Sacred Stitch
Over his lifetime, Rick San Nicolas estimates he has worked with well over a million feathers.
(All photos courtesy Rick San Nicolas.)
When audiences first watched Apple TV+’s Chief of War, Jason Momoa’s ambitious historical drama about the fight to unify the Hawaiian Islands in the late 18th century, many were struck by more than just the sweeping cinematography and epic battles. What also stood out was the production’s commitment to authenticity, from the extensive use of ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i (the first two episodes are spoken entirely in Hawaiian) to original pieces created specifically for the show, including handcarved outrigger canoes; mea kaua (traditional weapons) made from wood, cordage, and bone; and entire villages constructed from scratch.
Among the most remarkable were the feather lei, intricately crafted pieces rooted in the tradition of ‘ahu ‘ula and mahiole, the regal feather capes and helmets once worn by Hawaiian ali‘i. More than mere adornment, these items carried deep symbolic meaning: they represented rank, lineage, political authority, spiritual power, and a sacred connection between the wearer and their ‘aumākua, or familial guardian spirits.
Behind these creations is Rick San Nicolas, a soft-spoken master of Hawaiian featherwork who has devoted his life to perpetuating this rare art form. For Chief of War, San Nicolas not only oversaw the feather garments, he also helped shape the visual language of power and identity on screen.
“They had been watching my work for years. Before they had actors, before the script was final, they told me, ‘We’ve seen what you do. That’s why we’re coming to you,’” San Nicolas says of Chief of War co-creators Jason Momoa and Thomas Pa‘a Sibbett, who contacted him in 2023 about consulting on the series. “If I hadn’t said yes, they would’ve found another way. Being involved meant I could help make sure it was done with respect.”
San Nicolas brought a selection of feathered cloaks and helmets, including a striking 9-foot-wide cape he created to honor the chief of Maui, Pi‘ilani, patterned after the original housed in the British Museum. He worked with Chief of War’s production team in modifying traditional techniques to create screen-ready garments that could meet the demands of filming. “They couldn’t hand-tie every feather,” says San Nicolas, “but I made sure they understood the layering, the structure. It had to look and feel right.”
Refined through decades of practice, each full-length cloak can still demand 1,500 hours or more to complete.
“I might work 14, 15 hours a day. I have to force myself to put my work down so I can go to sleep.”
Finding balance between honoring the past and adapting for the present is something San Nicolas navigates daily. A self-taught artisan, he first turned to featherwork in the late 1990s after a debilitating back injury forced him to leave his 25-year career in food service management. One afternoon, a visiting friend brought over a book, Feather Lei as an Art by Mary Louise Kaleonahenahe Kekuewa and Paulette Nohealani Kahalepuna. San Nicolas asked if he could take a look.
“I flipped through it and thought, this is pretty interesting,” San Nicolas recalls. Back then, he had rarely seen feather lei in person, maybe once or twice around someone’s neck. But the book, a straightforward instructional guide, sparked something. San Nicolas borrowed it, read through the steps. A week later he finished his first hatband. The week after that, he made his first feather lei.
When San Nicolas showed the pieces to his friend, they were stunned. “‘Did you make that just from the book?’ they asked. And I said, ‘Yeah, it was easy to follow.’ That was the start of it all.”
What began as a hobby soon became a calling, as San Nicolas progressed from hat bands and lei to sewing full capes. The work is meticulous: hand-bundling thousands of feathers, knotting them onto netting, layering each bunch just so. Even today, with his skills refined by decades of focus and repetition, a single full-length cloak might take 1,500 hours to complete, or more. San Nicolas estimates he’s used well over a million feathers in his lifetime.
“Every single day, I do feathers,” he says. “I might work 14, 15 hours a day. I have to force myself to put my work down so I can go to sleep.”
Though he practices a time-honored craft, San Nicolas has adapted to changing times. In the past, Hawaiian featherwork depended on the plumage of native birds like the brilliant red
‘i‘iwi and the yellow-and-black ‘ō’ō and mamo. These species were once carefully harvested by kia manu, or bird catchers, who often released the birds without harming them back into the wild. But with the ‘i‘iwi now endangered, the ‘ō’ō and mamo extinct, and all Native Hawaiian birds protected by law, San Nicolas has turned to ethically sourced feathers from birds such as pheasants and roosters raised for food in Asia.
Recognizing the fragility of Hawaiian featherwork as a living tradition, San Nicolas began teaching in 2018. That first year, he accepted 10 students. Today, he mentors nearly 120 annually through his workshop series, Puali‘ahu — “to never forget the ‘ahu ‘ula,” says San Nicolas. Held regularly at the Honolulu Convention Center, the workshops draw students from across the Islands as well as from the continental U.S., including Oregon, Utah and Texas.
San Nicolas personally selects each of his students. Not only based on skill or interest, but on their commitment in carrying the tradition forward. “My teaching structure is based on what I feel they can do for the future of Hawaiian featherwork, beyond the 21st century,” says San Nicolas. “As a Hawaiian and as a kumu, I know how much danger this art form is in. How close it is to disappearing.”
Education is inseparable from preservation for San Nicolas, who envisions a future where featherwork is embedded in Hawai‘i’s school system as a living curriculum. Where students work together to create feather capes, worn by the class valedictorian at graduation, and displayed afterward as part of a growing collection year after year. He is heavily involved in organizations like the Royal Order of Kamehameha, where members are expected to understand not only the materials, but the mo‘olelo behind each piece.
(All photos courtesy Rick San Nicolas.)
For San Nicolas, the aim is ensuring that feathers, stories and the bonds between generations endure.
“I believe featherwork is the most important art form in all of Hawai‘i,” San Nicolas says. “It goes back centuries, maybe even as far as 1,000 B.C., from what I’ve read. Featherwork represented power, spirituality, identity... You can’t tell the story of Hawai‘i without it.” However, telling this story, whether through performance, parades, or ceremonial appearances, often stirs strong opinions.
“There are many who say feather capes should never be worn in public and I can understand that,” says San Nicolas. “But I believe that people have to be able to see this art form in order for it to survive.”
He recalls a moment at a recent Merrie Monarch Festival, when hula dancers in one of the men’s groups briefly wore his feather capes while walking to the stage. “We took them off before the performance out of respect and protocol. But in that moment, as they walked in, it changed the whole energy of the room.” People were sitting up straighter. The noise stopped. “It was like everyone suddenly remembered where we came from.”
At events like the Kamehameha Day parade, where San Nicolas’ capes and helmets have been featured on horseback, the reaction has often been reverent. “People weren’t waving. They got quiet. Some looked like they were bowing,” he says. “In that moment, they were seeing the ali‘i. That’s what we’re trying to do. Not show off but show that this work still lives.”
San Nicolas’ goal is not fame or recognition. It’s survival of the feathers, the stories, and the connection between generations. “The more that [‘ahu ‘ula and mahiole] are seen outside of a museum setting, the more people are going to be interested in learning about it. People need to realize that what we’re doing today is trying to make sure this work is never forgotten.”
(All photos courtesy Rick San Nicolas.)