Blog

Dawa Drolma (ཟླ་བ་སྒྲོལ་མ) is the co-founder of Khyenle Arts Center, where lima bronze statues are still produced according to traditional methods, and where every product carries a centuries-long heritage. The name itself holds history: Khyenle(མཁྱེན་ལི) derives from Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo Rinpoche (1820-1892), founder of the Rimé movement and the first incarnation of Dzongsar Khyentse. He refined an existing bronze-casting technique and established a new alloy composition, initiating the bronze style known as Khyenle. The name of the Arts Center is a tribute to this lineage, which continues through Dawa’s family. Indeed, through five generations of transmission from Khyenle Rinpoche, the master Tashi Dorji eventually passed this knowledge to Nyi Ma, Dawa’s father, who then taught his son Dawa Dakpa, now one of the key figures of Khyenle Arts Center.

So, belonging to a seventh-generation family of metalsmiths, Dawa Drolma grew up surrounded by artisans. Naturally, art and craftsmanship found their way into her life: not through hands, but mind. Even though she did not feel especially skilled at making objects herself, from an early age she discovered that she had the ability to connect with artisans and understand their work. This attitude accompanied her throughout a long and inspiring journey.

She began school at 10 years old, attending primary and middle school in Dege. After years of dedication and preparation, she was admitted to the selective ETP program in Xining (Qinghai), where she spent two years mastering the English language and studying English-taught subjects. Soon after, she became a researcher in a world oral literature project, a role she held for three years. This experience led to the publication of her first book, Silence in the Valley of Songs, a work in which the working songs of nomads and farmers were collected and explained, revealing their deep cultural meaning.

During those years she worked with determination toward another goal: studying business in the United States. In 2012 she was accepted and received offers from three different American universities. She eventually chose Bay Path University, where she completed a bachelor’s degree in Business with a double major in Marketing and Small Businesses Development.

Alongside acquiring the skills needed to become an entrepreneur, she also gave space to her creative mind. During this time, she produced her first film about the making of clay statues, Dzongsar Clay, winning the First Award, by International Crafts Film Contest for International Students in 2012 and the Best Undergraduate Film by Society of Visual Anthropology in 2015. It was the first recognition in what would later become a long list of films and documentaries acknowledged for their cultural value.

This educational path strengthened her conviction that her mind could contribute to the heritage of her family and, more broadly, to the entire community of Menshod. Indeed, despite the opening of China and the artisan renaissance that began in the 1980s, the challenges of an increasingly industrialized world were beginning to affect the local market of Menshod. All of a sudden, the handmade world of artisans found itself overwhelmed by a commodified economy, where objects produced by machines seemed able to replace handmade ones; faster, cheaper, in larger quantities, and, apparently, without flaws.

Even before leaving, she had witnessed her own family, like many other artisans, struggling under this pressure. Competing with machine-made products often seemed impossible. Gradually, a sense of discouragement spread among the artisans of Menshod. The subtle but growing feeling that “there is no market for us anymore” began to take root. When asked about the future, the children of these artisans rarely answered, “I want to be like my father”. Continuing this long-standing heritage no longer seemed a viable path.

Yet Dawa believed otherwise. Through her studies and experiences, she strengthened the idea that a market for handmade crafts still existed: a niche market, perhaps, but one with real potential. There were still people in the world capable of appreciating the unique skills of the Valley. What Menshod needed was connection with the outside world. 

In building this confidence, an important role was played by Karpu (སྐལ་བུ།), director of the Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital, who has long been (and still is) a fundamental pillar of the community. At that time, Karpu was the mind behind Ziwu, a brand that introduced innovation and new perspectives to the artisans of the area.

Dawa returned home in 2017, and from that moment her life entered a period of full-time work. “I can change the world” was the attitude she carried when she came back. Yet that enthusiasm soon had to meet reality: the challenging task of finding a balance between tradition and innovation, and the responsibility of taking care of the family’s center, which was not in the best condition. Despite the hardships, however, her father, Nyi Ma, remained deeply committed to handmade craftsmanship. Stubborn in the best sense of the word, he refused numerous offers from factories. No matter the difficulties, he could not abandon the craft. For him, this art carried a meaning far beyond economic profit.

Work needed to be done, and it was done: within a few years, Khyenle Arts Center flourished again. This flourishing did not simply mean returning to economic stability. Rather, it meant becoming once again a cornestone of the community. This transformation also meant confronting the sentiment that had slowly spread among artisans: the feeling that “the world does not need us anymore”. As the work of the artisans began to be valued again, this perception gradually faded. When their creations started to be appreciated, when they received a fair income from their work, and when admiration arrived from visitors and collectors from around the world, confidence returned. It became clear that the human touch still holds value, an extremely high value. The change soon became visible even among the younger generations: today, children say that they want to become artisans.

This empowerment of artisans was made possible largely thanks to Dawa’s approach. Her perspective has always been concrete and grounded, attentive to the real needs of people. As she says: “it is not fair to talk about the duty of continuing tradition without speaking about the food on the table”. Preserving tradition is invaluable and a shared responsibility, but people must also sustain themselves. Finding a balance between this duty and the necessity of a stable livelihood was a difficult challenge, but it proved to be the key.

Today, Khyenle Arts Center counts 39 artisans. It offers apprenticeships to those who genuinely wish to learn, operates a guesthouse, and has become a cultural hub where innovation blends with tradition and the local connects with the global. The center hosts artist residencies and exchanges: Khyenle artisans travel abroad to present their work, such as at the Smithsonian Museum, and at the London Craft Week, while international students and artists come here to learn about lima bronze casting.

In particular, in China and internationally, the center is recognized as the only place in the world where lima bronze statues are produced entirely in one location, from the first step to the final stage. The reason for this uniqueness is clear: the determination of Dawa’s family to remain faithful to tradition and to act as its guardians. It is a path that requires choosing the hard way. Here, that hard way is represented by a complex process of more than ten stages required to create a single statue, carried out along with the strict respect for the requirements from the statue maker.

The process of making a statue begins with an image provided by the customer, often a thangka or another visual reference that defines the iconography of the figure. From this image, the artisan first creates a clay model. At this stage, different types of clay can be used, as the material mainly serves to shape the form and proportions of the statue.

Once the clay model is complete, a mold is built around it through multiple layers: silicone inlayer mold to capture the finest details, while outer layers are reinforced with plaster to stabilize the structure. When the mold is finished, the clay statue is removed, leaving a negative form that will guide the next stage.

The mold is then used to create a wax version of the statue that is refined through a delicate process, where artisans correct small imperfections and sharpen the details.

Once the wax figure is ready, a protective layers of sand and mud mold is built around it. The piece is placed inside a kiln, where the heat hardens the outer shell while melting the wax inside. The wax flows out through prepared channels, leaving an empty cavity in the exact shape of the statue. This is the famous lost-wax method.

This stage is particularly fragile. According to Dawa, the transformation from wax to bronze succeeds only about 20% of the time. For this reason, artisans often prepare several wax versions of the same statue design. Because the wax melts during firing, the mold must be made from fire-resistant materials capable of withstanding extremely high temperatures. At this stage, the piece is carefully inspected. If the result is not satisfactory, the metal is melted down and reused.

Interestingly, when video about the process and frames of melted statues are shared online, some people react negatively, believing that destroying a sacred figure is inappropriate. But in the workshop the reasoning is different: if a statue representing a divine figure is not crafted properly, remelting it is considered an act of respect rather than disrespect. The statue must be as perfect as possible.

The casting itself begins by reheating the mold to prevent thermal shock. It is then placed in sand while molten bronze is poured through channels into the empty cavity. After the metal cools and solidifies, the outer shell is broken away with hammers or sandblasting. What emerges is the rough bronze statue, still attached to the metal channels created during casting.

What follows is the long and meticulous stage known as metal chasing. The statue is heated again and worked with a wide range of specialized tools, sometimes more than 200 for a single piece. The surface is first smoothed, then carefully engraved to refine every detail. The lima bronze of which statues are made is also extremely difficult to work with: once cast, its details cannot easily be corrected. Because of its importance, statues made of lima bronze are especially valued. Dawa explains that in the Potala Palace there is even a room dedicated entirely to statues made with this alloy called Lima Lhakang, meaning “the temple of lima statues”. In earlier times, when correcting flaws was even harder and flawed statues cannot be re-done, small imperfections were sometimes accepted as part of the work and holes, where called the “gates of the Lama” (lisgo).

Statue making remains a fragile craft. Mistakes are common and mastering the entire production cycle requires at least ten years of experience. With such a low success rate, uncertainty and failure are simply part of the work. Yet the making of a statue is not defined only by technique. It also depends on the discipline and conduct of the artist. In this tradition, the quality of a statue is believed to be closely connected to the ethical and spiritual integrity of the person who creates it.

For this reason, statue makers follow a set of rules: no drinking and smoking, and refrain from hunting, fighting, gambling, or harming the environment. Students in the workshop follow the same principles. Moreover, certain empowerment rituals are also required before working on some of the statues.These practices reflect an essential understanding: the statues are not merely objects of art, but are objects for meditation. For many artisans, therefore, statue making is not simply a way to earn a living: it is a form of Buddhist practice.

A story about Dawa’s father clearly illustrates this mindset. He had once been commissioned to create six statues of Guru Rinpoche, a project scheduled to take six months. Yet when the statues were almost finished (only a month before the deadline), he decided to begin the entire process again. From the client’s perspective, the priority was clear: deliver the work on time. For him, however, the priority was the quality of the statue. As he explained, the statues will remain long after the artist is gone: one day he will die, but the statues will continue to exist for generations. Because of this permanence, the statue carries a value greater than the artist himself. It must be as close to perfection as possible.

In this sense, the responsibility to the work can outweigh the obligation to a deadline. According to Dawa, it is precisely this uncompromising commitment that makes her father such a remarkable artist. “My duty”, she says, “is to protect my father’s freedom to be an artist”. That is another reason why she took the role of business manager: protect the cultural heritage through protecting artists’ rhythms, discipline, and rituals that guide their work. 

At the same time, her perspective along with her brother’s, Dawa Dakpa, creativity, helped introduce innovation into the center, creating new products while remaining rooted in tradition. One example is the jewelry collection: these pieces follow the same casting process used for statues, though with a higher success rate, around 50-60 %. For jewelry, this particular bronze alloy is especially valued because it does not release color onto the skin when worn. This line responded both to market demand and to the needs of artisan training. For many young apprentices, becoming a statue maker takes years; jewelry making offers a way to practice the techniques before approaching sacred statues. At the same time, these pieces allow Buddhist philosophy, the source of inspiration for many designs, to reach a broader audience.

For Dawa, innovation is not separate from tradition; it is the tradition of the future. Culture, after all, is a living process. “We want to define ourselves”, she says firmly. Indeed, Tibetan culture should be made and narrated by Tibetans. When people buy a product from the center, they are not simply buying an object: they are encountering the people behind it, the legacy, the philosophy, and the continuation of a living culture.

Looking ahead, the products will continue to evolve naturally, always in dialogue with tradition. New future jewelry lines may include traditional Tibetan stones, while experimentation is also taking place within the statue-making workshop itself. One recent work in progress, for example, depicts the legendary snow leopard curled up on a rocky mountain surrounded with cans: a symbolic piece intended to raise awareness about environmental protection. In the area, once remote and untouched, waste management is already becoming an issue on the present, and it may become even more urgent in the future. As Dawa explains, the environment is not something separate from us: we are part of it. 

More broadly, there is also concern for the future of the fragile ecosystem of Menshod. Until now, the community has been fortunate to preserve traditional making processes, but change can arrive suddenly. One of the greatest fears is that a place might become “viral”, attracting rapid commercialization and mass tourism. In such situations, handcrafted workshops can quickly be replaced by souvenir shops selling mass-produced objects. When that happens, skills disappear, and intangible heritage can be lost in a very short time. No one knows whether this will happen or not, but being prepared is essential. The new generation must have the tools to understand the value of their own culture and to preserve it. In this sense, the energy of younger artisans does not replace tradition: it complements and protects it. This is why Dawa’s attention and care extend beyond her own center to the entire community.

As she had hoped from the beginning, through her work, she has become a pillar not only for Khyenle Arts Center but for Menshod as a whole. She organizes workshops and training sessions on business planning, logo design, marketing strategies, and culture-based product development. She has brought groups of artisans on study tours to different cities in China, visiting museums, antique collections, and contemporary art exhibitions, and discussing together what the concept of art can mean today.

She has also led several community initiatives aimed at strengthening collaboration among artisans. Since 2025, a collective project has brought different artisans’ centers together to produce a single piece each year. In 2026, the product was designed entirely by female-led centers: an initiative that included paper making (Paper Making Center), calligraphy (Yang Lek Shey), pottery (Oldhouse Pottery Center), incense (Yang Lek Shey), lima bronze casting (Khyenle Arts Center), and weaving (Nayo Tsang Weaving Center), together with the collaboration of the Cantonese designer Li Lijun. For Dawa, this project was a powerful sign of women’s empowerment in Menshod: not because gender needed to be emphasized, but because the collaboration itself felt natural and equal.

Another important recent project has been the creation of the Map of Artisan Centers in Menshod (Maisu), the result of years of work. The map lists thirty-three cultural centers across the village and highlights important places such as the hospital, sacred sites, pharmacies, scenic areas, and different types of roads. It is a practical tool for visitors, but also a way for residents themselves to recognize the richness of their own community.

The map expresses a clear vision: protecting together the philosophy of Menshod. What makes this place valuable is not only the number of artisans or the diversity of crafts, but the fact that it is a real community; an ecosystem where culture, craftsmanship, and everyday life exist in harmony.

In the end, the most precious element is not a specific craft or a specialized skill, but the solidarity among people working together. In Dawa’s word, “One person’s influence is very small, but a community working together is powerful”. 

Despite the uncertainties of the future, Dawa continues this work with determination. Like the casting of a lima bronze statue, the final result is never guaranteed. The process is fragile, mistakes are frequent, and success is never certain. Yet the only possible path is to keep working with patience, compassion, and a sincere heart, trusting that what is shaped with care today may outlive us and speak to generations to come.

Tenzin Dakpa (བསྟན་འཛིན་གྲགས་པ།), a pottery master from the Nayo family, and Tsering Tso (ཚེ་རིང་མཚོ), a silversmith and goldsmith as well as business manager, are the couple behind the Nayo Oldhouse Pottery Center.

The name “Oldhouse” comes from the exact location of the center: it is an authentic old Tibetan house, one of the very few still existing and inhabited in the area. Belonging to the Nayo family, the house carries nearly three centuries of history and represents a precious piece of local material culture. The couple inherited it and made the conscious decision to continue living there, combining their home with their workshop.

Tenzin Dakpa began his journey in pottery at the age of thirteen. Willing to learn the craft, his father, the same visionary father of Tashi Choetso (Nayo Weaving Center), sent him to pottery classes. Since 2001, first training at the well-known Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center and later, in 2019, opening his own workshop, he has continuously cultivated his mastery of clay.

The artifacts are made from locally sourced clay, collected through the traditional process: a hole must be dug at least 5 meters deep, wide enough for two people to enter. One person digs while the other holds a lamp and, after a while, the roles are changes. In older time light was given by yak butter lamps, now we use battery torches. When he first began, he was too young and small to dig and descend into the hole, so he used to accompany and observe the older artisans, but soon he started searching for the clay independently. At the beginning he was afraid, but over time he learned, gaining confidence and eventually becoming an expert in the materials-collection and in the craft.

The pottery center itself was established in 2019, and its birth was made possible thanks to Tsering Tso. Observing her husband’s growing skill and dedication, she envisioned a way to combine their abilities and build something together. She speaks Chinese, which allowed the business to open to a wider range of customers, and she took responsibility for marketing and communication. At the same time, she decided to learn silver and goldsmithing. At 25 years old, sensing future possibilities and redirecting her career path, she began studying at the Gold and Smith Filigree Studio in Menshod. During the training, she created her first piece: a ponggyen (སྤང་རྒྱན), a traditional Tibetan jewel, on the creation of which she spent two months. From there, her expertise steadily grew and is now visible in the pieces she creates in collaboration with her husband.

Innovation is one of the defining traits of their center. Before starting their business, production focused mainly on traditional designs. However, new customers brought new expectations, and they chose to respond to market demand without abandoning their roots. One of their most innovative product lines is jewelry that clearly blends tradition and modernity. Turquoise (གཡུ), dzi (གཟི), and other traditional stones are incorporated into clay and silver bracelets, earrings, necklaces, and even trengwa (ཕྲེང་བ), the Tibetan prayer bead. Clay jewelry is especially renowned for its ability to absorb fragrances; it is said that if sprayed with perfume, the fragrance can last for one or two months.

Their success in making these products reflects the strength of their partnership. As said, without her, he would not be able to run the center. Their collaboration can be compared to the traditional Tibetan milk container, wozam (འོ་ཟམ), made from two types of wood: juniper and alpine pine. In Tibetan culture, juniper represents the male element and alpine pine the female. Only when combined do they create a perfectly sealed container. In the same way, the pottery center functions through the union of Tsering Tso and Tenzin Dakpa. The key, according to them, is mutual understanding, mutual support, and the nurturing of ideas from both sides. As Tsering Tso explains, “it is not necessary that she always likes his work, or vice versa, what matters is supporting each other”.

This unity is further enriched by the Oldhouse itself. Why start the business in the Oldhouse instead of building a new workshop? Because both their art and their identity are deeply connected to traditional culture. Living and working in the Oldhouse, a living museum, is both a privilege and a responsibility. The house holds immeasurable value and stands as one of the very few remaining examples of ancient architectural history in Menshod. Indeed, its importance is widely recognized, and many local people visit to learn about it, especially monks from the Dzongsar Institute, who, during holidays often come to the Oldhouse to study and observe its structure. Looking ahead, the Oldhouse is set to become an official museum: the registration process is already underway, with the documentation submitted to the government.

Thinking about the future, they are committed to continuing traditional art within a traditional space, enriched by innovative elements. They aim to expand their market while maintaining deep respect toward Tibetan culture, ensuring that it remains alive, honored, and evolving.

Yang Lek Shey art center was founded by Sonam Yangchen (བསོད་ནམས་དབྱངས་ཅན), a local calligrapher deeply rooted in Tibetan culture. She studied calligraphy in middle school, but her passion for art began in her early childhood: “she liked arts above everything else”. A decisive moment came when, during school, she encountered a female calligraphy teacher, something rare in a field traditionally reserved for boys. Seeing a woman practicing and teaching calligraphy made her believe that nurturing her own passion was possible. From that moment, choosing to pursue calligraphy felt natural.

During her university years, she realized that her passion could also become her profession. She began by selling her works online, slowly building her presence. After years of dedication, challenges, and perseverance, she officially registered her company in 2023.

Her vision is based on a deep respect for tradition combined with the courage to innovate. The beginning of her journey is symbolically captured in her logo: the Tibetan character གཡང (yang) representing success and fortune, enclosed within the Dungkar (དུང་དཀར།), the white conch shell, one of the Eight Auspicious Symbols of Tibetan culture, symbolizing prosperity. This design was her first creation, dated back 2019, and marked the milestone that sealed the realization of her dream.

Sonam Yangchen’s work is based on rigorous study of traditional calligraphy and a bold approach to innovation. By blending tradition with contemporary design, she responds to market demands and contributes to the evolution of Tibetan art, creating a bridge between past and future. Aware that many young people feel distant from traditional arts, she uses creativity as a strategy and trick them: through innovative designs, she first attracts them aesthetically, then gradually introduces them to the deeper meanings embedded in Tibetan timeless culture.

Tibetan calligraphy is one of the major arts of Tibetan culture and includes two principal categories: Uchen (དབུ་ཅན),popular in the Kham region, and Umê (་དབུ་མེད), spread in Ü-Tsang. Among the most complex fonts are Tsukring (སུག་རིང་) within the Umê category, described as the font representing “the long feet”, and Sdebring (སྡེབ་རིང་) within the Uchencategory. Sonam Yangchen chose to master both Tsukring and Dering, considered among the most difficult fonts, believing that “if you can write Tsukring, all the others become easier”. She describes herself as being in a continuous process of learning and improvement: an attitude that also led her to expand into painting. 

In fact, alongside calligraphy, she explores oil landscape painting and innovative representations of Tibetan culture. Painting as work comes to her life later, but it was always present in her world. Her father is a Thangka painter and a former student of the respected master Tsephel (་ཚེ་འཕེལ). His deep devotion to Tibetan culture and his constant encouragement, urging her to pursue quality, discipline, and hard work, made him her greatest role model.

Hard work is the principle that guides her present and shapes her future. In her words: “The future, whether light or dark, depends on hard work”. She envisions herself continuing to study both calligraphy and painting, especially Thangka painting, in order to inherit her father’s legacy and explore new ways of blending these two Tibetan art forms. At the same time, she will keep developing her role as a business leader.

As a woman who chose to remain in her hometown, the challenges have been many. She never considered leaving Menshod; instead, she feels a strong responsibility to preserve an important heritage while merging it with her own ideas. Running a business as a woman requires constant effort, maintaining networks, overcoming financial pressures, and managing responsibilities. Yet she believes that the digital era offers new opportunities to remain local while connecting with the world.

Her center, located in Buyou village, is a vibrant creative space where she works on calligraphy and painting alongside her father’s Thangka practice. Although they create independently as artists, they have recently begun collaborating as artisans, producing incense made from juniper and local natural herbs. Visiting her studio means stepping into a living space where tradition and innovation coexist: a home of artists devoted to keeping Tibetan culture alive and evolving.

Tashi Choetso (བཀྲ་ཤིས་ཆོས་མཚོ།), born in 1991, returned to her hometown after graduation in 2017. In 2018, she joined the Nayo Weaving Center, run by her mother, choosing not to search for opportunities elsewhere, but to create her future where her family’s history already lived. Under the guidance of the physician Lodrö Phuntsok (བློ་གྲོས་ཕུན་ཚོགས།), the mother had restarted the workshop, and Tashi Choetso soon took the lead in innovating and expanding the business. Once back, she began learning the art of weaving yak hair and sheep wool by hand from her mother, the guardian of a knowledge passed down through generations.

The work is carried out using a thaktri (འཐག་ཁྲི), a traditional loom that was once common in Tibetan households to provide for family needs. Today, her home remains the only one in the village where the thaktri still stands and continues to speak through its threads.

Historically, this technique was essential for producing garments, especially monk robes. During the time of the Dege Kingdom, her family was the only one in the area weaving monk robes to meet the high demand of Dzongsar Monastery. By learning directly from her mother, Tashi Choetso stepped into this lineage, continuing a practice that has now become intangible cultural heritage.

The vision behind founding her center was clear and uncompromising: to preserve this intangible culture. She chose to remain in her hometown and to defend the old tradition in its authenticity. Moving from handmade weaving to automatic machines would have been more profitable, but it would have meant surrendering something essential. For her, preservation is not a decorative word it is daily discipline, patience, and responsibility. It means choosing quality over quantity, even when the path is harder.

Her bravery also lies in seeking balance: deeply rooted in tradition, her work opens itself to the present and the future. Ancient techniques are used to create contemporary products designs, showing that heritage is not static, but evolving. 

Another courageous commitment defines her work: women’s empowerment. Before the creation of the center, many local women possessed weaving skills but had no access to the market and no independent income. Today, nine women between approximately 35- and 49-years old work at the center. Many of them did not have strong formal educational backgrounds, yet through this craft they have become skilled Tibetan weaving experts. This initiative began with the visionary idea of her father, who gathered women from the community and, during the training, paid them 50 yuan per day to learn. The first year was marked by financial hardship, but they persevered. Her father, sensing how quickly the world was changing, feared the disappearance of this technique and felt a deep responsibility to protect it. Tashi Choetso inherited that same sense of responsibility. 

The materials she works with include yak wool, the so-called yak cashmere (the soft undercoat of the yak), and sheep wool. Yak hair is collected locally, while sheep wool now comes from the Lhasa area, since changes in lifestyle have reduced local sheep breeding, making local supply difficult.

Within the center, tradition and innovation intertwine naturally. Yak-inspired and nature-inspired creations emerge alongside products decorated with traditional patterns and symbols. One of her latest works is a bag made of yak wool and yak cashmere, whose thread pattern design evokes mountains and rivers.

The center is gradually gaining recognition beyond the region. In 2019, she spent a period studying at Beijing College, creating four complete garments while deepening her knowledge of color matching and exploring new designs. This experience led to participation in an international exhibition during Beijing Fashion Week. In 2026, Wonderland magazine mentioned Nayo Tsang Weaving Center in issue number 277, highlighting her recent exploration of plant-based dyes. This research began last year and continues today, as she studies plants to produce 100% natural colors. These dyes are more delicate, especially in washing, yet they are gentle on the skin and free from harmful substances. For now, only some products feature plant-based colors, but the experimentation continues.

Looking toward the future, her path remains clear. She envisions continued growth through the careful blending of tradition and innovation, with increasing attention to materials, and design. She sees her creations traveling beyond borders, reaching the wider world while remaining firmly rooted in her village. Above all, her future is tied to her original intention: safeguarding Tibetan culture in its authentic form, allowing it to evolve without losing its soul.

Pema Wangmo (པདྨ་དབང་མོ), born in 1994, is the founder of the Yuma Center. After graduating in accounting, she chose to return to her hometown and, in 2025, established her workshop, which is currently based in her family home. Her products revolve around the use of yuma (ཡུང་མ), an edible, medicinal root vegetable that holds a special place in Tibetan diet and everyday culture.

For centuries, yuma has been an essential element of Tibetan life: it has been used as a natural remedy for health problems, to prepare porridge, as animal feed, and even its leaves are cooked in noodles. In the Tibetan community, during times of hardship, when food was scarce, yuma played a crucial role in saving lives. Moreover, Menshod is particularly renowned for growing yuma; it is often said that anyone can recognize the distinctive flavor of yuma from Menshod.

Pema Wangmo was inspired both by the cultural importance of this plant and by the strength of the women in her community, who were the ones who took care of the production of yuma. However, the beginning of her business was not immediately clear in her mind; after graduation, she initially planned to take the entrance examination to become a government employee and spent a year at home studying. That year was life-changing: during that time, she closely observed the women working tirelessly to cultivate and process yuma, often without significant financial return. She also witnessed her mother’s dedication in preparing yuma products as gifts, which were (and still are) nutritious and meaningful offerings shared among families.

That year revealed to her a clear imbalance between the immense labor of these women and the limited income they received. At the same time, she recognized the potential of her mother’s products, which could gain greater value through new presentation and marketing. She began by designing packaging for these yuma gifts. The early stages were difficult; sales were limited, and at times she considered returning to her previous career path and sitting for the government examination. Nevertheless, she chose to embrace the challenges and continued with determination, believing she could “elevate the work to the next level”.

As time passed and she deepened her understanding of yuma, its properties and cultural significance, and she became convinced that tradition could be enriched through innovation. She began developing new products, such as yuma tea, and participated in numerous exhibitions in major cities, like Chengdu and Shanghai. She noticed that at first many people were unfamiliar with yuma. However, once she explained its cultural background and health properties, interest grew quickly, and often customers returned.

Since many of her customers are from Mainland China, she introduces yuma as luóbu (萝卜) xiōngdi (兄弟), “brother”, creating an immediate cultural reference. She explains that it grows in Tibetan areas at around 3,500 meters above sea level and possesses various health benefits. It is widely known as a remedy for altitude sickness, but it can also aid digestion, support women during menstruation, help with sobering up, improve eyesight, and relieve internal heat. Indeed, considering its nutritional qualities, yuma can be regarded as a kind of hidden gold.

As for gold, the “mining” is very demanding: the cultivation process itself occupies most of the year. yuma is planted in March, in May, the fields must be cleaned, and again in July another cleaning is required. In late July, the leaves can be harvested, dried and later eaten directly or used in soups and porridge. In early October, the root is dug up, the plants are gathered, and brought home to separate root and remained leaves. Yuma can be eaten raw and boiled, which is widely consumed as a snack. This snack production involves several stages: drying the raw plant, boiling it thoroughly, separating the liquid, dying it again, and when its half-dried, mixing it with melted butter, brown sugar (optional) and a certain amount of the liquid obtained by the previous separation stage.  from Yuma when boiled to make its flavors, But Sugar addition is also optional. Clearly it is a complex and time-intensive process, yet she stays committed to continuing it.

Looking toward the future, the business is gradually growing, confirming that she is able “to bring yuma to the next level”. Last year, she obtained the official certificate known as lüse renzhen (绿色认证) for her work: indeed, since yuma is a naturally grown edible plant belonging to the greenery category, this certification now allows her to sell online. Currently, the Yuma Center operates from her home, but she foresees opening an independent workshop in the future. Above all, she hopes to encourage more women to work, develop their own ideas, and follow their ambitions. If the business continues to grow, she plans to hire more employees, especially women.

Through her personal journey, through the value she gives to the labor of the women in her community, and through her future goals, her work constitutes an example of women empowerment. This vision is symbolically expressed in her self-designed logo: a lotus flower (Pema པདྨ) of which the heart is a woman’s face. This image evokes the idea that women have traditionally been the true experts in producing yuma products and remain the guardians who continue to nurture and sustain this tradition.