Driftwood artworks are found in many places in Taitung County, such as this installation by Amis-Kavalan artist Zu Num at the Taitung Railway Art Village. (Photo: June Tsai)
By June Tsai
While driftwood would seem to be natural material for making art, in Taiwan it is part of a complex social web involving indigenous peoples, environmental protection and government sponsorship of art.
Driftwood originates in the indigenous peoples’ “sacred mountains,” and they have traditionally used it for firewood, building and carving. For over a decade a dedicated group of aboriginal artists based in the eastern counties of Hualien and Taitung have been making new forms of driftwood art.
With typhoons battering Taiwan every year, driftwood is seldom in short supply. Yet the wood also implies the disasters the storms often bring. “A sincere artist is very sensitive to the environment and nature, and no less to their destruction,” said Amis sculptor Siki Sufen while carving a screaming face at Taitung City’s Seaside Park Nov. 28.
“Through driftwood, nature is telling us of its course, and in carving the wood into art I respond to a calling that I feel from the material,” he said. The wooden mask with a hollow mouth is a child’s face shouting, mutely, “What On Earth Happened?”—the name that Siki gave to his piece.
More artists were working alongside him in the park for the 2009 International East Coast Driftwood Art Exhibition. In August, the apocalyptic Typhoon Morakot washed away mountainsides and brought down a huge amount of wood. In the aftermath, an estimated 980,000 tons of driftwood were produced, clogging harbors and jamming up waters off great stretches of the island’s coasts. In eastern Taitung County alone, 190,000 tons of trunks and stumps drifted back to shore.
Upon the urging of local aboriginal artists and also in a bid to highlight the connection between driftwood and the cultural characteristics of the region, the Taitung Forest Bureau District Office and Taitung Living Art Center co-organized the driftwood art exhibition. The forest office offered driftwood such as camphor and cypress fit for sculpting. Artists from Taiwan, South Korea and Japan were invited to work on the logs at the seaside park and demonstrate their creative processes to the public between Nov. 21 and 29.
On the fifth day of the exhibition, however, a surprising act by participating aboriginal sculptors threw a hitch into what had seemed to be a smooth-running show. But it also highlighted the situation of Taiwan’s aboriginal artists. Seven out of the 10 aboriginal artists went “on strike” to protest what they called discriminatory treatment and the exhibition’s digression from its expressed purpose.
“The original idea was to have people reflect on our relationship with nature, particularly in the wake of Morakot, through activities centering on driftwood art,” said Nikar Fusai, spokesperson for Dulan Sugar Factory. The factory-turned artist village in Dulan Village, Taitung, had played a major role in making the festival possible.
The reflective intent was somehow shoved to the background as the exhibition evolved into a festival-like event, she complained, with irrelevant song and dance programs enlisted to embellish the weeklong activity.
Another reason for the strike concerns an oral contract in which organizers offered each of the aboriginal artists NT$60,000 (US$1,866) in return for their finished works, carved from the driftwood now listed as national property. On the other hand, the organizers promised to purchase work done at the same time by Wu A-sun, one of Taiwan’s foremost artists, for a sum of NT$2 million. The discrepancy was not revealed until after the event began.
“The way organizers engaged the aboriginal artists seems discriminatory, at least viewed from the outside,” Yang Meng-che, assistant professor of comparative culture at National Taipei University of Education, remarked.
“These problems are essential here, that the art world is relentless and celebrity counts,” Yang said. Yet without aboriginal artists working here, the driftwood art scene would not have been what it is today and the show would be meaningless, he said.
“The organizers owe these long-time driftwood artists fair treatment and an apology. After all, they are all excellent and experienced artists,” he said.
One example is Rahic Talif, one of the artists on strike and a regional pioneer in driftwood art. In his struggle to become what he is today, Rahic had to first hide his aboriginal identity. Using a Han Chinese name, he became successful in the design world of urban Taipei for his interior and commercial design in his 20s. Later he abandoned that life out of a feeling of commitment to his tribal community. When he decided to return home to work as an artist, Rahic, now 47, had to persuade people that for his art to be good it did not have to be noticeably “indigenous.”
Rahic’s artworks have won critical acclaim in Taiwan for their independent genius catering neither to stereotypes about aboriginal art nor to the typical contemporary art taste that highlights form over spirit. When he withdrew from the driftwood art show, he was demanding respect for art.
“The deal organizers made with local artists is no different from employment subsidies for us,” he said in a telephone interview.
On the other hand, three aboriginal artists remained at the scene, including Siki. The sculptor, singer and theater director insisted on living up to his end of the deal, though he is not happy with the situation. “I might try to express my anger in the artwork, ” he said.
Paiwan artist Kulele, who has used materials ranging from wood to steel in his career, came back to work after three days on strike.
“This is a broken stump that I got,” he said, not without disappointment. “But I need to complete the carving; otherwise, I feel I owe something to this piece of wood,” he said while trying to bring a flower out of the dead wood.
Kulele’s piece is called “Five Kinds of Thirst.” Typhoon victims are in urgent need of five things, the sculptor explained: food, clothes, houses, transportation and spiritual nourishment.
Yang praised the flexibility of these artists and their strategies for maintaining their dignity in the face of prejudice. Without the strike, the insensitive and unjust treatment they were subjected to would have remained unnoticed.
“The unfinished pieces should be left as they are on site as a reminder so that the error can be avoided next time,” he said. “After all, mistakes are allowed in art as long as they serve to improve art and the conditions in which it is made.”
Taitung Living Art Center Director Lin Yung-fa, a painter himself, admitted administrative negligence. “There will be more cooperation with local artists in the future as the government ponders how to deal with the several square kilometers of driftwood piles,” he said. “The logs are waiting to be enlivened by the artists’ hands.”
Rahic and other sculptors who withdrew plan to use their skills in a different way, one that they believe better serves the cause of the exhibition: to help rebuild tribal villages destroyed during the typhoon, particularly south of the county’s Taimali River. Their first stop is Jialan Village.
“Many villagers still do not have even temporary housing. Homes, traditional meeting halls and furniture, to name the major things, all need constructing and we will do our best,” he said. “The important point is to return the driftwood to those who share its territorial origin.”
This article is published at online Taiwan Today Dec. 18, 2009.
While driftwood would seem to be natural material for making art, in Taiwan it is part of a complex social web involving indigenous peoples, environmental protection and government sponsorship of art.
Driftwood originates in the indigenous peoples’ “sacred mountains,” and they have traditionally used it for firewood, building and carving. For over a decade a dedicated group of aboriginal artists based in the eastern counties of Hualien and Taitung have been making new forms of driftwood art.
With typhoons battering Taiwan every year, driftwood is seldom in short supply. Yet the wood also implies the disasters the storms often bring. “A sincere artist is very sensitive to the environment and nature, and no less to their destruction,” said Amis sculptor Siki Sufen while carving a screaming face at Taitung City’s Seaside Park Nov. 28.
“Through driftwood, nature is telling us of its course, and in carving the wood into art I respond to a calling that I feel from the material,” he said. The wooden mask with a hollow mouth is a child’s face shouting, mutely, “What On Earth Happened?”—the name that Siki gave to his piece.
More artists were working alongside him in the park for the 2009 International East Coast Driftwood Art Exhibition. In August, the apocalyptic Typhoon Morakot washed away mountainsides and brought down a huge amount of wood. In the aftermath, an estimated 980,000 tons of driftwood were produced, clogging harbors and jamming up waters off great stretches of the island’s coasts. In eastern Taitung County alone, 190,000 tons of trunks and stumps drifted back to shore.
Upon the urging of local aboriginal artists and also in a bid to highlight the connection between driftwood and the cultural characteristics of the region, the Taitung Forest Bureau District Office and Taitung Living Art Center co-organized the driftwood art exhibition. The forest office offered driftwood such as camphor and cypress fit for sculpting. Artists from Taiwan, South Korea and Japan were invited to work on the logs at the seaside park and demonstrate their creative processes to the public between Nov. 21 and 29.
On the fifth day of the exhibition, however, a surprising act by participating aboriginal sculptors threw a hitch into what had seemed to be a smooth-running show. But it also highlighted the situation of Taiwan’s aboriginal artists. Seven out of the 10 aboriginal artists went “on strike” to protest what they called discriminatory treatment and the exhibition’s digression from its expressed purpose.
“The original idea was to have people reflect on our relationship with nature, particularly in the wake of Morakot, through activities centering on driftwood art,” said Nikar Fusai, spokesperson for Dulan Sugar Factory. The factory-turned artist village in Dulan Village, Taitung, had played a major role in making the festival possible.
The reflective intent was somehow shoved to the background as the exhibition evolved into a festival-like event, she complained, with irrelevant song and dance programs enlisted to embellish the weeklong activity.
Another reason for the strike concerns an oral contract in which organizers offered each of the aboriginal artists NT$60,000 (US$1,866) in return for their finished works, carved from the driftwood now listed as national property. On the other hand, the organizers promised to purchase work done at the same time by Wu A-sun, one of Taiwan’s foremost artists, for a sum of NT$2 million. The discrepancy was not revealed until after the event began.
“The way organizers engaged the aboriginal artists seems discriminatory, at least viewed from the outside,” Yang Meng-che, assistant professor of comparative culture at National Taipei University of Education, remarked.
“These problems are essential here, that the art world is relentless and celebrity counts,” Yang said. Yet without aboriginal artists working here, the driftwood art scene would not have been what it is today and the show would be meaningless, he said.
“The organizers owe these long-time driftwood artists fair treatment and an apology. After all, they are all excellent and experienced artists,” he said.
One example is Rahic Talif, one of the artists on strike and a regional pioneer in driftwood art. In his struggle to become what he is today, Rahic had to first hide his aboriginal identity. Using a Han Chinese name, he became successful in the design world of urban Taipei for his interior and commercial design in his 20s. Later he abandoned that life out of a feeling of commitment to his tribal community. When he decided to return home to work as an artist, Rahic, now 47, had to persuade people that for his art to be good it did not have to be noticeably “indigenous.”
Rahic’s artworks have won critical acclaim in Taiwan for their independent genius catering neither to stereotypes about aboriginal art nor to the typical contemporary art taste that highlights form over spirit. When he withdrew from the driftwood art show, he was demanding respect for art.
“The deal organizers made with local artists is no different from employment subsidies for us,” he said in a telephone interview.
On the other hand, three aboriginal artists remained at the scene, including Siki. The sculptor, singer and theater director insisted on living up to his end of the deal, though he is not happy with the situation. “I might try to express my anger in the artwork, ” he said.
Paiwan artist Kulele, who has used materials ranging from wood to steel in his career, came back to work after three days on strike.
“This is a broken stump that I got,” he said, not without disappointment. “But I need to complete the carving; otherwise, I feel I owe something to this piece of wood,” he said while trying to bring a flower out of the dead wood.
Kulele’s piece is called “Five Kinds of Thirst.” Typhoon victims are in urgent need of five things, the sculptor explained: food, clothes, houses, transportation and spiritual nourishment.
Yang praised the flexibility of these artists and their strategies for maintaining their dignity in the face of prejudice. Without the strike, the insensitive and unjust treatment they were subjected to would have remained unnoticed.
“The unfinished pieces should be left as they are on site as a reminder so that the error can be avoided next time,” he said. “After all, mistakes are allowed in art as long as they serve to improve art and the conditions in which it is made.”
Taitung Living Art Center Director Lin Yung-fa, a painter himself, admitted administrative negligence. “There will be more cooperation with local artists in the future as the government ponders how to deal with the several square kilometers of driftwood piles,” he said. “The logs are waiting to be enlivened by the artists’ hands.”
Rahic and other sculptors who withdrew plan to use their skills in a different way, one that they believe better serves the cause of the exhibition: to help rebuild tribal villages destroyed during the typhoon, particularly south of the county’s Taimali River. Their first stop is Jialan Village.
“Many villagers still do not have even temporary housing. Homes, traditional meeting halls and furniture, to name the major things, all need constructing and we will do our best,” he said. “The important point is to return the driftwood to those who share its territorial origin.”
This article is published at online Taiwan Today Dec. 18, 2009.
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