Three years ago, a husband and wife team of hsiang chi players recognized that the game was declining in popularity among the youth of Taiwan. Kao Hsin-chiang, the president of Shang-chin Cultural Enterprises, Ltd., says that they realized that hsiang chi was losing its traditional meaning in helping illumine people's daily lives. Instead, the game had "retreated to the dark corners of tea rooms and squares in front of temples, played by retired people to kill time or by gamblers to win money." Kao and his wife, Ko Yuan-hsing decided to do something about· the game's waning popularity.
"The decline in the art of chess is a warning sign of a broader problem," Kao says. "It indicates a gradual loss of the tangible and intangible aspects of our tradition. Though some people think this is a normal cost when people advance toward industrialization and modernization, I don't agree. Someone has to stand up for the past."
Kao and his wife hit upon a novel and creative solution to the problem which came to fruition in April of this year: they sponsored a design exhibition in Taipei's Fu-Hua Gallery that displayed new shapes and styles of game pieces to replace the centuries-old checker-like pieces. In place of the simple disks—usually made of wood, ivory, or plastic—the couple called upon artists, designers, and craftsmen to inject the game with a new vitality by designing pieces that actually gave shape to the names of each piece. The results were stunning—and have proved extraordinarily popular, drawing extensive media coverage and large crowds to the exhibition which has now traveled all over the island.
"Our purpose was to inject an innovating vitality into hsiang chi and thereby increase enthusiasm for the game," Kao says. "In the past, the game's pieces may have been very simply carved in response to the impoverished state of early society." Whatever the reason, the pieces early on were rendered in a simple form that became habit—and accepted without change—for centuries. The result was a game limited to those who could read Chinese.
The initial response to the call for construction of new pieces for the game drew enthusiastic response from some of Taiwan's best-known artists and architects, as well as from new faces, craftsmen from the countryside whose vivid renditions of the folklore, so often related to the theory and practice of chess-board warfare, has delighted viewers of the exhibitions. Although the primary goal of the design exhibition was to encourage more local interest in the game, Kao and Ko both realized their idea had possible international ramifications. "We wanted to elevate people's interest in hsiang chi by offering a wide range of designs that would give modern interpretations to the traditional meaning of the game," Kao says. "Moreover, we thought that by combining the art of chess with artistic pieces, which could even be displayed as living room decorations, that the game would break cultural barriers and become internationally popular." But the obvious aesthetic appeal of the pieces is only part of the reason for a broader appeal; the replacement of Chinese characters with actual forms, as in Western chess, makes it delightfully easy for foreigners to learn the game.
Hsiang-chi, which can be translated as "elephant chess" or "symbol chess," has early roots in the Tang Dynasty (A.D. 618-907), and according to some scholars shares considerable affinity with the early Indian game of board warfare called chaturanga. The name of the Indian game literally refers to the division of armies into elephant, horse, chariot, and foot-soldier units. Whatever the actual origin and evolution of hsiang chi, by the time of the Sung Dynasty (960-1279) the game acquired distinct Chinese theoretical underpinnings, with literary, historical and poetic references to the game's foundations in yin and yang philosophy, Chinese ethical theory, and classical warfare "etiquette." This accretion of the Chinese world-view to the game makes the translation "symbol chess" literally more acceptable to current students and players of the game.
The hsiang chi board is divided into 64 squares, upon which two armies, each of 16 pieces, or units, face each other. Each army has seven different pieces: one general, two guards, two home militia units, two chariot groups, two cavalry units, two field artillery batteries, and five regular infantry units. Army units are identified by their Chinese name, one army using the proper characters, while the opposing army uses visually similar homonymous characters. The pieces move on the interstices of the board's sixty-four squares, which are divided by a river, the Chu, which runs across the center of the board. The river divides the warring states of Chu and Han, replicating an actual historical situation prior to the establishment of the Han Dynasty in 206 B.C. (For details concerning the history, development, and playing, techniques of hsiang chi, see the March 1984 issue of FCR.)
Hsiang chi, along with calligraphy, painting, and the zither, has been considered one of the major arts of China. Over the centuries, a rich variety of anecdotes, poetry, and legends have drawn upon the symbolic power of the game's component pieces and strategy. The themes include confrontations between generals at the head of powerful armies, life-death duels between chivalrous knights, and touching romances between scholar-soldiers and famous beauties. The chess game has traditionally been seen by its players as much more than a pastime. It is also a competition of mental concentration and wisdom. This has prompted generations of Chinese literati to attribute philosophical meaning to the game, couched in such classical references as "strength lies in yielding," "in nothingness there is substantiality," and "progress may be achieved through a strategy of retreat." A first reading of these may seem obscure, but the cultural resonance becomes clearer when one thinks of classical explanations of the power and movement of the Tao, the positive power of white in Chinese monochromatic painting, or the insightful assessments of military retrograde movement found in Sun Tzu's famous book on warfare, written during the Warring States Period of Chinese history in the Fifth Century B.C.
Because of these cultural overtones to the game, it is not surprising that the bold, new step in game design has received such overwhelming acclaim. Visitors to the various showings of the new-styled pieces have been delighted with the change in the appearance of the game. The various designs in fact build upon both traditional motifs associated with hsiang chi, including other famous battles and events recorded in histories and novels, and modern variations more associated with trends in contemporary art and architecture. The thirty sets of chess pieces in the exhibition can be loosely classified into three categories: modern, vernacular-folk, and traditional.
Architect Han Pao-teh designed one of the more abstract, modernistic chess sets. Called the "Crystal Series," the pieces are acrylic cylinders, simulating rows of towering high-rise buildings, with the traditional identifying Chinese characters on their "rooftops." The elegant simplicity of the pieces, and the delicate play of light on their translucent, curved surfaces, demonstrate Han's own interests in promoting the use of modern materials to support traditional motifs.
The board war setting is adapted by designer Cheng Wen in his "Space War" pieces. Using opaque acrylic cylinders for the basic shape, he carved human figures in each one to represent the game's various units. The faces have a definite futuristic appearance, rather like space warriors who are frozen inside time capsules and are quietly waiting to be thawed for action.
Internationally-known sculptor Chu Ming departed from the wood medium for which he is best known to shape clay figures for the game. In "This World," his irregular, unglazed, and decidedly abstract forms still capture the spirit of the game's battle for supremacy in board strategies.
Yang Po-lin, who has been intensely involved in artistic production since he was 12 years old, adds a bit of humor to the exhibits. His pieces are entitled "They Stoop to Conquer," and they switch the warfare motif from armies to men and women. The female side of the "battle" is represented by alluringly gentle, curvaceous women employing their "yielding appearance" to strategic advantage. The women are faced by masculine chess pieces who rely upon traditional forms of energy and strength displayed by bulging muscles and aggressive postures. "Strength lies in yielding," indeed.
Some of the most impressive works on display come from previously little-known artists, many of whom have a background in folk art. This more vernacular interpretation of the game conveys an earthy, realistic power to the pieces. One of the largest chess sets, carved in wood figures approximately 10" high, caused people to linger over the detailed representation of each army unit. Wu Jung-szu depicted the personality and armaments common to the Chin (1115-1234) soldiers who frequently attacked the Sung Dynasty rulers. His unpainted figures of austere generals, thoughtful scholar-soldier guards, and carefully reconstructed designs of chariots and artillery display a considerable talent. That ability is all the more impressive because it is disciplined. Wu knows when to stop carving. His figures have just enough detail in face, gesture, and clothing to convey their personalities and roles. He stops short of photographic realism, content with allowing the viewer to make refined judgments of the figures from the suggestive lines and curves left by his knives and fine sanding.
Another humorous adaptation of a traditional theme is presented in the chess set by Chen Chiu-chi. Drawing upon a line from the poet Ya Hsien, "The tempest within wine cups," each piece is actually a gracefully crafted wine cup. As the players look through typically clear Chinese wine to read the descriptive, cursive script characters on cup interiors, they can contemplate the penalty for losing each piece: draining the content of cups while removing them from the board. This adds to the pleasures of play—and to the advantage of the participant who takes the early pieces. The game becomes a test of both chess skills and capacities for wine. An honest loser, who has to "kan pei" (drain his cup), may have to drink sixteen cups of wine, making one expect that the second game's winner would be a foregone conclusion.
Another especially pleasing chess set was designed by the painter Ou Hao-nien and produced by the craftsman Chen Ching-liang. Their collaboration on "Pilgrims to the West," a famous Chinese classical novel and frequent theme for other literary forms, dramatically represents the story on the chessboard. The lively mythical figures like the Monkey King, scholar Tang, and the faithful pig companion, take their places on the board as general, guard, and militia units. Across the board they are opposed by false likenesses of themselves, just as in the story where they engage in life or death duels with evil beings who copy their forms to confuse the battle.
Traditional historical and literary themes for chess piece models were especially popular among the exhibitors. Ko Yuan-hsing, the co-organizer, conducted research in archeological materials on ancient Chinese life styles, costumes, weapons, and vehicles. Then she designed three chess sets, "Ancient Ping Ma Yung" replicating designs from the Chin Dynasty (221-207 B.C.), "Ancient Sui" from the short-lived Sui Dynasty (581-618), and "Ancient Tang Tri-Color," which copies the special multi-color glazing method developed in the Tang Dynasty (618-907). Ko's attention to detail enables her to capture the austere, tenacious nature of ancient Chinese as well as the vivid details of their costume and accouterments.
In another echo of historical events, glass fiber craftsman Hsieh Yi-yu constructed a chess set rich in frozen movement "A Battle Between the Dragon and the Tiger," which is based on the story of Tsao Tsao and Kung Ming during the Three Kingdoms Period (220-265). Another craftsman, Tseng Chin-tsai, drawing on his experience in making statues for country temples, created large, rough-hewed figures whose more than foot-high size adds to their monumentality. His depiction of facial features is especially strong, and in profile they strike a note of fear and respect in the viewer. Genuine battlefield pieces.
The artists have not forgotten children, and the organizers of the exhibition must be pleased with the large numbers of young admirers that crowded each day of the showings. Cartoonist Tsai Chih-chung's "Sun-Tzu's Squadron," drawing on the famous strategist of ancient China, gives the battle scene a certain naive angle through the expressions on the pieces. This appeals to kids, and gives some adults pause to reflect on the actual absurdity of warfare itself. Chan Su-chiao's "Chio Chio Animal Chess" is much more direct in its cartoon approach. His pieces are really three-dimensional cartoons of children's favorite animals and pets. Both cartoonists succeed in appealing to young interests and in introducing them to the game itself.
One of the major achievements of the exhibition, according to Kao and his wife, is the discovery of several craftsmen that were unknown beyond their own village locales. Most of these were born in the countryside, are self-taught, and had their imaginations whetted by the legends and folklore they learned from family, friends, and village elders. While not educated in the formal sense, they have long trained and struggled to depict their views of Chinese tradition. Poverty of circumstance did not constrain creativity.
Wu Jung-szu, for instance, grew up as a farm boy and worked as a black-smith. Inspired by a dream in which he saw himself holding a sculpture knife instead of a hammer and carving a Kuan-yin Buddha statue, he switched to the study of art. To realize his dream, he even slept in old, leaking temples, and worked day and night at Buddhist gift shops to learn the details of religious art. To give life to his artwork, he learned how to catch the proportion of human bodies from an accomplished tailor, and picked up concepts of modern art from a famous architect.
Tseng Chin-tsai, in addition to his monumental chess design set of "Human Gods," is now at work on a big project of nine gigantic sculptures. They are categorized as: religious service, spring cultivation, wedding ceremony, ancient residence, embroidery, funeral, heaven, hell, and traditional trade. He has already spent four years on his sculpture "religious service." Tseng's evaluation of his work echoes Kao's thoughts about the chess piece exhibition: "My mission in this project is to familiarize young people with the treasury of our culture and tradition."
Capturing traditional motifs and translating them for modern audiences is a major challenge in Taiwan's rapidly modernizing environment, but the basic artistic challenges are no different today from what artists and craftsmen have faced for generations: what is the best medium for my work'? Hsieh Yi-yu, the maker of "A Battle Between the Dragon and the Tiger," started his quest for the appropriate art medium through numerous experiments with various materials. He finally found that ceramics gave him the "right language" to speak what was in his mind "Without the process of casting, ceramics can catch the essence and spirit of objects more directly and truthfully," he says with the quiet confidence of an artist pleased with his work.
Such comments and attitudes by artists who previously experienced insufficient exposure to the public make Kao and Ko proud of their joint efforts. "The discovery of these craftsmen is simply exciting," Kao says. A visitor to the exhibition agrees. "They are part of the treasury of our culture, and therefore deserve respect and good payment for their work."
Kao sees even broader ramifications of the exhibition: "Commercial and industrial people often complain that it's difficult to find good designers and craftsmen to promote their products. As a result, they have to pay high prices to send for designers from Japan or from the United States. In fact we have lots of good designers and craftsmen in our country. They are just not known to the local news media or commercial people. Even worse, some of them surprisingly have no idea about protecting their own rights with signed contracts. They are working as cheap labor to make handicrafts according to assigned patterns for brand-name companies from abroad. Events like this exhibition can help introduce them to a different market and perhaps to better jobs."
From the initial idea to encourage an ancient game among today's youth, the hsiang chi exhibition has served to encourage creative artistry, to integrate traditional motifs into folk and modern art forms, and to suggest new possibilities for employment of "locally-grown" designers. Beyond this, the joys of the game itself and its associated cultural traditions are now more accessible to all strategists on the playing boards of the world.