The history of lacquer-ware manufacture in Taiwan dates back to the Japanese colonial period, when Akira Yamanaka established the Taichung College of Industrial Arts in 1916. Under the cultural and economic influences of the occupation, the school taught students to make goods that visitors to Taiwan could take back as souvenirs. Such items tended to feature decorative motifs focusing on things typical of Taiwan--aboriginal clothing, bananas, wild boars, and the like. After the end of World War II, lacquer ware fell for a time into near oblivion, with only a few aging craftsmen devoting themselves to its manufacture. But now a man named Lai Tsuo-ming has breathed new life into the old craft.

A life of lacquer

Born in 1948 in Taichung, Lai Tsuo-ming hasn't spent a moment away from lacquer ware in his life. As a boy he learned from his father, Lai Kao-shan, how to create works by applying lacquer to carved wood pieces and by carving built lacquer. Young Lai graduated from Tamsui College of Technology and Commerce and eventually took a job in 1982 teaching a lacquer-ware course at Mingtao Junior High School in rural Taichung County. It was almost certainly the first time in the history of the Republic of China that a junior high school had ever included a lacquer-ware course in its curriculum.

In 1984 at the age of 36, Lai left his wife and family at home and took off to study at his own expense in Japan. He went there strongly recommended by Yoshimitsu Komatsu, a friend of his father's and the director of academic affairs at Kanazawa College of Art, where he studied the traditional lacquer-ware making that had been nearly forgotten in Taiwan. During a year of intense study in the Craft Department, Lai acquired a mastery of the entire 7,000 years of lacquer-ware technology as recorded in the Records of Artisanry, written during the Ming dynasty by Huang Dacheng.

"A nation doesn't reach a high level of culture simply through accumulation over the ages," says Lai. "In the end, its cultural level depends on the degree to which people carry on with their culture." The techniques of lacquer-ware making did not make their way from China to Japan until the Western Han and Tang dynasties, but today the craft is most highly developed in Japan. In the lacquer-ware mecca of Wajima, over 27,000 of the town's 30,000-plus inhabitants are engaged in lacquer-related occupations. In Taiwan, by contrast, Lai notes: "We borrow single-mindedly from foreign cultures while rejecting our own traditions. We don't realize that a culture without roots is empty."

Lai returned to Taiwan with a burning desire to revive lacquer-ware culture. He organized lacquer-ware exhibits and worked energetically in pursuit of his goals.

Reviving lacquer ware

The Chinese first made lacquer ware some seven millennia ago. Archeologists have discovered that the Hemudu Culture produced red lacquer on a wood base, and numerous archeological digs over the past few decades at burial sites dating back two to three millennia have turned up perfectly preserved lacquer ware surrounded by badly rotted artifacts made of wood and other materials. Records of Artisanry mentions the kings Shun and Yu (both of whom ruled roughly 3,200 years ago) making lacquer ware items. And in the work Han Feizi, it is written that black lacquer bowls used in the Xia dynasty court of King Yu were considered an excessive luxury by the nobility.

China's Bronze Age fell into decline during the Spring and Autumn Period (770-476 BC), and it was then that brilliantly colored lacquer ware first appeared. By the Warring States Period (475-221 B.C.) we see the emergence of the qi yuan ("lacquer-ware gardens"), a sort of state-run enterprise under the control of feudal lords and the nobility. In fact, there was an official post called qi yuan, established to facilitate management. The tradition of state-run lacquer-ware production continued into the Han dynasty. Then beginning in the closing years of the Eastern Han dynasty (3rd century AD) and continuing over a period of several centuries, the technique of lacquer-ware production spread eastward to Korea and Japan. Much later, in the 17th century, lacquer-ware manufacturing spread to Europe. In the land of its birth, however, lacquer ware was by that time falling out of favor.

Lai was uncompromising in his devotion to the dream of reviving the lacquer-ware craft. He slaved away day and night in his workshop, paying no attention to his family's financial needs. Many were the meals they skipped for lack of money. This lifestyle continued for six years following his return from Japan in 1985, but things took a turn for the better when Lai met up with a former classmate who had gone onto a successful business career. His old acquaintance started ordering Lai's lacquer ware every year, and the family income rose. Through it all, Lai stuck to a schedule of four hours' sleep per night while plugging away in the workshop for over ten hours every day.

Mother of all itches

Now that lacquer ware sells briskly and such great importance is attached to culture and the arts, why are so few people engaged in the making of lacquer ware?

Lai has no trouble naming a few reasons for the revival. For one thing, he says, the raw material for lacquer ware is made from the sap of any of various species of lacquer tree and is poisonous in its natural form. Contact with the skin or ingestion will, in mild cases, cause swelling and extreme itchiness of the arms. Persons with a low tolerance level will experience general swelling and suffer from symptoms akin to poison ivy. If scratching leads to infection, the victim will puff up all over like a big balloon. "No one enters into the world of lacquer ware without getting 'bitten' by the lacquer," explains Lai, who says the itching is almost bad enough to drive a person insane.

Even the fumes from lacquer can trigger a bout of dermatitis, which has in the past been the cause of an interesting superstition. Coffins are generally finished with lacquer, and freshly lacquered coffins will occasionally inflict a case of dermatitis on people who happen upon a funeral ceremony. Unaware of the lacquer's potency, they once believed themselves under the influence of malignant spirits connected with the deceased, or that they were paying the price for happening across the funeral ceremony just as the dead body was being placed in the coffin.

Given the painful entry into the craft, it need not come as a surprise that even Lai thought many times about finding some other line of work.

He once broke out with dermatitis while working on the eve of Chinese New Year. His entire body turned red and swelled, itching set in, and he had to soak all evening in a tub despite the cold winter weather. While everyone else was enjoying the most festive night of the year, Lai suffered through the bleakest New Year's Eve of his life.

Suffering for art

In addition to the dermatitis, the difficulty of the craft itself is also quite daunting to young people.

Lai once got knocked unconscious while attempting to remove the clay core from a piece he was working on. To remove all the clay, the finished piece had to be filled with water and emptied repeatedly. On this particular occasion, the piece was quite large and weighed 60 kilos when full of water. The work was backbreaking for a single man. Lai lost his balance on one lift and knocked his head against the workbench. Accustomed to working in the wee hours of the morning, he lay unconscious for two hours before coming to. Sitting up slowly, he asked himself: Why am I putting myself through all this? Who am I doing this for?

Raw lacquer may be a scourge to the maker of lacquer ware, but it is this very finish that makes lacquer ware so popular. While the raw lacquer is toxic, once it dries it is insoluble to all chemicals; and its toxins are trapped inside. Thus there are no health worries, and lacquer ware is impervious to humidity, heat, acids, and alkalis. It is a natural insulator, and remains perfectly preserved even when buried underground for ages. Few other art objects can compare.

As a liquid, lacquer must be spread onto some solid material. This solid material is called the base, and may be made of wood, bamboo, cloth, copper, paper, or other materials. In its original state the lacquer is highly viscous and must be thinned with camphor oil. It is then spread onto the base. After it dries, it is polished using moistened emery paper. Another coat of lacquer is applied and polished, and the process is repeated a dozen times or so. The lacquer can then be worked using a number of techniques, such as painting, carving, and the application of inlaid designs, before being set to dry in a dark place. Once this drying step is completed, the artisan puts a bit of vegetable oil on his fingers and spreads it evenly over the surface of the lacquer, then covers the piece with antler powder and uses his hands to wipe the surface dry. This step accents the luster of the lacquer finish and leaves the surface exceedingly smooth.

While most liquids dry as the result of water evaporation, lacquer ware dries in a very different way--by absorbing large quantities of oxygen. The resulting chemical reaction gradually turns the liquid-state lacquer into a solid. To make lacquer dry more quickly, artisans of old invented the "dark chamber," an airtight room where the temperature is optimally kept between 20 and 30 degrees Celsius and the humidity is maintained at 75-80%. Water is frequently splashed around the chamber, where it evaporates and gives off oxygen that combines with nitrogen contained in the lacquer. This chemical reaction naturally causes the lacquer to dry. Artisans still use this same method today.

Art pioneer

In the course of his lacquer research, Lai accidentally stumbled on a way to produce lacquered pottery, which had not been produced in centuries.

Lacquered pottery was first created during the Zhou dynasty (1121-249 B.C.), but the secret of its complex manufacture was eventually forgotten. While Lai was in Japan he pored over the ancient Records of Artisanry, pondering and experimenting continuously in an effort to resurrect the long lost technique. But for years he was frustrated.

Then, serendipity struck in 1986. While making a wood base, he mixed the thinner left over from the day before into his lacquer. Some was left over in the glass bowl afterwards, and it lay forgotten for a half year. When Lai next thought to use the bowl, he discovered that the chance mixture had solidified and adhered to the bowl. He couldn't get it to come off, and even a knife couldn't scratch it. Lai realized that if the stuff would adhere to glass, then it would do the same to pottery. The legendary lacquered pottery of old was thus reborn. He took the countless tricks and techniques of lacquer ware and used them all on lacquered pottery.

Apart from Lai, at that time there were only two or three old artisans in Japan who knew how to make lacquered pottery. Lai was invited in 1989 to display his work, including lacquered pottery, at the National Museum of History in Taipei. Ever keen to propagate interest in lacquer ware, Lai has always shared his know-how freely, and has now taught the technique of lacquered pottery to over 20 well-known potters, including Li Hsin-lung, Li Chun-lan, and Shih Chia-hsiang.

"In the Encyclopedia Britannica, lacquer is called Japanware and porcelain is called China," says Lai. "I'd like to see them referring to lacquered pottery some day as Taiwanware."

Lai opens a museum

But the lack of understanding and appreciation for lacquer ware, the agony of contact dermatitis, and the complexity of the production process (over 30 steps are involved) have conspired to hold in check the numbers of young artisans to whom the torch might be passed. Believing deeply that "tradition will carry us forward," Lai and his father (Lai Kao-shan, a lacquerware artisan in his own right) started offering classes out of their own home in 1986. Providing all the necessary funding and materials, they opened their doors to anyone interested in learning. The student roster has included artisans, teachers, and others. Over the course of more than a decade, the classes have yielded tremendous results, and in 2001 Lai was given a prestigious cultural award by the Council for Cultural Affairs in recognition of his cultural contributions.

To help the general public gain greater familiarity with lacquer ware, Lai and his father spent years calling on government agencies in search of support for the establishment of a lacquer-ware museum, but nothing ever came of it. So they decided to secure a permanent venue on their own dime and provide a mix of 3-D exhibits and photos to show visitors what their art involves, from cultivation of the lacquer trees, tapping and refining the sap, and the production process.

The Taiwan Lacquer Museum, funded by Lai and his father out of their own pockets, officially opened its doors on New Year's Day 2000. The museum charges no admission, and stands as a tribute to the two men's great dedication to traditional Taiwanese lacquer ware. Ask about the museum's funding, however, and one can sense the frustration in Lai's voice as he explains that all proceeds are from the sale of his lacquer ware. The economic doldrums of the past two years have dampened collectors' interest and put a major crimp in revenues. But he remains determined to keep the museum open.

In nearby Japan, South Korea, and mainland China lacquer ware is included in standard university curricula, and there are even lacquer-ware research institutes. In Taiwan, by contrast, it wasn't until 1998 that Da-Yeh University finally offered the country's first lacquer-ware courses in its Department of Plastic Arts. This development came ten years later than in neighboring nations. In 2002 the National Tainan College of the Arts hired Lai to teach lacquer-ware courses, and later that same year the Taichung County Culture Center also hired Lai to teach courses on lacquered pottery and painted pottery. The education system and government agencies have thus been slow to take up the task of promoting lacquer ware, but at least a first few steps have been taken.

The elaborate process of lacquer production means that anyone who would stick with it for long must possess a rare combination of patience, physical stamina, eye for detail, and lack of interest in fame or fortune. If Taiwan is to maintain a vibrant lacquer-ware culture, we'll need a lot more dedicated people like Lai Tsuo-ming.

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Lai Tsuo-ming has devoted his entire life to lacquer ware.

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Lai Tsuo-ming's lacquer ware is just like Lai himself--simple yet profound.

After years of frustration, Lai Tsuo-ming finally managed to revive the lost art of lacquered pottery. Two of his works are shown here.

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"Lacquer warrior" Lai Tsuo-ming shows a group of university students through a lacquer-ware works (above) and guides young children in having fun with lacquer (right).