Time glides on, and life’s curtain rises and falls, while the stars keep eternal watch in the heavens. A single backward glance makes everything clear. In contact improvisation, she has found enlightenment.

A grinding wheel—or “sand wheel” in Chinese—is neither a wheel made from sand nor a big-wheeled steamship that transports sand, but rather a tool that grinds or cuts a variety of materials such as plastic, wood, and steel. And Kinik Company (formerly China Grinding Wheel Corp.) is not a state-owned enterprise of Taiwan or of mainland China, but rather a privately owned company with a traditional manu­facturing background, based in Yingge, New Taipei City.

Beams and pillars from old homes, junk washboards, industrial scraps—these bits of trash are treasure in the eyes of Made Sukariawan. With his woodcarving tools, he turns all of this junk into exquisite works of art. The grain of the wood becomes wrinkles on an elephant’s trunk, the dry bark the beard of Yue Lao, the Chinese god of marriage and love. Made takes imperfections and makes masterpieces.

Good translations not only convey literal meanings but also capture subtle overtones. Many people think of translation as a charming métier. But what do professional translators, who navigate different linguistic worlds effortlessly, do in their daily lives? Why did they choose to become translators? What kind of life do they live? What challenges do they have to tackle?

Taiwan has music festivals all year round, and forests, beaches, cities and historic districts can all play host to performance stages. Unique natural and cultural surroundings are not only part of the show, they are also an excellent way to brand Taiwan music for an international audience.

For many of us, work is a matter of busting our backsides just to get by. But there are others for whom work is not only something they enjoy but a whole way of life. Banknote engraver Sun Wen-hsiung is one such lucky soul. After spending some 50 years working for the Central Engraving and Printing Plant, the skills he developed in the course of his career became more than just work for him, to the point that even in his retirement he continues to put them to creative use.

Located in a back street near National Taiwan Normal University, White Wabbit Records is like an oasis in the city, bringing together indie albums from Taiwan and around the globe. Just pick up a headset and you can leave the hustle and bustle of the world behind and set your lonely soul free.

They came to capture images of trains against the backdrop of the blue ocean at the mouth of the Jiajinlin River in Taitung County’s Dawu Township or at Duoliang in Taimali Township. All last year train buffs headed to locations along the South Link Line in Taitung and Pingtung to snap images of its scenery before electrification cluttered the line with poles and before the last of Taiwan’s blue-and-white liveried commuter trains were taken out of service.

Today it is commonplace for people to release their creative musical work on Facebook or YouTube. But it is only in the 21st century that these self-media platforms have become available. Before that, many musicians could only sing to themselves in the shower.

Waves are their sky, and trawler deck their land.
Not nigh is the sea that fishermen survey, but distant.
—Zeng Yuanyao, “Railroad Alley Days”