Kamaro’an, Indigenous Taiwanese Craft in Dialogue with the Present

Founded in 2015 by three young creatives—Shane Liu and Yun-Fan Chang, both trained in design, alongside Tipus Hafay, a Pangcah native of Hualien—Kamaro’an emerged from a desire to reinterpret indigenous craftsmanship. One of their earliest creations, a lampshade made from umbrella sedge grass, a fiber long used by the Pangcah, embodies this approach: minimalist in form, yet deeply rooted in tradition. Today, the studio’s handcrafted pieces, produced between Hualien and Taipei, are featured in curated spaces from the MoMA Design Store in New York to the Picasso Museum in Barcelona, as well as in select boutiques across Paris, Tokyo, and Vienna.

‘As a child in my village, we wove our own hats, bags, and tools from rattan, and even brewed our own alcohol,’ recalls Nacu Dongi, one of Kamaro’an’s leading artisans. ‘But over time, younger generations began relying on store-bought goods, and much of that knowledge faded away. It wasn’t until I joined Kamaro’an that I felt the urge to learn, so we wouldn’t lose those traditions. The elders are generous in teaching us how to weave—even the younger ones.’ This shift in perspective, she adds, was also shaped by meeting craftspeople from around the world, whose insights helped her see the enduring value of her own cultural heritage.

At Kamaro’an, each object is the result of collective dialogue. Ideas are shared, prototypes multiply, and gradually, forms emerge. Among the first designs developed, Nacu Dongi holds a special fondness for the umbrella sedge grass lampshade—a material deeply familiar to her. As a child, she slept on mats woven from this fiber, a staple of everyday life in Pangcah homes, now transformed into a medium for contemporary expression.

She later learned to craft the handle of the ‘triangle bag’, applying a traditional wrapping technique once used by the Pangcah to prevent knives from slipping out of the hand. The weave is intricate—Nacu recalls practicing late into the night before she could master it.

More recently, the artisans at Kamaro’an have begun reexploring plant-based dyeing methods rooted in Pangcah tradition. For Nacu, the process took on a deeply personal meaning: ‘While learning this technique, I found out that my mother had also studied under the same dye master years ago. Since then, this work has become even more intimate for me.’

Passed down through gestures and memory, Pangcah knowledge continues to evolve without losing its depth. At Kamaro’an, it finds new life—not as a relic, but as a living language.