It is Chu's innate sense of humor and artistic talent, rather than personal experience, which shaped his ability to look at the world in his unique way, a way that makes people laugh.
Chu's work, which has appeared in Taiwan, China and Hong Kong, has also been made into TV series, movies and stage productions. It was suggested to him that he should set up a production company to make money by selling copyrights to his work, but Chu, who is tall, soft-spoken and has a slight comedic air about him, was not drawn to that line of business. Starting a company and running around trying to make money, he said, would be too alien to his character and contrary to the disposition of someone who does not like office work. "Anything that can deprive you of your freedom is something I dislike, no matter how much money it would mean," he added.
In 2005, his theme shifted from people's urban lifestyles to the office-worker mindset. Since working is the most boring exercise in the world, on par with going to school, Chu said he was reminded of his experiences growing up. Finding that he did not enjoy school or studying, Chu always made sure he sat next to the class window. Then, at least he could watch the world outside. When not looking out the window, he was drawing cartoons at his desk.
A nonconformist since adolescence, Chu went through three different high schools before he was able to graduate. In his junior year, he was transferred to a private diploma mill on the outskirts of Taipei, an establishment to which students were sent for the sole purpose of graduating. Most of the students merely put in time, waiting to finish school, then joined the military and returned to society to take up some form of manual labor.
When Chu saw the reality of the situation, he felt that no matter how bad he was, he should not sink to that level, so he quickly hit the books and got into Shih Hsin University to study film directing.
After he finished his military service in 1986, Chu went to work at the China Times. This job required him to show up at the office for about an hour and a half each evening to draw cartoons on the main news topics of the day. This, along with additional cartoons for other stories, earned him up to US$3,000 a month, an enviable sum.
Nevertheless, while his job at the China Times publishing group might seem to others to have the security of a "golden rice bowl," Chu said he was deeply unhappy there. He stayed for almost four years, however, hiding his feelings of restriction beneath a calm demeanor until he finally quit.
His girlfriend at the time, Fong Man-lun, who is now his wife, was editor of the variety pages at the United Daily News. She was similarly fed up and wanted to get into something creative, so she too left her job. The couple then used their savings to get married and buy a home. When they started to feel the pinch of unemployment, they contacted a publisher and discussed the possibility of turning "Double-Sound Crackers" into a book.
Chu said the public's response to the book surprised him, and the print runs were increased until 400,000 copies had been sold. Reflecting on 1997 to 1998, his most productive period when he published a total of 12 books of cartoons, Chu said that since his workdays often exceeded eight hours, he worked much harder than when he was employed at the China Times. Meanwhile, Fong threw herself into the role of his assistant, handling contacts and relations with publishers. She loved books and could get through two to three a day. As a result, Chu found her to be a veritable database from which he drew for creative inspiration.
During that period, Chu did nothing but draw, strictly regulating his workday from 8 a.m. to dusk. Eventually, Fong discovered Chu "could no longer laugh." Chu said that it was simply because he was so good at the work he liked that his workload had increased to impossible levels.
Finally in 1998, Fong put her foot down and halted all his book publishing and commercial projects, leaving him only two or three signature cartoon strips. With their five-year-old in tow, the couple put aside everything and went traveling to Singapore, Japan, the United States and elsewhere, often for two to three months at a time.
Around this time, Chu's cartoons also began to gain popularity in China, which the artist likened to a blind cat catching a dead mouse: it was purely happenstance. Although the rights for his books to be published in China were sold as early as 1999, it took another three years before the whole business got on track.
His success in China peaked in 2004 when "City Ladies" was made into a TV series, a movie and a stage play. Chu suddenly became the voice of the new class of urban office worker that had emerged in the wake of China's economic reforms. Shengda Technology Co., Ltd. in Shandong also contacted Chu about its plans to manufacture a line of household products based on his cartoon characters.
In his leisure time, Chu liked to go walking with his family, he said, adding that he and his wife could be called the first of the old-line Taipei walkers. Starting 19 or 20 years ago, they explored every nook and cranny of Taipei, especially the alleyways around Linyi, Qingtian and Wenzhou streets.
Looking at today's Taipei, Chu lamented that commercial activities had destroyed almost everything from bygone days, to the point where traces of the old way of life were nowhere to be found.
Chu eschews the high life of the rich and famous and, when possible, eats at home. He likes to cook and, once a week, goes to the market to buy food. Furthermore, although he loves the clothes of Japanese designers like Yohji Yamamoto and Issey Miyake, Chu hardly buys new clothing and mostly dresses in black or gray. As for the straight, combed-back shoulder-length hairstyle that he has maintained for decades, he said he kept it that way because it was easy to take care of.
After 17 years of drawing cartoons at home, Chu still set a daily timetable and still spent more time working than the average office worker. The difference was that it was at his own discretion, rather than that of someone else. To a certain extent, therefore, Chu had chosen the office-worker lifestyle for himself. "If you really have no way out, you can at least choose a work style that more or less suits your disposition," he said.
--The preceding is an abridgement of an article that appeared in the May 2005 issue of Sinorama. It has been edited by Taiwan Journal staff.
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