Land of sericulture Tan Chau silk. Lanh My A silk

Tan Chau, though distant in terms of travel, is very close to the hearts of silk lovers. This small town, located on the upper reaches of the Tien River, more than 70km from the center of An Giang province, has for centuries been honored by the elite with the title of the "premier silk region" of the Mekong Delta.

The traditional silk craft village of Tan Chau was formed over a century ago and has long been famous for Lanh My A silk, an aristocratic fabric unrivaled anywhere else, which has contributed to Tan Chau being dubbed the land of sericulture.

The silk region on the banks of the Tien River

“No man is as refined as the men of the river, no woman is as virtuous as the women of Tan Chau. Days spent weaving silk and growing mulberry, serving father and mother, no toil is ever too much.”

Coming to Long Chau, the heart of Tan Chau’s traditional silk craft village, when the term Lanh My A is mentioned—the name of the superb jet-black silk that only Tan Chau can produce—everyone swells with pride.

When the French established their protectorate in Cochinchina, a Frenchman named De Colbert visited Tan Chau and, seeing the suitable soil and climate, founded a sericulture station dedicated to mulberry cultivation, silkworm rearing, and silk production. It was this very place that created the famous Lanh My A. Lanh My A is woven from the finest silk of the healthiest silkworms and dyed repeatedly with the resin of the mac nua fruit over several months. This smooth, jet-black silk feels like a caress against the skin when worn—cool in the summer and warm in the winter, despite being a thin, light layer of silk. The more it is worn and washed, the deeper the black becomes, a "permanent" color that lasts until the fabric is worn to rags. Because of the excellent raw materials and the immense labor required to create the fabric, in the past, only the wealthy elite wore Lanh My A on luxurious occasions such as attending plays, holidays, and parties. A piece of lanh was kept like a family heirloom; even the "Siam sarsaparilla" fabric—a well-known Thai silk—could not compare to it. Furthermore, there were times when Tan Chau silk appeared in India, Singapore, the Philippines, and was highly favored by the elite and royalty.

Around 1920, the population in present-day Long Chau and many parts of Tan Chau was sparse, living primarily by growing mulberries, raising silkworms, and weaving silk. From 1936 to 1940, Tan Chau became the largest silk center in Southern Vietnam, with large-scale silk reeling and weaving workshops; vast green mulberry gardens stretching along the banks of the Tien and Hau rivers; and thick rows of mac nua trees lining Provincial Road 952. On the river, boats were so busy it resembled a "floating village." From dawn until dusk, one could hear the constant clatter of shuttles and the rhythmic thumping of weaving looms. Lanh My A silk was seen drying everywhere as far as the eye could see. By the 1960s, Tan Chau silk products were not only supplied domestically but also exported to countries like Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, the Philippines, and France. Customers who bought and used Lanh My A were mainly the wealthy and noble, reserving the fabric for special occasions like holidays, weddings, and festivals. Mr. Tran Van Hong, 79, a resident of Long Chau ward, recalls that in the old days, owning a Lanh My A silk outfit was considered very precious because it was expensive and looked luxurious and noble. Even struggling families would try to save up for a few sets to wear during momentous days like their children’s weddings or for Tet. Lanh My A silk has distinct characteristics: it is cool in the summer, warm in the winter, and the silk material is durable and water-resistant; the longer it is kept, the more beautiful and shiny it becomes. In the past, owning a set of clothes made from Lanh My A was a dream for many, especially for women in other provinces and cities.

In the An Giang region, people grew mulberries from the sandy soil along the rivers deep into the rice fields. The entire landscape was a carpet of endless green, connecting village to village. In some years, there were over 10,000 hectares of mulberry fields, stretching from Tan Chau and Cho Moi to the Cambodian border, just to provide enough food for the silkworms. A special feature is that when harvesting mulberry leaves for the silkworms, people did not pick them one by one but cut the branches close to the base, then bundled them to be transported. During the dry season, the locals busied themselves with the sericulture season. Every house echoed with the clatter of shuttles and the rhythmic thumping of looms from dawn until late at night. In front of houses, out to the village roads, and deep into the fields, silk (Lanh My A) was hung to dry, visible as far as the eye could see.

But then, faced with fierce competition from cheap, imported synthetic fibers, the market for Tan Chau silk gradually shrank after 1945. Many households switched from weaving silk to weaving nylon. In 1987, the Tan Chau Silk Company was established, but it dissolved after two years because it could not compete with imports. The domestic market became paralyzed, the international market had not yet been established, and for decades, the Tan Chau silk weaving industry fell into a deadlock. Hundreds of families had to clear their mulberry gardens and cut down their mac nua trees to switch to rice cultivation. From 1996 to 2012, only one household, that of Mr. Nguyen Van Long (also known as Tam Lang), maintained the traditional weaving craft.

"The Queen of Silk"

From the moment of starting to rear them until they are "full-grown," silkworms require meticulous and painstaking care, as farmers must almost always stay by the trays and the mulberry-chopping boards. Only when the silkworms are mature and have formed golden cocoons do people move them to the "bua" to spin silk. It could be said that the weaving village becomes more beautiful and shimmering at this time. Under the sunlight, every house glows with yellow silk bundles. After reeling the silk, people unwind the raw silk from the bundles to twist them into thick threads and then weave them into sheets of silk. In the early days of silk reeling and weaving in Tan Chau, people used traditional looms. The fabric width was only about 40cm, which meant pieces had to be joined when sewing clothes, making them less attractive. Gradually, the craft village created looms with widths of 80cm, then 90cm, while researching how to make the silk more beautiful and durable with various intricate patterns such as: damask, mulberry flower, chrysanthemum, net, and cushion patterns. Typically, each 90m width of fabric includes 12,550 warp threads. Lanh My A is woven using the 8-harness satin method (the most difficult method in silk weaving). The weaver must have keen eyes and nimble hands to weave a bolt of silk as even and beautiful as if it were made from a single thread. It is then boiled to remove the silkworm glue before being taken to be dyed. Beautiful Lanh My A has a smooth, jet-black surface that grows brighter over time. When worn, one can feel the sophistication of the silk and the characteristic fragrance of the mac nua fruit.

"The process of growing mulberries and raising silkworms is also very difficult. We grow mulberries, raise silkworms to get cocoons, and then weave each silk thread. In the past, we used silk frames to weave. Today, some traditional households still preserve that image. People view the process as the creator having to put their whole mind into the product. From weaving the silk into a bolt of fabric is a very elaborate process. There is a type of fruit called 'mac nua' used to dye the fabric. It must be dyed and dried in the sun many times; only with good sunlight can the fabric be firm and durable," shared Mr. Le Trung Hieu, Director of the An Giang Trade and Investment Promotion Center and a native of the Tan Chau region.

Lanh My A has body-temperature regulating properties—it is cool in the summer and warm in the winter, and the silk material is durable and water-resistant. In particular, because Lanh My A possesses the effect of leather, paper, and silk on every meter of fabric, it is also affectionately known as "lacquer silk." The lanh fabric always has one shiny side and one matte side. The lanh surface is smooth, soft, and jet-black, becoming more lustrous the longer it is used. Draping yourself in the mysterious Lanh My A, you will feel the smoothness of the silk fibers and be captivated by the subtle, gentle fragrance of the mac nua fruit. All of these meticulous, laborious processes account for the value of Lanh My A silk. It is a pity that too many people misunderstand the value of luxury as lying in the material aspect, while true luxury always lies in the spirit. The sophistication, rarity, excellent aesthetics of the product, the almost extravagant investment of time and space, and the attitude and skills of the craftsman during the production process are what make for luxury value. Such premium goods are therefore always rare and arduous to produce, and behind the story of luxury goods is often a very precise and moving philosophy about Beauty. For many years, Mr. Tam Lang and his children have always serenely treated their craft with a meticulous attitude and persistent, faithful dedication as if it were simply the only way to be.

The dyeing technique of Tam Lang

Once the silk is woven, it is dyed with the mac nua fruit. In the past, people in Tan Chau dyed lanh using the bark of old trees and then trampled it in mud. The fabric would turn black but was not colorfast, fading quickly and turning reddish. Tam Lang, a strong and resourceful young man, heard that there was a mac nua fruit across the border in Cambodia specifically used for dyeing, so he decided to cross the border to bring it back for the weavers in the area. The Cambodians would crush the mac nua fruit to extract the resin, dye the fabric, rinse it, and then dye it again, repeating this until the silk surface was sufficiently black. "The Cambodian fabric takes a long time to develop its sheen after enduring so much washing and wearing. Because of that, back in Tan Chau, I discussed with the weavers the idea of both dyeing and beating the fabric to break down the silk fibers. Who would have thought that this 'pain' would immediately create that soft, shimmering, jet-black quality for Lanh My A..." At that time, every year, people in the craft village had to go to Cambodia to buy hundreds of tons of mac nua fruit to have enough for use. In 1975, Tam Lang stopped trading in mac nua fruit because he had managed to propagate the tree right in his hometown. "Mac nua determines the beautiful color. Lanh My A has the property where silk pairs perfectly with mac nua. If you take the mac nua fruit to dye any other fabric, it doesn't look beautiful. But dyeing it with silk is very beautiful. Once you’ve thoroughly infused it with mac nua, the fabric becomes more beautiful the more you wear it. Washing it in water many times over a long period only makes it more beautiful. It stays shiny, and doesn't fade or wrinkle at all."

The lanh is rolled up and beaten to break the silk fibers to create a durable, shimmering shine.

With a fair amount of capital, Tam Lang opened a large weaving workshop. Because he was so infatuated with Lanh My A, he wanted to use the capital and experience he had gained over dozens of years of using mac nua to produce a truly beautiful, smooth lanh. But war and chaos made life difficult, and people dared not dream of the luxury of wearing such fabric. The entire Tan Chau region stopped weaving silk, mulberry fields were cleared, silk looms stopped spinning, and the sericulture industry died out at its roots. Most hand looms were switched to weaving the more popular and cheaper nylon fibers. The large weaving houses, feeling the pain of losing the silk that was the pride of their land, tried to hold on. Like a captain who only leaves the sinking ship when all passengers and crew have descended, Tam Lang resisted until the end before the demise of Lanh My A, until 1984, when that workshop owner finally had to accept shutting down the last lanh loom. More than half a century later, 88-year-old Tam Lang sits in his garden, leisurely recounting his youthful days of traversing forests in search of color for the most precious silk of Tan Chau.

Today, Lanh My A is a fabric woven from the finest silk from Bao Loc (Lam Dong) and dyed with the resin of the mac nua fruit, crystallized from the most essential elements of nature. When exposed to air and temperature, the silk turns jet-black; it also requires steps of rinsing, drying, and rolling it into a cylinder, and beating it so that the mac nua resin soaks into the silk to ensure the product has the highest quality. On average, it takes 45 days from the time of weaving to the final product, and if it happens to be the rainy season, it can take up to 60 days to have the final product. Thanks to the meticulous weaving process and the extremely complex dyeing process passed down from generation to generation, Lanh My A remains a wonderful silk that is sought after by many.

The lanh sheets must be dyed before sunrise so they can be dried in the early morning sunlight. The lanh is washed, rinsed in the river, and dried, repeating this process for over 100 grueling days. After being dried, the lanh fabric is rolled up and taken to be beaten to create a durable, shimmering shine; usually, the beating process takes another 5 to 7 days. This continues until it has been dyed at least 6 "skins." Each time the fabric is "beaten" (to break the fibers and allow them to absorb color easily) is considered one "skin." It does not stop there; the silk also undergoes other stages such as starching and rinsing to create a piece of Lanh My A that is beautiful, precious, and carries a glossy, jet-black color for the wearer. This is also the standout and unique feature of Tan Chau silk. Mr. Nguyen Huu Tri, an artisan at a Lanh My A production facility in Tan Chau, shared: "After dyeing for 10-12 days, we beat and rinse it to finish the first skin. After the first skin, we continue to rinse and start dyeing, repeating the initial process for about 9-10 days for the second skin. After the second skin, we dye the third. It is the same process, but the time is shorter. By the sixth skin, we call it beating the color skin. After beating that skin, it is finished." The silk dyeing stage is considered the most important and elaborate, requiring technique as well as the meticulousness of the craftsman, because the silk must be dipped many times so that every thread is soaked deeply and evenly before being taken out to dry. When drying, one must choose the right time when there is strong sun to achieve four good drying sessions; on average, the dipping and drying process takes about 40 to 45 days.

On average, 500m of Lanh My A takes up to 4 months to complete. During periods of constant rain, dyeing takes even longer, extending past 4 months. They say that the value of an item sometimes does not lie in the material but in the painstaking effort of the person who created it, and that is certainly true. Because of such a laborious and meticulous process, the final product is a masterpiece. The fabric is shiny, jet-black, soft, and smooth; when touched, it feels cool and silky, leaving one deeply moved.

The process of sun-drying Lanh My A silk.

Tan Chau is the only place in Vietnam where the *mac nua* (ebony) tree still exists. The *mac nua* is a hardwood tree with dark wood, thin leaves, and clusters of round green fruit that look similar to longans. The juice of the *mac nua* is green, but it turns black over time, creating the signature mysterious black hue of Lanh My A silk. After being harvested, the larger and greener fruits are selected, crushed with a stone mortar or ground by machine, and mixed with water to create a thick, golden-yellow liquid; upon exposure to air and heat, this liquid turns black. It is estimated that, on average, 50kg of *mac nua* fruit is needed to dye a 10-meter bolt of silk.

The juice of the mac nua fruit creates the beauty of Lanh My A silk

From Ong Tam Tan Chau to Bao Loc

Ong Tam Lang calls the day that "fated woman" sought him out a blessing. "In 1990, Ms. 'Rau' came to the Tam Lang weaving workshop to ask about *lanh* (silk). At that time, nearly 1,000 looms in the area were only weaving nylon thread. Ms. 'Rau' invited me: 'Return to weaving Lanh My A! It must be woven with silk thread, dyed with natural colors, and made entirely by hand. You just try to weave fabric better than the old Lanh My A, and I will try to sell it!'" Ms. 'Rau' was Rose Morant – a contemporary artist and designer for a French luxury fashion house – who had traveled to Vietnam to find artisanal and unique raw materials. Through Rose's simple and concise instructions, Ong Tam Lang immediately understood his task was to create the most beautiful silk possible, regardless of how much time or effort it took.

Counting defects on a bolt of silk was a behavior that hardly crossed the minds of humble artisans; for generations, they operated based on the implicit principle that "skill comes from practice." Rose Morant, however, had strict requirements for defect control. "In the first year, I was allowed 10 defects per 20-meter bolt of silk, then at most 5," recalls Ong Tam Lang. If you understand what "defect" means according to their standards, I believe your professional dreams will never include "silk weaving." Pausing the shuttle for just a few seconds too long causes the silk thread to "cool down," resulting in a mark as thin as a hair split into ten when weaving resumes—this is considered a defect, and only one is allowed per 20 meters of fabric! Given the myriad of processes—from separating/spinning the silk, dyeing, washing, beating, drying, to ironing—which span several months, having no more than 5 defects that can only be seen with a magnifying glass—don't you find that maddening?

Due to Rose's "crazy" demands, Lanh My A had to source its raw materials elsewhere. The climate in Bao Loc, Lam Dong, is cool and humid year-round, making it the only place in Vietnam that can raise silkworms originating from the foothills of Mount Fuji, Japan. A good silkworm can produce about 700 meters of silk; beautiful silk depends on the thread, so Lanh weaving requires Grade One silk obtained from healthy silkworms that cocoon in the spring. The threads are long, smooth, soft, and knot-free, with an ivory-white color that looks as clear as fishing line. Once the Bao Loc silk arrives at the Tam Lang workshop, professional workers spin and twist the fibers (each horizontal thread is twisted from 8 cocoons, while the vertical warp consists of threads from 10 cocoons). Weavers monitor the loom, standing guard over the fabric surface without turning away for a second to avoid errors; if the silk ripples even slightly, it must be fixed, and joints between segments must be hidden so the entire bolt of silk looks as if it were woven from a single thread. Even after the fabric is woven, a very careful person is still needed to use tweezers under a magnifying glass to meticulously "rescue" any slight lines on the silk's surface. The silk is then boiled to remove the silkworm glue before being dyed. 100kg of crushed *mac nua* fruit is enough to dye 20 meters of silk.

The first stage takes 9 days with 27 rounds of dyeing and rinsing, drying and re-dyeing... The second stage follows the same process over 9 days. The third stage follows the same process over 6 days. These first three stages allow the silk fibers to absorb the *mac nua* juice, helping the fabric stay firm and durable. One must ensure there is no excess juice, otherwise, the fabric will be too heavy. If it is "under-juiced," the black color will not be deep enough and will fade easily. By the fourth stage, the dyer begins to adjust the color for fullness and evenness; the bolt of silk is beaten to break the fibers so that the dye "eats" deeply into the core of the silk, and the black color pops out intensely. The fifth stage involves further dyeing to make the fabric surface shiny, followed by washing and beating. At this point, the fabric's "appearance" is nearly set, but it needs a soft, caressing touch—so it moves to the sixth stage: the fabric is thoroughly beaten, washed in the Lanh River water, dried, and then ironed until perfectly flat. "There is no exact number for how many times it must be dyed with *mac nua* because if the weather is bad and the fabric does not absorb the juice, the first stage alone must be dyed over 50 times. To achieve a bolt of Lanh My A with a shimmering, mysterious black color that feels cool and smooth against the skin, it must undergo about 100 dyeings, 20 rinses, and about 10 beatings..." Nguyen Huu Tri counts on his fingers and toes, then shakes his head, seemingly helpless before the complexity of these numbers. Tri also calculated that there are 13,000 threads per meter of *lanh*, meaning 104,000 cocoons were required to produce the silk. How could the wearer imagine they are wearing the essence of so many silkworm lives?

From weaving to the completion of a piece of Lanh My A silk takes 4 months. "With Ms. Rose's pickiness, we had to create a type of *lanh* 10 times more beautiful than in the past," Ong Tam Lang says, as simply as if he were recounting where he sat this morning. In 1991, the first 500 meters of *lanh* were produced according to "Rose's standards." Though it didn't meet the requirements, Rose still bought it, encouraging and mentoring the Tam Lang family to perfect their weaving and dyeing techniques. By 1992, 1,000 meters were produced, meeting 70% of the requirements. They walked together, slowly and surely, not impatient, not discouraged, not hesitant. By 1995, Lanh My A was standard enough to be used as a material for many of the world's luxury fashion brands. Later, Rose Morant left Vietnam, and her company was transferred to Hanoia—the first high-end lacquerware house in Vietnam. Honoring and preserving artisanal essence is the path Hanoia chose, and with the affection and commitment to "nurture" the *Lanh*, Hanoia has continued Rose Morant's aspirations. Ong Tam Lang, the righteous man who keeps his word, still adheres to the promise he made: to weave only the best fabric.

Ong Tam Lang has now retired, handing the workshop over to his son. On a bright, sunny afternoon, Tri takes us to a *mac nua* field and gestures: "The entire *mac nua* crop is grown just to be sold to my workshop. If there's a good harvest, the amount of *mac nua* is enough to dye 10,000 meters of fabric, but currently, my family only produces 3,000 meters. We could weave up to 6,000 meters, but even with Hanoia's best efforts, that is all they can sell. I worry a lot about the *mac nua*. If people can't sell the fruit, they will cut down the trees to plant more profitable crops. In Cambodia, the *mac nua* has already been wiped out; only a few orchards remain here in Tan Chau..."

What about the domestic retail market? Tri shakes his head sadly; the penchant for flashy aesthetics and the habit of fast and convenient consumption leave Lanh My A with no narrow door to enter. Making a piece of *lanh* is grueling, but even using it is almost a hardship. Lanh My A must be hand-sewn; if a sewing machine is used, it must be an extremely slow-speed one, using round-tipped needles, or the silk fibers will tear at the seams. Just the material cost for a single dress is millions, and it only comes in black, and requires entirely manual work... people who are that "fastidious" about clothing are not common.

Tri picks up a piece of *lanh*, strokes it, and speaks in a weary, affectionate tone as if talking about a beloved child: "It's a troublesome thing. When the *mac nua* juice is at its best, it's the season of persistent rain, making drying the fabric to prevent mold a nightmare—you have to constantly watch it and turn it, dyeing it over and over, it's so miserable. When the weather is beautiful, the fabric is perfect for drying, but the *mac nua* season is over; the fruit must be used while its juice is fresh, it cannot be stored for a sunny day. Just finding a place to dry it is difficult because 'it' is so temperamental. It's dried on grass, but the grass must be stiff enough to lift the fabric to catch the sun, yet soft enough not to scratch it; in such a vast drying field, every blade of grass is measured to the height of a ruler. It seems the harder it is, the more my father loves the craft. He only fears that when he grows old and senile, there will be no one to keep the rhythm of our passion for the craft, and the *lanh* will be neglected..."

Finding colors for Tan Chau silk

Tri is shouldering the responsibility of being the last person weaving Lanh My A. This iridescent silk, as beautiful as a sorrow, could continue to thrive or vanish—it all depends on Tri. "Ms. Rose had a wish for Lanh My A to be multicolored, but on the condition that the dyes must be completely natural." The casual wish of the French woman who stayed devoted to reviving Lanh My A is, to Tri, like a debt of gratitude that must be repaid. So he goes looking for new dyes. Working tirelessly since 1997, Tri extracted colors from soil, rock, bark, leaves, tubers, stems, roots, and heartwood... with the most elaborate experiments he could imagine. By 2003, Tri had found 7 new colors for Tan Chau silk (the original silk only came in *mac nua* black or the ivory-white color of raw silk). In late 2015, we returned to Tan Chau, and Tri showed off his color palette. His workshop now has 12 colors, but he still carries an unfulfilled feeling: "Natural colors are unpredictable. Dyeing is easy, but how to make that color reinforce the fabric's structure to be durable and colorfast like the *mac nua*—I still haven't found a way..." Tri is obsessed with shades of green, a color that cannot be held, beautiful and ready to fade away. Tri still dreams of the ancient *tram* (cajeput) tree of Tan Chau, a species that has gone extinct; according to the elders, it yielded a vibrant green sap that was colorfast. "Who knows, it might be a green *Mac nua*??! I must go find it..."

In Tam Lang's dyeing workshop, there is a bundle of *xue* grass brooms from the mountains of Ninh Thuan. "That is the Ancestor's broom of the dyer," Tri says reverently. The broom is used to dip into water and sprinkle it onto the silk bolts so the fabric is sufficiently moist before going into the beating machine. A skilled dyer must know how to watch the rhythm of the water; if the fabric is too dry, it won't absorb enough *mac nua* juice, and if it has too much, the juice is "vomited" out, wasting the effort and requiring re-dyeing. In the ancestral secrets of the *lanh* craft, no one uses any other method to sprinkle water on the fabric. "We believe that only by using the Ancestor's broom will Lanh My A silk become soft and shiny..."

Belief is an invisible and intangible power, but one as certain as it is magnificent. Who knows, perhaps Ong Tam Lang, and now Nguyen Huu Tri, have embarked on the lonely, long journey of Lanh My A with belief as a shade overhead? And perhaps, with nothing but belief as their only asset, one day Tri will find the ancient *Tram* tree—as mythical as a fossil coming back to life. Surely, Lanh My A will take on a new beauty with that strange "mac nua" shining with a chlorophyll hue...

As good as his word, Tri put his construction career on hold and began a journey through the brocade weaving villages of the Khmer people in An Giang, Cambodia, then to the Central Highlands villages to learn dyeing secrets. Whenever he found a type of root, leaf, or tree bark for dye, he eagerly brought it back for experimentation. However, because the texture of Tan Chau silk is different from the brocades of ethnic minorities, it would not take the dye. For 3 years of diligent crushing, boiling, and fermenting dozens of leaves, roots, fruits, bark, and forest tree stems in different environments, temperatures, and lighting conditions, Tri failed. Many nights, sitting blankly looking at the pile of silk, mottled with color like a pile of rags, he felt disheartened and sighed...

Until 2003, Nguyen Huu Tri's dream of finding colors for silk became a reality. Right on his 30th birthday, he produced a batch of amber-colored silk, followed by lotus pink, cocoa, gray, earth, indigo, and burgundy.

The entire bolt of silk is woven from a single thread

Dyeing Lanh My A silk with mac nua fruit

References: 

Thanh Nien Newspaper

2. Nguoi Lao Dong Newspaper

3. Tamson