Taiwan Culture

Family Business Keeps Handmade Joss Paper Craft Alive

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By Kama Hsu/Tiffany Wong

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Joss paper, or ghost money, is a staple at Taiwanese temples. Offered to the gods and ancestors, most joss paper is now mass produced by machines. But one family is trying to preserve handmade techniques at their workshop.

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Handmade Joss Paper Tradition Burns Bright for Festival but Faces Uncertain Future 

In a tucked-away workshop in the coastal town of Zhunan, the steady rhythm of tradition continues. The Chen family, for three generations now, prepares thousands of sheets of joss paper by hand ahead of the Qingming Festival, also known as Tomb Sweeping Day — a time when families across Taiwan honor their ancestors with food, incense and symbolic offerings. 

“You can use ones this big for praying to the gods,” said Chen Kun-hui, gesturing to a large golden sheet. “The ones for praying to ancestors are silver.” 

The Chens run one of the world’s last handmade joss paper shops, working in tandem to slice, stamp, foil and paint thousands of ceremonial offerings each day. While Chen Kun-hui mans the digital cutting machine, others carefully apply red seals and foil embellishments by hand — a painstaking process rooted in cultural reverence. 

Outside, rows of yellow bamboo paper sheets dry under the sun, lining the ground like a gilded path.  

While handmade joss paper is more expensive than factory-made versions, the Chens have made key updates to appeal to modern buyers. They’ve reduced the use of harmful materials so that burning the paper — which symbolizes sending wealth to ancestors in the afterlife — causes less damage to the environment. 

But modernization brings existential challenges. “We’re all getting on in years,” said Chen. “After we die, there will be no one to pass it on to. Right now, there are only three factories that still make handmade joss paper, and four or five that use machines.” 

Joss paper production and ritual burning have also come under scrutiny from environmental authorities. Many local governments have implemented regulations to reduce air pollution from temple offerings. In Taipei, several temples no longer allow individuals to burn joss paper themselves. Instead, visitors place it in designated bags, which temple staff later burn in centralized furnaces. 

“Even if I don’t burn the joss paper myself, I think it still carries meaning,” said one templegoer. “The temple usually burns everyone's all together, so I’m okay with that.” 

Others miss the direct connection. “You used to be able to burn it yourself,” said another visitor. “Now you just leave it and the temple will help burn it. It loses some meaning in your relationship with the gods.” 

To meet worshippers halfway, some temples — like the popular Zinan Temple — have installed upgraded incinerators that filter out pollutants while still allowing people to perform the ritual themselves. 

As fewer artisans take up the craft and more temples shift away from individual burning, the fate of handmade joss paper remains uncertain. Yet for now, the Chens continue their quiet devotion — folding, stamping and sealing each sheet with care, preserving a tradition that, like the paper itself, may someday fade to ashes.