The hala tree (Pandanus tectorius) is one of those plants that seems to touch every part of life in Hawai‘i. Its long, spiny leaves — lau hala — were woven into the very fabric of daily existence: mats for sleeping, sails for voyaging canoes, thatch for homes, baskets for fishing. But the tree also carries a heavier weight. In Hawaiian tradition, it is believed to have been brought to the islands by the gods, its fruit clusters symbolizing the interconnectedness of all living things and the continuity of spirit between this life and the next. This is the foundation upon which the art of ulana lauhala (hala leaf weaving) rests.
To treat lauhala weaving as just a pretty handicraft is to miss the point entirely. It is a practice embedded in a specific cosmology, a history of disruption, and a fiercely determined contemporary revival. This article explores the layers of that practice — the spiritual, the ecological, and the political — and the people working to ensure it doesn’t just survive, but thrives as a living, evolving tradition.
“We used to weave as a necessity for our homes. Now we weave for another necessity, which is to bring our culture back and to relate to our ancestors.” — Maile Andrade, multimedia artist and retired professor at Kamakakūokalani Center for Hawaiian Studies.
Ulana lauhala is a sacred Hawaiian tradition that nearly disappeared in the 20th century. Today, it is being deliberately and systematically revived by master weavers as an act of cultural sovereignty, environmental stewardship, and community building. It is not a static “ancient art” but a dynamic, contested, and deeply modern practice.
| Term/Figure | Role / Meaning | Region / Association |
|---|---|---|
| Lau hala | Leaves of the hala (pandanus) tree, the primary material for weaving. | Hawaiian Islands (coastal areas) |
| Ulana lauhala | The act of weaving hala leaves. | Hawaiian Islands |
| Maile Andrade | Multimedia artist, retired professor; key figure in the 1970s Hawaiian Renaissance revival of weaving. | O‘ahu (University of Hawai‘i–Mānoa) |
| Kā‘eo Izon | Kumu ulana (weaving teacher); founded men’s (Hui ‘Ala Hīnano) and women’s (Hui Waianuhea o ka Pua Hala) weaving cohorts. | O‘ahu |
| Eugene “Onio” Punzal | Kumu ulana at Kaua‘i Museum; teaches diverse public classes. | Kaua‘i |
| Moena | Sleeping mats woven from lauhala, a household essential. | All islands |
These figures represent distinct approaches to teaching and preserving the practice, from the academic and archival lens of Andrade to the community-building cohorts of Izon and the public museum workshops of Punzal.
More Than a Mat — The Sacred and the Practical
Before synthetic fibers or imported cottons, lauhala was a cornerstone of material culture. Moena (sleeping mats) were vital for every household, spread across the earthen floors of hale. The quality and fineness of a mat’s weave often reflected the status of the family. Fishermen relied on lauhala baskets to hold their catch, while farmers stored seeds and crops in woven containers. The leaves were even used for the sails of the great voyaging canoes that connected Hawai‘i to the broader Polynesian world.
But the craft was never purely utilitarian. The act of weaving carried deep spiritual weight. The interlacing of strands was seen as a reflection of the cosmic order, a way of enacting the interconnectedness of all things. Skilled weavers were considered to carry special mana (spiritual power), and their craft was treated with reverence. Prayers and chants (pule) were recited before and during weaving to honor the hala tree and invite the blessings of the akua (gods). The finest weavings, particularly those made for ali‘i (chiefs), were considered tapu (sacred).
This spiritual dimension is a crucial point often missed by outsiders. A lauhala hat isn’t just a hat; it is a physical manifestation of a relationship between the weaver, the tree, the land (‘āina), and the ancestors. To understand this connection is to begin understanding the deep motivation behind its modern revival. Hawaiian spirituality is inseparable from the materials and practices of daily life.
The Rupture and the Renaissance
The arrival of Europeans in the late 18th century introduced new materials like cotton and metal tools, which gradually displaced the demand for lauhala. By the 20th century, the practice had dwindled dramatically. Skilled weavers aged, and fewer young people learned the craft. As Maile Andrade, a multimedia artist and retired professor who began learning during the Hawaiian Renaissance of the 1970s, put it, “Elders realized if they didn’t teach, the practice would be lost.” Andrade herself had to seek out master teachers, as neither of her parents were weavers. “I consciously chose to be an artist and to practice my culture,” she notes.
This period of renewed cultural consciousness in the 1970s was a turning point. It wasn’t just about preserving a technique; it was about reclaiming an identity. The generation of weavers who stepped forward to teach did so with a clear sense of kuleana (responsibility). The work continues today with figures like Kā‘eo Izon on O‘ahu and Eugene “Onio” Punzal on Kaua‘i, each addressing the challenge of transmission in different ways.
The ‘Oihana — Building a Profession
Kā‘eo Izon’s work offers a compelling model for what the future of ulana lauhala might look like. He is explicit about his goal: to make ulana not just hana (work) but ‘oihana (a formal profession). He looks to Aotearoa (New Zealand), where a university is dedicated to perpetuating Māori weaving traditions, as an inspiration. His effort includes establishing new protocols and a formal structure for study, akin to the ‘ūniki ceremony for hula students — something that has no direct precedent in the history of lauhala weaving.
This innovation is significant. Izon’s teaching is structured around cohorts. In 2017, he founded Hui ‘Ala Hīnano, a men’s weaving group, after being approached by the men’s organization ‘Aha Kāne. The impact was immediate. He watched as young boys sang and wove together, supporting one another and owning their cultural identity. In 2021, he formally established the women’s cohort, Hui Waianuhea o ka Pua Hala, which now has over 100 members and is working on its 11th cohort.
This professionalization is a direct response to the risk of the practice becoming a “cultural novelty” — a trinket for tourists rather than a living, breathing part of community life. By creating a structured path for learning, Izon and other teachers like Maile Andrade and Eugene Punzal are ensuring that the knowledge is not just preserved, but practiced with rigor and intent.
Weaving Across the Islands — Approaches and Evolutions
The revival of ulana lauhala is not a single, monolithic movement. It varies by island, by teacher, and by the specific needs of the community. A comparison of three prominent figures reveals different philosophies of transmission.
| Teacher | Primary Location | Teaching Approach | Target Audience | Philosophical Emphasis |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Maile Andrade | O‘ahu / Hawai‘i Island | Academic, archival, project-based (e.g., canoe sail) | Native Hawaiian students & general public | Reconnecting to ancestors; seeing like a Native Hawaiian |
| Kā‘eo Izon | O‘ahu | Structured cohort system, formal protocols, social media outreach | Men (Hui ‘Ala Hīnano) & Women (Hui Waianuhea o ka Pua Hala) | Professionalization (‘oihana); community identity; language integration |
| Eugene “Onio” Punzal | Kaua‘i | Public museum workshops, drop-in classes, hands-on | Tourists & local residents (70% local participation) | Accessibility; filling the gap in local education; kuleana (responsibility) |
These are not competing approaches but complementary ones, addressing different parts of the puzzle. Andrade works on deep, project-based research and ancestral reconnection. Izon builds community and formalizes the path of learning. Punzal opens the door wide, allowing anyone — resident or visitor — to begin the journey.
The impulse to generalize “Hawaiian culture” or “Polynesian weaving.” Ulana lauhala is a specific tradition with its own protocols, techniques, and spiritual context. It is not interchangeable with weaving practices from Sāmoa, Tahiti, or Aotearoa. Even within Hawai‘i, the hala tree itself varies — thorned leaves are more durable, while thornless ones are easier for beginners. These specificities matter.
- Ulana lauhala is a sacred practice with deep spiritual and ecological roots, not just a decorative craft.
- Its revival is a direct response to 20th-century cultural disruption, driven by deliberate community action.
- Contemporary transmission varies across islands and teachers, from formal cohort systems to open museum workshops.
- Ethical engagement requires respecting the practice’s specificity and lineage, not treating it as a generic “cultural experience.”
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Questions Readers Ask
Can I learn lauhala weaving as a non-Hawaiian?
Yes, some teachers and institutions, like the Kaua‘i Museum and the Royal Hawaiian Center, offer classes open to all. However, it’s important to approach the practice with humility. As Maile Andrade notes, she teaches non-Native students “how to see like a Native Hawaiian, to know where this cultural practice is coming from.”
What’s the difference between lauhala and other Polynesian weaving?
While many Polynesian cultures weave with pandanus, the specific species (Pandanus tectorius in Hawai‘i), the traditional patterns, and the spiritual context are unique to each island group. The Hawaiian practice includes specific chants and protocols that are distinct from weaving in Sāmoa or the Cook Islands.
Is harvesting hala leaves sustainable?
When done responsibly, yes. Hala trees grow abundantly in coastal areas. However, the introduction of the invasive hala scale insect on Maui in 1999 has threatened some populations. Weavers today are often careful stewards of the trees they harvest from, aware that the health of the hala is tied to the health of the practice.
What should I look for when buying a lauhala product?
Ask about the weaver. A well-made piece reflects the skill and time of its maker. Look for tight, even weaves and a smooth finish. Be wary of mass-produced imitations. Supporting a known weaver or a store like Nā Mea Hawai‘i ensures the skill is being valued properly. For structured introductions, cultural tours and museum passes can be excellent ways to engage meaningfully.
The Thread That Binds
To hold a piece of lauhala weaving is to hold a thread of connection — to the tree that grew from the ‘āina, to the hands that prepared and wove it, to the ancestors who passed down the knowledge, and to the contemporary weavers who have taken on the kuleana of keeping it alive. It is not a static relic of the past, but a living, evolving dialogue between generations. The art of lauhala weaving offers a powerful lesson in what it means to sustain a culture: not by freezing it in time, but by weaving it into the fabric of the present, with intention, skill, and profound respect. For more on how these traditions connect to a broader worldview, explore our guide to discovering the real Hawai‘i through its traditions.
Sources and further reading
Perpetuating the Hawaiian Art of Lau Hala Weaving. Hawaii Magazine. 🔗
Lauhala Weaving: Ancient Hawaii. Kahana Designs. 🔗
Culture Keepers: Hawaiian Hala Leaf Weaving. American Indian Magazine. 🔗
Related reading on IslandHopperGuides
Kapa Making: The Ancient Art of Bark Cloth and Its Modern Revival — Another Hawaiian textile tradition undergoing a powerful resurgence.
Navigating by the Stars: Polynesian Voyaging and Hawaiian Exploration — The voyaging heritage that lauhala sails once powered.
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