Gao Shuting’s Portfolio
The Path of Laqucer
Between Tradition and Survival
In a workshop in Shanghai's Pujiang area, permeated with the distinctive scent of raw lacquer, time seems to flow at a different pace. Jiang Zhongqing—a craftsman who has dedicated thirty years to the art of Kaiqi lacquer polishing—is bent over a rosewood table, wielding a generations-old "picking stick" with motions so precise they have become muscle memory. His hands, calloused from three decades of working with natural lacquer, wood, and time itself, now do more than just apply and polish finishes. They are struggling to uphold the fragile dignity of an ancient craft against the overwhelming currents of the modern market.
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Kaiqi is far more than simply "applying lacquer." It is a final, almost sacred ritual that breathes soul into hardwood furniture—a meticulous art involving 37 to 52 complex steps. From the precise carving of "picking stick technique" to the delicate sanding of "sanding skill," each stage depends entirely on the artisan’s touch and experience, all mediated through precious natural lacquer. This craft carries within it the aesthetic essence of Chinese scholarly furniture since the Ming and Qing dynasties—its lustre as soft as jade, its texture deep and penetrating, its cultural value profound as history. Yet outside Jiang’s workshop, a harsh economic paradox grows ever more acute: Why does such cultural treasure find so little footing in the modern marketplace? Why can such extraordinary cultural value not be translated into basic survival?
Our lens follows Jiang Zhongqing not only across geographical space but across the great divide between tradition and modernity. From his studio in Jiangnan to the lush lacquer forests of Zhuxi County in Hubei—where he personally sources the finest raw lacquer—to the ancient streets of Jiangsu and Zhejiang, where he spent eight years "treasure hunting" for traditional "sanding leaves" replaced long ago by industrial sandpaper. We document his stubborn, almost solitary vigil as he attempts to rebuild a complete system of traditional materials and tools in an era overwhelmed by industrialization.
Yet he is no hermit lost in the past. Faced with a survival crisis—a broken chain of inheritance and a shrinking market—Jiang has embarked on a multi-fronted battle to redeem his craft. He holds workshops, rigorously selects apprentices, and compiles his life’s learnings into manuals, striving to break the curse of "the art dying with the artisan." He opens exhibition spaces and courageously sets up his phone for live broadcasts, aiming to showcase the beauty of Kaiqi to an unfamiliar online world, seeking kindred spirits in virtual space. All these efforts point to one central question: How can this art find a delicate balance between cost, quality, aesthetics, and preservation under the irreversible logic of the market?
The plight of Kaiqi is not unique. It is part of a structural crisis faced by countless high-cost traditional crafts in the globalized market. The low-end market is monopolized by cheap, industrially produced goods, while the high-end market continues to shrink due to economic fluctuations and shifting consumer attitudes. Consumers often mistake a piece of Kaiqi furniture—requiring a year of work and precious materials—for a cheap, chemically sprayed product. The workshop model resists standardization; the drying nature of natural lacquer refuses to compromise with industrial rhythms. As a result, the survival of the craft relies excessively on the perseverance of individual artisans, limited non-profit support, or its reduction to a tourist spectacle—rather than a healthy, self-sustaining ecosystem.
This is more than a story about "perseverance." It forces us to ask: After the applause and praise fade, what truly sustains a craft? Government subsidies? Market favor? Or the self-sacrifice of the artisan? Through Jiang Zhongqing’s story, we are compelled to confront a fundamental question: Must intangible cultural heritage—bearing the genes of national culture yet outside the mainstream market—be placed on a remote altar of art in order to survive?
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