As a child, Fathiah A’bdussamad learnt how to care for the many pieces of batik her mother and paternal grandmother received from friends and relatives.
Originating from Indonesia, batik is an art form that uses wax to create intricate patterns on fabric through repeated waxing and dyeing. The term refers to both the art technique and the textile carrying the pattern.
In her family’s batik collection, each piece had beautiful motifs and colours, and her mother and grandmother taught her how to fold the cloth into a skirt. She could wrap it around her so securely that it would not unravel while she slept.
Batik was so much a part of her everyday life that Fathiah, the second child out of three, paid little heed to it. She recalled visiting a batik exhibition in Singapore as a teenager and feeling underwhelmed.
Singaporean artist Fathiah A’bdussamad’s batik art is currently on display in a London art gallery as part of her second master’s degree. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
“I saw it all the time,” said the 37-year-old batik artist. "Batik was, and is, a huge part of my life, but I took its art and meaning for granted – I never thought to ask what it meant.”
Decades later and halfway across the world, the art form has taken on new meaning in the Singaporean’s life.
Currently based in London, she is showing her batik art at The Garrison Chapel, a 130-year-old heritage building and public art space. The gallery often features exhibitions that focus on the importance of traditional arts and heritage craft skills.
Fathiah’s pieces, inspired both by her adolescence and her spiritual journey into her Indonesian heritage, are featured along with 11 other artists’, covering themes from Catholic iconography to Islamic geometry.
What began as a casual, overlooked part of her childhood has become a sacred, healing art form, one that connects her with her ancestry, her late grandmother, and her Singaporean identity.
Fathiah has always enjoyed art. During the six years she spent in Egypt pursuing her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Arabic language and literature at Al-Azhar University, she also specialised in Arabic calligraphy.
She studied under renowned masters, including one who worked on national projects for Egypt and another who created commissioned pieces for the Moroccan royal family.
Fathiah working on a kawung batik motif, which symbolises life and death. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
Returning to Singapore in 2013, she taught and practised Arabic calligraphy.
After 10 years of teaching, however, she felt there was a gap in its mastery in Singapore. She was also ready for a challenge, which led her to look for ways to deepen her knowledge of Arabic calligraphy.
“I knew art wasn’t just a hobby for me. It was something I wanted to continue learning, master, and teach,” she said.
She decided that the United Kingdom was the place to broaden her perspectives on Arabic calligraphy and secured a place at the King’s Foundation School of Traditional Arts, a postgraduate art institution in London.
Fathiah received a full scholarship under the Queen Elizabeth II Platinum Jubilee Commonwealth Heritage Skills Training Programme, which supports young people across the Commonwealth to hone their heritage conservation skills.
When Fathiah began her art studies in 2023, she had intended to dive deeper into Arabic calligraphy. However, several things happened in her first semester.
First, she was struck by how little people knew about her Southeast Asian heritage – even fellow artists. Few understood the origins of batik, and many assumed it was purely decorative.
Fathiah with her art, featuring Arabic calligraphy and batik, at The Garrison Chapel in London. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
“I was even more embarrassed when I realised that I myself had little understanding of batik and what the motifs meant,” she said. “The experience was like a basin of cold water being poured onto me, waking me up.”
Second, in the first few classes, she was asked to trace her heritage and lineage.
“The teachers and tutors were big on knowing our roots and knowing where we came from,” she said. “At first, I thought, why complicate things? I’m from Singapore, what else is there?”
But when they asked where her parents and grandparents came from, she realised her great-grandparents had grown up in Indonesia.
“That’s when my tutor suggested I explore a traditional art form from there, and it got me thinking.”
On top of reflecting on her identity and heritage, she was also dealing with something else: A year before leaving for London, her nenek (Malay for grandmother) died.
“My nenek taught me everything. When she left, there was a gaping hole in me. It’s still here,” she said. “I also kept thinking of all the batik she kept at home. After so many years, I finally began wondering what they meant.”
“I came to London to deepen my understanding of Arabic calligraphy," she said. "Instead, I began a journey home.”
Filled with grief for her grandmother and feeling drawn to batik, she decided to focus her energy on its origins and learn how to create it herself.
“Suddenly, my studies were no longer just about me. It became about my grief, my grandmother, her heritage, and an entire culture, connecting me to roots I nearly lost.”
Fathiah went to Surakarta, also known as Solo, a historic city in Java, Indonesia, where her great-grandparents grew up. There, she met many batik artisans steeped in the slow, traditional and ancient art.
The garuda motif represents power and prosperity, and in the past, was reserved only for royalty. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
“Visiting the batik village was like a spiritual journey of coming home,” she said.
“I could somehow feel its history, knowing how it has hosted generations of other artists and knowing that my ancestors were probably here, if not learning batik, then at least being aware of its significance.”
Fathiah realised that the batik pieces her grandmother and mother received were not for show.
“It’s not that they were being greedy and hoarding batik cloth,” she said. “Each batik has on its patterns a hope for its recipients. Every piece tells a story and recites a prayer.”
For example, the kawung motif has distinct oval shapes and often represents the cycle of life and death. Another motif, the parang curigoo, combines two elements – the parang, Javanese for slope or cliff, and curigo, Javanese for dagger – and represents strength and honour. And the garuda, a mythical bird-like creature, symbolises power and prosperity.
“I realised that some of the batik my nenek was gifted were prayers from the givers, or compliments, telling her how strong she was, how wise her advice had been, and how they see her with respect.”
Tearing up, Fathiah added: “Some of these batik pieces aren’t for just wearing, they can be for decoration or just a gift to be kept. It is for my nenek to know that she is well-respected and that the givers pray for God to protect her.”
Fathiah with Angga Setiawan, a batik artist from Surakarta, who taught her the traditional way to create batik motifs, such as the kawung motif in the photo. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
Angga (right) is deaf and mute and works in a batik workshop with other deaf batik artists. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
Even the craft of batik is something to revere, Fathiah said. She experienced this for five days in Surakarta where she learnt how to create batik from scratch from Angga Setiawan at Batik Toeli Laweyan, a batik workshop run by deaf artisans.
Angga, who is deaf and mute, taught her how to create the ancient and traditional patterns using beeswax, natural dyes, and different types of fabrics.
“Learning about batik has brought me closer to my late nenek – and made me miss her even more,” she said. “But it’s the grief for her that pushes me to pursue this art form properly, and not take anything for granted.”
Fathiah with some of her late grandmother’s batik cloth, which she brought to London from Singapore. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
After her trip, Fathiah made a short detour home before returning to London. She visited her mother and asked her about the batik they owned. She also asked to see some of her late nenek’s batik, and her mum told her to bring some pieces to London.
“Looking again at the batik I’ve seen since I was a little girl, I could see the messages, the compliments, the prayers that other people had for my nenek,” she said. “She was helpful and generous with her time and advice, she shared her wisdom with others, and she brought a smile to their faces with her presence.”
Fathiah added: “I felt like I was on a path my ancestors had hoped I’d find – that no matter where we go, we always find our way back home.”
“Interestingly, while this journey into batik made me more aware of my Indonesian roots, it also made me prouder to be Singaporean,” said Fathiah.
As she curated her pieces for the London exhibition, she was deliberate in highlighting her Singaporean identity, not as a contradiction, but as an extension of her heritage. “It adds another layer to what it means to come from this region,” she said.
Fathiah (bottom right) with her course mates in London. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
Living in a fast-paced city, she believes, can make us forget where we come from.
“We chase progress, but neglect the stories that shaped us, so the moment we recognise our roots, no matter how distant or complex, we begin to see our home in Singapore in a different light,” she said. “Home gains more meaning, and that meaning is very personal.”
Fathiah sees her role not just as an artist, but as a cultural bridge, helping to shape a Singapore that honours its layered past.
“I feel a responsibility to contribute to the traditional art scene here, to make it more vibrant and more respectful of the many cultures we come from.”
That reflection led her to an imagined conversation with her ancestors who left Indonesia generations ago.
“I ask them: Why did you leave? Was it for a better life for your children, your descendants? If so, and Singapore gave you that, then I must give back to this place I call home.”
When visitors in London ask about her work, she tells them that Singapore’s strength lies in its multiculturalism and in how it allows different stories to coexist and evolve.
“Multiculturalism makes us richer. It reminds us that whether we’re native or not, we all have a duty to respect the land we come from and where we stay.
“When we do, we create something beautiful together – like the motifs in batik: Interwoven, complex and full of meaning.”
“Singapore can be grander and more holistic when all our cultural threads are seen, valued, and stitched into its fabric.”
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...
Originating from Indonesia, batik is an art form that uses wax to create intricate patterns on fabric through repeated waxing and dyeing. The term refers to both the art technique and the textile carrying the pattern.
In her family’s batik collection, each piece had beautiful motifs and colours, and her mother and grandmother taught her how to fold the cloth into a skirt. She could wrap it around her so securely that it would not unravel while she slept.
Batik was so much a part of her everyday life that Fathiah, the second child out of three, paid little heed to it. She recalled visiting a batik exhibition in Singapore as a teenager and feeling underwhelmed.

Singaporean artist Fathiah A’bdussamad’s batik art is currently on display in a London art gallery as part of her second master’s degree. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
“I saw it all the time,” said the 37-year-old batik artist. "Batik was, and is, a huge part of my life, but I took its art and meaning for granted – I never thought to ask what it meant.”
Decades later and halfway across the world, the art form has taken on new meaning in the Singaporean’s life.
Currently based in London, she is showing her batik art at The Garrison Chapel, a 130-year-old heritage building and public art space. The gallery often features exhibitions that focus on the importance of traditional arts and heritage craft skills.
Fathiah’s pieces, inspired both by her adolescence and her spiritual journey into her Indonesian heritage, are featured along with 11 other artists’, covering themes from Catholic iconography to Islamic geometry.
What began as a casual, overlooked part of her childhood has become a sacred, healing art form, one that connects her with her ancestry, her late grandmother, and her Singaporean identity.
A FONDNESS FOR TRADITIONAL ART
Fathiah has always enjoyed art. During the six years she spent in Egypt pursuing her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Arabic language and literature at Al-Azhar University, she also specialised in Arabic calligraphy.
She studied under renowned masters, including one who worked on national projects for Egypt and another who created commissioned pieces for the Moroccan royal family.

Fathiah working on a kawung batik motif, which symbolises life and death. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
Returning to Singapore in 2013, she taught and practised Arabic calligraphy.
After 10 years of teaching, however, she felt there was a gap in its mastery in Singapore. She was also ready for a challenge, which led her to look for ways to deepen her knowledge of Arabic calligraphy.
“I knew art wasn’t just a hobby for me. It was something I wanted to continue learning, master, and teach,” she said.
She decided that the United Kingdom was the place to broaden her perspectives on Arabic calligraphy and secured a place at the King’s Foundation School of Traditional Arts, a postgraduate art institution in London.
Fathiah received a full scholarship under the Queen Elizabeth II Platinum Jubilee Commonwealth Heritage Skills Training Programme, which supports young people across the Commonwealth to hone their heritage conservation skills.
PROCESSING GRIEF AND CONNECTING WITH HER ROOTS
When Fathiah began her art studies in 2023, she had intended to dive deeper into Arabic calligraphy. However, several things happened in her first semester.
First, she was struck by how little people knew about her Southeast Asian heritage – even fellow artists. Few understood the origins of batik, and many assumed it was purely decorative.

Fathiah with her art, featuring Arabic calligraphy and batik, at The Garrison Chapel in London. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
“I was even more embarrassed when I realised that I myself had little understanding of batik and what the motifs meant,” she said. “The experience was like a basin of cold water being poured onto me, waking me up.”
Second, in the first few classes, she was asked to trace her heritage and lineage.
“The teachers and tutors were big on knowing our roots and knowing where we came from,” she said. “At first, I thought, why complicate things? I’m from Singapore, what else is there?”
But when they asked where her parents and grandparents came from, she realised her great-grandparents had grown up in Indonesia.
“That’s when my tutor suggested I explore a traditional art form from there, and it got me thinking.”
On top of reflecting on her identity and heritage, she was also dealing with something else: A year before leaving for London, her nenek (Malay for grandmother) died.
I was even more embarrassed when I realised that I myself had little understanding of batik and what the motifs meant.
“My nenek taught me everything. When she left, there was a gaping hole in me. It’s still here,” she said. “I also kept thinking of all the batik she kept at home. After so many years, I finally began wondering what they meant.”
“I came to London to deepen my understanding of Arabic calligraphy," she said. "Instead, I began a journey home.”
Filled with grief for her grandmother and feeling drawn to batik, she decided to focus her energy on its origins and learn how to create it herself.
“Suddenly, my studies were no longer just about me. It became about my grief, my grandmother, her heritage, and an entire culture, connecting me to roots I nearly lost.”
THE SPIRITUAL JOURNEY OF BATIK
Fathiah went to Surakarta, also known as Solo, a historic city in Java, Indonesia, where her great-grandparents grew up. There, she met many batik artisans steeped in the slow, traditional and ancient art.

The garuda motif represents power and prosperity, and in the past, was reserved only for royalty. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
“Visiting the batik village was like a spiritual journey of coming home,” she said.
“I could somehow feel its history, knowing how it has hosted generations of other artists and knowing that my ancestors were probably here, if not learning batik, then at least being aware of its significance.”
Fathiah realised that the batik pieces her grandmother and mother received were not for show.
“It’s not that they were being greedy and hoarding batik cloth,” she said. “Each batik has on its patterns a hope for its recipients. Every piece tells a story and recites a prayer.”
For example, the kawung motif has distinct oval shapes and often represents the cycle of life and death. Another motif, the parang curigoo, combines two elements – the parang, Javanese for slope or cliff, and curigo, Javanese for dagger – and represents strength and honour. And the garuda, a mythical bird-like creature, symbolises power and prosperity.
“I realised that some of the batik my nenek was gifted were prayers from the givers, or compliments, telling her how strong she was, how wise her advice had been, and how they see her with respect.”
Tearing up, Fathiah added: “Some of these batik pieces aren’t for just wearing, they can be for decoration or just a gift to be kept. It is for my nenek to know that she is well-respected and that the givers pray for God to protect her.”

Fathiah with Angga Setiawan, a batik artist from Surakarta, who taught her the traditional way to create batik motifs, such as the kawung motif in the photo. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)

Angga (right) is deaf and mute and works in a batik workshop with other deaf batik artists. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
Even the craft of batik is something to revere, Fathiah said. She experienced this for five days in Surakarta where she learnt how to create batik from scratch from Angga Setiawan at Batik Toeli Laweyan, a batik workshop run by deaf artisans.
Angga, who is deaf and mute, taught her how to create the ancient and traditional patterns using beeswax, natural dyes, and different types of fabrics.
“Learning about batik has brought me closer to my late nenek – and made me miss her even more,” she said. “But it’s the grief for her that pushes me to pursue this art form properly, and not take anything for granted.”

Fathiah with some of her late grandmother’s batik cloth, which she brought to London from Singapore. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
After her trip, Fathiah made a short detour home before returning to London. She visited her mother and asked her about the batik they owned. She also asked to see some of her late nenek’s batik, and her mum told her to bring some pieces to London.
“Looking again at the batik I’ve seen since I was a little girl, I could see the messages, the compliments, the prayers that other people had for my nenek,” she said. “She was helpful and generous with her time and advice, she shared her wisdom with others, and she brought a smile to their faces with her presence.”
Each batik and its patterns carry a hope for its recipients. Every piece tells a story and recites a prayer.
Fathiah added: “I felt like I was on a path my ancestors had hoped I’d find – that no matter where we go, we always find our way back home.”
BRINGING BATIK TO THE GLOBAL STAGE AS A SINGAPOREAN
“Interestingly, while this journey into batik made me more aware of my Indonesian roots, it also made me prouder to be Singaporean,” said Fathiah.
As she curated her pieces for the London exhibition, she was deliberate in highlighting her Singaporean identity, not as a contradiction, but as an extension of her heritage. “It adds another layer to what it means to come from this region,” she said.

Fathiah (bottom right) with her course mates in London. (Photo: Fathiah A’bdussamad)
Living in a fast-paced city, she believes, can make us forget where we come from.
“We chase progress, but neglect the stories that shaped us, so the moment we recognise our roots, no matter how distant or complex, we begin to see our home in Singapore in a different light,” she said. “Home gains more meaning, and that meaning is very personal.”
Fathiah sees her role not just as an artist, but as a cultural bridge, helping to shape a Singapore that honours its layered past.
“I feel a responsibility to contribute to the traditional art scene here, to make it more vibrant and more respectful of the many cultures we come from.”
That reflection led her to an imagined conversation with her ancestors who left Indonesia generations ago.
“I ask them: Why did you leave? Was it for a better life for your children, your descendants? If so, and Singapore gave you that, then I must give back to this place I call home.”
When visitors in London ask about her work, she tells them that Singapore’s strength lies in its multiculturalism and in how it allows different stories to coexist and evolve.
“Multiculturalism makes us richer. It reminds us that whether we’re native or not, we all have a duty to respect the land we come from and where we stay.
“When we do, we create something beautiful together – like the motifs in batik: Interwoven, complex and full of meaning.”
“Singapore can be grander and more holistic when all our cultural threads are seen, valued, and stitched into its fabric.”
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...