At the Source: Material Knowledge and Embodied Practice
in Natural Lacquer Harvesting
Research & Text:
Miao Tan
Field Research Collaborator:
Vincent Cazeneuve
Photography
Miao Tan
Graphic Design
Siying Cui
A small patch of transparent liquid slowly seeped from a cut in the bark. I reached out and dipped my finger in it, then put it to my mouth: the taste was fresh, carrying the scent of the plant, unlike any lacquer I had encountered before in the studio. This was 'bitter water' (kushui), the first liquid the tree releases before the lacquer sap begins to flow. Its sweet, clean taste suddenly made me realise that this was what it truly meant to be alive, carrying the dampness of the earth, the warmth of this particular season, and the faint sweat of my palm pressed against the trunk in that moment.
This experience took place at the very start of this year's lacquer season, when I travelled with French contemporary lacquer artist Vincent Cazeneuve to the lacquer tree groves in Chengkou, Chongqing, to observe and take part in the opening ritual (开山仪式) of the annual lacquer-tapping cycle: ‘releasing the water’ (放水).
This field visit is part of my ongoing research into natural lacquer, both as a material and as a cultural practice. The process of tapping lacquer has already been documented in a fair amount of literature, but the extensive preparatory work that precedes the tapping itself is rarely mentioned. This stage, known as ‘releasing the water’, includes preparing tools, clearing mountain paths, installing climbing spikes, stripping bark, and making the first incision that allows the sap to begin seeping out.
Miao Tan and Vincent Cazeneuve entering the lacquer forest.
For artists who work with natural lacquer as their creative medium, encountering this material at its source brings an understanding entirely different from working with refined lacquer in the studio. This process reveals the physical labour, the natural environment, and the embodied experience that underlie the very existence of this material.
Preparation: Before Heading into the Mountain
Before entering the forest, an astonishing number of specialised tools need to be prepared. A machete is used to clear away weeds and branches along the path: the mountain trail is not a well- maintained footpath but a narrow track reclaimed by vegetation, where snakes and thorny plants often lie hidden. Long iron nails are hammered into the trunk to serve as temporary footholds. A hammer drives them firmly into place, allowing the climber to ascend safely while pressing close against the trunk for support.
A slightly curved scraper is used to strip the bark. Unlike most cutting tools, it does not need to be extremely sharp; rather, it must retain a certain roughness in order to catch and lift the bark effectively.
Tools used for harvesting natural lacquer sap.
The most emblematic tool of all is the lacquer knife itself, designed specifically for tapping. Its shape allows it to sit firmly in the web of the hand, so that no extra grip is needed while climbing, leaving both hands free to hold the trunk. The blade is used to cut a small V-shaped incision, from which the sap will eventually flow.
Curved bark scraper used to remove the outer bark before tapping.
The lacquer knife fits securely in the web of the hand.
Woven bamboo basket for carrying tapping tools.
Wrapping the calves with protective cloth to prevent snake bites.
Traditional lacquer knife used for tapping lacquer trees.
Other equipment includes woven bamboo baskets for carrying tools, as well as plastic collectors shaped roughly like leaves, which can be folded and fixed to the trunk to gather the sap. Protective gear is equally important: long sleeves, long trousers and hiking boots are essential, while the calves must be tightly wrapped in several metres of cloth to guard against snake bites and stings.
Thick arm guards and cut-resistant gloves provide additional protection while climbing and handling sharp tools. As this was the first trip into the forest that year, the preparations were carried out with particular care. Before setting off, Vincent spent a great deal of time in the courtyard and studio checking and organising the tools. Drawing on more than twenty years' experience working with natural lacquer, he sharpened each blade in turn, using sandpaper, whetstones, a polishing wheel and leather strops.
Watching this process, I came to realise that lacquer tapping, in fact, begins long before one enters the forest. It begins with maintenance, with preparation, with an almost exacting familiarity with every single tool.
Before long, we set off up the mountain.
Heading into the Mountain
The terrain in the mountains was far more rugged than any hiking trail I had walked before. Months without a single footstep meant the dense vegetation had already reclaimed the path, and every step forward was slow and laborious. Dian, a friend who joined us for this trip, carried a bucket holding nearly fifteen kilograms of lacquer nails, I carried two machetes and a hammer, while Vincent, walking at the front, carried a bamboo basket full of tapping tools and used a machete to cut away the undergrowth blocking the way.
It was only once we had truly entered the forest that I began to understand just how much physical strength lacquer tapping demands: a great deal of labour takes place long before the first drop of sap is ever collected.
Iron climbing spikes used to ascend lacquer trees.
The first tree stood on a slope, and Vincent began to demonstrate for us. The metallic ringing of nails being driven into the trunk carried through the woods.
ding-ding-ding
Then came the coarse, grating sound of bark being scraped away.
kua-kua-kua
Between these sounds, Vincent occasionally spoke about the signs he could see beneath the bark, searching for indications of healthy lacquer-producing tissue. The forest itself seemed to answer in kind: the rustling of leaves, insects hidden among the shrubs, and small animals whose shapes kept vanishing into the undergrowth.
Scars left by previous seasons of lacquer harvesting.
By the time we reached the second tree, the original climbing spikes were still in place, so we were able to climb the trunk directly. It was here that I began to understand that the preparatory stage might in fact be the most arduous part of the whole process. Before any sap can be collected, every tree must first be climbed, stripped of bark and carefully incised, and it is only through repeated visits afterwards that these incisions gradually deepen, allowing the sap to flow continuously.
Ding Ding Ding —
Hammering climbing spikes into the trunk to create temporary footholds.
Kua Kua Kua —
Removing the outer bark before making the first incision.
The process of carving the V-shaped incision.
Releasing the Water
The third tree stood right before us. The rhythm of hammering echoed through the woods, the leaves swaying gently overhead, and in the distance a bamboo rat vanished into the undergrowth. This was the moment of ‘releasing the water’ (放水).
Vincent stripped away a small patch of bark a little further from last year's cut. As the surface layer was scraped off, faint dark red traces appeared beneath, which, he told me, were precisely the mark of a healthy lacquer source. Once the bark had been cleared, a small V-shaped incision was cut into the trunk.
A small patch of transparent liquid slowly seeped out from the tree. Vincent explained that this was known as ‘bitter water’, the first liquid the tree releases before the true sap begins to flow.
Curious about this material in its most original state, I reached out, dipped my finger in a little, and tasted it. The flavour was unexpectedly fresh and fragrant, unlike anything I had experienced before. It was a rare sensory insight into lacquer in its truest form, before it becomes a processed artistic medium.
It was precisely in this moment that lacquer ceased to be merely a material I used in the studio. It became something living, bound up with the landscape, the season, the climate and the body. This feeling confirmed a simple yet profound truth: the lacquer used in the studio has long since become a ‘domesticated substance’, repeatedly filtered, aged and blended until its viscosity, scent and reactivity have all been disciplined into something predictable and controllable. The drop that had just seeped out before me, by contrast, remained in its original form, prior to domestication, carrying a wildness that no processed material could ever reproduce.
This tree ultimately required around five nails and five incisions, extending gradually up the trunk. Vincent told me that many traditional lacquer farmers continue tapping much higher into the crown, often using wooden pegs, which they drive into the trunk with astonishing force and precision.
Climbing
By the fourth tree, Vincent encouraged me to try it myself. Once he had prepared the trunk, he stepped aside and gestured for me to go ahead. With the nails to support me, the climb proved unexpectedly steady. Within moments I was standing among the layered, overlapping leaves, looking out over the forest from an entirely different angle.
The leaves above were densely interwoven, and the sunlight fell in scattered, broken patches across the trunk and my arms. I paused beside the incision he had just cut and could not resist dipping my finger into the ‘bitter water’ once more, tasting it a second time. The flavour was still that same crisp, sweet aftertaste, though it seemed even more vivid than the first time, as if my body had already remembered it and longed to confirm it again. There was almost something addictive about the feeling, and it made me understand that a material's pull on the body sometimes needs no complicated explanation.
Looking down from that height, I felt not that I was taking something, but that I was engaged in a negotiation, together with the tree and the tool in my hand.
We did not venture very far into the mountains that day, but many lacquer farmers often walk for nearly two hours to reach more remote stands of trees, and a single tapping session frequently lasts more than five hours. Vincent told me that he often prefers to work between midnight and dawn, while many experienced lacquer farmers begin before sunrise and continue working through the morning.
Vincent climbing the lacquer tree.
Listening to these accounts, I gradually came to realise that behind every jar of lacquer lies an almost unimaginable amount of labour.
Epilogue: Material as an Active Participant
This experience in the forest fundamentally changed my understanding of natural lacquer. In the studio, lacquer is usually encountered as an already refined substance, sealed within a container. In the mountains, however, lacquer revealed its true face: it is part of an ecological and cultural system far larger than ‘material’ alone, entangled with trees, weather, terrain, labour, tools, and knowledge accumulated across generations.
Taking part in the opening of this lacquer season deepened my understanding of the complexity of lacquer production, and further confirmed a position that has long underpinned my research: material is never a passive medium, but an active participant in artistic practice. This field visit allowed the idea of the 'pre-domesticated state' to be confirmed, for the first time, through the most direct sensory and bodily experience, and it continues to shape how I think about the agency of materials, the creative process itself, and the relationship between 'making' and the environment in which materials come into being.
Freshly picked lacquer tree leaves became surprisingly brittle within hours.
About Vincent Cazeneuve
Vincent Cazeneuve (b.1977) is a French artist who primarily works with Chinese lacquer.
After completing his studies in France, he established a studio specialising in the restoration of both Western and Asian lacquerware. Since 2009, he has lived in Chongqing, China, to uncover the secrets of lacquer and the traditional craftsmanship involved.
Cazeneuve’s practice embodies a philosophy of continuous evolution, rooted in his ongoing research into lacquer culture, challenging and redefining concepts of tradition and innovation. He incorporates unconventional materials such as jute rice bags, wool felt, and leather, alongside traditional crafts like crocheting and bamboo weaving. He also integrates various art forms, including lithography, relief carving, and collage. His work embraces personal experiences and cultural memories in a language that is deceptively simple yet rich in complexity.
About Miao Tan
Miao Tan ARWS is a London-based mixed-media artist working across sculpture and painting.
Her practice is driven by exploring materials and perceiving their intrinsic qualities. She believes that close observation of material behaviours offers a new way of understanding the relationship between the body, time, and social structure.
Natural lacquer lies at the core of Miao's practice. She is drawn to its slow, layered, and irreversible transformation: a material that resists, responds, and deforms as it dries, yet becomes impenetrable once cured, allowing fluidity and permanence to coexist within the same substance. Its behaviour guides each stage of making, with every layer introducing new responses, constraints, and possibilities. This paradox has become central to her practice, offering a way to reflect on how bodies, gender, and identity are gradually formed, negotiated, and stabilised through lived and social experience.
Her work has been exhibited at Mall Galleries, OXO Gallery, Bankside Gallery and featured in Aesthetica and The Cold Magazine. She is an Associate Member of the Royal Watercolour Society (ARWS), elected in 2025, and a recipient of the RWS New Graduate Award 2023.
Research Background
This field research was carried out in Chengkou, Chongqing, at the very start of the annual lacquer harvesting season, and was conducted jointly by Miao Tan and the French contemporary lacquer artist Vincent Cazeneuve. The study focused on tapping techniques, the transmission of material knowledge, and the relationship between traditional lacquer production and contemporary artistic practice. Vincent Cazeneuve's more than twenty years of experience working with natural lacquer provided essential expertise and field support for this research.
CN
溯源：天然大漆采割中的物质知识与身体实践
谭苗
2025年6月，重庆城口
一小片透明的液体从树皮的切口中缓缓渗出。我伸手蘸了一点，放入口， 味道清新、带着植物的气息，与我过去在工作室中接触到的任何一种大漆都不同。这是"苦水"，是漆液真正流出之前，树木释放出的第一道液体。它的味道清甜，忽然让我意识到，这才是它真正活着的样子，带着土地的潮气，带着这个季节的温度，也带着我此刻贴在树干上、微微出汗的手心。
这次经历发生在今年漆季伊始，我随法国当代大漆艺术家Vincent Cazeneuve前往重庆城口的工作室附近的漆树林，观察并参与了年度采漆周期的开山仪式： "放水"。
这次考察是我关于天然大漆，既作为材料、也作为一种文化实践持续研究的一部分。大漆的采割过程本身已有不少文献记录，但采割之前所需的大量准备工作，却极少被提及。这个被称为"放水"的阶段，包括准备工具、清理山路、安装攀爬钉、剥除树皮，以及开出第一道让漆液开始渗出的切口。
对于以天然大漆为创作媒介的艺术家而言，在源头接触这种材料，会带来与工作室中使用精炼大漆截然不同的理解。这个过程揭示了支撑这种材料存在的体力劳动、自然环境与身体经验。
准备：上山之前
进山之前，需要准备数量惊人的专用工具。
一把弯刀用来清除小径上的杂草和枝条: 山路并非维护良好的步道，而是被植被重新占据的窄径，蛇类与带刺植物时常隐匿其中。长铁钉被锤入树干，作为临时的踏脚点，一柄铁锤将钉子牢牢固定，让攀爬者能够安全上升，同时紧贴树干借力。一把略带弧度的刮刀用来剥除树皮。与大多数切割工具不同，它并不需要极其锋利，反而要保留些许粗糙，才能有效地咬住并掀起树皮。
其中最具代表性的工具是漆刀本身, 专为采漆设计，其形状使它能稳稳嵌在手掌虎口处，攀爬时无需额外用力握持，双手仍可自由抓握树干。刀刃用来切出细小的V形切口，漆液最终将由此流出。其他装备还包括用来盛放工具的竹编篮筐，以及形状近似树叶、可折叠固定于树干上用来收集漆液的塑料收集器。
防护装备同样重要：长袖长裤与登山鞋是必需品，小腿需用数米长的布条紧紧缠绕，以防蛇咬与蜂蜇；厚重的护臂与防割手套则在攀爬和使用利器时提供额外保护。
由于这是当年入山的第一趟行程，准备工作格外细致。出发前，Vincent在院子与工作室里花了大量时间检查、整理工具。凭借二十余年的天然大漆从业经验，他用砂纸、磨石、抛光机与皮革磨条逐一打磨刀刃。
看着这一过程，我才意识到，采漆其实早在进入森林之前就已经开始，它始于维护、始于准备，始于对每一件工具近乎苛刻的熟悉。
不久后，我们启程上山。
上山
山间的地形远比我此前走过的任何徒步路线都要崎岖。数月无人踏足，茂密的植被早已收复了小径，每一步都异常缓慢而费力。
Dian背着一只装有近十五公斤漆钉的木桶，我扛着两把弯刀和一柄铁锤，Vincent则背着装满采漆工具的竹篮，并拿着一把弯刀砍除沿路的拦路草，走在最前面。
直到真正进入森林，我才开始理解采割大漆所需要的体力究竟有多大，在采到第一滴漆液之前，大量的劳动已然发生。第一棵树立在一处坡地，文森开始给我们进行演示。
铁钉钉入树干的金属回响穿透林间。
ding ding ding——
紧接着，是树皮被刮除时粗粝的摩擦声。
kua kua kua——
在这些声响之间，Vincent不时低声说起他在树皮之下看到的迹象，他在寻找健康产漆组织的信号。森林本身仿佛也在回应：树叶的沙沙声、藏在灌木丛中的昆虫、以及不时消失于草丛间的小动物身影。
到第二棵树时，树上遗留着原先的攀爬钉，因此可以直接攀上树干。在这里，我开始明白，准备阶段或许才是整个流程中最艰苦的部分，在漆液能够被采集之前，每一棵树都必须经过攀爬、剥皮、细致地开出切口，唯有在之后的多次造访中，这些切口才能逐渐加深，引导漆液持续流出。
放水
第三棵树就立在我们面前。
锤击的节奏回荡在林间，树叶在头顶轻轻摇曳，远处，一只竹鼠消失在灌木丛中。这便是"放水"的时刻。
Vincent在距离去年切口稍远的地方剥开一小片树皮。随着表层被刮除，皮下浮现出细小的暗红色痕迹，据他所说，这正是健康漆源的标志。树皮清理干净后，一道细小的V形切口被划开。
一小片透明的液体缓缓从树中渗出。Vincent解释道，这被称为"苦水"（bitter water），是漆液真正开始流动之前，树木释放的第一道液体。
出于对这种材料最原初状态的好奇，我伸手蘸取了少许，放入口中尝了尝。滋味出乎意料地清新而带有香气，与我此前接触过的任何东西都不相同。这是一次难得的、在大漆成为经过加工的艺术媒介之前，与它最本真状态的感官相遇。
也正是在这一刻，大漆不再仅仅是我在工作室中使用的材料。它成为了某种活的存在，与地貌、季节、气候和身体连结在一起。这种感受印证着一个朴素却深刻的道理：工作室中的大漆，早已是一种被"驯化"过的物质，经过反复过滤、陈化与调配，它的粘稠度、气味与反应性，都已被规训为可预测、可控制的状态。而眼前这滴刚刚渗出的液体，尚处于被驯化之前的原初形态，携带着无法被任何加工材料复制的野性。
这棵树最终需要大约五枚铁钉与五道切口，沿树干逐渐向上延展。Vincent告诉我，许多传统漆农会持续采割至树冠更高处，常使用木钉，以惊人的力度与精准将其钉入树干。
攀爬
到第四棵树时，Vincent鼓励我亲自尝试。
在处理好树干之后，他退到一旁，示意我上前。借助钉子的支撑，攀爬的过程出乎意料地稳固。不过片刻，我已站在层叠交错的树叶之间，从一个全然不同的角度俯瞰整片森林。
高处的叶片密密匝匝地交叠着,阳光被切割成细碎的光斑,落在树干与手臂上。我在他刚刚划开的切口旁停留片刻,又忍不住伸手蘸了一点苦水,再次尝了一口。滋味依旧是那种清冽回甘的甜。竟比第一次品尝时更加鲜明,仿佛身体已经记住了那个味道,渴望着再次确认它。这种感觉几乎带着一丝上瘾的意味,让我明白,材料对身体的吸引,有时并不需要复杂的理由。
从这个高度望下去，我感觉自己不是在索取，而是在与这棵树、与手中的工具，一起完成一场协商。
那天我们并未深入山林太远，但许多漆农常常要步行近两个小时才能抵达偏远的林区，一次采割作业往往持续五小时以上。Vincent告诉我，他常常偏爱在午夜到黎明之间工作，而许多经验丰富的漆农则会在日出前开始，一直劳作到上午。
听着这些讲述，我逐渐意识到，每一罐大漆背后，都隐藏着难以想象的劳动量。
尾声：作为能动参与者的材料
森林中的这段经历，从根本上改变了我对天然大漆的理解。工作室中的大漆，往往是以一种已经精炼、被封装在容器中的物质形态被我们接触。而在山林之中，大漆展现出了它真正的面貌，它是一个远比"材料"本身更庞大的生态与文化系统的一部分，牵涉着树木、天气、地形、劳动、工具，以及世代累积的知识。
参与这次漆季开端的采割，加深了我对大漆生产复杂性的理解，也进一步印证了我一贯的研究立场：材料从来不是被动的媒介，而是艺术实践中主动的参与者。这次考察让"前驯化状态"（pre-domesticated state）这一理念，第一次以最直接的感官与身体经验被确认，也持续塑造着我如何思考材料的能动性、创作过程本身，以及"制作"与材料所诞生的环境之间的关系。
关于Vincent Cazeneuve
Vincent Cazeneuve是一位法国当代大漆艺术家，其创作专注于天然大漆的艺术与材料可能性。二十余年来，他持续探索大漆的当代表达方式，将纺织、编织、浮雕与拼贴等跨学科手法融入创作，为大漆这一媒介在当代语境下的国际发展做出了贡献。
研究背景
本次田野研究于重庆城口进行，正值年度采漆季的开端阶段，由Miao Tan与法国当代大漆艺术家Vincent Cazeneuve共同开展。此次考察聚焦于采割技艺、材料知识的传承，以及传统大漆生产与当代艺术实践之间的关系，Vincent Cazeneuve二十余年的天然大漆从业经验为本次研究提供了关键的专业知识与田野经验支持。