Wedged at the base of a tall cliff on the pristine beach at Jintsun (
The people who lived on the beach are a group of mostly Aboriginal artists who collectively call themselves the Consciousness Tribe (
Inspired by the creative energy generated at the beach community, where the group made art and tried to revive and teach each other Aboriginal traditions, some of the artists have regrouped in the nearby village of Dulan (
PHOTO: MAX WOODWORTH, TAIPEI TIMES
"The Consciousness Tribe started as a short-term project that we all knew wouldn't last. We were sort of waiting to see our work get washed out to sea. But eventually some of us began to think that we should find ways to make it last beyond the first couple of months," said Siki, an Amis tribe member and artist from Dulan.
Most of the art created at Jintsun were sculptures made from driftwood that washed up onto the beach, so the artists saw it as fitting that the ocean would eventually take them back. The 2,000-ping sugar factory site, by contrast, was chosen because it would provide a fixed and protected location at which to exhibit and hopefully sell works.
The Dulan artists envision spaces for workshops, exhibition areas and a space for performing arts. They also plan to rip up the concrete courtyard of the factory complex to make green areas, pavilions and even a cafe that would offer a panoramic view of the ocean across the East Coast Highway that runs in front of the factory.
"We have lots of ideas about how to use the space. It will be open to tourists, but it will mainly be a place for the resident artists to begin a cultural and artistic interaction," said Shih Ying-yuan (
There are a number of hurdles, however, that the "tribe" will need to first overcome before the sugar factory becomes their base of operations. The site has been abandoned since 1990 and since then its three main buildings have fallen into a grave state of disrepair. Renovating the place to eventually open it to the public would be a huge and costly job.
Then, there's the factory site's owner Huang Tsan-hui (
"The contents of the plan sound great, but they've overlooked several of the practical details. If attention isn't paid to those details then the whole project will be in vain," Huang said.
The "details" are the exact costs of renovation and a clear view of who will manage the space.
"I'd like to see the project go ahead, but a lot of so-called artists villages never get off the ground because they lack strong management," Huang said. "We will need to take a cautious approach to the matter." Shih says the artists are willing to compromise and have even proposed applying for financial assistance from the county's cultural affairs bureau. This last suggestion is a major concession to Huang, because the artists harbor a deep-rooted distaste for any form of interaction with the government.
"Aborigines have often gotten the short stick when dealing with the government," Shih said, "so, we'd rather not turn to them." Even if the whole plan is abandoned, though, Siki said, some members of the group will continue to live at the factory and use it as an art space much as he and fellow Aborigine Talaluki do now with Huang's permission.
The two have erected tents and set up a makeshift kitchen in the cavernous storage room of the factory, where they do most of their carving and welding work and where the other artists congregate to work and discuss plans for the space.
Strewn about are chunks of driftwood hauled up from the beach, chainsaws, axes, chisels and dozens of completed works leaning against the wall and resting on the sawdust-covered concrete floor.
Occasionally a carload of tourists, drawn by the sculptures at the factory's gate, pokes their heads in to see some of the carvings, sculptures, totems and metal pieces that the artists make to earn their living. Some visitors are intrigued and linger for closer inspections, but most are put off by the shabby appearance of the site. If the group's plan pans out, Siki said, they'll have a more inviting space for visitors where the artists have a greater chance of selling their works. It's clear that with the factory's mountain backdrop and view of the ocean with Green Island on the horizon, the commercial potential for the site is enormous. Huang already runs a hostel in a primly restored administrative building on the factory's grounds and he says his enthusiasm in the artists' village at the site is based on practical business grounds.
For now, the artists persist with their work and hold on to their hope for the site. Looking through the obscurity of the space and watching the rain leak through the ceiling, Siki said "At the beach we were running on an ideal and it was a bit like vacation. But we need to make a living. This place seems like it could be perfect."
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