To preserve the memory of her father-in-law’s business, designer Gina Hsu created the “Black Village” project to bring together the nearly 100 factories in her Sanchong neighborhood and give them new life. (Photo by Justin Wu/CW)
Mesmerized by Machines
Hsu, who jokingly describes herself as being “mesmerized” whenever she walks into a factory and as someone who hates to leave the factories she visits, set up DHH Studio (Donghai Hospital) in a location in the somewhat maze-like Lane 193 that she has trouble precisely identifying on Google Maps.
The moment you walk into her studio, you get the feeling of being in a small factory museum, with several components shaped by lathes, milling machines and stamping machines on display that clearly illustrate different industrial techniques.
Talking to the owners of nearby factories has helped Gina Hsu learn how to operate various machines. It’s one of the things she enjoys doing most in her spare time. (Photo by Justin Wu/CW)
Hsu did not come from a manufacturing background, so why would she immerse herself into the world of machine-laden factories? Her initial motivation was to preserve the memory of the business her father-in-law fought so hard to preserve.
Hsu’s father-in-law went to Sanchong to start his own business producing valve parts. In his two-floor factory, various types of equipment were crammed into the first floor, and his family lived on the second floor, typical of the operating model at the time for Taiwanese families with their own workshops.
When Hsu met her future husband, it immediately created a connection to the manufacturing community in Sanchong. What she did not expect was the global financial crisis in 2008 shortly after she got married and started a family, which dealt a serious blow to the businesses of her father-in-law’s customers and forced him to eventually go out of business.
Could Not Let the Business Disappear
The sight of the empty factory motivated Hsu to suddenly consider learning about lathes and continuing her father-in-law’s business, but her father-in-law nixed the idea without hesitation, sure that Hsu could not possibly learn the trade.
After giving the situation some thought, she decided to move her workshop into the idle factory space, and took orders from customers while maintaining her regular job teaching at a university.
“I figured my father- and mother-in-law lived on the floor above and weren’t busy and could help look after our child,” Hsu says with a laugh while explaining the move.
Over time, she gradually built relationships with the owners of neighboring factories, and was able to talk to them about anything. She realized they were facing a crisis but were not able, despite their best efforts, to transform their operations. Hsu worried that if they were to give up, Taiwan’s traditional craftsmanship could be lost forever.
It was in that environment that thoughts of “wanting to do something” were kindled.
“If we had waited until these people had all disappeared to salvage the situation, it would have been extremely, extremely difficult,” Hsu recalls.
Because of her strong feelings for the neighborhood, she decided to launch the Black Village project. Helped by introductions from her father-in-law and neighbors, she visited nearby factories and workshops one-by-one to record each craftsman’s expertise. She then compiled their stories into images and text displayed in her workshop and hired a Japanese director to film a documentary about them to ensure that their knowledge and skills could be passed on to future generations.
Gina Hsu (right) is constantly thinking about how to get more young people into factories in the area to inject new dynamism into these old-economy businesses. (Photo by Justin Wu/CW)
A Treasure Trove for Makers
Hsu says it can be very difficult to find factories locally in the West to make different products, which explains why the artisanal spirit and artisanal skills are so highly valued there. In contrast, Taiwan still has complete supply chains, and she felt the more they can flourish, the more attractive they can be to foreign designers and buyers.
“There was one time I brought a Dutch friend who wanted to develop a trolley he could market. He was really surprised because in every direction from my workshop, there were tons of factories. He could go just across the street and strike up a conversation, and he eventually found everything he needed so quickly that he still had time to come back [to the workshop] for a coffee,” Hsu says.
If she runs into anyone who needs to have something made, the list of producers etched in her memory suddenly pops to the surface. Whether it’s making molds, processing components or buying materials, Hsu can find suitable partners to meet those needs with a single phone call or a chat with a factory a few doors away.
When CommonWealth reporters met Hsu for this story, she took us to a factory that made jewelry parts. The machines on the first floor were rumbling away while on the second flood the owner was busy discussing a detailed drawing with a designer. We saw him disappear for a moment into the stock room to pick out an appropriate part from the more than 10,000 components in inventory.
To makers and designers, this outlet is a veritable treasure trove.
Lee Ming-feng (李明峰), the second generation boss of the jewelry company Li Hsin Jewelry Parts Co. (麗新飾品零件公司), recalls that when his father set up the company 40 years ago, the factory’s business was so good it would use containers to make shipments of well more than 100,000 components. The father even set up a factory in Yiwu in Zhejiang province, and he was there during the heyday for Taiwanese companies in China.
Big Customers Suddenly Disappear
But with the rise of Chinese home-grown manufacturers, Taiwanese companies in China such as the jewelry parts maker lost their comparative advantage and struggled to survive. In the end, their only option was to move their production lines back to Sanchong and focus on more customized, smaller volume production involving a more diverse range of items. Even orders of 300 or 500 parts for designers or makers were acceptable.
“Our attitude was that for there to be hope in the future we had to do whatever we could to support them. Our big customers had all disappeared,” Lee says.
His company exemplifies many of the small factories in the Lane 193 area that have been forced to forge new directions in the past decade or be obliterated by reality.
Because of these factories’ predicaments, the Black Village project remains alive today. Now in its sixth year, Hsu continues to search for partnerships that are complementary and mutually beneficial.
Building Bridges with the Outside World
Once when Hsu traveled to Tsubame in Japan’s Niigata Prefecture to participate in the Tsubame-Sanjo Factory Festival, she noticed that local businesses banded together to organize guided tours and hands-on experiences over the festival’s four days to help them survive. Every year during the festival, they open their factories and invite in designers, makers, and startup entrepreneurs to give the visitors a feel for the energy of Japanese manufacturers and drum up new clients.
That led her to experiment with a similar platform, creating a “Blacksmith’s Party” for the Black Village project. It invited factory owners to her workshop to give talks, communicate with designers and makers, and take them to visit their factory after the event.
“Everyone thought it was amazing. I had to see it with my own eyes to realize how some of these products came about,” Hsu says.
Young makers and designers get a feel for the skills of Sanchong craftsmen through Black Village events, and Gina Hsu can introduce them to the right factory if there are products they want to have made. (Source: DHH Studio)
But Hsu still faced severe challenges in trying to break down the massive barrier separating the factories and the outside world.
Just persuading the small factory owners to open their doors and let outsiders in for a look was anything but easy, and Hsu often had doors shut in her face. To many of the shops, their technology and equipment were the very tools that produced wealth and allowed them to make a living, and they were not interested in giving away their secrets.
Even when designers and makers were able to get a foot in the door, they sometimes had trouble communicating with the craftsmen they met. The former did not understand manufacturing while the latter had little understanding of the creative process, resulting in encounters in which each side had no idea what the other was talking about.
Having to Do Their Homework
Hsu recalled one example when a maker wanted a factory to produce a mold, but the first question out of the individual’s mouth was: “I’d like to ask you, how much does it cost to produce a mold?”
Of course, the way a mold is made, the material used and the mold’s purpose all affect how much it costs, and the question left the factory owner dumbfounded, unsure how to respond. Getting a conversation going under such circumstances can be next to impossible, Hsu says.
“So I generally advise them [makers, designers] to go in with an attitude that shows a desire to learn and to also do their homework to understand the thing they want to make, or at least prepare a drawing of the design,” Hsu says.
Factory Owners’ Need to Communicate
At the same time, Hsu has also tried to encourage these owners of small factories and fabrication shops to “open up,” to get out of their factories and reach out to prospective clients through Black Village project events that draw younger people. Whether designers, makers or startup entrepreneurs, they could all become future clients, Hsu tells them.
As long as Hsu has been at this, she has not done much to promote herself or her achievements. Every time government officials ask her about her profit model or how much output value she has created, she admits to having no idea. “I still see myself in the role of a promoter who takes a longer-term view of things,” she says.
Instead of citing figures and statistics, Hsu is far more inclined to think conceptually like a designer, preferring to cite anecdotes to tell the Black Village project’s stories, such as the boss of a factory retiring and his son returning to take over, a factory buying new equipment, or a factory closing down and being converted into a restaurant. Connecting people, finding areas of mutual benefit, and promoting common prosperity have been Hsu’s main points of emphasis since launching the program.
“There is still a lot of energy here. I see everybody busy opening up at around 8 every morning, thinking about how to help their customers solve problems. They are in fact working very hard,” she says.
Dusk arrived as our time with Hsu was winding down. Factories that had been busy all day were closing shop, and Lane 193 fell again into silence. The era when machines would pound away around the clock as though printing money, so fondly remembered by factory owners in the area, no longer exists.
But perhaps the “black” in the “Black Village” project represents not only the black grease imprinted on the hands of the area’s workmen but also a sliver of hope in the dark night. “Now when a shop works overtime, everyone is happy for them,” Hsu says with a smile.
She looks forward to a future in which more people explore her alley in Sanchong and see for themselves the vitality of one of Taiwan’s local manufacturing communities.
Cover image by Justin Wu.
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