A balmy summer breeze seems to drift through the chilly halls of the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) Museum in Providence, Rhode Island, as it unveils a groundbreaking exhibition, “From Pineapple to Pañuelo: Philippine Textiles.” Running from 7 December 2024 to 24 August 2025, this showcase is the museum’s first to feature exclusively Filipino pieces, shining a spotlight on piña—a delicate fabric woven from pineapple fibers—and its rich cultural tapestry.
Curated by Filipino-American textile historian Angela Hermano Crenshaw, a PhD student at the Bard Center in New York City, the exhibition explores the intricate history and artistry of piña. This fabric, synonymous with traditional Filipino attire like the billowy camisa (blouse) and barong Tagalog (formal shirt), embodies a story of colonial encounters, indigenous ingenuity, and global trade. For Hermano Crenshaw, the project is deeply personal. Inspired by a lack of Filipino representation in academic settings, she turned her master’s thesis on colonial Filipino fashion into this evocative display, aiming to share the beauty and complexity of her heritage with an international audience.
A Fabric Woven from History
Piña’s origins are as layered as the fabric itself. Though now a hallmark of Filipino identity, the pineapple plant was introduced to the Philippines by Spanish colonizers in the 16th century, having originated in South America. Under Spanish rule, which lasted from 1565 to 1898, pineapple cultivation took root alongside existing local weaving traditions using abaca, a fiber derived from banana plants. The introduction of floor looms by the Spanish—a departure from the portable backstrap looms used by Filipino weavers—sparked new techniques, leading to piña’s rise in popularity by the 19th century. 
The fabric became a symbol of status among the ilustrados, the affluent Filipino elite, especially after the end of the Manila-Acapulco Galleon Trade in 1815, which brought newfound wealth to the islands. Piña’s lightweight, transparent quality made it a luxurious choice, though its production was—and remains—labor-intensive. Fibers are scraped from pineapple leaves using coconut husks or porcelain shards, then knotted by hand, a process too delicate for mechanical spinning. Weavers, primarily from Panay Island in areas like Aklan and Iloilo, would send the raw fabric to Luzon, notably Lumban in Laguna, for intricate embroidery before it reached the wardrobes of the upper class.
This painstaking craft also caught the eye of European and American visitors in the 1800s, who were both scandalized and captivated by piña’s sheer texture. Many took pieces back as souvenirs, which eventually found their way into museum collections across the United States, including the RISD Museum. Hermano Crenshaw notes the challenges of curating such aged textiles, some dating back over a century, as time renders them brittle and often misidentified as abaca by early American collectors unfamiliar with the distinctions.
Bridging Cultures Through Cloth
“From Pineapple to Pañuelo” does more than display fabric; it educates. For American audiences, the exhibition offers a window into the Philippines’ colonial past, including its period as a U.S. colony from 1898 to 1946. It also underscores the enduring relevance of piña in Filipino life, from weddings to baptisms, where the fabric flutters in air-conditioned department stores and village celebrations alike. Beyond nostalgia, the craft is evolving. In 2023, UNESCO recognized Aklan piña handloom weaving as part of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, praising its blend of tradition and innovation. Filipino designers like Lulu Tan-Gan and the sustainable sneaker brand Lakat are pushing boundaries, experimenting with piña in contemporary fashion.
Hermano Crenshaw’s journey to bring this exhibition to life was meticulous. Over the summer of 2024, she traveled between New York and Providence, a four-hour train ride, to study the RISD Museum’s collection. Trips to Manila’s Ayala Museum and National Museum of Anthropology allowed her to examine textiles in person, a process she insists is vital for understanding details invisible in photographs. Alongside textile conservator Jess Ulrick, she even inspected fabrics under a microscope to distinguish piña from abaca, addressing longstanding misclassifications in U.S. museums.
A Legacy Unfolding
The curator’s passion is palpable as she speaks of future projects, including research into how piña was adapted into American-style dresses in the early 20th century, a phenomenon yet to be fully explored. At the RISD Museum, visitors linger before glass cases holding gauzy fabrics that have crossed oceans and centuries. “It’s rewarding to share this tradition that is not widely known outside the Philippines,” Hermano Crenshaw reflects.
In a world dominated by synthetic fabrics like nylon and polyester, piña stands as a testament to sustainable craftsmanship and cultural resilience. “From Pineapple to Pañuelo: Philippine Textiles” invites us to look closer—at the delicate threads of a blouse, the hands that wove them, and the history they carry. For Filipinos, piña is as familiar as a family heirloom; for the rest of us, it’s a reminder of how art can weave together disparate worlds into something uniquely human.
