In the elevated Anza Vista neighborhood of San Francisco, Corey Chan’s unassuming home hides a secret world. Open his two-car garage, and you’re instantly transported to a vibrant realm teeming with Chinese lion and dragon heads of every imaginable color, size, and style. These magnificent creations, some with fanged mouths agape and adorned with brilliant pompoms, fake peaches, spears, swords, and axes, share space with everyday items like drying laundry.
At 63, Chan has dedicated himself to mastering every facet of Chinese lion dance, a tradition steeped in over a millennium of history and mythology. From the intricate construction and repair of these majestic creatures to the precise performance of each dance move, he is a true custodian of the art form. Lion dances are not only central to Lunar New Year celebrations but also grace weddings, business openings, and even funerals for revered elders and martial arts teachers.
Chan describes his journey as a “never-ending learning journey,” driven by a profound hunger for knowledge. Despite presenting himself as a humble scholar, he is a deeply respected and highly skilled teacher. He serves as the heritage director at Cameron House, a long-standing nonprofit in San Francisco’s Chinatown that supports the Asian American community, and also directs Kei Lun Martial Arts. It was through his martial arts practice that he assembled his dedicated crew: Jeff Lee, Travis Lum, and Thomas Chun. Jeff Lee, 61, marvels at Chan’s unique ability, quipping, “What do you call it if you have a photographic memory but with your body? The master shows it one or two times and then, boom, Corey’s got it.”
Recognizing the scarcity of English resources on lion dancing, Chan led a research expedition to China in 2000 with members of Kei Lun Martial Arts. They immersed themselves in the craft, studying with master artisans in Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Hong Kong. Lee notes, “It’s a labor of love, but also an appreciation of their family art, their tradition.”
There, they uncovered the five-stage process of creating a lion head: building a bamboo skeleton, applying layers of papier-mâché, painting intricate designs, adding symbolic embellishments, and finally, consecrating the lion in a ceremony to bring it to life.
Crafting the lion frame begins with cutting bamboo into thin strips, which are then heated to become pliable. These strips are meticulously bound with around a thousand knots of paper tape, a step often considered the most challenging. Once the bamboo framework is complete, multiple layers of papier-mâché are carefully applied. Lum explains, “If you use one layer, it’s going to tear so you have to use like three or four layers.” He favors using thick paper bags for the lion’s interior, particularly along the spine and jaw, which endure the most stress.
Unlike the tradition of burning unused lions to symbolically return them to heaven, Chan and his friends operate as the “Lion Rescue Squad.” “We’ve never had to burn a lion because we know how to fix them,” Chan proudly states. Their side business, Of Course Lion Source, which Chan playfully calls “a hobby that kind of went out of control,” sees them repairing Chinese lions and dragons sent from across the country. They even rescued a badly damaged lion abandoned in an Oakland park. Both lions and dragons symbolize good fortune and protection against evil spirits, with dragons typically being longer and requiring more performers.
“Anybody that makes these things, prepares these things, they’re putting not just their time, they’re putting in their soul,” Chan reflects. “A little bit of me goes into this.” In a testament to their expertise, the New York Historical Society and the Marysville Chinese Community in California enlisted the squad in 2014 to restore Moo Lung, a colossal, nearly 150-year-old dragon believed to be the oldest in the United States.
Moo Lung’s creation occurred during a difficult period in American history, when Chinese people faced massacres and discrimination, notably the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act. The dragon served as a powerful symbol, showcasing China’s rich, ancient civilization. It journeyed from the Bok Kai Temple in Marysville, California, to the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair and the 1911 New York City Fourth of July parade.
Today, profiting from this art form remains a challenge. The group laughs when discussing their business; commissions, ranging from $300 to $2,000 based on condition and customer requests, typically only cover labor and supply costs. The team often invests their own time and money into their passion. Chan emphasizes, “You don’t do this kind of thing to make a lot of money real fast. It’s art.”
Lions, not indigenous to China, are thought to have arrived at the Chinese Imperial Court via the Silk Road during the Han dynasty, later evolving into mythological symbols of protection and peace. The three common colors of lion heads—yellow, red, and black—represent characters from the classic Chinese historical novel, “Romance of the Three Kingdoms.” Lee explains, “The Liu Bei lion often has a white beard because he’s older, more knowledgeable, civil, and he’s danced with a more regal type of nature. Whereas the Guan Gong lion is a General. He’s strong, he is in his prime, he has a black beard.” The black Zhang Fei lion, representing the youngest and most pugnacious character, is rarely seen, as Chan notes, “Traditionally, you don’t even bring out a black lion unless you’re going to fight.” Indeed, Lee and Chan recall a time when rival martial arts and lion dance troupes would frequently clash, leading many parents to forbid their children from participating. “The guys who did lion dance at the time had to be really good at martial arts.”
Once the lion’s colors and personalities are decided, decorative motifs are meticulously painted, and movable ears, eyelids, and jaws are attached. Convex mirrors on the forehead are believed to ward off evil spirits and attract positive energy. Before its inaugural dance, a Chinese lion undergoes an eye-dotting ritual to awaken its senses. The Rescue Squad uses a calligraphy brush dipped in muddy red cinnabar to dot the nose for smell, the tongue for taste, the ears for hearing, and places one dot on the horn and seven along the lion’s body, symbolizing the seven stars of the Big Dipper.
With its final blessing, the lion is almost ready for its public duties: to scare away malevolent spirits, leap to retrieve red envelopes tied to lettuce for prosperity (representing a good harvest or financial success), and solve intricate physical and mental puzzles known as Cheng. These puzzles, traditionally set by knowledgeable business owners outside their shops, represent a dying art that Chan is diligently working to document and preserve in a forthcoming book. As Lee articulates the closing line of their liturgy, “Now we bring this lion to life, now may he raise his martial valor and bring peace to the world.”