In a small corner of the Lung Tam Linen Weaving Cooperative, the pungent scent of beeswax mingled with the kitchen smoke, creating an atmosphere steeped in the spirit of the highlands. This is Mrs. Cau's private world . At 97, she still diligently works by the fire, preserving the essence of traditional beeswax painting techniques. With a brass pen and melted beeswax, her hands, though not perfectly healthy, meticulously carve intricate patterns onto linen fabric, creating indigo hues that never fade. Her congenitally deformed hands—seemingly the greatest obstacle in her life—have become the "tools" for preserving and transmitting enduring cultural values ​​through time.

The familiar workspace of artisan Sung Thi Cau consists of a beeswax melting stove and sheets of fabric.

Speaking about linen weaving, Ms. Cau recounts distant memories from when she was just a three-year-old girl. Back then, children in the highlands like her, even before they could read, already knew the shape of linen. Her mother personally taught her everything from stripping the bark and spinning the yarn to her first beeswax drawings. But fate tested young Cau's perseverance with an incomplete physical form. She was born with deformed fingers and toes. This was once the greatest source of insecurity during her childhood and youth, creating a wall separating Cau from the outside world. She feared the disapproving glances, afraid her disability would ruin the traditional linen fabrics. But miraculously, this seemingly insurmountable task became the pillar of support for this Hmong woman's life.

With her deformed hands, Mrs. Cau meticulously draws traditional patterns.

Understanding her physical limitations, she cultivated meticulousness and patience far beyond that of others. Over the years, her hands became dexterous, skillfully manipulating the tiny copper pen to draw perfectly straight lines, creating incredibly intricate diamond and cross shapes. Her desire to prove her worth prevented her from succumbing to fate. Every day, from the moment the sun rose over the rocky mountain peaks until the mist returned to envelop the village, Mrs. Cau diligently worked at her loom and beeswax stove. She worked not out of economic pressure, but because for her: "To work is a joy, a way to feel that I am still alive and useful."

At the age of 94, Mrs. Cau shared: "When I paint with beeswax, my mind feels peaceful; all the worries and aches of old age disappear with the smoke from the beeswax."

At nearly a hundred years old, her hearing has deteriorated, but her eyes remain remarkably sharp whenever she looks at the fabric. She says, "When I paint with beeswax, my mind feels at peace; all the worries and aches of old age vanish with the fragrant beeswax smoke." Each stroke she creates is not just a decorative pattern, but the culmination of nearly a century of dedication and experience, a message from previous generations to future generations. She is not merely painting decorative motifs on fabric, but is recreating the identity and preserving the sacred spiritual and cultural values ​​of the Hmong people amidst the hurried pace of the technological age.

Visitors to Lung Tam are always surprised and admire the work ethic of artisan Sung Thi Cau.

In the context of traditional craft villages gradually disappearing, and national cultural values ​​facing the threat of losing their identity, the story and image of artisan Sung Thi Cau is a vivid testament to the vibrant life of indigenous culture, of love and pride in one's roots. As I said goodbye to her in the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow on her linen fabrics, I will always remember her gentle smile and her hands diligently "painting" the soul of the nation.

    Source: https://www.qdnd.vn/van-hoa/doi-song/ve-sap-ong-ve-hon-dan-toc-1034706