𝐃𝐚𝐩𝐚-𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭

…𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔-𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒕 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒅 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕

By Lhendup Wangmo

Fewer young people are learning the centuries-old craft of Dapa-making, putting the survival of this traditional Bhutanese art at risk. Artisans in eastern Bhutan are struggling to maintain production amid rising material costs, seasonal work, and limited interest from apprentices, threatening both local livelihoods and cultural heritage.
Mani Dorji, the Gup of Bumdeyling Gewog, said, “This art has been passed down through generations, and it carries within it the identity of our people. When we see our artisans at work, we don’t just see them shaping wood we see them shaping the continuity of our culture. That is something priceless.”

He added, “Today, very few young people are taking up this craft, and that worries us. Dapa-making is a skill that takes patience, discipline, and years of practice to master. But once learned, it provides not just income but dignity. We are encouraging youth to take interest by supporting artisans through local cooperatives and training initiatives. If we can make this craft more sustainable and profitable, more young Bhutanese will see value in continuing it.”

Among these artisans is Tenzin Namgyal, a skilled wood-turner who has been practicing the craft for many years. For Tenzin, Dapa-making is more than a job; it is a sacred inheritance, passed down through generations of craftsmen in his family. “My forefathers used to make Dapas, and now the responsibility have been passed on to me,” he shared. “It’s more than just work it’s a legacy I hold very dear.”

Despite advances in tools and technology, Tenzin continues to rely on many of the same traditional instruments used by his ancestors. However, one change has significantly improved the efficiency of the process: the introduction of electric motors. “We still use the same tools that were used back in the day,” he said. “In the past, there were no motors, so we had to operate the lathe using our legs. Nowadays, we use motors, which make the work faster and less tiring. But aside from that, all the other tools are from when the craft originally started.”

This blend of traditional craftsmanship and modest modernization reflects Bhutan’s unique path to development, where old practices are not discarded but adapted to suit the times. In Tenzin’s small workshop, the electric motor hums steadily while his hands skillfully guide the tools shaped and sharpened by his predecessors.

Tenzin’s production capacity is a testament to his experience. On an average day, he can make between 13 and 14 standard-sized Dapas. When working on smaller varieties called Gogpor, he manages up to 20 pieces in a day. For larger bowls known as Tsamdar, the number falls to around 10, owing to the time and effort required for each. “It all depends on experience,” he explained. “Someone new to the craft would take much longer to produce the same number of pieces.”

Dapa-making is a seasonal activity in many parts of eastern Bhutan, particularly thriving during the winter months when agricultural activities slow down. Yet the income generated through this craft is not fixed. Instead, it fluctuates based on the availability and cost of raw materials. “Our income depends mostly on how much raw material we are able to purchase,” said Tenzin. “The more raw materials we have, the more we can produce- and that means more income. But when there’s a shortage, production drops, and so does our revenue.”

Wood such as maple and rhododendron is commonly used to make Dapas, and artisans must source it carefully to maintain quality. Sometimes, supply chains stretch as far as neighboring countries like Nepal, from where additional materials are brought in. This indirect cross-border trade has quietly helped sustain the industry in Trashiyangtse. “We also get a lot of materials from Nepal that helps us indirectly in the trade part of our country,” Tenzin noted.

Beyond monetary gain, Dapa-making carries social and cultural weight in communities like Tenzin’s. The income supports families, helps pay for children’s education, and contributes to the preservation of intangible heritage. “It helps us put our children in school, raise our families, and also provides a couple of job opportunities,” he said. In a region where employment opportunities are limited, the craft has offered many a dignified means of survival.

Yet, despite its value, the craft is slowly fading in the eyes of the youth. Tenzin expressed concern over the waning interest among younger generations. “Even though the tradition is still alive, I don’t often see youth getting involved in it,” he said. “The main reason is that you are not able to generate a good amount of profit unless you give it your all. But there will always be a profit if you are giving it your all and you have plenty of raw materials.”

This sentiment reflects a broader challenge across Bhutan, where traditional arts struggle to compete with the allure of urban jobs, overseas employment, and modern lifestyles. “The youth of our country hardly take any interest in this,” Tenzin added. “There are only a few people in their late 40s and 50s who want to learn about this craft.”

For a tradition so rich in identity and skill, this trend is disheartening. Many artisans like Tenzin believe that with better support such as easier access to raw materials, training centers, and market linkages, more youth might consider joining the trade. Government agencies like the Agency for Promotion of Indigenous Crafts (APIC) and local cooperatives like Shagzo Tshogpa have made efforts to promote Dapas through festivals, training programs, and cooperative marketing centers. However, artisans still face hurdles in scaling their work or ensuring sustainability.

The evolution of Dapa-making also tells a story of Bhutan’s larger journey. Once entirely handmade with muscle-powered lathes, the craft now accommodates small motors, sandpaper, and other practical innovations. “Back in those days, we didn’t have proper tools to make Dapas, and it was all handmade,” Tenzin recalled. “Now, access to motors and sandpaper, which are essential, has completely changed how we work. This shows that our country is growing.”
The balance between preserving tradition and embracing change is delicate but necessary. For craftsmen like Tenzin, the key lies in adaptation without erasure. His bowls- smooth, symmetrical, and subtly fragrant with the scent of polished wood- tell stories not only of utility but of endurance.

Today, as the wheels of his lathe spin and chips of wood scatter across the floor, Tenzin works with quiet purpose. His hands move with the rhythm of memory and skill, shaping not just wood but also hope that the younger generation might one day return to this noble craft, not out of necessity, but out of pride.

“There will always be a profit if you are giving it your all,” he said with conviction. “And more than that, there’s something priceless about continuing what your ancestors started.”

In Trashiyangtse, far from the lights of Thimphu and the distractions of the digital world, such pride still turns steady, circular, and alive.

Dorji Gyeltshen, 27, a youth from Bumdeyling, shared his perspective: “Many of my friends have gone to towns or abroad, looking for jobs and a better life. But I felt something different calling me. I grew up watching my uncle work on the lathe, shaping Dapas with such skill and patience. When I finally tried it myself, I realized how much dedication it takes. It’s not just work it art.”

Dorji admits the journey hasn’t been easy. “At first, I wasn’t sure if this could sustain me. People think there’s no future in such traditional work. But when I started selling a few pieces through the local cooperative, I saw that there is potential. What we need is more access to raw materials, better marketing, and training support for young artisans.”
He paused, looking around his small workshop filled with the scent of polished wood. “If we get proper support and markets, I believe more young people will return to this craft. It gives you a sense of purpose. You are not just earning; you are keeping your ancestors’ legacy alive.”