How Water Hyacinth Is Tamed in Three Steps

There's a moment, when you place a basket in the corner of a living room and the afternoon light falls right across it, when it seems like it's always been there. As if it grew in that exact spot. The curious thing is that, in a way, something like that actually happened: that material began its life floating on water, in some canal or lagoon in Bali, before becoming what you see now. This week we want to tell you how that happens. Not to impress you with facts, but because we believe that understanding the journey makes a piece mean something more once you have it at home.

First: the harvest, taken slowly

Water hyacinth grows fast — too fast if no one keeps it in check. In Bali, the families who work with this material harvest it by hand, selecting stems with just the right thickness and flexibility. Not just any plant will do. A stem that's too young snaps when braided; one that's too old loses the elasticity the weave needs to close properly.

That means the harvest itself is already a craft decision. The artisan has spent years learning to read the material before even touching it. We see it every time we visit the workshops: there's a silent conversation between the hands and the plant that no manual can teach.

Second: drying without rushing

Once cut, the water hyacinth has to lose its moisture evenly. If it dries too quickly, it cracks. If moisture stays trapped inside, mold appears weeks later — already inside a shipping container or in the customer's home. That's why drying is, perhaps, the most delicate step in the entire process.

The plants are spread out on frames in the open air, in shade or sun depending on the time of day and the weather. Someone has to turn them, check them, decide when they're ready. No sensor can do that. It's judgment, and judgment comes from having done it many times and from seeing what happens when you get it wrong. We never push to shorten this time. We'd rather wait for the material to arrive in good condition than regret it later.

Third: the braiding, which is what you see

The braiding is the most visible part, but it isn't the hardest. The hard part already happened. What braiding does require is consistency and a pattern that the artisan carries in memory, not on paper. Each family has its own variations: how they finish the edge, how they tension the crossings, how they close the base so the basket doesn't lose its shape with use.

A two-tone basket like the Mantang shows exactly that: the point where two natural colours meet is also the point where the rhythm of the weave changes. That's not added decoration — it's the very structure of the braid. And when you look closely, you can tell that each row was placed by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

What a machine can't copy

People sometimes ask us why our baskets cost what they cost, and the most honest answer is this: because everything you just read was done by a person, not a production line. The drying time can't be automated. Reading the material can't be either. And the edge finish — that detail that keeps the basket holding its shape years later — is pure muscle memory.

When we choose what to bring to Spain and Portugal, one of the things we look at is precisely that: whether the finish holds up through the journey and through everyday use, whether the shape is stable, whether the braid has the right tension. Sometimes a shipment convinces us less than expected and we let it go. It's not easy to explain that to the supplier, but we'd rather do that than bring something that doesn't represent us.

In your home, at the end of the journey

All of that process ends up in a corner of your home. Maybe in a Sangalaki basket, in its set of three sizes, stacked beside a plant or on a low shelf. Maybe in something hung on the wall, like our Kaki water hyacinth star, which catches light in a way that no mass-produced piece ever manages.

We're not saying this to persuade you to buy. We're saying it because we think it's a lovely thing to know where what you have at home actually comes from. There are hands behind every piece, and time, and judgment. That's what we try to bring every time we pack our bags and head back to Bali.

Until next time. If you're curious to see more of what we found on this last trip, come by our store or visit the Our Journey section — there we share a little more about how all of this works. Marco, Rick, Ingrid and Lisette.