Between Taichung, largest city in central Taiwan, and the newly constructed Taichung Harbor on the coast nearby, is situated the well-known Tatu Shan (Mountain). On its sunny slopes, flocks of goats can be seen grazing, tended by the five or six families living in the area.

The goats have served as an inspiration for a young sculptor, Lai Sou-jen, who was born and brought up at the foot of the mountain. In August last year, he held an exhibition of his collection of goat ceramics, and won praise from local critics for his lifelike and original creations.

Starting with his entry into the sculpture department of the National Taiwan Academy of Arts, Lai has spent 10 years studying the form. Most of his work has reflected his upbringing in pastoral surroundings at Nantun Orchard close to Tatu Shan. After his graduation, Lai worked as an assistant in the workshop of Yang Ying-feng, a famous sculptor in Taiwan. During this period he gained a deep understanding of the interrelationship between sculpture and the environment. In 1975, he decided to settle down in his hometown, where the creatures that surrounded him became his main source of inspiration.

Only occasionally would the outside world beckon him to visit nearby Taichung. As he sought to create a masterpiece which would reflect humanity and love, he was still groping for the perfection of his art.

He finally found it in the sculpture of ceramic goats, but only after years of seclusion with his potter's clay. The turning point, he recalls came one day when a shepherd passed by his studio with his flock. The shepherd was so attracted by Lai's marvelous techniques that he asked to become his disciple. Lai agreed, and in return asked the goatherd to graze his goats nearby to act as models. After long association, Lai became familiar with the animals' features and habits. Almost unwittingly, he adopted the goat as his motif. After a long period of experiment with such materials as wood and stone, he found that clay was the ideal medium. He finally was able to recapture all the moods of the goats--whether they were eating, sleeping, suckling, scratching themselves or even falling out in jealousy. "I like goats because they are pliant, pure and affectionate," he says.

Lai is particularly gratified that the clay he uses to make his goats comes from his home area and can be baked and fired at Shalu, a small town there. He feels he has never been separated from the land that nurtured him, and has perfected his technique by starting from the most basic level.

In addition to the bright orange clay found in Shalu, Lai sometimes uses clay from Miaoli for contrast. After being baked in electric, gas or charcoal kilns, and glazed, the artifacts come in a wide variety of colors ranging through coffee, gray and gray-green. Because of the size of the kilns, most of Lai's models are small or medium sized. In order to solve the problem of fractures which occur during expansion, Lai worked a novel way to hollow out the bodies of his goat. He first stuffs a kind of plastic material into the body of the clay model, and then inserts banana oil through a small hole to melt it. It can then be poured out in solution, and the risk of fracturing is eliminated.

Claiming he feels awkward in public, Lai says he is only at home on the land that nurtures him. In gratitude, he has decided to repay the land with a lifetime of dedication to his career. A small snail he has fashioned out of clay is fastened on the wall of his studio. "I am the snail who creeps slowly and silently forward, " he says.