The value of craft: how HABI, MaArte and ArteFino champion the piña and abacá weaving industry

Together, these fairs form a powerful retail trio, converting cultural capital into a viable economic engine and demonstrating that heritage can be a sustainable business. In 2024, the Philippine creative economy was valued at PHP 1.94 trillion, contributing 7.3 per cent to the nation’s gross domestic product and employing 7.5 million workers across art forms.

While their flagship fairs draw the largest crowds, these organisations have strategically expanded their footprint to ensure year-round cultural momentum. ArteFino, currently celebrating its milestone 10-year anniversary with the theme “ArteFino: Isang Dekada”, extends its retail advocacy through Presente by ArteFino, a curated holiday pop-up that sustains income for partner artisans during the festive Christmas season. The MFPI similarly broadens its impact by financing educational lectures for Art Fair Philippines and partnering with Art in the Park. This October 2026, the foundation is set to launch “Ang Museo”, the country’s first award-giving platform recognising museum curation and excellence, followed by an initiative to list all possible museums to form a directory, hopefully to be launched in November.

Yet this cultural confidence exists alongside a systemic crisis: while demand for natural fibres is skyrocketing, the domestic supply chain is in structural decline. According to PhilFIDA, national abacá production dropped 4 per cent in 2024 to 43,055.775 metric tonnes (MT). For piña, even with commercial baling ticking up to 72.955 MT, the yield remains microscopic. The starkest illustration of this bottleneck lies in the Philippine Tropical Fabrics (PTF) Law, which mandates only a 5 per cent local natural fibre blend in the uniforms of the nation’s 1.9 million civil servants; however, this demand for the said fibres is too high for our fields to yield.

Daniel C Jacinto, president of the MFPI, underscores that addressing the industry’s raw material vulnerability is critical. “If the supply of local materials is limited or becomes more expensive, it affects everyone further down the chain,” Jacinto explains. “MaArte exhibitors depend on many people before a finished product reaches the customer—farmers, fibre producers, processors, weavers and other craftspeople. So supporting Filipino craftsmanship also means supporting the people and industries behind it.” 

To bypass massive supply gaps, grassroots interventions have become essential. HABI chairman emeritus Maribel Ongpin details their aggressive approach to reviving the vanished local cotton industry to support the looms. “We buy every cotton harvest that is offered to us, have it spun into thread, dye it and then sell it to weavers,” Ongpin shares. “It is clear, that synthetic thread is inferior to cotton, and when available the weaving community uses cotton.”

Yet, the survival of the industry requires more than just securing raw materials; it demands the complete dismantling of the traditional hierarchy of value. For decades, artisans were treated as mere suppliers of cheap labour. ArteFino co-founder Cedie Lopez-Vargas argues this systemic flaw must be eradicated. “The fundamental imbalance is that those who create the cultural value often receive the least credit and value,” Vargas notes. “Artisans must move from suppliers of labour to genuine co-creators—with fair compensation, recognition, agency and a meaningful share in the value they create.”

ArteFino co-founder Susan Quiros agrees, challenging the dynamic between brands and indigenous creators. “Too often, the designer or brand is recognised as the sole creative author, while the artisan is positioned simply as the person who executes the work,” Quiros asserts. “We need to move away from transactional relationships based solely on piecework and labour costs.”

As fabrics transition into contemporary fashion, Quiros stresses that cultural evolution must be rooted in dialogue. “The problem begins when someone takes a pattern or cultural expression without understanding its meaning, without engaging the community from which it came and without ensuring that the community benefits from its commercial use,” she explains. “Innovation becomes disrespectful when culture is reduced to an aesthetic resource for someone else’s profit.”

Financial empowerment through these fairs has proven transformative. Development grants from the HeArteFino Foundation have allowed communities in Cebu to pursue zero-waste weaving and helped groups like Project Nova acquire machinery to manufacture hardware from recycled materials. For Vargas, true success is measured when these grants “become catalysts, not lifelines—when communities generate sustainable market income, reinvest in their craft and have the confidence and agency to shape their own futures.” 

Beyond fair compensation, the physical preservation of unrecorded weaving techniques remains an urgent threat. Jacinto fears that the industry might preserve the finished textiles but lose the knowledge behind them. “A lot of traditional knowledge is passed down by watching, listening and learning directly from the master weavers,” he explains. “When that knowledge is not passed on, it can disappear with them.” To intercept this loss, MFPI executive director Tanya Pico shares that the foundation supported HABI in producing Threaded Traditions, a 30-minute documentary focusing on the Inabal of the Bagobo-Tagabawa. The project aims to ensure that the late Gawad Manlilikha ng Bayan weaver Salinta Monon is not remembered as the last Tagabawa Inabal weaver.

Read more: Romancing the thread: Filipino designers on their resilient innovation of the Philippine weaving industry

This massive push for cultural dignity relies entirely on a new generation of consumers willing to invest in slow fashion. During the recent press conference for the Likhang HABI Market Fair, broadcaster Ces Drilon raised a common consumer question: “Bakit ang mahal? [Why is it expensive?]”

HABI president emeritus Adelaida Lim was quick to correct this perspective. “Think when it starts from the farm, how it is grown and everything, then think of how the yarn is made, then think of the weaving,” Lim says. “So all of those processes are very intricate, and it is not machine-made. It is all handmade. So we have to value that work of human hands. Let’s not say that they’re just farmers who did that work. No, they’re also artisans and they’re creatives and they’re Filipinos.”

The ultimate goal of this domestic retail movement is to permanently reshape the nation’s understanding of luxury. ArteFino co-founder Marimel Francisco suggests that true elegance lies in provenance. “I think luxury should be less about the logo and more about the story behind the product, which gives it its true meaning,” Francisco states. “Who made it? How and where was it made? How much skill and time went into it?” 

Jacinto echoes this sentiment, noting the stark contrast between fast fashion and heritage craft. “With a mass-produced product, you are mainly buying an object,” he says. “With heritage craft, you are also supporting the person, the skill and the tradition behind that object.” This newfound appreciation has already shifted local dressing habits. “Marami nang hindi lang butterfly sleeves [There are now many options, not just butterfly sleeves]—there are other means to dress up as a Filipino,” Jacinto observes. “We are instilling that love for Filipino-made products. Tama na ‘yung mga imported [Enough of the imported ones].”

By valuing the slow, arduous process of transforming leaves and stalks into wearable art, consumers are not merely purchasing a garment. They are dismantling exploitative supply chains, securing rural livelihoods and ensuring that the hands preserving the nation’s cultural identity will continue to weave for generations to come.

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