Before the pandemic, Shisan was a product designer at a company of Fortune Global 500. But like many, his career was abruptly interrupted, and he found himself at home, full-time. What could have felt like an ending instead became a beginning.
“I started carving wood purely to make toys for my daughter,” he says.
“Wood doesn’t break easily, so she could play freely.”
That small, practical gesture opened the door to a larger creative journey. Watching his wife’s fondness for fruit, Shisan began shaping new characters that blended playfulness with a touch of tenderness. Miss Strawberry, Miss Durian, Miss Mango—the Miss Fruit series began to take shape.
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“I like to keep colors light and translucent,” he explains.
“It feels calm and soothing.”
His home studio, tucked into the basement beneath his wife’s workspace, reflects this sense of balance. On the day we visited, the space was full: grandparents, his daughter, and three small dogs. The hum of daily life filled the house, but rather than chaos, there was warmth and ease.
“There aren’t really arguments,” Shisan laughs.
“We share suggestions, support each other, protect each other.”
In his story, there is no bitterness over what was lost, only tenderness for those he holds dear. The healing lies not only in the pieces he creates, but in the way he moves through life—quietly beside his loved ones, patiently shaping each moment.
That spirit of care runs through his art. In a sketchbook, he keeps delicate records of his daughter’s life—drawings so attentive they mark the exact minute a moment happened. His creations are rooted in love, and that love circles back to sustain him.
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"Back when I worked with computers, drawing a shape or changing a color took only a click."
"But woodcarving is different, reminding me of the quiet focus I had when learning to draw as a child."
Woodcarving is slow work, every cut of the knife demands focus. Every detail—the depth of an eye, the curve of a cheek, the translucent wash of color—reveals his patience and devotion. It’s a kind of devotion that only love can sustain—a persistence born not from obligation, but from genuine passion.
Beyond wood, he continues to seek out new horizons. In Jingdezhen, China’s historic capital of porcelain, he studied ceramics and returned with fresh possibilities in mind. But the most memorable part of that trip was coming home.
“When I came back, my daughter hadn’t seen me for days. She ran to hug me, pouting like she might cry. That moment—there’s nothing like it.”
Looking ahead, Shisan hopes to expand Miss Fruit into a fuller world of characters, but his inspirations remain close at hand.
“My daughter loves monkeys lately,” he says, smiling.
“I’m working on designing one.”
What began as a way to make toys has become something far more profound: a creative life anchored in family, in patience, in care. For Shisan, carving is not just about shaping wood—it’s about shaping connection, shaping time, shaping love into something lasting.
