Cindy Yang’s studio, Atelier Y, is in Suantou, a small village in Chiayi where time seems frozen. Inside an old red-brick courtyard house there are two lathes, and the air smells of fresh shavings.

The pieces of wood on the shelves are either raw or partially processed. Most of them came down in typhoons. “I found some myself, and others came from my friends.”

Each piece has its own edges and grain. Deciding what to do, based on its character and condition, is part of the making.

Cindy roughs out the shape first, working it down to the depth and thickness she wants. The smell of camphor filled the room fast.

The thickness of a vessel is a matter of feel. She weighs the bowl in her hands. The hands know if something is too heavy or too light. But she still repeatedly checks the base so it doesn’t get too thin.

Once the shape is close, the detail work begins. “You run your hands over it and the rough spots tell you where to go,” she says, marking them with a pencil. Then she switches tools and works the surface down until it’s even.
​
Then comes the sanding, coarse grit to fine, until she feels the surface come smooth. She moves between turning and sanding as the piece needs, following the wood rather than a set order.

The grain deepens after the wood is oiled.

“Once the wood dries, the colour goes flat,” Cindy says. “But the oil brings it back out, close to how it looked when the wood was still wet.” That last part she’s not sure about, it’s just a saying she likes.

As for this bowl, she chose to leave the natural edge as part of its character.

“Woodturning is usually associated with round shapes,” Cindy says, keeping the explanation simple.

She studied architecture at the Rhode Island School of Design, and that background helps her work through structural problems as she creates.

Alongside her own work, she teaches, one-on-one or in pairs. The wall of tools and one of the lathes were passed down from her now-retired teacher. “So whatever a student wants to learn, I’ve basically got the tools for it.”