Taiwan Today

Appreciation of a centuries-old piece of Chinese calligraphy in a venue such as the National Palace Museum (NPM) in Taipei usually comes down to a matter of individual taste. Some people admire the calligrapher’s skill and style, while others look at the use of space, the history of the work or perhaps the artist’s personal background. Wang Kuo-tsai (王國財) has a passion for calligraphy and has been practicing it for decades. He is a bit different from the ordinary museum visitor, however, in that his passion is just as strong—if not stronger—for the paper on which the ink is applied. “Even under a controlled environment, run-of-the-mill paper, on average, deteriorates after a few decades,” he says. “We can appreciate these ancient works today because they were written on paper of the best quality.”

Born in 1956 on the outlying island of Matsu, Wang is that rare paper expert who is well-versed in both theory and practice. He first came into contact with papermaking while majoring in forestry at National Chung Hsing University (NCHU) in Taichung City, central Taiwan. He studied the principles of making paper by hand from now-retired NCHU forestry professor Chang Feng-jyi (張豐吉), who had developed a process to make xuan paper, which is often used by painters and calligraphers, from pineapple leaves. After graduating, Wang began working at the Wood Cellulose Division of the Taiwan Forestry Research Institute (TFRI) in Taipei City. He started his unusual career in paper research at the TFRI’s then newly established Handmade Paper Science Laboratory. At the same time, he began graduate studies in forestry at National Taiwan University in Taipei City.

Handmade Convert

Shyu Jiann-gwo (徐健國) currently runs the Handmade Paper Science Laboratory, and says that it is the only government organization that conducts research on handmade paper and its applications. “Handmade paper has largely been replaced by machine-made products, but there are times when machine-made paper just doesn’t work,” he says. Practitioners of ink painting and Chinese calligraphy, for example, have high expectations for the paper they use. One type of quality handmade paper, however, does not suit every need. “Papers made from different formulas respond differently to ink, so individual artists have their own paper preferences based on their styles and skills,” Shyu says. “However, finding the ideal paper has become more and more difficult with the handmade paper industry now in decline.”

Wang had originally been interested in machine-made paper, which is the mainstay of modern paper production, until a casual conversation with a friend set him on another course. “My friend was complaining that he couldn’t find good handmade paper in Taiwan, and that the ancient methods of papermaking had been lost,” Wang says. It was not long after, by chance, that the TFRI acquired a set of tools for making paper by hand. This was in 1984, and Wang has diligently and persistently pursued the craft ever since. Even since his retirement from the TFRI in 2010, his passion for crafting and promoting handmade paper has not waned.

The paper master regretfully notes that many types of high-end paper used throughout Chinese history now exist in name only. For example, the craft of making liusha (flowing sand) paper, which has a multi-colored marbled appearance of swirling cloud patterns and running water, had disappeared from China by the end of the Song dynasty (960–1279). Liusha paper is still being made in Europe, where people believe it originated in Japan, which actually learned the technique from China. Fortunately, these paper-making methods have changed very little since ancient times, and certain types of paper and the techniques for making them have been described and documented. In fact, Song scholar Su Yijian (蘇易簡, 958–996) outlined the technique for making liusha paper in a compilation that he edited titled The Four Treasures of the Study, which details the importance of brushes, ink, ink stones and paper for calligraphers and painters.

Su’s book relates how craftsmen would apply color to a flour-and-water paste substrate because the flour-thickened water makes it easier to manage the spread of pigments. Disparate elements such as honey locust seed paste, croton oil, ginger and even scurf were employed to disperse pigments across the surface of the substrate. Producing paper “behind nearly closed shutters in a quiet room” prevents air currents from disturbing the still-liquid patterns beginning to solidify on the surface, and the use of “clean containers and pure water” prevents the contamination of the pigments as well. Wang has recreated hundreds of types of paper over the years by following the directions in ancient texts like The Four Treasures of the Study. “Long passages of text in classical Chinese leave other people scratching their heads, but it seems that Wang can somehow always get a lot of information from them,” Shyu says regarding his experience working with Wang.

Much thought went into some of the old papermaking techniques. One example is xuan paper, which has been widely used in ink painting and calligraphy since the Tang dynasty (618–907). Originally made in Xuanzhou prefecture, from which the paper takes its name, in Jing county, Anhui province, mainland China, xuan paper becomes immune to sunlight degradation and does not yellow with age after the rice straw traditionally used as the raw material has been bleached under the sun for several months. Nowadays, however, a lack of space and time makes it difficult for paper mills to repeat this practice. In such cases, Wang comes up with a modern solution. “I was trained as a scientist,” he says. “So when the old ways aren’t feasible or certain ingredients are hard to find, I just turn to modern science.”

His recreation of ciqing (porcelain blue) paper is a case in point. Ciqing paper is dyed with indigo to produce a deep blue similar to that found in blue-and-white porcelain. Originally used mostly for transcribing Buddhist scripture with gold ink, the paper expresses the dignity of the religious texts especially well. Wang first saw ciqing paper dating back to the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) at the NPM. “The color, texture and quality of the ciqing paper impressed me so much that I wanted to recreate it,” he says.

Ming scientist and encyclopedist Song Yingxing (宋應星, 1587–1666) documented the steps required to make ciqing paper, starting with the fermentation of indigo-bearing plants by steeping the leaves and stems in water for seven days in order to produce a liquor. Five liters of inorganic lime powder were added to each 100 liters of the liquor. The mixture was stirred dozens of times until the indigo coagulated and settled to the bottom once the water grew still. The indigo was reconstituted by dissolving it in an alkaline solution to produce “indigo white.” Paper repeatedly soaked in the dye and then rinsed in water would become an increasingly darker blue as indigo white reverts to an intense blue hue in the presence of oxygen in the air. The deep blue of ciqing paper is reached after dipping the paper in the dye about 10 times. “It was a time-consuming process during which the paper could easily be torn or wrinkled,” Wang says. “This is why in ancient times ciqing paper was extremely rare and valuable.”

Wang actually attempted to make an indigo dye using this ancient method. He went into the mountains and collected woad, a flowering plant of the mustard family with leaves that have long been used to make blue dye. He repeated the ancient technique to extract the indigo dye, but at the end of the process had harvested only enough to dye a piece of paper the size of a handkerchief. Since synthetic indigo has the same chemical composition as natural indigo and is readily available, Wang decided to use synthetic indigo for his ciqing paper. He also dyed the pulp used to make the paper instead of the finished paper product, which significantly reduced the chance of failure during the process and improved the quality of the paper because the color was evenly distributed.

Qing dynasty scholar Shen Chu (沈初, 1729–1799) wrote of another type of paper that would be impractical to recreate today using traditional techniques. Yangnao, or sheep brain, paper is “as black as lacquer and as shiny as a mirror,” Shen wrote, describing how this exceptionally sturdy paper involves mixing sheep brains with flue-top soot—the carbon black ash found at the topmost inside section of a flue, where the soot particles are the finest—and storing the mixture in a cool cellar. The mixture is later smeared onto ciqing paper and rubbed to a smooth polish with a stone. Such paper lasts for many years without deteriorating and will even repel insects. “Simply put, yangnao paper is made by applying a layer of coating to ciqing paper,” Wang says. “But for the sake of research, I had to repeat the ancient method.” He managed to acquire some flue-top soot, but he had to buy an entire sheep’s head at the market since the brain was not sold alone. He then sawed open the head and removed the brain, which was about the size of a chicken egg. “Suddenly, it occurred to me that the book doesn’t say if the brain should be used cooked or raw,” he recalls.

Shiny as a Mirror

Recreating the composition of the coating was actually not too complicated. Wang surmised that a pigment, an adhesive and a gloss enhancer were required to make the paper “as shiny as a mirror.” He figured that the flue-top soot was obviously the black pigment, and some kind of unspecified animal-based glue is mentioned in the book as an adhesive. He also felt that cephalin in the sheep’s brain would act as a wetting agent to distribute the soot evenly, make it penetrate the surface of the paper more deeply and give the paper a rich, glossy finish. “Craftsmen at different times and in different places have had to make do with the materials at hand,” Wang says. “I have a lot of respect for such ancient wisdom, but we really don’t need to follow every step and use the same materials in these ancient methods.” Modern science provides plenty of substitutes, and Wang finally found a way to recreate yangnao paper without using sheep brains.

While the appearance of various kinds of paper can be recreated according to descriptions from old books or museum samples, the quality of each type still needs to be tested. Researchers have access to equipment that provides accurate data on the strength, chemical composition and other specifications of a piece of paper. “But data is just data and it doesn’t tell everything,” says Shyu, who joined the Handmade Paper Science Laboratory shortly before Wang’s retirement. “At the end of the day, what really counts is if the artist who writes or paints on it recognizes it as a quality piece of paper.” When crafting a type of paper, his laboratory makes small adjustments to the formula and then invites calligraphers or painters to work with the paper.

Many of the invited artists are more than happy with the quality of the resulting paper and want to buy it. As a government agency, however, the laboratory is not permitted to engage in commercial activities. Wang solves this problem by giving free samples to artists and then asking for their “professional opinions on his research results.” Wang also publishes his papermaking formulas and techniques so that artists can have his creations custom-made at a paper mill. Thanks to word-of-mouth recommendations among artists and due to occasional media coverage, Wang’s paper has gained enough recognition in certain fields that more and more artists now want to use it, and museums have started seeking Wang’s assistance in the restoration of ancient works.

Wang’s schedule is quite busy, but he still insists on doing everything himself, from making pulp out of tree bark and selecting plants to make dyes, to forming the paper sheets and drying them, as well as analyzing and experimenting with the results. “It’d be wonderful if my paper can enable the art created on it to be appreciated a few centuries from now in a museum, just like we now appreciate a work of Song dynasty calligraphy in the National Palace Museum,” he says.

Write to Jim Hwang at cyhuang03@mofa.gov.tw