days. The story of Ramayana is written in 21 parts especially for pavakoothu . This composition which is a mixture of prose and verse is called adalpattu. Adal is acting and pattu is relating to . Since the composition is related to the enactment of Ramayana story it is called adalpattu. n The verse of this composition is collectively called koothukavikal; kavikal means verse or poems. Many of this verses are from Kamba Ramayana ,the Ramayana in Tamil by the poet Kambar .But tholpavakoothu performers have changed many of Kambar’s verses and in some places had added their own to meet the purpose of ritual. Scholars differ about the date. Kambar wrote Ramayana in Tamil because Valmilki Ramayana was not accepted among common people .He lived in 9th century A.D. Some say it is 13th century AD. But common opinion is that he lived at Tanjavur during the period of Chola dynasty in the 12th c AD. Kambar’s Ramayana is based on Valmiki’s epic, but his presentation and style of narration are most dramatic. This long epic poem containing 20,000 verses is divided into six sections: Balakanda, Ayodhyakanda, Aryakanda, krishkindhakanda, and Yuddhakanda. In addition to verse borrowed from the Kamba Ramayana the performers have added their own verses. A few verses are in Sanskrit and some area mixture of Tamil and Sankrit. Tholpavakoothu, performed every year in the temples of Bhadhrakali ,is regarded as the part of ritualistic worship of goddess. The Arayankavu Temple near Shornur is famous for its Tholpavakoothu because of the attendant ceremonies. The administration of this temple was completely under the control of Kavalapara Muppil Nair . The family attached much importance to pavakoothu and regarded the annual performance at the temple as solemn religious duty. There was a reason for this. At a point of time there were no children in Kavalappara family, and there was a danger that the danger that the family would die out for want to heirs. The family they conducted Tholpavakoothu in the temple as an offering to the goddess and children were born. Since then the family has conducted pavakoothu in the temple every on a grand scale showing the whole of Ramayana from Rama’s birth to his coronation. Ganapathi Iravi Maharajan, who was then the head of the Kavalappara family ,firmly established this tradition of presenting every year at Aryankavu Temple. nTholpavakoothu puppets are made of deer skin. The figures are drawn on the skin by cut out and embellished with dots, lines and holes. The skin is first stretched taut on a smooth board, nailed at the corners to keep it stretched and in position. It is then smeared and rubbed with ash, a process which leaves a thin layer of ash on the skin, and exposed to the sun till dry. When the skin is completely dehumidified all the hair on it is removed by scraping with a sharp edged piece of bamboo. nThen the puppet figure is drawn clearly on it and cut with a fine chisel. The eyes, nose and lips are also drawn on the puppet and cut out. Ornaments and dress are drawn by drilling different kinds of holes in the skin for which special pointed chisel are used. When the puppet is ready it has the same thickness as the original piece of leather. The puppets are painted in different colours. The original method of making red dye was by boiling the bark of chappanga tree, black by mixing gum from neem and soot from a coconut oil lamp and blue from boiling neeli leaves in water. The shadows of the puppet on the screen are black, but these become very attractive when shades of other colours merge in them. To prevent the puppet from bending, a thin strip of smoothened bamboo is fastened vertically along the middle on either side. The arms of the puppet are provided with movable joints. There are usually three joints on an arm. Puppets are usually made showing them in sitting, walking and fighting postures. In puppets in sitting and moving postures only one arm is movable; both arms are movable in puppets in fighting posture. There are puppets of birds, animals, trees and even for the sea, The puppets of deer and snake are provided with joints that enable them to bend and move their bodies. nThe expression on faces of the puppets indicates their characters. When the shadows of puppets are seen on the screen in the light of oil lamps, they resemble the sculptures in the temples. The puppets have to make gestures and movement in conformity with the narration or dialogue. The puppeteers manipulate their puppets in this way: with one hand they hold the puppet by the lower end of the bamboo strip fastened to the puppet and with a stick in the other hand they make the puppet perform the required movements. The stick they use is usually a thin strip of bamboo some 50 cm long. At the end of the stick, tied to it with a string, is a very thin strip of wood not more than 3cm long. nThis thin end piece is inserted in a hole in the puppets hand when a hand movement is required. The movable arms and fingers are uniform in shape in almost all puppets. The most common hand gesture is the chidmudra- which represents peace, by joining the tips of thumb and first finger, keeping other fingers stretched. After the ritualistic ceremonies the nandi-shlokha, a hymn in praise of Ganapati is sung. At this the puppet of Ganapati is shown on the screen. The Brahmin characters called pattar pavas are shown on the next. These Brahmin are known by such names as-Moothapattar holding an umbrella, Malleesapattar holding a veeshari, Gangayaadipattar holding a theerthakudam, and Somayajipattar holding a kaavadi. They come from the four regions- north, south, east and westnAs they appear on the screen, the Brahmin’s sung the glories of mahavishnu and explains the greatness and importance of their yagas for the welfare of the mankind. They also praise the other gods and afterwards are supposed to praise the gurus of Tholpavakoothu; but as these guru’s are shudras, the Brahmins cannot praise them. So they leave the stage saying that the function of praising the gurus must be performed by the puppeteers themselves. This is done by the puppeteers. After this the pattar pavas appear again on the screen and sing hymns in praise of Ganapati, Saraswathi, Mahavishnu and Parameshwara. This is followed by a ceremony called sadyavazhthkal- which is the praise of families which have played host to members of puppet troupe that day and offered them hospitality. While praising these families, the puppeteers give a detailed description of the feast offered by them. When the sadyavazhthal is over, a performer summarizes the part of the story to be shown that day. This is followed by paramparamala, where the puppeteers sing hymns in praise of Subrahmanya, Ganapati, Shiva and Krishna, touching the lamps behind the screen as a sign of devotion. Then they begin the koothu. These ritualistic observances such as kalarichintu and paramparamala are performed every day before the koothu commences. It is performed in 7,14,21,41, or 71 days depending upon the custom practiced in the templenIn the course of performance, the performers give explanations and interpretations of the verses, depending on the context. Often they have to bring out the depth and range of the meaning of the words. Where a verse contains allusions or some inner significance, the explanation may continue for as much as an hour.

Baor-making is a unique skill of the Maranao people. With its embossed handmade and intricate designs – particularly called okir – this skill has claimed a recognition abroad. nOkir is folk motifs found in various artworks and objects, they are usually inspired from detailed and different curves and no machines involved. Baor is a maranao translation of baul or the trunk. Aside from the famous Darangen, a singing-like epic storytelling originally from the Maranao people as well, which belong to the top three of United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) inscribed intangible cultural heritage of the Philippines, baor-making skill is listed as an element among the other 366 under the inventory of Philippine Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage. However, since the 2016 Martial Law declaration in Mindanao stricter regulations are implemented on trees-cutting that are main ingredient to produce baor. Tree like the Philippine National Tree Narra. The absence of professional teaching also creates significant hole for the identity of Maranao younger generations. As of the moment, the only way to transmit the skill is learning the techniques by observing elders while at home. These reasons lead to saddening thought that the Tugaya’s one of a kind skill is slowly dying because youth have now better, numerous options to survive the living over the dynamic society. Although baor-making is traditionally originated in Tugaya, a small municipality in Lanao del Sur, there is a man who has been living so far from the root of baor-making: Abdulsamad Usman, 58, has been dwelling his fate on making and selling baor amidst the Taguig city’s uncertainties. nTaguig is one of the urban cities in Metro Manila, National Capital Region. The gap between Tugaya and Taguig is at least one-thousand kilometers. According to Usman, more or less a month period before finishing a medium-sized baor. He can carve designs and paint them. He, with his team, is the only considered baor maker who practice the skill in Metro Manila. Usman strongly believes that baor-making will not vanish from the present and history because the skill has been playing a huge part for the Maranaos’ culture and identity. n기타설명nBaor-making is a unique skill of Maranao people from Tugaya, Lanao del Sur. Baor is a maranao translation of baul or the trunk. The designs embossed in it are called okir --- detailed and different curves. They are handmade and no machines involved. Tugaya is a small community in Lanao del Sur, a province in Mindanao. The skill is considered as an intangible cultural heritage (ICH) among the other 366 listed under the inventory of Philippine Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage.