Documenting rituals

For as long as Chen Yi-hong can remember, the Wangye Welcoming Ceremony has been a major event in his hometown of Donggang, and everyone there has a role to play on this festive occasion. Chen’s father, for example, was one of Wangye’s palanquin bearers, and a conical hat symbolizing this role has been passed down in his family from generation to generation. “I’m a disciple of Donggang’s Wangye, and always will be,” Chen says proudly.

Chen tells us with a smile that even as a child he was already used to big events. He mentions the “In­vita­tion upon the Sea” ritual that starts off the Wangye Welcoming Ceremony: it’s mind-boggling to witness that moment when a hundred or more parading groups, stretching along the shore for several kilo­meters, dash into the sea one after another. Moreover, the Thirteen Golden-Armored Generals—another unique element of Donggang’s religious culture—have gorgeous patterns of animals, plants, and birds painted on their faces. Chen has long thought that these colorful scenes of Taiwanese culture will amaze people of other nations, and he wants to record them through photography.

“For me, taking photos of these rituals is a matter of course, just like eating and drinking,” Chen says.

For Chen, religious rites are where art and aesthetics coalesce. Through photography, he wants to promote wider access to Taiwan’s vibrant local culture.

This photo shows a parade during the Wangye Welcoming Ceremony in Donggang, with boys impersonating the deities of the Five Poisons while members of the public kneel on the ground to welcome them.

When Chen first went on the Dajia Mazu Pilgrimage in 1990, he took this black-and-white photo of a farm vehicle and a police car leading the way for the goddess’s palanquin.

A utopian pilgrimage

Having spent three decades documenting Taiwan’s religious ceremonies, last year Chen published a book titled Chaosheng Taiwan (“Taiwan Pilgrimage”) that contains more than 300 photographs. These original images bear witness to two major strands of the island’s religious culture: the worship of Mazu and Wangye. While Wangye belief is rooted in Chen’s hometown, it was only in 1990 that Chen first got involved in Mazu worship. Led by Li Kun Shan, his instructor in the photo­graphy club at university, Chen took part in the Dajia Mazu Pilgrimage for the first time that year.

His camera loaded with his favorite black-and-white film, Chen recorded whatever caught his eye: myriad pilgrims arriving to see Mazu’s palanquin being lifted at the beginning of the procession, believers setting up incense altars outside their houses along the route, and the agricultural vehicles that were leading the way for the goddess and her entourage. Chen even took photos of parade performers who had taken off their giant costumes to take a snooze by the palanquin.

Along the way, members of the public generously provided sustenance and hospitality. There were old ladies who stuffed food into Chen’s rucksack in case he got hungry, although he was a complete stranger. When he was tired, he could sleep in a pilgrim hostel, in the back of a van or lorry, or even just on a mat under the eaves of a house. “I slept by the roadside with my camera on me, and I wasn’t worried about being robbed.” For Chen, who was a sociology under­graduate, this felt like a veritable utopia.

Unpredictability

After that, Chen went on the Dajia pilgrimage again several times, and in 2006, while working as a photo­grapher for theater director Wang Rong-yu, he began to get involved in Mazu worship at Baishatun as well.

For the Baishatun pilgrimage, only the departure and return dates and the date of the “fire separation” ceremony are known in advance. When and where the procession stops to rest or to stay overnight are revealed to the palanquin bearers by Mazu during the procession. The pilgrims can be required to complete the circuitous 200-kilometer journey from Gongtian Temple at Baishatun in Tongxiao, Miaoli County, to Chaotian Temple in Beigang, Yunlin County, within just 36 hours, at breakneck speed. This unpredictability recommends the pilgrimage to many theater workers, who regard it as a training opportunity.

Chen Yi-hong was interested to know what this training opportunity held in store for him, and he also wanted to grasp the invisible, deeply comforting power of religion itself. Just as photographer Albert J. L. Huang told him, “The answer is there—you have to go and see for yourself.”

Mazu mounting her palanquin

Since that first experience, Chen has photographed the Baishatun pilgrimage year after year. The exact route of the pilgrimage being unpredictable, he has seen Mazu stopping in various places—houses, super­markets, factories, and so on—and even visiting patients in hospital. In order to document the processions, Chen has run across the entire length (1939 meters) of Xiluo Bridge with his heavy photographic equipment. He has also stationed himself in a field at 5 a.m., waiting two or three hours to capture the moment when Mazu passed by the verdant paddy field, with firecrackers welcoming her along the way.

One year, after photographing Mazu mounting her palanquin, Chen went past a house, and despite it being in the early hours, caught sight of the form­ally dressed owner praying devoutly to the family’s own Mazu statue. That peaceful but powerful scene planted an idea in Chen’s mind: he would take a series of ­photos showing ordinary houses around the time of the procession’s departure.

As Chen tells us, when it comes to the pilgrimage, most people think only of the statue of Mazu and her palanquin, but perhaps just five percent of Baishatun residents actually join the entourage. However, the rest of them, rather than remaining in bed, worship Mazu at home at the same time. Their hearts are all with the goddess. “This, after all, is Baishatun’s local belief; it’s what gave rise to the pilgrimage itself.”

Many people come to see Baishatun’s Mazu being taken from her shrine and lifted into her palanquin.

One year, after the pilgrims had set off, Chen was moved by scenes of local residents praying to Mazu in their own homes. This experience inspired his series of photos showing images of the town around the departure of the procession.

Baishatun’s Mazu inspecting a water purification plant. By contrasting the cold colors of metal with the warm hues of the procession, Chen wishes to highlight the uplifting power of the goddess’s blessings.

The Second Mazu Procession

The day after the return of Baishatun’s Mazu, locals celebrate another grand occasion: the Second Mazu Procession, featuring the Black-Faced Mazu of Gongtian Temple and the Mazu of the Mountainside from Miaoli’s Houlong, the latter having also just returned from the pilgrimage to Beigang. These and other ­deities traverse every country road in Baishatun, crossing hills and fields, to spread the blessings received during the first procession. This, Chen observes, is what gives meaning to the Baishatun Mazu Pilgrimage.

Chen has taken part in the Second Mazu Procession for many years. He had a local friend in the Neidao area of Tongxiao whom he called Neidao Granny. He first met the old lady in 2015 while she was joyously welcoming the procession in front of her historic courtyard house. Chen took a photo of the beautifully attired woman, and for five years afterwards, he came back annually on this festive day to take more pictures of her. But when he returned once more to this familiar courtyard house in 2020, the old lady was nowhere to be seen. The neighbors told him she had passed away the previous week. Chen was saddened by the imperman­ence of life. Yet even though Granny is no longer with us, he is determined to carry on revisiting that place. “Whenever I join the Second Mazu Procession I still go there, waiting there with Granny as before,” says Chen resolutely.

The nature of religion

Chen, who moves fast, is nicknamed “Lightning” by his fellow photographers. One year, while photo­graph­ing the Second Mazu Procession, he got a cramp in one leg and could only lie flat on the ground and wait for it to wear off. To his chagrin, the procession gradually vanished into the distance. Not long afterwards, he saw the Third Prince’s palanquin returning. In a lane to his left he spotted an old lady in a wheelchair, and instinct told him that he should dash over. Sure enough, the palanquin bearers, who had been following a straight route, ran diagonally toward the lady to give her Nezha’s blessings. Chen couldn’t hold back his tears as he took photos of the lady interacting with the Third Prince.

At that moment, Chen realized this: “Prim­eval folk religion does not enshrine its deities in unapproachable holy places; rather, those ­deities come into the world to be with the people, to suffer with the people. They’re always there when the people need them most. For me, this is why believers hold their gods in such high esteem, and why folk religion is impreg­nable,” Chen says.

Asked whether he has plans for another book, Chen says his next project will focus on the smaller islands around Taiwan—especially Penghu, Kinmen, Matsu, and Xiaoliuqiu—because folk religion in these places has retained a wild vitality that never ceases to astonish him. For Chen Yi-hong, the publication of Chao­sheng Taiwan does not represent the end of his pilgrim­ages, but a new beginning.

During the Second Mazu Procession in Baishatun, Chen follows the deities as they visit remote rural lanes to give blessings to the locals. Even if they are ill, residents wait for them outside their houses, their piety expressing the true meaning of folk belief. In this photo the local Wangye, who joins Mazu in the procession, blesses Chen’s old friend “Neidao Granny.”

Mazu’s blessings illuminate every corner of the world and embrace all believers, giving them the courage to carry on.