Tue, Jul 25, 2000 page2

• Memories of Taiwan's indigo past

  Researchers are opening a forgotten element for the island's industrial and cultural heritage

  • By Chuang Chi-Ting / STAFF REPORTER
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  Can we, who dress in American, Japanese and European fashions, identify ourselves with our land? Chances are we live as though we were aliens without any memories of our ancestors, who once breathed the same air here.

  So true is this that we can barely picture how the island was when filled with 2.5 million of our forefathers dressed in indigo shirts.

  Signs reading "Upper Jing-shuei," "Mid Jing-shuei," and "Lower Jing-shuei" catch the eye of wanderers in Yangmingshan National Park.

  

  Traditional indigo-dyed clothing, commonly worn in Taiwan in days gone by. These shirts are part of an exhibition on old Taiwanese indigo-dyed shirts currently being held at the Yangmingshan National Park visitors center.

  PHOTO: CHEN CHENG-CHANG, TAIPEI TIMES

  Residents, however, have hardly any understanding of these Chinese words.

  In fact, "Jing-shuei" is the term for the three-meter-long stone tanks still found abandoned alongside streams in the mountainous area of Yangmingshan. These tanks, most of which were severely damaged by farmers who later sought space to grow bamboo and oranges, were indispensable for their grandparents who lived by traditional indigo dyeing until a century ago.

  Those engaged in the trade in Yangmingshan built these gigantic tanks along the water specifically to facilitate the preservation of fresh indigo plants leaves.

  

  A volunteer guide at Yangmingshan National Park and doctor of Chinese medicine Tsai Mu-lin, inspecting indigo leaves (Strobilanthes cusia Kuntze) that have been left to steep in the first part of the dye-making process.

  PHOTO: CHEN CHENG-CHANG, TAIPEI TIMES

  Dyeing mills

  Taiwan's traditional indigo dyeing was primarily applied to the making of clothes. The natural dyes were mostly derived from plants grown in humid mountains, such as Strobilanthes cusia Kuntze (大菁) in Yangmingshan, but became dependent on imported ones later. Its prosperity peaked in the mid-19th century and started declining towards the end of the 19th century.

  In Sanshia Village, Taipei County, famous for its preservation of local historic sights, signboards form the last remaining trace of the original collection of dyeing mills.

  Before the decay of the industry, two thirds of the 60 stores on one street in Sanshia were engaged in natural indigo dyeing.

  Liao Fu-ben (廖富本), the 90-year-old son of an indigo dyeing mill owner, recalled that the front of their house served as a shop selling indigo dye clothes made at the back of the house.

  "I remember the rumble of boiled water in the big pots where the workers cooked white clothes prior to the dyeing to avoid the fading of blueness afterwards," Liao said.

  As dyeing equipment slightly varied from area to area, Liao said the room was occupied with ten indigo baskets, functioning like tanks, on the two sides of the aisle. Liao said the length of each basket was about 1.5m, while the depth was approximately two meters. "The workers had to stand on stools to reach the dye inside," Liao said.

  Popular color

  Lee Jui-tsang, (李瑞宗), an associate professor from Tsu-Chi College of Medicine and Humanities, who has been researching the subject for four years, noted that indigo was a hugely popular color in South-eastern China and Taiwan -- where its popularity enabled the dyeing industry to thrive -- partly because stains would show less on clothes of dark blue, while most of the population was engaged in trades involving arduous physical work.

  In the meantime, at the threshold of the last century, the traditional industry began to shrink. Just as farmers today seek perpetually to maximize their profits by engaging in the most lucrative forms of farming, those who had originally operated indigo-dye plants, as in Yangmingshan, suddenly switched to the cultivation of tea instead. As a result, the industry faced crisis.

  Otherwise, the evolution of Taiwan's natural indigo-dyeing industry, in fact, corresponded to the general history of the island. No sooner did the decrease of the indigo dying on the island begin than Germany's development of chemical dyes infiltrated the local market. As the application of chemical dyes reduced labor costs, the use of indigo hardly stood a chance.

  Japanese colonial rule of Taiwan was also influential. The Taiwanese picked up the European and Japanese styles and stopped wearing indigo-dyed outfits. Only Hakka people, known for their respect for the "virtue of thrift," preserved the traditional pattern. Likewise, the planting of indigoes was only conserved in less accessible Hakka towns in the mountains by a handful of Hakka farmers, because poor transportation prevented them from acquiring imported dyes.

  World War

  As soon as World War I erupted, however, most men were conscripted by the Japanese armed forces while women were restricted to service in agriculture that met Japanese war needs only.

  The industry of natural indigo-dyeing was killed off.

  Lee said that the industry somewhat revived for a brief period, while the export of synthetic dyes from Germany was blocked during the war. After the war, however, with the revitalization of trade, the industry completely evaporated from the island.

  According to field research by Lee and his wife Chen Ling-siang (陳玲香), all the dye mills in Taiwan have been given over to other uses.

  "Mill buildings that haven't changed much in terms of their exterior barely preserved traces of the previous intensive labor work," Lee said.

  Faded glory

  Similarly, those once glorious mills, filled with the unique smell of indigo dyes, have become nothing more than housing units or grocery stores for tourists.

  "It is so sad that we couldn't even find anybody who was involved in the process to produce indigo-dyed clothes," Lee said.

  He said that because the industry had fallen apart over many decades, all the old indigo hands had passed away.

  Even Chen, who assisted her husband with the research and started a workshop in natural indigo-dyeing, says that identifying the meaning to her of indigo-dyeing was something of a personal struggle.

  "I harbored a lot of doubt about the meaning of `locality' while the education and environment in which I was brought up stressed Western culture," Chen said.

  "To search into our history is to seek genuine self-identification," said Tsai Bai-lu (蔡佰祿), managing director of Yangmingshan National Park.

  For this reason, the National Park has devised a program consisting of an exhibition, demonstrations and a workshop to introduce natural indigo-dyeing to the public from July through August. President Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) briefly visited the program on Wednesday last week.

  Lee, who agreed with Tsai's view about the relationship between local history and self-identification, further stated that Japan could serve as an excellent model for Taiwan in terms of making up what it has lost of this part of its history.

  Japan's own natural indigo-dyeing industry had also encountered crisis but is now sustained by tourism, he said. The fineness of hand-made art and crafts as well as the extraordinary delicacy in color of natural dyes make the products especially popular among visitors.
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