There is much that goes into the making of one of Kele Sunia’s coveted lau hala weavings.
There’s the lau hala, of course, carefully harvested, cleaned, cut and aged, but also hard-earned expertise and patience and time.
More than that, even — family, culture, legacy, as well.
“I do it for my family because I want to carry on their memory,” said Sunia, 30. “My grandma is known for being a weaver, and it would be a shame if she were to leave this world and not have someone to carry on her work.”
Sunia’s appreciation for the value of tradition and continuity was heightened by her separation from and reintroduction to her Hawaiian culture as a child. Born in Hawaii, Sunia and her family moved to Utah when she was 8 years old. They returned when she was 14, and she spent the next few years attending Halau Ku Mana Charter School, where her classroom education was complemented by hands-on study aboard Hawaiian sailing canoes, knee-deep in loi and along traditional fishponds.
Sunia served a high school internship with Cornell University’s Shoals Marine Laboratory in Maine before completing her senior year at Kaimuki High School. She later attended Kapiolani Community College before starting a family with her husband, Vili, and helping to care for her ailing father.
It was with her father and grandmother (and with then-2-year-old daughter, Hokukuanalia, in tow) that Sunia attended her first weaving class at Na Mea Hawaii.
“I loved it, and I loved having my dad there,” she said.
Sunia continues to weave, both on her own and with a weaving hui.
Weaving had long been a tradition in Sunia’s family. Her great-grandmother was an accomplished papale weaver whose hats would sell for $50 each — “big money in those days,” Sunia said. Her grandmother is also a highly skilled practitioner famous for her hair fans and honu designs.
For traditional weavers the process is a laborious one. Sunia and her hui carefully gather the long, spiny lau hala leaves from a grove, remove the thorns, strip away the midrib and precision-cut the leaves into various widths using a box stripper. They then spool the ribbons of leaf and set them aside to soften and age. When Sunia first joined her hui, she served a de facto apprenticeship cleaning and prepping the lau hala.
The weaving itself requires creativity and precision as well as a head for numbers.
“Even or odd numbers determine the pattern,” Sunia said. “It’s all about numbers and counting.”
Executed by skilled hands, the results can be stunning, from tightly wound and intricately decorated bracelets to papale adorned with alternating panels of Native Hawaiian designs. But for Sunia, who often ends long days of caring for others with a couple of hours of weaving, the process can be just as valuable as the finished product.
“It’s very therapeutic,” she said. “I can just concentrate on doing that and nothing else. I like it because it’s tedious. It’s time-consuming, so you can’t be in a rush. Maybe that’s a good lesson these days.”
Sunia’s love for weaving might yet survive another generation. Her son Etuini helps to collect lau hala leaves, and Hokukuanalia has already learned to make bracelets. Even husband Vili has been known to lend a weaving hand when needed.
Sunia has reached a level where she can apply her skills to any number of designs and projects, but she retains a special fondness for the so-called “love knot” that her grandmother works into many of her hair fans.
“It always reminds me of her,” Sunia said. “I’ll remember it that way forever.”
Reach Michael Tsai at mtsai@staradvertiser.com.
