The Art of Lauhala Weaving: Preserving a Traditional Hawaiian Craft

On a Wednesday morning at the Kaua‘i Museum in Līhu‘e, instructor Eugene Onio Punzal begins a weaving workshop by blowing a Pū, or conch shell horn, followed by a group chant titled “Mele Oli Aloha No Kaua‘i” to honor the sun and the land. Within an hour, participants are weaving strips of hala leaves into bracelets, learning a practice that carried Polynesian voyagers across 2,500 miles of open ocean more than 1,000 years ago. This is ulana lauhala — the weaving of hala leaves — and it raises a question that cuts deeper than craft technique: How does a practice that was once essential for survival survive in an era of mass production, and what does its revival reveal about cultural identity in contemporary Hawai‘i?

Quick-Reference: Key Variants and Contexts in Lauhala Weaving

The hala tree (Pandanus tectorius) grows wild along coastlines from Hawai‘i to West Africa, with about 600 species worldwide. In Hawai‘i, it is vulnerable to invasive insects such as the hala scale insect, introduced to Maui in 1999, which has threatened local populations. The tree’s fruit clusters, called hala, are associated in Hawaiian tradition with the journey between life and the afterlife, symbolizing the interconnectedness of all living things. Every part of the tree was used: roots for medicine, fragrant flowers for leis, and the long, pliable leaves — lau hala — for weaving.

The Origins: From Voyaging Canoes to Household Necessity

Ulana lauhala arrived in the Hawaiian Islands with Polynesian voyagers from the Marquesas Islands more than 1,000 years ago. The same technique that produced sails for the double-hulled canoes that crossed 2,500 miles of ocean also created the mats, baskets, and roofing that sustained daily life. In ancient Hawaiian society, woven lauhala products formed the backbone of everyday existence. Sleeping mats (moena) were essential household items, and the quality and fineness of the weave often reflected the status of the family. Fishermen used lauhala baskets to carry their catch, and the same kakau patterns found on lauhala work appear in cultural designs like the makau hook motif still worn today.

Accounts by early explorers and missionaries noted the beauty of the plaited goods throughout Hawai‘i. But the practice was never merely utilitarian. Skilled weavers were considered to carry a special mana (spiritual power), and their craft was treated with reverence. Prayers and chants (pule) were often recited before and during the weaving process to honor the hala tree and invite the blessings of the akua (gods). The finest weavings, particularly those crafted for ali‘i (chiefs and royalty), were considered tapu (sacred), and the knowledge of how to weave them was guarded carefully and passed only to those deemed worthy.

The Near-Loss and the Hawaiian Renaissance

As modern conveniences advanced in the 20th century, lauhala weaving nearly disappeared. Items once commonly used in everyday life became precious treasures reserved for special occasions, and the skilled hands of weavers lacked new interest to transfer that essential knowledge. Maile Andrade, a multimedia artist and retired professor at the Kamakakūokalani Center for Hawaiian Studies at the University of Hawai‘i–Mānoa, explains that neither her Native Hawaiian mother nor Chinese father were weavers. She sought out master teachers during the Hawaiian Renaissance in the 1970s — a broader cultural and political movement that also revived the Hawaiian language, hula, and other practices.

“They realized that if they didn’t teach, the practice would be lost,” Andrade told American Indian Magazine. She added that cultural knowledge is not necessarily inherent, but rather something that is learned. This distinction matters because it opens the door for non-Native individuals to learn and participate — a point of ongoing discussion within the weaving community. Some instructors teach the technique to both Native Hawaiian and non-Native individuals, while others prioritize Native Hawaiian students as part of cultural reclamation.

Contemporary Weavers and Community Structures

Today, lauhala weaving is sustained by a network of dedicated individuals and organizations, each with a slightly different approach to teaching and community-building.

Eugene Onio Punzal, who was born in Hawai‘i and is of Filipino descent, began learning to weave coconut leaf hats (launiu) before turning to hala leaves 12 years ago. He studied for three years under Maile Andrade and now serves on the board of the Malie Foundation, a scholarship-granting institution geared toward the preservation and perpetuation of Hawaiian culture. Punzal and his Native Hawaiian assistants — Leslie Scales, Noe Mahi, and Kanani Kaye — call their group the “ulana ‘ohana,” or “weaving family.” Mahi, who passed away after being interviewed, described the work as a “kuleana,” or responsibility: “Uncle Onio is our ‘kumu ulana,’ or weaving teacher. When he goes, his craft goes with him.”

Punzal’s workshops at the Kaua‘i Museum were originally designed for tourists. But as he told American Indian Magazine, “now 70 percent of the participants are locals because there are no other opportunities to learn this.”

On O‘ahu, Stacie Segovia leads Nā Lālā o ka Pūhala, a community organization that offers weekly lau hala weaving classes at Nā Kūpuna Makamae Center on Ala Moana. Segovia’s kumu hula recommended she learn weaving because she was good with her hands. She now passes on techniques learned from master weavers Gwen Kamisugi and Pōhaku Kaho‘ohanohano. Introductory classes are held every Wednesday, and Segovia says that when students make their first hats, “they will actually be in tears.”

Perhaps the most structured contemporary effort comes from Kā‘eo Izon, a weaver who gained popularity on Instagram and TikTok for sharing his woven works and Native perspectives through humor. Izon’s journey began reluctantly — while studying under Hawaiian language teacher Ipolani Vaughan, he asked her to weave a piece for him. She refused, urging him to learn himself. “I originally didn’t want to, but everything I was forced to do, I learned to love afterwards,” he told Hawaii Magazine.

Izon now leads two weaving groups. Hui ‘Ala Hīnano, founded in 2017, is a men’s group that meets weekly to work on projects while immersed in Hawaiian music, ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i, and hana no‘eau (Hawaiian crafts). In 2021, Izon founded Hui Waianuhea o ka Pua Hala as a women’s cohort. Two years after its founding, over 100 female weavers of all ages had joined the community, which is now working on its 11th cohort. Members meet once a week for two-hour sessions, with a goal of completing three projects: a pale ‘ōmole wai (water bottle cover), a piko ‘ole (crownless hat), and a pāpale (hat).

The Weaving Process: From Leaf to Object

The process of transforming a spiny hala leaf into a finished object is methodical and physically demanding. Harvesters select mature leaves and trim the sharp edges and spines. The leaves are then flattened, stripped, and cut into 3-foot-long sections. Punzal uses a pasta maker equipped with a tiny row of blades to separate narrow strands for weaving — a modern adaptation that speeds up preparation without changing the fundamental technique.

The intersecting strands have specific names in the Hawaiian language. The “moe” are the “lying down” or “sleeping” strands that wrap flat around and through the “kū” strands, which alternate above and below the “moe” and are said to be “standing up.” This vocabulary encodes the physical logic of the weave, and learning it is part of learning the practice itself.

Context and Comparison: Weaving Across Polynesia

Lauhala weaving is part of a broader Polynesian tradition of fiber arts, but it has distinct characteristics shaped by Hawai‘i’s specific ecology and cultural history. The following table compares lauhala weaving with related practices in other parts of Polynesia.

One unresolved question in the scholarship is the degree to which Hawaiian lauhala techniques were influenced by later migrations or contact with other Polynesian groups. Some patterns and terms appear to be unique to Hawai‘i, while others have clear cognates in Tahitian and Samoan weaving vocabularies. The debate is complicated by the fact that much of the knowledge was deliberately suppressed or lost during the 19th and early 20th centuries, making direct lineage tracing difficult.

Questions Readers Ask

Can anyone learn lauhala weaving, or is it restricted to Native Hawaiians?

This varies by teacher and organization. Some instructors, like Eugene Punzal at the Kaua‘i Museum, teach all visitors. Others, like Kā‘eo Izon’s groups, prioritize Native Hawaiian participants as part of cultural reclamation. The question is actively debated within the weaving community. The best approach is to contact the specific workshop or group directly and ask about their policy.

How long does it take to make a lauhala hat?

A simple bracelet can be completed in a single workshop session of about an hour. A basic hat typically requires multiple sessions — Izon’s women’s group meets for two hours weekly over 18 weeks to complete three projects, including a hat. Master weavers can produce a hat in a few days of concentrated work, but the skill takes years to develop.

Is lauhala weaving the same as the weaving done elsewhere in Polynesia?

No. While related techniques exist across Polynesia, Hawaiian lauhala weaving uses the specific Pandanus tectorius species and has unique terminology, patterns, and cultural associations. Samoan fine mat weaving and Māori flax weaving, for example, use different materials and have different social functions. The Hawaiian practice is distinct and should not be generalized.

Why did lauhala weaving almost disappear?

The decline was driven by multiple factors: the introduction of Western manufactured goods, the suppression of Hawaiian language and cultural practices after the 1893 overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom, and the shift from rural to urban living. By the mid-20th century, few young people were learning the craft, and many master weavers had died without passing on their knowledge.

Is the hala tree endangered?

The hala tree itself is not globally endangered, but Hawaiian populations are threatened by the hala scale insect, introduced to Maui in 1999. The insect has caused significant damage to hala forests on Maui and other islands. Conservation efforts are underway, but the long-term health of the trees that supply weaving materials remains uncertain.

The Unbroken Thread

What makes ulana lauhala worth understanding is not the objects themselves — beautiful as they are — but what the act of weaving reveals about cultural resilience. Every time a weaver moistens a strand of hala and begins the interlocking pattern of moe and kū, they are engaging in a practice that has survived colonization, economic transformation, and the near-total suppression of Hawaiian language and religion. The revival is not complete, and it is not without tensions. Questions about who can learn, who can teach, and what counts as authentic are live debates, not settled facts. But the fact that those debates are happening at all — in museum workshops, community centers, and Instagram feeds — is itself a form of continuity. For a deeper look at how Hawaiian cultural practices are being reclaimed and redefined, read our guide to discovering the authentic spirit of Hawaiian hospitality.

Sources and further reading

Tony Tekaroniake Evans. “Weaving Ties to Ancestors.” American Indian Magazine, 2024. 🔗

“Lau Hala Weavers Maintain a Hawaiian Tradition.” Hawaii Business Magazine. 🔗

“Perpetuating the Hawaiian Art of Lau Hala Weaving.” Hawaii Magazine. 🔗

“Lauhala Weaving: The Sacred Art That Wove Together Ancient Hawaiian Life.” Kahana Designs Blog. 🔗

Related reading on IslandHopperGuides

The Art of Lei Making: More Than Flowers, Symbols of Aloha and Connection — Explores another Hawaiian craft tradition with deep cultural and spiritual significance.

Malama Aina: Respecting and Caring for the Land in Hawaii — Connects to the environmental stewardship ethic that underlies sustainable harvesting of hala leaves.