Local artists have been talking about and using places like the Zhongxin Market as "alternative space" for over 20 years. The term refers to a place housing art that is non-traditional, non-mainstream, and not bound by the rules of the system. It refers to small non-profit spaces run by artists themselves or opened specifically on behalf of artists.

The alternative space movement can be traced back to the US in the 1950s, at a time when the country was experiencing rapid economic growth. Avant-garde artists hoped to challenge the dominant role of commercial galleries and art museums as arbiters of art and beauty. They were also looking for workspaces that would offer greater flexibility. Artists began moving into a derelict industrial district in southern Manhattan Island, which eventually became the world-famous art and tourism holy land of "Soho." By the 1970s, such alternative spaces had become widespread across the Western world, and genres like installation art, video art, and performance art all sprouted and bloomed in alternative spaces.

Black and White has two locations, one in the Zhongxin Market (left) and one in Market #2 (right, photo courtesy of Black and White). These exhibition spaces, with the works displayed in department-store-like show windows, have no regular staff on site, and the lights turn on and off automatically at night. "Young at heart" creative people are invited to apply to exhibit their works free of charge.

In Taiwan, the spark for alternative spaces can be traced back to the period just after the lifting of martial law and its restrictions on assembly and expression. With the economy still experiencing robust growth, and a stock-market boom generating huge cash flows seeking speculative profits, there was a sudden fad for investing in art. However, the market was largely for traditional inkwash painting and oil paintings within the Taiwanese realist school. On the other hand, for young artists who had studied abroad and were versed in numerous media, and who were returning to Taiwan in large numbers, because their themes and modes of expression were too novel (for example, boldly challenging political taboos or being conceptual rather than depictive), they didn't get a second look from museums or the gallery community, so they were forced to find alternative exhibition spaces of their own devising. The most famous included Taipei's "Apartment 2" on Heping East Road and "ITPARK" on Yitong Street, Tainan's "Marginal Culture," and Kaohsiung's "App Gallery."

Ku Shih-yung, one of the early members of ITPARK and now professor and director of the Graduate Institute of Plastic Arts at Tainan National University of the Arts, recalls that the avant-garde artists of those days were in the prime of their lives, and they single-mindedly pursued the goal-"without regard for financial considerations"-of helping Taiwan's art world "get on track with the rest of the planet." In fact many of those involved developed into pillars of today's Taiwan art scene, and they provoked museums and academe into picking up the pace of their own transformations.

Let's look at ITPARK, which has been thriving for 20 years now, as one example. It started out with a few close friends borrowing the studio of photographer Liu Qingtang as a space where they could get together and hash out ideas. In 1990 they rented out the adjoining space and formally opened as a gallery. Since then, the place has developed into a not-to-be-missed crossroads and meeting point for arts people from Taiwan and overseas, and has provided an important jumping-off point for cutting-edge artists on their way to museums or international shows. The gallery's key contribution to pioneering contemporary arts in Taiwan has been widely recognized.

Moving into the 21st century, as avant-garde art gained increasing acceptance and, with the first-ever peaceful transfer of power to an opposition party, the government's cultural agencies more robustly supported joint public-private initiatives, more and more idle and obsolescent spaces like disused factories, veterans' housing complexes, and railroad warehouses were turned into exhibition spaces. This current generation of creators has found it much easier than their predecessors to find non-mainstream stages for self-expression.

At the same time, there has been a transformation in the nature of alternative spaces. Perhaps those who open them still aspire to "balance out" or "stand apart from" museums and commercial galleries, but they are more attentive than their predecessors were to cultivating the arts community and citizen consciousness.

Take for instance the Bamboo Curtain Studio, founded in 1995. The space is located on floodplain along the Danshui River not far from the Zhuwei MRT station. Originally an abandoned chicken shack, the space was converted for use by Margaret Shiu (who also participated in the protective occupation of the old manufacturing buildings in downtown Taipei that have since been turned into the Huashan Arts District) and two other ceramic artists, and was originally intended to promote research and exchanges between international artists' villages. By 2006, it had really set down roots and was seeking out cooperation with local society. For example, it introduced artists into schools of various levels to do creative work or hold workshops, and also for a time backed the social forces opposed to the building of an expressway along the Danshui River.

Water Chen, who has created a "photography sharing platform" in the Zhongxin Market, believes that people will only be able to take the time to appreciate the soul of the photographs if they are displayed in a physical space (as opposed to the Internet). It is also only in such a space that people really have the chance to come face to face with each other and exchange ideas and reactions in a straightforward way.

Of course, it is not only people who are chronologically young who have a monopoly on the opening of new alternative spaces that are both interesting and rebellious. Some middle-aged "patrons" with status, money, charisma, and/or leadership skills who have been wandering around the arts world for many years (and are still having a blast doing it) have been even more adroit in their judgments, generous with their personal resources, and well-connected both inside and outside the arts community in their alt space initiatives.

Roy Chiu, a self-styled "pseudo-leftist" and the owner of Gallery 107 in Taichung, brought together in October of 2008 a miraculous mix of more than 20 people, including artists, businesspeople, film directors, doctors, lawyers, scholars, amateur chefs, and bloggers, to create a new art space, with each sponsor contributing NT$1000 per month. They first rented a tea shop on the outskirts of the Zhongxin Market across from the National Taiwan Museum of Fine Arts (NT$9000 per month for 26 square meters). They called it "Black and White" and got metal sculptor Tsai Chih Hsien, who goes by the nickname "Xiaoyu," to design and renovate the space. His scheme was to display artworks in department-store-like show windows, so they can be seen from the street 24 hours a day for free, and there is no need for any permanent staff. This was followed by a second location in the market that they named Z Space, and finally a narrow storefront in Market #2 on Sanmin Road (NT$2500 per month for seven square meters) that goes by the name Black and White Part Two.

Jennifer Chang, a housewife/chef and a sponsor of Black and White, who has also had a personal exhibition in the gallery, says that one of the problems in Taiwan that most needs improvement today is "the issue of aesthetics in daily life." She says that Black and White, "in the spirit of a roadside vendor," squeezes arts into the daily surroundings of ordinary people for an ad-lib dialogue.

For Z Space, Roy Chiu and Xiaoyu reached into their own pockets to rent a two-lot, four-story freestanding building in the Zhongxin Market (NT$8000 per month). This action sparked a centripetal force that has attracted in numerous young creative workers who had not previously known each other, and the market has seen the evolution of the vigorous arts settlement that exists today.

Relations with residents are informal and relaxed. For children living in the market, running in and out of these colorful spaces opened by all these "elder sisters," "elder brothers" (and perhaps "Uncle Xiaoyu") has become part of their standard daily afternoon recreation. At the end of last year, following an idea brought up by Black and White, students from Dayeh University took part in a renovation of the public toilets. The family concerts held at Christmastime also help close the gap between the "outsiders" and the local residents.

Those who open alternative spaces usually choose old, idle sites and then remodel them. This is due not only to financial considerations, but also is an expression of different aesthetic values and an experimental spirit. The photo shows some of the growing number of young people who visit the Zhongxin Market on weekends.

Looking at the most recent wave of alternative spaces, there is yet another trend worth noting: The younger generation are inclined to undertake "composite operations," integrating coffee shops, restaurants, bookstores, and workshops into non-profit gallery spaces. Although there have been precedents for "composite" alternative spaces (for example, the Wisteria Teahouse and gallery on Xinsheng South Road in Taipei, or the Dogpig Art Cafe in Kaohsiung), these were mostly products of the idiosyncratic talents of the founders, whereas the people who have recently launched art corners, who are not necessarily themselves professional artists, have been much more grounded in "personal style" and "significance in daily life."

To take one example, let's look at Water Chen, a graduate of the College of Agriculture and Natural Resources at National Chung Hsing University, who is in his early 30s. Before opening what he calls the "sharing platform" of CAMEZA in Zhongxin Market in Taichung, he had long enjoyed taking pictures with traditional film cameras, and especially the sense of "slow motion" he got from using old-fashioned cameras that had to have all functions carefully adjusted by hand, in contrast to point-and-shoot digitals. "Photography was my first love, and my mission was to record life, and using this slower, more elaborate way to shoot was a way to force myself to be more acutely selective and pay more attention to detail in treasuring the moment."

In the middle of last year, in a moment of "temporary insanity," Chen, who was in the field of engineering management, rented a three-story building in the corner of the market (for NT$4500, with 10 square meters per story), a structure that had been empty for many years, and spent six months putting it in shape all by himself. Today, the first floor is for exhibiting and selling items from his own collection of antiques; the second floor is a platform for photography interactions-i.e. simultaneous exhibition of a limited number of photos by numerous artists-for which "there is no rent, no limits on themes, and no fixed schedule," and to which works are invited only through word of mouth; and the third floor is an open space where people can freely hang out.

Chen doesn't complain about having to "watch the store" but rather takes pleasure in what he considers "charging his batteries," as he meets two or three customers every day who sit and exchange ideas with him. One of his visitors was senior professional photographer Lee Juan-hsiu. After two years of lying low, Lee finally got up the courage to look again at photos he took two years ago of his dying grandfather. He says that he visited many composite gallery/coffee shops, but none of them seemed suitable for exhibiting these somewhat sad and highly personal works. It was only when he reached CAMEZA that its simple elegance gave him a feeling of comfort and serenity, a sense that "this is the place."

Some of the old established alternative spaces, which were an instant sensation when they were the first of the genre to open back in the 1990s, are still standing strong, and have not abandoned the work of nurturing unusual new fruits on the tree of art. On the facing page is ITPARK, located in a small street just off a bustling main thoroughfare in Taipei City; below is Bamboo Curtain Studio, located in a "reused" chicken shack on the banks of the Danshui River.

Gong Jow-jiun, director of, and assistant professor in, the Doctoral Program in Art Creation and Theory at Tainan National University of the Arts, who often circulates around new art spaces in central and southern Taiwan looking for "nourishment," has compared the old alternative spaces to the new. The old ones, he says, were unique in the fact that the early pioneers stimulated national cultural policy and won for themselves a share of arts funding. But it was hard for them to avoid dependence on state resources. At the same time, artists-who are always talking about the importance of an independent spirit-often wound up in groups organized like "mutual aid societies," with a high level of internal similarity, and the result of their sticking together for moral support was that they became inbred and stale.

In contrast, the new wave of alternative spaces emerges from a more pro-actively democratic format, and these spaces have avoided the dilemma of "protesting against the state" while "depending on the state." Gong states: "They get resources and support directly from the pluralized society. At the same time as they manufacture space, they also produce new social relations, which are far more vigorous and productive."

As frontier zones of artistic expression, and as bastions of pluralism, alternative spaces by their very nature come in a variety of forms and styles, and there will always be new waves of founders coming along. As long as they continue to have souls that yearn for freedom, alternative spaces will always be young.

Black and White has two locations, one in the Zhongxin Market (left) and one in Market #2 (right, photo courtesy of Black and White). These exhibition spaces, with the works displayed in department-store-like show windows, have no regular staff on site, and the lights turn on and off automatically at night. "Young at heart" creative people are invited to apply to exhibit their works free of charge.

Some of the old established alternative spaces, which were an instant sensation when they were the first of the genre to open back in the 1990s, are still standing strong, and have not abandoned the work of nurturing unusual new fruits on the tree of art. On the facing page is ITPARK, located in a small street just off a bustling main thoroughfare in Taipei City; below is Bamboo Curtain Studio, located in a "reused" chicken shack on the banks of the Danshui River.