May 30 to June 5
Nearly four decades before “Made in Taiwan” became a global phenomenon in the 1970s, renowned artist Yen Shui-long (顏水龍) launched a one-man mission to bring local products to the international stage.
“I want the world to see how useful Taiwanese products are, and overturn the current situation where the notion of ‘Made in Taiwan’ is frowned upon,” Yen wrote in a 1942 op-ed in the Public Opinion Press (公論報).
Photo courtesy of Taiwan Historica
Not only did he feel that local crafts were overlooked by the Japanese authorities, he wanted to bring the arts closer to the people through a “crafts revival” of everyday objects.
“I hope to awaken the average person’s appreciation toward these crafts, and revolutionize their production strategies. If in the near future, Taiwan’s products can truly shine in the global market, I will be more than pleased!”
However, his peers in the fine art world scoffed at the idea, and while the authorities were somewhat receptive, Yen’s plans to set up a crafts school and center were cut short by World War II. He continued the effort to, again, lukewarm support under the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT), and in a 1978 article he lamented that most people still focused on material wealth and ignored taste and quality of life — much less appreciate the arts.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Yen’s efforts were not for naught, however, as he published several valuable compendiums and inspired numerous students to carry on his mantle. Today, he’s honored as the “father of modern Taiwanese crafts,” and is noted for his particular interest in indigenous artistry.
Yen was also the first Taiwanese to work as an commercial illustrator, creating numerous pieces for Japan’s Smoca tooth powder company between 1933 and 1940, which can be seen in the book, Taiwan’s First Ad Man: Yen Shui-long (台灣第一廣告人:顏水龍).
FIRST AD DESIGNER
Photo: Chen Feng-li, Taipei Times
Although Yen was born to a well-off family on June 5, 1903 in Tainan’s Hongmaocuo Village (紅毛厝), he had a tragic upbringing. His parents died when he was young, and with his grandmother’s death and elder sister’s marriage when he was 13, he was left to raise himself alone.
Yen started training to become a schoolteacher that same year, and at age 15 he was hired as the youngest instructor at the public elementary school in today’s Siaying (下營) District. A Japanese colleague noticed Yen’s talent for art, and encouraged him to study in Japan. Yen enrolled in a Japanese high school in 1920 and was accepted to the Tokyo School of Fine Arts two years later, working side jobs to make ends meet.
His talent began to shine after he entered the school’s master’s program in 1927. With other notable Taiwanese classmates such as Chen Cheng-po (陳澄波) and Liao Chi-chun (廖繼春), Yen formed the Akajima Art Group (赤島社) and was selected to exhibitions in Japan and Taiwan. With financial support from Lin Hsien-tang (林獻堂) of the Wufeng Lin Family (霧峰林家), Yen was able to further his talent in Paris, where two of his paintings were selected to the prestigious Salon d’Automne in 1931
Photo: Chang Hsuan-che, Taipei Times
A year later, Yen was forced to return home due to a liver ailment that depleted his funds. Unable to find meaningful work in Taiwan, he signed on as an commercial artist for a wine company in Osaka. He was soon recruited by Smoca’s head of advertising, Toshiro Kataoka, who one day asked his opinion on ad design while they were having coffee. Yen was shocked as Smoca employed several well-known Japanese illustrators.
“I nervously told them that I felt that newspaper layouts were usually very complex, therefore it was imperative to leave white space in the advertisements,” he writes. “The white space should contain just a small image with simple lines and a few sentences, along with a consistent Smoca logo.”
Smoca brought him on a few months later.
WARTIME ENDEAVOR
Unlike his peers, Yen wasn’t as interested in making a name as a painter — he only held five exhibitions over a career spanning 76 years.
He recalls in the 1978 article telling a reporter during a show in the 1930s that most Taiwanese lack an understanding of art, to which the reporter responded: “Before you want people to understand something, you must enlighten them first.”
This exchange inspired him to use his talent to better people’s lives, and during his time in Japan he began thinking of how to systemize the production of Taiwan’s folk crafts and market them to the world. Not only would the endeavor help preserve these traditions in a modernizing society, it could improve the standard of living for ordinary Taiwanese and also enrich their aesthetic appreciation. He began by traveling in Japan and observing craft schools and workshops, hoping to replicate their success in Taiwan.
Starting around 1936, Yen made frequent trips home despite the war heating up, traversing the countryside and documenting the various everyday crafts he encountered.
With no local support and minimal funding from the government, Yen set up a rush weaving cooperative that enjoyed moderate success, exporting bags, sandals and doormats to Japan and China. He also established a bamboo working studio, but it was destroyed in an air raid. In 1943, he accompanied Japanese folk craft movement pioneer Soetsu Yanagi on a tour of Taiwan, and was glad that Yanagi approved of the works they saw.
PUBLIC ARTIST
Yen continued his efforts after the war, but he was again faced with a lack of resources. Although the authorities hired him as a handicrafts consultant, they didn’t give him enough money to keep his workshop and research center in Nantou afloat, and it closed in 1958.
However, through the center and teaching at various schools, he trained numerous future craftworkers and experts, establishing a solid foundation for the industry’s future.
During the 1960s, Yen was involved in numerous public art and urban beautification projects in Taipei, including Jiantan Park, the outdoor spaces around Zhongshan Hall and Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall and the entrance to Ziqiang Tunnel (自強隧道). He retired at the age of 84, but continued to travel and make art until his death in 1997.
Perhaps the project that exemplified his ideals was the Taiyang Tang Bakery (太陽堂) in Taichung, which opened in 1964. He handled all the aesthetics including the architecture, interior design and product packaging, incorporating traditional crafts and motifs and creating a large sunflower mosaic as the store’s “crown jewel.”
Unfortunately, government censors inexplicably decided that the sun and sunflower symbols referenced the Chinese communist anthem The East is Red (東方紅), and the mosaic was covered up until after the lifting of martial law in 1987.
Taiwan in Time, a column about Taiwan’s history that is published every Sunday, spotlights important or interesting events around the nation that either have anniversaries this week or are tied to current events.
June 2 to June 8 Taiwan’s woodcutters believe that if they see even one speck of red in their cooked rice, no matter how small, an accident is going to happen. Peng Chin-tian (彭錦田) swears that this has proven to be true at every stop during his decades-long career in the logging industry. Along with mining, timber harvesting was once considered the most dangerous profession in Taiwan. Not only were mishaps common during all stages of processing, it was difficult to transport the injured to get medical treatment. Many died during the arduous journey. Peng recounts some of his accidents in
“Why does Taiwan identity decline?”a group of researchers lead by University of Nevada political scientist Austin Wang (王宏恩) asked in a recent paper. After all, it is not difficult to explain the rise in Taiwanese identity after the early 1990s. But no model predicted its decline during the 2016-2018 period, they say. After testing various alternative explanations, Wang et al argue that the fall-off in Taiwanese identity during that period is related to voter hedging based on the performance of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP). Since the DPP is perceived as the guardian of Taiwan identity, when it performs well,
A short walk beneath the dense Amazon canopy, the forest abruptly opens up. Fallen logs are rotting, the trees grow sparser and the temperature rises in places sunlight hits the ground. This is what 24 years of severe drought looks like in the world’s largest rainforest. But this patch of degraded forest, about the size of a soccer field, is a scientific experiment. Launched in 2000 by Brazilian and British scientists, Esecaflor — short for “Forest Drought Study Project” in Portuguese — set out to simulate a future in which the changing climate could deplete the Amazon of rainfall. It is
The Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) on May 18 held a rally in Taichung to mark the anniversary of President William Lai’s (賴清德) inauguration on May 20. The title of the rally could be loosely translated to “May 18 recall fraudulent goods” (518退貨ㄌㄨㄚˋ！). Unlike in English, where the terms are the same, “recall” (退貨) in this context refers to product recalls due to damaged, defective or fraudulent merchandise, not the political recalls (罷免) currently dominating the headlines. I attended the rally to determine if the impression was correct that the TPP under party Chairman Huang Kuo-Chang (黃國昌) had little of a
RSS