Silk Threadwrapping Flower Apprentice

*All conversations published have gained the consent of speakers.

    Dayu (her alias) was one of the very first intangible cultural heritage artists I met. I was astounded by her art form, Chanhua, or Silk Threadwrapping Flower, which requires hours of dedication to wrapping silk threads around a metal frame to create three-dimensional paintings. She is an enthusiast-turned-apprentice whose intangible cultural heritage story is similar to many of her peers—worrying about her dying craft and its lack of a market. Dayu’s story is a bit different, though: she introduces me to her and her peers’ efforts to modernize this art form.

    “I first got into Chanhua because I saw a camellia someone made online,” Dayu told me. “It was just... so beautiful. I really like the feeling of creating something with my own hands—it’s more fulfilling than buying it. So I bought some materials and gave it a try. The first one I ever made was a camellia.”

    That attempt would blossom into years of careful artistry. “Chanhua actually takes a lot of time,” she added. “A medium-sized camellia, including the leaves, can take me three hours. And I’m not even considered fast—some skilled crafters do it faster and better.”

    When I asked where her design inspiration came from, she paused. “Honestly, it’s a feeling,” she said thoughtfully. “It might come from flowers, photos, old paintings, poems… even decorative patterns like cloud motifs. I don’t copy them, but I get inspired. It’s like… I want to recreate a certain atmosphere, and I can see it in my mind. For instance, I love the Mid-Autumn Festival. When I was little, the osmanthus tree outside my house would bloom and my mom would pick a branch and put it in my room. That smell… that memory… It felt so peaceful and full of love. So now I design a lot of pieces around Mid-Autumn. It’s something I treasure.”

    She shows me a few examples: some with pearls carefully tucked into petal tips, others with metallic gold threads winding through the silk like sunlight on water. “I love playing around with combinations—like a pearl in the center of every petal or a balanced, symmetrical arrangement. Innovation makes me happy, and beautiful results make me even happier.”

    When I commented on her signature soft color palette—muted pinks, pale greens, gentle ivories rather than traditional reds or golds—Dayu laughed. “I wish I were better at those rich, traditional color combos! But I don’t think I’m very good at them, honestly. So I naturally go with lighter tones. You’ll rarely see me use strong contrast or dark colors.”

Traditional threadwrapping flower, by artist Guofen Zeng

Some of Dayu’s work

    Her works often evoke gentler seasons and quiet moments—pieces that feel like whispered stories rather than grand statements. She admits she’s shy and spends most of her time at home, quietly immersed in her craft. And yet, through those delicate threads, a bold new version of Chanhua emerges: one where centuries-old traditions take on new life through modern hues and subtle storytelling.

    I nod, listening.

A modern threadwrapping flower done in traditional style

    “Some people are definitely sticking to the traditional path,” she said, gesturing for me to look at a couple vivid images on her phone, which I've shown above. She keeps a whole album of threadwrapping flowers for inspiration. “Certain customers love that look. It brings them back to another time.”

   Most of the threadwrapping flowers I’ve seen you make feel different,” I said. “Distinct—in a really good way.

   “Yeah, compared to the traditional, vibrant-hued colors, some apprentices, including me, are trying to appeal to the younger generation,” she shows me another picture. “Look at how this rose is candy-hued; it’s gentler in vibe and easier to wear in casual settings. Some girls in the Lolita and Hanfu Revolutionist cultures might wear them with their outfits. That’s why we make a gold pin, which is under the rose—so it goes into their hair more easily.”

Candy-hued Rose, unknown artist

Hydrangea headpieces, made by Lingyuanji (“泠渊集”) Shop

    She flips to the next. “The same is true with this picture. The colors and delicacy remind me of a Rococo painting. Ah! That’s why these must go with the Western Lolita style,” she muses out loud.

    “That’s so cool. I’ve also noticed a recurring trend among new-wave Chanhua artists in using pearls—why pearls in particular? Why not other gems?” I ask.

    Dayu smiles at me. “First of all, pearls are definitely more affordable. Even if they’re not the top grade, they still look great and feel pretty. Rather than using plastic, I’d prefer my clients to be adorned with pearls. Second, their elegance goes with various styles, whether an extremely traditional look or a more modern one. Classy never goes wrong.”

    “Are there any of your works that aren’t flowers? Or, are threadwrapping flowers only limited to flowers?”

    “No, definitely not. Recently, I’ve been experimenting with leaves and scenery-related subjects,” She shows me some ómbre maple leaves and an artistic, hollowed-out version of ginkgo leaves. She then shows me a clever, minimalist jade-colored mountain, made with only a few pieces, and another hair-embellishment depicting a moon on a rising sea.

Gradient maple leaves made by Dayu herself

Moon rising above waves, also made by Dayu

    She continues, “I also know other people experimenting with various styles. One girl is making these incredibly complex birds.”

Phoenix by artist Yaya has a cat (“鸭鸭有只猫”)

    I let out an “Awwww.”

    “I don’t have the patience to make pieces that big.,” Dayu chuckles. “But crafts like this? They’re are so beautiful, people buy them even if they’re too bulky to wear. This other girl, too, is trying to assemble threadwrapping flowers into bouquets.”

Bouquet by artist Scissor Mochi Balls (“剪刀小团子”)

    I looked closely at the bouquet photo she showed me. It was breathtaking. The flowers—meticulously crafted from silk thread—were so lifelike that, at first glance, I could’ve mistaken them for real blooms. The bouquet featured layered golden-yellow daisies, delicate ivory petals with pale green centers, and a cluster of peach-toned roses that looked as if they had just begun to open. Each petal curved naturally, catching the light like real silk would against sunlight, and the composition felt distinctly modern. Rather than adhering to symmetrical or traditional arrangements, the bouquet pulsed with movement and texture—soft purples and mimosa-yellow accents creating gentle chaos, like a living painting. It was elegant, fashion-forward, and full of artistic tension: different shapes clashed and complemented one another in a way that was both deliberate and emotionally evocative. This wasn’t just a craft—it was couture. “Your patience and creativity are incredible,” I said. “I wish I could create something like that.”

    “It is arduous work endlessly wrapping silk threads, and I do get tired,” she admitted with a smile, brushing it off, “but worth it every minute.”