In Taiwan, religious freedom is not just a principle, it’s part of the scenery. Taoism, Buddhism and folk beliefs blend seamlessly into daily life and are made visible in temples both grand and humble found along highways, in quiet alleyways or tucked into the corners of neighbourhoods. Much like the edicole votive miniature shrines across southern Italy, which quietly echo everyday faith, these roadside altars have long been a feature of the island’s cultural landscape.
About four-and-a-half-hours’ drive south of Taipei lies Nanzhou, a small town in Pingtung County where many of these temples originate. The landscape here is rural, surrounded by betel-nut palms and wax-apple trees. But step inside the Chuanso temple factory and you’ll find a vast, open-air structure – 27,000 square metres and four storeys in total – filled with shrines and statues in various stages of construction. Workers are stationed at their posts: some painting, some carving, some assembling and some balanced atop the temple rooftops. The air is thick with the smell of cement and paint. Machines hum constantly in the background.
Having opened in 1993, Chuanso is the largest modular temple factory in all of Asia. Part artist, part inventor, part entrepreneur, its 88-year-old founder, Lin Fu-Chun, remains the soul of the company to this day. He began his career at the age of 23 as a cement worker building houses. He had always been drawn to art and craftsmanship, but his pivot into temple construction seemed almost preordained. ‘When the temple was finished, everyone said we’d done a great job,’ he recalls of his first experience. ‘Later, the client told me that their local deity had come to them in a dream two years earlier, saying: “If you build a temple, find someone from the south named Lin.”’
From then on, he turned his focus to temple architecture, specialising in the craft of decorative surface detailing, for which he used fragments of ceramic tile and glass to create elaborate rooftop sculptures – dragons, deities, pagodas and other layered, three-dimensional forms. He also honed his skills as a sculptor, carving temple deities and architectural embellishments. Over time, he developed the ability to design and build entire temples, from the foundation to the final interior details.
In Taiwan, temple craftsmanship is passed down through a master/apprentice system. Lin Fu-Chun never attended a technical or art school, yet he showed remarkable talent. A self-taught artisan, he faithfully captured the visual language of sacred places in his home country. ‘Temples that worship Guan Gong, Tudi Gong, Mazu – those are Taoist,’ he explains. ‘You’ll see dragons, tigers, guardian beasts and a jinlu [used for the ritualistic burning of joss-paper “spirit money”].’ He describes Buddhist temples as ‘simpler: quieter, more solemn’. Building on that foundation, he introduced his own iconographic and decorative innovations.
In the 1990s, as Lin Fu-Chun grew older, he realised he could no longer stay on the front lines of temple construction. So he invented a new approach: one that combined mould-making, modularisation and factory production, allowing Chuanso to work faster, scale more efficiently and preserve tradition. In the world of temple architecture Lin remains a trailblazer. Moulding came first. When the factory first opened, Lin personally sculpted each architectural element – rooftops, pillars, ornamental carvings and deity figures – which were then turned into reusable fibreglass casts. Once assembled and painted, the cement components made in them form a complete temple.
Next came modularisation. Lin developed a system whereby temples could be customised according to type (Taoist or Buddhist), style (the ornate southern Chinese tradition or the more restrained northern style), size and accessories, such as joss-paper burners, incense holders, deity figures and guardian lions, thus allowing clients to assemble their ideal version. But ultimately it’s the gods who have the final say. In keeping with Taiwanese folk tradition, the design of each temple has to be approved through ritual divination. Known as jiaobei (or poe divination), this involves tossing a pair of crescent-shaped wooden blocks. A clear answer is given only when one block lands curved side up and the other flat side up – a sign called sheng jiao, or divine approval.
After modularisation came factory production. Chuanso’s layout – including its rail system and workflow – was designed by Lin himself, who optimised the space for efficient transportation, assembly and scaling up production. It typically takes three to four months to complete the modelling, casting of cement components and structural planning of a temple. Assembling the various parts then takes between one and three days. At peak times, as many as 40 temples are under construction at once, with up to seven assembled in a single day. Upon completion they are delivered to a site that has been approved by the government and where a consecration ritual is held. Often commissioned by businesses as a gesture of gratitude to the gods – and to bless the surrounding community – Lin’s temples evolve into spiritual and communal anchors where local residents pause to pray. They can be found throughout Taiwan, including at many of the island’s most renowned landmarks (such as Lotus Pond in Kaohsiung) and have also been exported to Singapore, Malaysia, Vietnam and beyond.
The factory’s smallest temple stands at 120 centimetres tall (priced at about £2,500), while the largest measures 66 square metres in area and rises to a height of four-and-a-half metres. ‘Technically, we could build even bigger,’ says Lin Ling-Ju, the founder’s granddaughter and a special assistant to Chuanso’s general manager. ‘But transporting a temple is a real challenge. If it’s wider than five metres, it can’t go on the road. If it’s too tall, it runs into bridges or overhead train cables.’
Today, the factory employs about 120 people, including Lin Fu-Chun, who remains full of energy and still works every day. ‘If I didn’t look in the mirror, I’d think I was 18,’ he says with a laugh. His grandchildren have also returned to the family business, bringing with them the tools of a new generation – digital modelling, 3D printing, online marketing – infusing this deeply traditional trade with new life, just as Lin did decades before. ‘I used to be my grandchildren’s master,’ he says with a grin. ‘But now technology has come so far, they’ve become mine.’
‘Chuanso’ combines the given names of Lin’s parents: his father, Lin Chuan, and his mother, Liu So. In Chinese, it also means ‘legend’ – fitting for a company devoted to building homes for the gods.
A version of this article also appears in the July 2025 issue of ‘The World of Interiors’. Learn about our subscription offers
