Life On The Edge
In our society where money and status are highly valued, not many people choose to follow their interest. [Girl On Fire] I know some artists who live on a meager income because of their insistence on pursuing their art. Chan Dong Wah is one of them.
Everybody in the neighborhood calls him Wah-suk, meaning Uncle Wah. His shop is only a couple blocks from my childhood home. He is the descendant from a family of Chinese herbal doctors. Even though he was supposed to inherit the family trade, Wah-suk was mesmerized by sharp objects at the age of eleven. "Once I got to touch it, there is no turning back. I fell in love," Wah-suk recounts how he became a knife sharpener. "I worked as an apprentice for six years. It all started with cleaning and cooking for the master. It was more like being a servant. You don't get to learn anything for a number of years."
Some people look down on artisans thinking they have to rely on hand work for a living because they lack intellectual abilities. It is definitely not true with Wah-suk. He is a trained Chinese traditional herbal doctor and bonesetter. His love for sharp objects is just so strong that he would rather spend most of his time working on knives and scissors. On his day off, he treats patients in community centers as a volunteer.
Ask any woodworker or woodcarver, they will tell you that sharpening is an art. It is way more than merely pushing a piece of metal over a stone. People from all over the world send their knives and scissors to Wah-suk for sharpening. He is a different kind of celebrity. Many times, Wah-suk has been invited by well-known German and Japanese knife making companies to do to their facilities to give demonstrations to their master sharpeners. A Japanese company even partners with him to launch a new product line using the name of his shop "Chan Wah Kee". Wah-suk provides the specifications; the Japanese company manufactures the knives. Given how much pride the Japanese people have over their knife making, this is really some serious recognition.
I do not know why it took so many years before I get to know Wah-suk. We hit it off the moment we met. He has been very kind to teach me the basics about sharpening so I can work my carving knives better. Like many before me, I asked Wah-suk to take me as an apprentice. He refused. He knows I am sincere and I am very interested, but he still refused. His reason? "I don't want to ruin your life. This kind of profession only makes busy work. There is no money in it. Only a fool will stick with it. I don't teach my kids or grandkids any of this. I don't even let them watch me work, just in case they become interested." I try to argue that he needs to teach someone so that the art gets to perpetuate. "No need. Nowadays people only wants new things quick. They don't care about old craft like this. It is becoming obsolete. Who would run a knife over nine stones to get a perfect edge? Only idiots like me would. Everybody else is using a grinder. It's cheap and fast. You wear down a knife? Buy a new one! If that is what people want, let the art die. The world does not need it." It is sad to hear this from someone who dedicated his life to taking care of knives.
In countries like Japan where artisans and craftsmen are valued, someone of Wah-suk's caliber would have been designated as a "living national treasure". Unfortunately, Chinese people and their governments don't seem to be able to appreciate the art and the skills involved. If something does not ring "ka-ching" and it does not smell like money, it does not deserve people's attention. As such, this little old man in his 80s continues to sharpen things eight hours a day in his tiny shop, surrounded by the hundreds of orders from all over the world, until one day when his art goes with him . . .
Everybody in the neighborhood calls him Wah-suk, meaning Uncle Wah. His shop is only a couple blocks from my childhood home. He is the descendant from a family of Chinese herbal doctors. Even though he was supposed to inherit the family trade, Wah-suk was mesmerized by sharp objects at the age of eleven. "Once I got to touch it, there is no turning back. I fell in love," Wah-suk recounts how he became a knife sharpener. "I worked as an apprentice for six years. It all started with cleaning and cooking for the master. It was more like being a servant. You don't get to learn anything for a number of years."
Some people look down on artisans thinking they have to rely on hand work for a living because they lack intellectual abilities. It is definitely not true with Wah-suk. He is a trained Chinese traditional herbal doctor and bonesetter. His love for sharp objects is just so strong that he would rather spend most of his time working on knives and scissors. On his day off, he treats patients in community centers as a volunteer.
Ask any woodworker or woodcarver, they will tell you that sharpening is an art. It is way more than merely pushing a piece of metal over a stone. People from all over the world send their knives and scissors to Wah-suk for sharpening. He is a different kind of celebrity. Many times, Wah-suk has been invited by well-known German and Japanese knife making companies to do to their facilities to give demonstrations to their master sharpeners. A Japanese company even partners with him to launch a new product line using the name of his shop "Chan Wah Kee". Wah-suk provides the specifications; the Japanese company manufactures the knives. Given how much pride the Japanese people have over their knife making, this is really some serious recognition.
I do not know why it took so many years before I get to know Wah-suk. We hit it off the moment we met. He has been very kind to teach me the basics about sharpening so I can work my carving knives better. Like many before me, I asked Wah-suk to take me as an apprentice. He refused. He knows I am sincere and I am very interested, but he still refused. His reason? "I don't want to ruin your life. This kind of profession only makes busy work. There is no money in it. Only a fool will stick with it. I don't teach my kids or grandkids any of this. I don't even let them watch me work, just in case they become interested." I try to argue that he needs to teach someone so that the art gets to perpetuate. "No need. Nowadays people only wants new things quick. They don't care about old craft like this. It is becoming obsolete. Who would run a knife over nine stones to get a perfect edge? Only idiots like me would. Everybody else is using a grinder. It's cheap and fast. You wear down a knife? Buy a new one! If that is what people want, let the art die. The world does not need it." It is sad to hear this from someone who dedicated his life to taking care of knives.
In countries like Japan where artisans and craftsmen are valued, someone of Wah-suk's caliber would have been designated as a "living national treasure". Unfortunately, Chinese people and their governments don't seem to be able to appreciate the art and the skills involved. If something does not ring "ka-ching" and it does not smell like money, it does not deserve people's attention. As such, this little old man in his 80s continues to sharpen things eight hours a day in his tiny shop, surrounded by the hundreds of orders from all over the world, until one day when his art goes with him . . .
Credit: christinayung.com
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