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Sahara Stories 撒哈拉：远方的归人

July 27, 2020 2020年7月27日

For some people, the desert holds a special allure. They’re drawn to its severe beauty, its terrifying openness, its punishing sun and frigid nights. For readers of Chinese, perhaps the most memorable figure to dream of the desert—and one of the most singular travelers of the 20th century—is the Taiwanese writer known as Sanmao.

“I don’t remember when it was exactly, but one day I found myself absentmindedly flipping through an issue of National Geographic. It just so happened there was a feature on the Sahara,” Sanmao wrote in the early 1970s, explaining the desert’s pull. “I couldn’t understand the feeling of homesickness I had, inexplicable and yet so decisive, towards that vast and unfamiliar land, as if echoing from a past life . . . My desire to go only deepened, torturing me with nostalgia and longing.” Not content simply to dream, in 1973 she and her future husband José moved from Madrid, where they had been working, to the town of El Aaiún, in what was then the Spanish colony of the Western Sahara.

Sanmao’s account of her life there, Stories of the Sahara, first published in 1976, brought her overnight fame in Taiwan, and it launched her brief but fertile literary career. Over the course of the next fifteen years, she published some twenty books and became wildly popular throughout the Chinese-speaking world. Even today, few writers are as beloved. Now, at long last, the book that made her famous is available in English, in an elegant translation by Mike Fu.

对于有些人来说，沙漠有一种特别的魅力：极端严酷的环境、摄人心魄的空旷，加之炎炎烈日与漫漫寒夜，无不令人心弛神往。对于华语读者而言，在有关沙漠的幻想中，最有代表性的人物——同时也是 20 世纪最具传奇色彩的旅行家之一，就是台湾作家三毛。

“不记得在哪一年以前，我无意间翻到一本美国的《国家地理》杂志，那期书里，它正好在介绍撒哈拉沙漠。我只看了一遍，我不能解释的属于前世回忆似的乡愁，就莫名其妙，毫无保留地交给了那一片陌生的大地。” 1970 年代初，三毛这样写下沙漠的莫名吸引力。“等我再回到西班牙来定居时……我怀念渴想往它奔去的欲望就又一度再苦痛着我了。”为了不再满足于纯粹的想象，1973 年，三毛和后来成为她丈夫的荷西（José）从他们原来工作生活的马德里搬到了阿尤恩（El Aaiún，又称“阿雍”），这是当时被划分为西班牙保护地的西撒哈拉中的一个小镇。

在《撒哈拉的故事》中，三毛讲述了这段生活。这本书在 1976 年首次出版，一经推出，就让三毛在台湾一夜成名，由此开启了她短暂而精彩的文学创作生涯。在之后十五年期间，她一共出版了近 20 本著作，在华语文学界声名大噪。即便到了今天，也鲜有作家能像她那样广受欢迎。最近，在译者傅麦（Mike Fu）的努力下，这本曾让她一举成名的著作终于被翻译成了英语版本。

Stories of the Sahara is a series of autobiographical sketches—an intimate, if not always factual, chronicle of Sanmao’s life in El Aaiún with her husband José and their Sahrawi neighbors. The stories offer a glimpse into a world her readers in Taiwan, and eventually in mainland China, could only dream of—a small colonial outpost on the edge of the desert must have seemed unimaginably remote, while her globe-trotting lifestyle must have struck many as a fantasy. “Driving through this great wasteland, so peaceful in the afternoon it was almost frightening, it was hard not to feel some measure of loneliness,” she writes. “But, by the same token, to know that I was wholly alone in this unimaginably vast land was totally liberating.” She traveled the world alone and had little patience for the gender expectations of her day. “Sanmao was unique for her time as an independent Chinese woman,” says Fu. “She not only wrote of her travels far and wide, but expressed herself with a certain boldness and (some might say) vanity.”

《撒哈拉的故事》是一本自传式散文集，其中讲述了她与丈夫荷西在阿尤恩的生活以及在当地结识的朋友，虽然故事的真实性有待商榷，但行文着实真切可感。这些故事给大陆两岸的读者打开了一扇窗户，以一窥这个想象中的曼妙异域：这个位于沙漠边缘的小小殖民地对读者来说显得那样遥远，而三毛本人周游列国的生活方式，对很多人来说更是一种遥不可及的奢望。“在下午安静得近乎恐怖的大荒原里开车，心里难免有些寂寞的感觉。”她写道，“但是，知道这难以想象的广大土地里，只有自己孤零零的一个人，也是十分自由的事。”她独自一人周游世界，无视那个时代对女性的期待。傅麦说：“三毛是一位独立的中国女性，这在那个时代是相当难得的。她不仅写下自己天南海北的旅行经历，还表现出了相当的勇气和自信。”

Born in 1943, in wartime Chongqing, Sanmao grew up in Taiwan after her family fled the communist advance. As a child she found her given name, Chen Maoping, too difficult to write, she changed it to Chen Ping; on her first trips abroad, in college, she adopted the English name Echo. Yet it’s as Sanmao—a pen name she borrowed from a 1930s comic-book character—that she became famous. Her literary persona is by turns charming, surprising, and exasperating. “She’s a whimsical character and protagonist, centering the reader as her confidant and co-conspirator,” says Fu. In her hands, even the most outrageous or harrowing situations seem entirely normal. She talks freely of her longing and her disappointments, and though she doesn’t exactly show a vulnerable side, she has no qualms about occasionally appearing ridiculous.

Before moving to the Sahara, Sanmao had already lived in the US, Germany, and Spain. She returned to Taiwan in 1970, but after the untimely death of a fiancé, she left again to take a job teaching English in Madrid. That’s where she began to dream of the desert. José María Quero, a younger man who she had met years earlier, began courting her, and even found a mining job in order to move to the desert with her. She realized that in him she’d found someone to take seriously, and the two got married in El Aaiún in 1974, in a civil ceremony Sanmao recounts in the book. (As a wedding present, he gave her a camel skull. “I was overjoyed,” she writes. “This was just the thing to capture my heart.”) They remained in El Aaiún until late 1975, moving to the Canary Islands when Spain withdrew from the Western Sahara.

三毛生于 1943 年战时的重庆，后来跟着家人逃离国内党派的追逼，来到了台湾。小时候，她觉得自己的名字陈懋（mào）平太难写了，于是就改名为陈平；大学期间，她第一次出国旅行，给自己取了英文名 Echo。然而，她最终成名是以“三毛”的名字。这个名字来源于《三毛流浪记》里的角色。她笔下的自己时而魅力四射，时而令人惊喜，有时又让人觉得可气可恨。“她在书中是一个性格反覆无常的主角，而读者则成为了她倾诉的知己和同谋。” 傅麦说道。在她笔下，即使遭遇了相当糟糕或悲惨的境况，也不过是平平带过。她毫无保留地谈论自己的渴望与失望；虽然没有完全展露自己脆弱的一面，但她毫不在意写下那些偶尔的荒诞插曲。

前往撒哈拉之前，三毛已先后在美国、德国和西班牙生活过。1970年，她回到台湾，但未婚夫不幸去世后，她又回到马德里去教英语。正是在这个时候开始，她对沙漠心生向往。而她几年前认识的一位年轻男子荷西（José María Quero）也开始追求她，甚至还找了一份采矿的工作，只为了和她一起到沙漠生活。当她意识到这是一段值得认真对待的感情后，两人于 1974 年在阿尤恩登记结婚，三毛在书中也描述了这段婚礼。（荷西送了她一个骆驼头骨作为结婚礼物。她这样写道：“我太兴奋了，这个东西真是送到我心里去的”。）他们继续留在阿尤恩生活，直到 1975 年底，当西班牙殖民军从西撒哈拉撤退时，才移居到加那利群岛。

Just why such a singular writer remained unknown in the West for so long is a mystery. “I encountered Sanmao in 2011, when a friend gave me Stories of the Sahara as a birthday present,” says Fu. He had begun dabbling in translation a few years earlier, while doing a master’s in Chinese Film at Columbia, and when he read her he immediately knew he wanted to bring her into English. “One of the first things that drew me to this book was Sanmao’s eminent readability, even for a Chinese-American like myself who grew up largely without deep knowledge of or access to Chinese literature,” he says. “I wanted her to sound just as lively, funny, and relatable in English. I felt that the spirit of her words has aged well and really lent itself to the task.” His version admirably captures her casual, conversational voice, and her personality comes through on every page. (Fu is also the translation editor of the Shanghai Literary Review.)

In recent years, Sanmao has finally begun to attract more international attention, thanks to Fu and other translators. Stories of the Sahara appeared in Catalan and Spanish in 2016 and in Dutch in 2019. Recently the New York Times devoted an “Overlooked” feature (a sort of belated obituary) to Sanmao, and the New Yorker published an essay on her life and works. The upcoming second issue of the Latin American literary journal Chopsuey will include the first-ever Spanish translation of her travelogue from Argentina. And in March of this year, for what would have been her 77th birthday, Words Without Borders published a reminiscence of her by her niece, along with videos of Fu and other translators reading her work in different languages.

这样一个充满传奇色彩的作家竟然一直不为西方社会所了解，实在让人感到匪夷所思。“我是在 2011 年认识三毛的，当时朋友送了我一本《撒哈拉的故事》作为生日礼物。” 傅麦说道。几年前，他在哥伦比亚大学修读中国电影学硕士学位的时候，开始从事翻译工作。他一读这本书，就有了要将它翻译成英文的想法。他说：“这本书最吸引我的地方在于三毛文字的可读性，即使是像我这样对中国文学不甚了解的美籍华裔也看得懂。我希望翻译成英文后，依然能呈现出她活泼、风趣的文字风格，能让读者产生共鸣。我觉得她的文字中透露出一种永不过时的精神，也因此让整本书更加出色。”他的译文出色再现了三毛随性、自然的文字语调，在字里行间，栩栩如生地勾勒出三毛的形象。（另外，傅麦也是《上海文艺评论》的翻译和编辑。）

近年来，三毛开始在国际社会上获得越来越多的关注，傅麦和其他译者功不可没。《撒哈拉的故事》加泰罗尼亚语和西班牙语版本已经于 2016 年出版，荷兰语版本也于 2019 年出版。最近，《纽约时报》发表了一篇专题文章，讲述“被忽略”的三毛（相当于一份迟来的讣文），《纽约客》(The New Yorker) 也发表了一篇文章，介绍了三毛的生平和作品。即将出版的拉美文学刊物《Chopsuey》第二期也将首次发表三毛的阿根廷游记西班牙语译本。今年 3 月是三毛的 77 岁生日，Words Without Borders 发表了由三毛侄女撰写的一篇三毛回忆录，还有傅麦和多位译者用不同语言阅读三毛作品的视频。

What explains Sanmao’s lasting appeal? Partly it’s her curiosity about everyone around her, which in turn owes a lot to her boundless confidence and willingness to flout gender norms. She was a keen observer of the life of El Aaiún and effortlessly moved across social and political lines, meeting Sahrawi notables and colonial bureaucrats, Spanish soldiers and rebel militiamen, conservative women and traveling prostitutes. She and José were much more involved in the local life than their Spanish peers. “We had many Sahrawi friends,” she writes. “The stamp seller at the post office, the security guard at the courthouse, the company driver, the store assistant, the beggar pretending to be blind, the donkey wrangler who delivered water, the powerful tribal chief, the penniless slave, male and female neighbors young and old, policemen, thieves; people from all walks of life were our sahabi.” Not everyone got along, of course, and intolerance and violence were never far from the scene. One of her most dramatic pieces, “Crying Camels,” shows how a mixture of religious intolerance, sexual conservatism, political infighting, and personal vendettas culminated, in the chaotic days of Spain’s withdrawal, in a brutal tragedy.

为什么三毛能拥有如此经久不衰的魅力？一部分原因可能是她对别人的那份好奇心，这归功于她的自信和对社会性别规训的反叛。她细致敏锐地观察着阿尤恩的生活，轻松自如地游走于不同的社会和政治阶层，既结识了撒哈拉维名流和殖民官员、西班牙士兵和反政府武装士兵，也认识了保守的传统女人和四处漂泊的妓女。比起荷西比西班牙人，三毛更加融入当地的生活。正如她笔下所写：“我们有很多撒哈拉威人（Sahrawi，指居住在西撒哈拉的人）的朋友，邮局买邮票的，法院看门的，公司的司机，商店的店员，装瞎子讨钱的，拉驴子送水的，有势的部族首长，没钱的奴隶，邻居男女老幼，警察，小偷，三教九流都是我们的“沙黑毕”（朋友）。”但是，这里的生活也不是一片其乐融融，这里也会有仇恨和暴力。在她最具戏剧性的作品之一《哭泣的骆驼》中，她描写了在动荡的西班牙大撤退中，各种宗教仇恨、性保守主义、政治斗争和个人仇杀所带来的，种种毫无意义的悲剧。

Her curiosity didn’t preclude criticism, and she never hesitated to pass judgment on what she saw. She deplored the Sahrawi practices of slavery and child marriage, and she was incredulous about local ignorance and poor hygiene. As Fu notes, “there are quite a few instances where her judgments of others, especially the Sahrawi characters, may come off as insensitive at best, derogatory or racist at worst.” Yet her judgments were balanced by a profound sympathy for nearly everyone she encountered: the young shopkeeper duped into sending money to a distant woman he thinks is his wife, the Spanish soldier filled with hatred after his comrades are massacred, the old women who asked her to treat their aches and pains. She found herself compelled by the very landscape to seek out these human connections. “Back in civilization, life was too complicated. I wouldn’t have thought other people or things had anything to do with me,” she writes. “But in this barren land, fierce winds howling year round, my spirit was moved by the mere sight of a blade of grass or a drop of morning dew . . . How could I turn a blind eye to an old man tottering on his own beneath such a lonely sky?”

她对世界充满好奇，也不吝于批判眼前所见的一切。她曾强烈谴责撒哈拉威的奴隶制和童婚传统，对当地的封闭无知和恶劣的卫生条件，也提出过质疑。就像傅麦指出的：“书中有多处，她对他人的评价，尤其是对撒哈拉威人的描述，让人感觉过于冷漠，甚至可以说是一种贬低或歧视。” 然而，在批判之余，三毛几乎对于她所遇到的每一个人又流露出同情：一直给远方所谓“妻子”寄钱的年轻店主、在战友被屠杀后充满仇恨的西班牙士兵、一位请求她治疗他们病痛的老妇；她发现，置身于沙漠的环境，她不由自主地想去寻求人与人之间的联系。她写道：“在文明的社会里，因为台服在了，我不会觉得其他的人和事跟我有什么关系，但是在这片狂风中年吹拂着的贫瘠的土地上，不要说是人，能看见一个槽，一滴晨曦下的露水，它们都会触动我的心灵，怎么可能在这样寂寞的天空下见到蹒跚独行的老人而视若无睹呢？”

In 1979, José died in a tragic diving accident on the Canary Islands, leaving Sanmao distraught. She returned to Taiwan, where she settled down to teach writing. Yet before long she was on the road again, spending several months in Latin America on assignment from United Daily News, the paper that had printed her first dispatches from Africa. Toward the end of the 1980s she traveled to mainland China for the first time. By the time of her sudden death in 1991, in an apparent suicide in a Taipei hospital, she had already become a literary legend on both sides of the straits.

Her evocations of life in the Sahara remain haunting. “What attracts me to this place? The wide openness of the earth and sky, the hot sun, the windstorms. There’s joy in such a lonely life, there’s sorrow.” Sanmao’s life and works continue to be an invitation for readers to take a leap into the unknown. And now this singular, alluring writer is available to readers in English.

To purchase Mike Fu’s translation of Stories of the Sahara, click here. The original Chinese version can be ordered here.

1979 年，荷西在加那利群岛潜水时不幸意外身亡，留下悲痛欲绝的三毛。她回到台湾定居，教授写作。然而，没过多久，她又重新踏上旅程，受《联合报副刊》邀请，在拉丁美洲生活了几个月。该报纸也曾发表了她在非洲旅行的文章。在 20 世纪 80 年代末，她第一次到访中国大陆。1991 年，三毛突然在台北一家医院自缢身亡。这时的她已经成为两岸文学界的传奇人物。

她所描写的撒哈拉生活至今仍萦绕人们的心头。“这儿有什么吸引我？天高地阔、烈日、风暴，孤寂的生活有欢喜，有悲伤，连这些无知的人，我对他们一样有爱有恨，混淆不清，唉！我自己也搞不清楚。”直到今日，三毛和她的文字仍然在吸引着读者探索未知的世界。现在，她的作品终于突破了语言的壁垒，终于能为英语读者献上她传奇的生平与故事。

如想购买傅麦的译本《Sahara Stories》，请戳此链接；如想购买中文原版《撒哈拉的故事》，请点击这里。

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Contributor: Allen Young
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li
Images Courtesy of Xiao Quan & Chengdu University of Science and Technology

喜欢我们的故事？欢迎关注我们 Neocha 的微博与微信。

 

供稿人: Allen Young
英译中: Olivia Li
图片由 肖全 与 成都科技大学出版社 提供

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Chinese Psywaves is a collaboration between Neocha and M-Lab by Modern Sky. Throughout the month of May, we’re going to introduce four Chinese alternative rock groups who are making waves. For them, music is a spiritual sustenance that transcends the boundaries of genre. This week, we’ve got Gong Gong Gong, a band that draws on noise, blues, and post-punk influences for a sound that’s all its own.

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Yet these veterans of the Beijing scene aren’t quite what they seem. For starters, their driving rhythms dispense with drums—they keep a pounding beat with only a guitar and a bass. And those angsty, howled vocals aren’t in Mandarin but Cantonese. In fact, neither member of the duo is a native of the city, or even of mainland China: Tom Ng, the guitarist and singer, hails from Hong Kong, while bassist Joshua Frank is Canadian. Together they’re redefining what it means to be a Beijing band, and their style—which draws on influences as wide-ranging as Bo Diddley and West African blues—defies easy classification.

「Chinese Psywaves」系列由摩登天空 M-Lab 和 Neocha 联合推出。整个五月，我们将为你查探四个中国区域地下摇滚乐队的独特波形。在他们的眼中，音乐不会任由形式的条框，精神的养料脱颖而出。本周，我们将为你介绍穿梭于的北京幽灵节奏制躁者，工工工乐队（Gong Gong Gong）！

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Josh Frank

Ng and Frank met in Beijing about a decade ago. They were both regulars in the city’s underground music scene: Ng’s band The Offset: Spectacles coincided at shows with Hot & Cold, the band Frank started with his brother. After working together on different gigs, they eventually started a label called Rose Mansion Analogue. But they didn’t form Gong Gong Gong until 2013, when Frank finally moved to the city full-time. (He’d spent part of his childhood there, and his diplomat parents moved there again around the time he went off to college, so he’d long been a frequent visitor.) Soon they were crafting songs with pounding guitar rhythms and impassioned Cantonese lyrics, and playing venues all over Beijing’s scene—they’ve even performed in a pedestrian underpass.

With around 10 self-produced singles and multiple EPs to their name, Gong Gong Gong are no strangers to the recording studio. Yet Phantom Rhythm, released last year on Wharf Cat Records, is their first full-length album, and it’s raising their profile far beyond underground bars of China’s capital.

Neocha tracked them down to chat about Beijing music, their new album, and their favorite DIY venues.

大约十年前，吴卓和 Joshua 在北京相识。那时候，他们已是北京地下音乐的常客：吴卓和 Joshua 分别司职憬觀: 像同叠（The Offset: Spectacles）乐队和热冷兄弟（Hot & Cold）乐队；在舞台上，两支乐队经常过招，并展示出不尽相似的音乐胃口，而因此结缘。在一起演出的日子里，两支乐队一同建立了 Rose Mansion Analogue 模块实验音乐厂牌。而直到 2013 年，在 Joshua 搬到北京之后，工工工乐队的雏形开始展现。很快，热烈的粤语演唱和笃雅的贝斯碰撞在一起，在城市中进行大大小小的活动，演出的场地甚至也包括了人行天桥之类的地方。

之后，工工工乐队发行了超过十张单曲和作品。同时，不少 DIY 制品也相继推出，比如印有 “工工工” 字样的广东舞龙狮队服饰、类似街头小广告的海报排版设计等等，大多数都是一些普罗大众、喜闻乐见的元素。

去年，乐队在 Wharf Cat Records 发行了首张专辑《幽灵节奏（Phantom Rhythm）》，几声粤语的 “喂喂喂喂喂喂”，让世界再次认识了中国地下反常规的声音。借此机会，我们拉来了工工工乐队，和他们聊了聊创作，以及他们最爱的 DIY 话题，一起来看看！

Click here to listen to select tracks by Gong Gong Gong:

点击即可试听工工工乐队的部分曲目:

Neocha: Gong Gong Gong is a Beijing band, but neither of you is exactly a Beijinger—Tom’s from Hong Kong, and Josh is a Canadian. What drew you to Beijing, and what keeps you there? How does its music scene different from other cities’?

Tom Ng: Compared to hyper-urbanized Hong Kong, Beijing feels a lot more “country,” and that’s more to my taste. Now that I’m in Beijing I can’t go back. Hong Kong has never had many music venues, and they demand bands pay a lot to rent the space to play a show. So unlike Beijing in the past, or a lot of other cities in China now, it can’t really foster a scene. Besides, there’s generally a lot of hostility among Hong Kong bands, and they often look down on each other. I feel like in Beijing, or elsewhere in China, bands are more willing to interact or collaborate. Just because you’re not into their music doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.

Now that I’ve been in Beijing for a long time, I can no longer quite remember what I like about it. But I remember when I first got there I really liked yelling in public. People on the street wouldn’t pay attention to you at all—they wouldn’t look at you like you’re crazy, the way they would in Hong Kong. It was very freeing, very funny. I like all my friends in Beijing, and I like my electric scooter. But there’s a lot I hate about the city, too, especially the lack of good food. That’s why we’re thinking of moving to Shanghai.

Josh Frank: We’re a “Beijing band” because Tom and I started playing together in Beijing. We’re definitely in between different cultures, but I don’t think that’s incompatible with being a Beijing band. Altogether I’ve lived in Beijing longer than anywhere else, and I feel like I’m somewhere in between a local and an outsider. This unusual perspective gives me a lot of inspiration. Beijing is a really interesting contradiction. Even though it’s very familiar, it changes day by day.

Beijing doesn’t have as many places for shows as New York or Montreal, but this is also a challenge. New York’s underground scene is too big, there are too many bands, and time is limited. Everyone’s busy doing their own thing, and for me, the pace is a little too hurried. Montreal, on the other hand, feels a little too slow, so in this sense perhaps you could say that Beijing is just right. What’s sad is that in the past few years, for people who play music, most of the changes haven’t been good. It’s harder and harder for underground music and art to exist here. Food is also really a problem. Every time we go on tour and eat our first meal out in a new city, we turn to each other and ask: why is food in Beijing so bad?

Neocha: 工工工是一个北京乐队，但是你们都不算正宗的北京人，Tom 来自香港，Josh 来自加拿大。北京为什么吸引你们？相比其他城市，北京的音乐场景有什么不同？

Tom Ng: 北京跟极端城市化的香港相比还挺多“土”的元素，觉得比较适合自己，搬去北京之后就回不去了。香港的演出场地一直很少，但经常要求乐队先付非常高的租金来进行演出，所以在香港不像以前的北京或者现在国内很多城市那样能够真正形成出一个场景。另外，香港的乐队之间通常都存在很多敌意，经常互相藐视，感觉在北京或者国内的乐队更愿意互相交流或者合作，就算对对方的音乐不感兴趣也不代表不能当好朋友的。

现在住久了有些忘了喜欢北京的什么，但记得当初到北京的时候很喜欢在街上乱喊，路人根本不会理你，不会像在香港那样早就给看成是个疯子，很自在也很好笑。我很喜欢我在北京的所有朋友，也很喜欢我的电瓶车。不过北京讨厌的地方也是不少，特别是没有什么好吃的东西这一点，所以有搬去上海的想法。

Josh Frank: 我们就是一个北京的乐队，因为我跟 Tom 是因为北京才开始一起做音乐的。我们确实站在不同文化中间，但我并不觉得这跟做一支北京的乐队有冲突。我在北京住过的时间加起来就比所有其他城市要长，有一种站在本地人和外人的中间的感觉，这个比较不一样视角让我找很多灵感。北京就是一个很有趣的矛盾。虽然很熟悉，但它每一天都在改变。

北京可以演出的地方比纽约跟蒙特利尔少了太多了，但是这也是一种挑战。纽约的地下音乐场景太大了，乐队太多了，时间也有限，大家都在忙各自的事情，对我来说生活节奏有一点过于的着急。蒙特利尔反而给我的感觉是有时候太慢了，所以在这一方面或许可以说北京刚刚好。比较遗憾的是这几年，对于玩音乐的人来说大多数都不是什么好的变化，地下音乐和艺术越来越难在这里生存。吃的确实也是一个问题，我们每次到外地巡演时，吃到第一顿新城市的饭，就会互相问，北京东西怎么那么难吃？

Neocha: Critics describe your music with seemingly incompatible labels: punk, minimalism, blues, and noise, to name a few. Yet your tracks have a remarkably unified sound. How do you define your music?

Tom Ng: I think it’s best to remain open-minded and let listeners define our style for themselves. Gong Gong Gong’s music is a chemical reaction between Josh and me, an extension of our spiritual and physical selves. When we make music, we’re really spontaneous and impulsive—we don’t have a plan or blueprint, so there’s probably no genre there.

Josh Frank: Usually when people ask, I say we’re a two-man band with a bass and guitar, with no drums but lots of rhythm. Maybe because we imposed that limitation on ourselves, the sound that results has its own distinctive sense of unity. I think limitations are a fundamental starting point for creation. No matter how “experimental” our music is, it has to have rhythm. The power of rhythm is undeniable.

 

 

Neocha: Last year’s LP Phantom Rhythm has a sense of urgency, and even the lyrics are loaded with references to chases, charging ahead, and moving forward. Where does this focus on acceleration come from? How does the album “drive ahead” from your previous work?

Tom Ng: Phantom Rhythms is maybe a more serious production. The album was released abroad, so it shares in the industry’s conventions. That was a bit of a new experience. As for the “drive,” maybe that’s because the rhythm is really repetitive, so it sounds like horses or trains surging ahead. But for some songs, I really do have images in my mind. For example, “Gong Gong Gong Blues” makes me feel like I’m driving fast on a windy night with trails of light speeding past, so the lyrics I wrote have that some of that sense of speed. And because neither of us has our driver’s license, the closest we can get is by “driving” our guitars.

Josh Frank: Maybe it’s because when we’re playing it’s too easy to get excited, so our songs naturally sound like that. If the atmosphere can be felt by listeners, then that means the song is well-written, and that the recording’s not bad either.

Neocha: 在描述你们音乐时，乐评人们用到了很多不相融合的风格：朋克、极简主义、布鲁斯、噪音等等。但同时，你们的音乐却听起来有蛮统一的，很有自己的一套。如何定义你们的音乐？

Tom Ng: 我觉得保持着一种开放式来让听众自己去定义我们的风格才是最合适的。工工工的音乐是我和 Josh 两人之间的化学反应加上我们精神和肉体的延伸。在创作方面，我们是很自发和随意的，没有什么计算或者布局，所以应该没有什么主义在里面吧。

Josh Frank: 一般有人问的时候我就回答：两个人的乐队，有贝斯和吉他，没有鼓，但是很有节奏感。或许因为我们给自己的这些限制，出来的声音很自然有它独特的统一感。我觉得限制力一定是创造力的出发点。不管我们做的音乐有多 “试验”，它一定要有节奏，节奏的力量是无可否认的。

 

 

Neocha: 去年发行的全长专辑《幽灵节奏》给人一种急促不安的感觉，甚至歌词中也有对追逐、冲锋、前进等语境的引用。乐队的那股子 “冲劲儿” 源自哪里？和之前的作品相比，有哪些方面更向“前”了些？

Tom Ng: 《幽灵节奏》可能制作上会更认真一点，也因为是在国外发行的唱片，所以也因此参与到那边唱片行业的操作，有些新的体验。至于“冲劲儿”，可能是节奏很重复，所以听上去好像马匹或者列车在往前冲吧。不过有些歌我确实会有些画面呈现在脑里，比如说《工工工布鲁斯》，我就总觉得是自己在夜里开快车，风很大，很多光与残影，所以出来的歌词就有点速度的意思。也因为我们两个都没有驾照，所以也只能靠弹琴来模仿开车。

Josh Frank: 可能是玩音乐的时候太容易激动了，所以我们的歌自然就变成这样了。如果这种氛围可以被观众感受到，也说明歌写得、录得都还不错。

 

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Neocha: You’ve performed everywhere from live houses to underpass tunnels. Do different venues influence your performance? What’s favorite place to play?

Tom Ng: We love to perform, so we always have fun playing, no matter what the venue. Of course, an underpass tunnel in Beijing is a very different experience from a baseball stadium in Philadelphia. Personally I get more satisfaction from putting on DIY shows like we did in 2018 in Beijing’s Bentu E6. Our show last year in Copenhagen’s Mayhem was also really good. Lots of different people were involved, helping us set up everything up. We did the soundcheck by ourselves, we went to the store to buy drinks to sell, we cleaned up and swept the floor—it was the complete experience.

Josh Frank: Playing in so many different venues lets us keep things fresh—that’s really important to me. In December we played at Nanjing’s 61 Club. Mostly it’s a place for DJs—they basically never have bands play there. There was no stage, so we just played on the dance floor. We thought we’d first play a set, take a break, and then play the second set. But the atmosphere got better and better the more we played, so we didn’t stop—we played for two hours straight. Ususally I really like to interact with the audience—breaking the wall between us and them is really cool. Smallish DIY shows like that make me feel close to the people who come out to see us play.

 

 

Neocha: Why do you sing exclusively in Cantonese? And why do you make a point of posting translated lyrics online in English and—more surprisingly—Japanese?

Tom Ng: I’m a bit more confident in my native Cantonese, compared to English and Mandarin. There are a lot of bands with better Mandarin than us, so we can just leave it to them. But we haven’t ruled out the possibility of using other languages. Every song is a little different: in there’s a subject I’m writing about, in others a scene or story and influences the lyrics, and in others I don’t know what I’m saying until I’ve finished and cleaned them up. “Wei Wei Wei” is a song I wrote while I was in Tokyo about an episode that occurred one New Year’s Eve after visiting a shrine with Honda Koshiyoshi. To show him I specially wrote this song about it, I asked Ms. Okumoto to translate the lyrics.

Josh Frank:  The translation process is unbelievably tiring. Most of the lyrics are pretty abstract, and they’re written in Cantonese, so I basically have to go sentence by sentence asking Tom what he’s trying to say. Translating lyrics is especially important because when listeners see the words they’ll experience our music on a deeper level.

Neocha: 你们在形形色色的场地演出过，包括 live house 和地下通道。不同的场地会为创作带来怎样不同的灵感？你们更偏爱在哪里表演？

Tom Ng: 我们是个很喜欢演出的乐队，所以在什么场地演我们都觉得有趣，当然像北京的地下通道或者费城的棒球馆里演出都是很不一样的体验，我自己更喜欢 DIY 办演出的满足感，一八年在北京的本土一间或者去年在哥本哈根的 Mayhem 的演出也是很好，到处借功放搬东西，货拉拉拉音箱，自己调音，提前去超市买酒演出时卖，收拾场地扫地什么的都是很完整的经验。

Josh Frank: 在这么多不同的场合演出就可以保持一种新鲜感，这对我来说很重要。去年 12 月份在南京的 61 Club 演出，那边主要是邀请 DJ，基本上没有乐队在那边演，没有舞台，我们就在舞池里演了。本来想的是前面演一段，中间停一下再演第二场。后来我们演得越久，现场气氛越好，结果一直没停就演了快两个小时。平时也很喜欢跟观众有一些互动，打破乐队和观众中间的墙是很有趣的事情，这种小的比较 DIY 演出也让我觉得跟看演出的朋友很亲切。

 

 

Neocha: 仅仅用粤语进行表演是出于什么样的考虑？网上为什么会选择把歌词翻译成英文和日文的版本？

Tom Ng: 相比英语和普通话，我对自己的广东话更自信一点，普通话比我们好的乐队多了，那个留给他们来做就可以了。不过我们也没有否定用其他语言的可能性。每首歌都不太一样，有些歌是围绕一个主题而写的，有些是因为音乐有某些画面感而歌词内容受到这个影响的，也有些是写完再整理才知道自己在说什么的。《喂喂喂》是我在东京的时候写的，关于我和本田光义某个元旦凌晨去神社后发生的闹剧，为了他知道我特意写了这么一首歌所以就请了奥元夫妇帮忙把歌词都翻译了。

Josh Frank: 这个翻译的过程实在太累了。大部分的歌词都比较抽象，而且是粤语写的，我基本上要一句一句地问 Tom 他想表达的意思。歌词的翻译特别重要，因为观众看到歌词就会加深他们对音乐的体验。

Neocha: Who’s the audience in your head—the people you’re making music for? 

Tom: We make music first of all for ourselves, and we’ve never thought much about our audience. We have some fans in China, and in the US and Europe. But when we plan our next tours, I really think we owe it to the Cantonese-speaking audiences in the Pearl River Delta to put on some shows. I’ve also noticed that in the US, some second- or third-generation Asian Americans think that we can sort of represent them, as a group with one Asian and one white member.

Josh Frank: If anyone thought we represented them in any way, that’d be something to be happy about. And if we can get more people in Europe and America interested in music from other places, or get more Chinese musicians interacting more with musicians abroad, then that would be really good outcome. I think most of the people who listen to Chinese bands outside of China do so for the novelty and don’t think too much about their musical value. If we keep on touring and meeting new audiences, maybe we can slowly change their thinking and their understanding of China.

 

 

Neocha: Who would you say are your influences, and who are some of the newer musicians you like now?

Tom: The Monks and Bo Diddley have had a pretty strong influence on us. Personally I really like the music of T.O.W., with Yang Fan. They have an album coming out this year that I’m really looking forward to. Recently I’ve also really been liking Hiperson’s EP Four Seasons. For a post-punk band to suddenly come out with new songs like that is really cool. I also really admire Fazi—I’m impressed by how they put so much work into being a band. Other Chinese groups could learn a thing or two from them.

Josh Frank: Lately I’ve been listening non-stop to stuff by Sahel Sounds, a label in Portland that puts out music by contemporary Sahelian musicians, like Les Filles de Illighadad, or the guitarist Mdou Moctar, or the synth composer Hama. In electronic music, I like Buttechno’s release from last year, Minimal Cuts, and Yves Tumor’s new LP. And Jonathan Schenke, who recorded and co-produced Phantom Rhythms, has a new group called P.E., whose first album is also really good. And finally, since I’m stuck at home, I often listen to my dad play the synthesizer, and he’s really pretty good.

Neocha: 你们的理想观众是谁？

Tom Ng: 音乐首先都是做给我们自己听的其实。受众的话其实也没有特别考虑过，在国内或者欧美都有一些，但最近定巡演路线的时候确实觉得欠了珠三角那边的粤语系听众一些演出。另外我看在美国有些亚洲第二第三代会觉得我们一黄一白的组合也挺能代表他们的，很有意思。

Josh Frank: 如果有人觉得在某一些方面我们可以代表他们，这是很令人开心的事情。假如我们的音乐可以让更多欧美人对其他地方的音乐感兴趣，或者让国内的音乐人多跟国外的乐队交流，这都会是很好的结果。我认为在国外听中国乐队的人，很大一部分应该只是因为猎奇而已，不太会考虑它的音乐价值。我们继续到处巡演，接触到新的观众，也许可以慢慢改变他们这种想法和对 “中国” 乐队的理解。

 

 

Neocha: 谁对你们的音乐影响最大？现在喜欢听哪些当代的、新一点的乐队？

Tom Ng: The Monks 和 Bo Diddley 对我们的影响比较深吧。我自己很欣赏 T.O.W. 的扬帆做的音乐，她们今年会有唱片出版，很期待。最近海朋森的《春夏秋冬》我也很喜欢，后朋克乐队突然做了这样的新歌实在很有趣；我也很佩服法兹他们，很羡慕他们可以这么努力的去进行乐队的事情，国内其他的乐队应该都跟他们学习一下。

Josh Frank: 最近我老在听 Sahel Sounds 发行的东西，他们是一家波特兰的厂牌，有发非洲萨赫勒地区的当代乐队，像 Mdou Moctar 和 Les Filles de Illighadad 都是吉他音乐，还有合成器的音乐人 Hama。电子乐的话，我蛮喜欢 Buttechno 去年发的 Minimal Cuts，还有 Yves Tumor 刚发的 LP。《幽灵节奏》 的录音师及联合制作人 Jonathan Schenke 的新乐队 P.E. 的第一张专辑也很好听。最后，我在家里呆着也经常听到我爸在玩合成器，还真不错。

Neocha: What’s next for Gong Gong Gong?

Tom Ng: Right now there’s too much up in the air. Our UK tour in May got canceled, and our China tour in June is also pretty iffy. Hopefully this year we’ll finish our second album, but right now we can’t even get together—I’m in Hong Kong, and Josh is in Montreal. I really miss Beijing.

Josh Frank:  We’d scheduled nearly 40 concerts in Western Europe and Scandinavia, as well as China and Japan. Now it looks like we’ll have to wait and see. I just want to get back to Beijing, eat a meal at Guizhou Mansion, and really rehearse. We’ve got to get on tour again as soon as we can, and get our second album done!

Neocha: 下一步，工工工有什么打算?

Tom Ng: 目前还是太多不确定的因素了，五月的英国巡演刚取消，六月的国内巡演也很玄了，希望今年之内能完成专辑 2 的创作吧，但目前我们连聚在一起的机会都没有，我在香港，他在蒙特利尔。我非常想念北京。

Josh Frank: 本来都自己安排了将近 40 场演出了，在西欧和北欧，还有大陆和日本。现在看来只能等着看情况。我就是想先回北京，吃一顿贵州大厦，好好排练。要尽快上路巡演，尽快把第二张弄好！

Like our stories? Follow us on Facebook and Instagram.

 

Weibo: ~/bjgonggonggong
Bandcamp: gonggonggong.bandcamp.com
Soundcloud: ~/gonggonggong

 

Contributor: Allen Young
Photographers: Liu Zhejun, Kevin W. Condon, Tyler Gamble, Richard Perez
Chinese Translation: Pete Zhang
Images Courtesy of Gong Gong Gong

喜欢我们的故事？欢迎关注我们 Neocha 的微博与微信。

 

微博: @北京工工工樂隊
Bandcamp: gonggonggong.bandcamp.com
Soundcloud: ~/gonggonggong

 

供稿人: Allen Young
摄影师: 刘哲均、Kevin W. Condon、Tyler Gamble、Richard Perez
英译中: Pete Zhang
图片由工工工提供

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Linger 残念

May 15, 2020 2020年5月15日

When Peng Cheng sat down for the first time at a potter’s wheel, something felt right. It was 2014, and he was working at iLook magazine in Beijing. As part of a special feature on millennials working in traditional handicrafts, Peng traveled to Jingdezhen, the porcelain capital of China, to interview young ceramic artists. A friend who ran a ceramics shop in Beijing made some introductions, and he quickly met and got to know a handful of artists for the feature. Later that year he decided to return. “Over the October holiday I went to Jingdezhen to visit them, and one of them, Luo Xiao, persuaded me to try throwing a bowl,” he recalls. “I quickly got the hang of it, and the clay didn’t feel at all unfamiliar to me.” Back in Beijing, he continued practicing his new hobby, which was quickly becoming an obsession, and in late 2016 he decided to take a year off to devote himself wholly to ceramics.

Now Peng lives in Shanghai, where he works in communications at the fashion brand Icicle. Pottery is mostly relegated to weekends and days off. Yet that hasn’t slowed him down: he still finds time to go to his local studio, PWS Shanghai, to throw, decorate, glaze, and fire bowl after bowl. Dozens of his works will be on display at his show Linger, opening next weekend at the ceramics gallery Chinale.

彭程第一次坐在陶轮前时，内心就感到了一种契合。那是 2014 年，他当时在北京的《大视野 iLook》杂志社工作，在制作从事传统手工艺的千禧一代专题时，彭程前往中国瓷都景德镇，采访年轻的陶瓷艺术家。在北京一位经营陶瓷店的朋友介绍下，他很快结识了一些陶瓷艺术家，完成了专题。到了秋天，他又回到了景德镇。他回忆道：“2014 年的十一假期，我去景德镇找他们玩，其中一个，就是罗骁，说让我试试拉坯。我上手很快，而且觉得对陶土一点陌生感都没有。”回到北京后，他继续钻研制陶，很快就迷上了这种工艺。2016 年下半年，他决定休假一年，全身心投入制陶艺术。

现在，彭程定居上海，在时尚品牌 ICICLE 之禾从事市场传播工作，只有在周末和休息日才有时间制陶。但是，这并没有让他放慢脚步：他仍然能抽出时间去位于上海的工作室上海乐天陶社拉坯、装饰、上釉，烧制一件又一件的陶瓷作品。下周末，他将在手工陶瓷艺廊常乐 (CHINALE) 举办名为《 残念》的展览，展示上百件个人作品。

Peng’s ceramics are delicate and fine, only a few millimeters thick. His bowls possess a lightness or airy quality that seems to lift them off the ground—an effect he often achieves by combining a flared rim with a narrow base. You almost expect them to tip over, yet they still exude a certain fragile confidence. “I like simple vessels that nevertheless have a strong formal sense—strong but not aggressive,” he explains. “I also like unstable forms, a sort of teetering aesthetic. So many of my bowls are not especially practical, though practicality is not what I’m after.”

This particular teetering or “wobbly” aesthetic owes a good deal to the influence of Lucie Rie, a twentieth-century Austrian potter whom Peng considers an idol and an inspiration. His high regard for her work even led him to translate her biography by Tony Birks for New Star Press.

彭程的陶瓷作品精致细腻，仅几毫米厚，风格纤薄轻盈，看上去有一种凌空的飘逸感，这种视觉效果源于宽阔的喇叭型开口和细窄的底部的结合，看上去易于倾覆，却又流露出稳稳当当的自信。“我喜欢简约但形式感强烈的器型，有力，但不具有攻击性，同时我喜欢具有不安稳感的器型，一种摇摇欲坠的美感。所以我的器皿很多实用性不强，但是实用性不是我的根本追求。”

这种“摇摇欲坠”的独特美感很大程度上是受到了二十世纪英国陶艺家露西·里 (Lucie Rie) 的影响。彭程将其视为偶像和灵感源泉，甚至还为新星出版社翻译了托尼·波克斯 (Tony Birks) 撰写的露西·里传记。

Image Courtesy of CHINALE 图片由 CHINALE 提供
Image Courtesy of CHINALE 图片由 CHINALE 提供
Image Courtesy of CHINALE 图片由 CHINALE 提供

Peng’s decorative patterns are simple rectangles or lines of inlaid color—never drawings or images. “In my opinion, good decorative techniques are achieved using the essential plasticity of the clay, so I opt for engraved lines and dimples, which I then inlay with liquid clay of a different color.” Adding a painted design or image would mean treating the vessel itself as a surface medium and ignoring its plasticity, something he refuses to do.

Exquisite as they are, these bowls are still unmistakably human: the lines and miniature holes show slight handmade irregularities, subtle evidence of their maker’s touch. Yet Peng doesn’t self-consciously attempt to assert his presence or create a rustic look. “For me, hand-crafting is a production method, not a style, so I aim for accuracy and avoid an easily visible ‘handicraft’ quality,” he says. “I let the hand-craftedness become a trace, naturally left on the works.”

在陶器的装饰图案方面，彭程主要都是运用简单的矩形或镶嵌色线，从不会画画或描画图像。“我认为好的装饰手法，是运用了陶土最本质的可塑性完成的，所以我选择刻线、打点而后镶嵌纹样。”在陶器上描画图案意味着将容器本身视为一种表面的媒介，这否定了陶器的可塑性，所以他拒绝这样做。

虽然他的陶器作品外观精美，但仍然充满手作感：线条和小孔的细微不规则性，透露出制作者的创作痕迹。但是彭程并没有刻意要在作品上宣示自己的存在或营造出质朴的手作效果。“对于我来说，手工是一种制作方法，不是风格，所以我避免显而易见的手工感，在尽可能追求达到精准的同时，让手作作为一种痕迹，自然地留存在作品中。”

Linger, which includes vessels that Peng has made over the past two and a half years, comprises six distinct collections, each named after a different location in or impression of Kyoto: Golden Pavilion, Silver Pavilion, Moon River, Pale Water, Late Sakura, and Virgin Snow. “It’s the lingering thought of cherry blossoms falling, the lingering thought of virgin snow before it melts in your hand,” he explains.

Yet Linger is just the show’s English title. Its original name is 残念—cannian in Chinese, though it’s actually a Japanese word, zan’nen, that means remorse or regret.

“I lived in Japan for two summers and studied Japanese. I really like that word,” Peng says. “You can say it whenever something disappointing, tragic, or unfortunate occurs, whether big or small. Literally, zan means remaining or unresolved, while nen carries the sense of remembrance. So zan’nen is an unresolved thinking about something that’s lost or gone.” Yet the word also carries a note of acceptance or resignation. “I think this word conveys a complex state of mind, a whole understanding of loss and gain, in fact.”  

此次展览《残念》将展出彭程在过去两年半中制作的陶艺作品，其中包括六个不同的系列，每个系列分别以京都的不同地点或景色命名：金阁寺、银阁寺、渡月、浅川、晚樱、细雪。 他解释说：“通过陶瓷实现一种京都式的绝美，是我在做陶的六年中一直不忘的念想。”

《残念》这个标题源于日语单词 “ざんねん”，意为懊悔或遗憾。“我在日本生活过两个夏天，学习日语。我很喜欢这个词。什么不愉快的、悲伤的、遗憾的事情发生了，或大或小，都可能说这个词。从字面上看，‘残’是残留、未了，‘念’是念想，所以残念是对失去或逝去的事情的一种未了之念。” 但是这个词也流露出一种自然而然的接纳。“我觉得这个词传达了一种很复杂的心态，其实是一整套对得与失的理解。”

Peng grew up in Beijing and moved to the US for university. At Vassar College he majored in East Asian Studies, with an emphasis on Chinese and Japanese aesthetics, and in particular on the history of Buddhist art. Awarded a prestigious Thomas J. Watson fellowship for international exploration, he spent the year after graduation traveling the world, visiting England, Germany, Turkey, India, and Cambodia, among other countries, before returning to Beijing. Angkor Wat, where he spent a week, left an especially impression on him, as did the Hagia Sofia in Istanbul.

Given his background in Buddhist art, along with the philosophical name of his new show, you might expect Peng to find a spiritual dimension to working with clay. Yet he’s unequivocal on this point. “I’ve come to realize that when something has a so-called ‘spiritual meaning,’ that means it’s not fully integrated into your life,” he says. For him, working with clay is something altogether more ordinary. “Making pottery is like eating, sleeping, or breathing, an entirely natural part of my life.”

彭程在北京长大，后来就读于美国瓦萨学院，主修东亚学研究，侧重于中国和日本美学，尤其是佛教艺术史。毕业时，获得了著名的 Thomas J. Watson 奖学金支持，他在一年里环游世界各地，探访英国、德国、土耳其、印度和柬埔寨等国家，最后回到北京。其中他在吴哥窟度过的一星期以及伊斯坦布尔的圣索非亚大教堂 (Hagia Sofia) 给他留下了尤其深刻的印象。

鉴于他在佛教艺术的学术背景以及充满哲思的展览名字，你大概会认为制陶对彭程来说有着某种精神层面的意义。然而，关于这一点，他却毫不含糊地表示：“我意识到，当一个事情对你有所谓的‘精神意义’，说明这个东西没有完全和你的生命融合。做陶瓷和吃饭、睡觉、呼吸一样是我生活中现在非常自然的一部分。”

Still, pottery speaks to permanence and loss in a particularly eloquent way. As Peng likes to point out, pottery was one of the first things humankind invented that could last more than a lifetime. “Leather, wood, and rattan all follow nature’s cycle of life and death, yet pottery can be passed down from generation to generation. It gives people a sense of possession beyond time,” he explains. “And because you can only lose what you can possess, with pottery people also learned sorrow and acceptance. I find this very romantic.”

For now, Peng continues to work during the week and spend nearly every weekend on his art. He’s not sure what the future will hold, but he remains open. “My only hope is that, whatever changes occur in my environment or my lifestyle, I can keep doing this,” he says. “When you create a bowl, it’s not something you can plan. It’s a process that unfolds as you go along.”

尽管如此，陶瓷依然让人对永恒和失去有所感悟。正如彭程所说，陶瓷是人类最早发明的能够世代传承的物体之一。“当皮革、木器、藤编都在自然的循环中生死往复，陶瓷却可以被世代相传，让人们产生一种超越时间的‘拥有感’，而因为可以‘拥有’，才可以‘失去’，于是，人们学会了‘遗憾’，学会了‘接纳’。我觉得这个想象很有诗意。”

目前，彭程周一到周五仍然会上班工作，到了每个周末就沉浸在艺术创作中。他不确定未来会怎样，但他始终保持开放的心态。“唯一的希望就是不管生活的环境、方式发生什么样的改变，我都可以继续做下去。因为做陶瓷不是个可以计划的过程，是在实践中发展变化的过程。”

Exhibition:
Linger

Dates:
May 23 to June 7, 2020

Address:
Chinale
774 Changle Road, Lane 22, No. 101
Jing’an District, Shanghai

Opening event with the artist:
May 23 and 24, 2:00 – 7:00 pm

展览:
残念

展期:
2020 年 5 月 23 日至 2020 年 6 月 7 日

地址:
常乐（CHINALE）
上海市静安区
长乐路 774 号 22 弄 101 室

开幕式：
2020 年 5 月23 日和 24 日，下午 2 点至 7 点

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Contributor: Allen Young
Photographer: David Yen
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li
Additional Images Courtesy of Chinale

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供稿人: Allen Young
摄影师: David Yen
英译中: Olivia Li
附加图片由 CHINALE 提供

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Trash Photography 谢谢你，垃圾

February 17, 2020 2020年2月17日

“I’m not a photographer, and I don’t want to become one,” says Lao Xie Xie with a laugh. “I just use a camera as a tool to make real what I have in my mind.” If that’s true, then his mind is a sublime and seamy place. The bare-skinned models and butcher-shop scraps, cropped to look like something out of a 90s punk zine, feel calculated to shock. No wonder he often labels his work with the hashtag #trashphotography.

“我不是摄影师，我也不想成为摄影师。”Lao Xie Xie 笑着说，“相机只是我的一个工具，用来表达我内心的想法。”如果真是这样，那么他的内心会是一片即神圣又晦涩的境地。赤裸的模特和肉店边角料的拼贴，看起来就像是 90 年代的朋克杂志，带来深思熟虑后的视觉冲击，难怪他喜欢用 “#垃圾相册” 来为自己的作品贴上标签。

Lao Xie Xie—the pseudonym means something like “Mr. Thank You”—didn’t start taking pictures until 2019, when a friend gave him a used Olympus Zoom 105, a film camera from the eighties that still stamps every image with the date in boxy orange numbers. The analog equipment lends his work an unpolished look, like snapshots caught on the fly. Yet most of his photos are at least partly planned. “Usually I have something in my mind that I know can work, a sort of preview in my brain,” he explains. The rest springs organically from the setting. “When I shoot, I go freestyle, using what I find at the location, and my connection to the model.”

Lao Xie Xie 这个佚名意为 “谢谢先生”，他从 2019 年开始摄影，起因是一位朋友赠送的一部二手 Olympus Zoom 105 相机。这部 80 年代的胶卷相机会在照片上标记橘黄色的数字日期，拍出来的作品往往带有一种粗糙、即兴的质感，就像是在运动中定格的快照一样。但事实上，他的大多数照片多多少少都经过精心设计。他解释道：“我一般会先确定好想拍的效果，在脑海里有一个预览。”之后，就看现场的自由发挥，“拍摄的时候，我喜欢搜寻场地内可利用的道具，带着我跟模特之间的默契，进行即兴创作。”

A case in point is the photograph of a woman crouched in front of a pile of discarded Ofo bicycles. She wears a glossy chartreuse gown with a matching hairband and looks straight at the camera with a skeptical expression. Hand on the seat, body leaning slightly forward, she exudes a dynamism that sets her apart from the static background of stacked bicycles. There’s nothing casual about the shot: she’s not dressed for a ride, and the bicycles are out of commission. Rather, it’s a deliberate study in form and color whose strength lies in its lines of tension and echoing yellows and greens.

譬如在一幅女模特靠在一堆废弃 Ofo 共享单车前的照片当中。女人身穿鲜亮的淡绿色长裙，搭配相同颜色发带，一脸狐疑地直视镜头。她的手放在车座上，身体略微前倾，流露出一种活力，与背景中堆叠在一起的单车形成对比。这种对比也并非偶然：她的着装绝非骑行所用，而显然这些单车也已经报废。这种有意安排的形式和颜色，通过线条对比的张力、黄色与绿色的呼应呈现。

Lao Xie Xie didn’t always plan out his compositions. “In the beginning, when I started to take pictures, I wasn’t happy with some of my shots, so I started photoshopping them and making collages,” he explains. He still uses collage to create effects that would otherwise be impossible, such as pasting a man’s facial features on his chest. Mostly, though, he’s shifted his attention to the advance preparation. “Now I try to focus more during the shoot. I don’t do as much post-production, just some color correction.” In one photo, a shirtless man wearing a giant Chinese lantern on his head stands in a small room strewn with trash. It’s another odd, visually compelling contrast, and the effect arises entirely from the composition, not the editing.

Lao Xie Xie 也是在最近才开始计划性的拍摄。他说：“刚开始拍照片时，拍的一些照片我自己不太满意，就开始后期修图，制成拼贴画。”他现在还是会通过拼贴来呈现一些照片所无法达到的效果，例如将一个人的面贴到他的胸部。不过，Lao Xie Xie 目前更关注照片的构图方式。他说：“现在，我会尽可能关注拍摄的过程。而不会再做过多的后期，顶多调色而已。”在他的一张照片中，一个光着膀子的男人头顶硕大的中国灯笼，站在满布垃圾的小房子前，形成另一种古怪但夺人眼球的对比。整张照片的效果完全来自构图，而不是后期编辑。

Red lanterns and stacks of discarded bicycles point to another key aspect of Lao Xie Xie’s photography: his use of conspicuously Chinese elements. “There’s a strong aesthetic in China that’s totally different from other countries,” he says. “I like to play with these elements because I think they’re very beautiful, and people outside don’t know about them.” Of course, dragons or New Year’s decorations are familiar enough even in the West, yet other elements, like chicken’s feet or pig’s trotters—two traditional delicacies that foreigners don’t always appreciate—are indeed unfamiliar outside China. Lao Xie Xie uses them in a playful spirit, for example by framing a model’s face in claws. He highlights their raw, campy beauty, and shows how such markers of Chinese-ness aren’t inherently traditional or conservative, but can also be part of a “trash” aesthetics of urban street culture. His interest in these elements may have something to do with his own outsider status: despite claiming in an interview to have grown up in a poor village in Sichuan, he’s not Chinese but European.

“红色灯笼” 和 “成堆的废弃单车” 点出了 Lao Xie Xie 的摄影作品中的主打色调 —— 中国元素。他说：“中国有一种区别于其他国家的强大审美。我喜欢用这些元素创作，一方面是好看，另一方面，这些都是其他国家比较陌生的事物。”当然，西方国家对 “龙” 或 “新年装饰” 这些元素都已经十分熟悉，但依然还有很多他们不了解的中国元素，例如 “鸡脚” 或 “猪蹄”，这是两种传统的中国美食，但许多外国人都不知道，或避而远之。Lao Xie Xie 喜欢以一种玩乐的精神来呈现这些元素，例如用鸡爪沿模特的脸部轮廓堆叠。他在作品中突显着这些元素原始的、浮夸的美，向人们展示这些中国元素绝不只有传统或保守的一面：它们也可以成为另一种城市街头文化的 “trash” 美学。他对这些元素的兴趣可能与他的局外人身份有关：尽管在一次采访中，他声称自己在四川某个贫穷的村庄长大，但他其实不是中国人，而是欧洲人。

Lao Xie Xie seems focused on honing his style and exploring a repertoire of subject matter. Maybe one day he’ll embrace the title of photographer—after all, the medium seems to suit him. Maybe one day he’ll even admit that he’s not Chinese. What’s clear for now is that this newcomer has an eye for the unusual and an irresistibly sordid imagination.

现在，Lao Xie Xie 正专注于打磨自己的风格，尝试探索各种题材。也许有一天他会欣然接受摄影师这个头衔——毕竟，这些创作媒介和他自身的文化背景也很相符。但毋庸置疑的是，这位摄影新秀有着相当独特的视角以及令人难以抗拒的粗劣臆想。

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Contributor: Allen Young
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li

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供稿人: Allen Young
英译中: Olivia Li

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Cuddly Chaos 纸板上的童趣梦谣

February 14, 2020 2020年2月14日

Hendra Harsono is an Indonesian artist creating nonsensical worlds populated with child-like, zany characters. Through his paintings, illustrations, and sculptures, he shows his eye for the absurd, incorporating colorful motifs drawn from both Indonesia and the larger world.

Floating homes, long-legged jelly-like creatures, magical brick walls, and many other absurd creatures cover his canvases. His figures seem like something out of a Hayao Miyazaki film, only more psychedelic, and despite the chaos around them, they have a look of contentment or indifference.

印尼艺术家 Hendra Harson 创造的奇妙世界里，充满了如孩童般滑稽的角色。他融合来自印度尼西亚和世界各地的多彩图案，通过绘画、插图和雕塑作品，向世人展示自己眼中荒诞的视线。

飘浮的房子、果冻形状的长脚怪物、拥有魔法的砖墙和其他许多奇妙的生物充斥在他的画布。Hendra 笔下的角色像是来自宫崎骏的电影，但不同的是，他的风格更迷幻。尽管画面里一片混乱，画中的角色却流露着称心满足或毫不留意的面孔。

Born in 1983, Harsono, or Hehe, as he’s known in the arts scene, grew up in the agitated period between the late-1980s and 1990s. It was a time when foreign culture, mostly from the U.S. and Japan, began to spread throughout Indonesia, as well as a time of intense—and sometimes violent—economic, social, and political turmoil.

“I was fortunate to live well and could enjoy my childhood reading manga, playing video games, and collecting action figures,” says Hehe. “But life was prosperous and anxious at the same time.”

Hehe studied at the Indonesian Art Institute of Yogyakarta. At first, he mostly doodled with pen and paper, since these were the cheapest materials he could find, and spent endless hours in internet cafes. He was interested in how toys, graffiti, and illustration could add to the fine arts.

Hendra 在艺术圈里又以 Hehe 的名字为人熟知。他出生于 1983 年，成长于 80 年代末和 90 年代的动荡时期。在那个年代，以美国和日本文化为主的外国文化刚开始在印尼传播；同时，那又是一个局势紧张的年代，甚至是暴力的年代，充满着经济、社会和政治动荡。

“我很幸运能过上很好的生活，看漫画、玩电动游戏、收集手办模型让我的童年非常令人享受。但这样的生活往往也是丰富与焦虑并存的。”Hehe 说道。

Hehe 曾就读于日惹印尼艺术学院（ Indonesian Art Institute of Yogyakarta）。起初，他把大部分功夫花在了简笔画上，因为纸、笔是他能找到最便宜的创作材料，此外他还喜欢在网吧里消磨时光。如何将玩具、涂鸦和插画融入进纯艺中，是他在那个时候最感兴趣的事情。

Today, more than fifteen years later, he works in a variety of different media. He prefers canvas, and he often paints large-scale works up to three meters wide. Yet he still feels he has much to learn. “If the canvas is the artist’s playroom, then I haven’t explored all its corners,” he says. Hehe also works with ink on paper and cardboard, with acrylic on wood boards, and automotive paints on brass plates. His corrugated cardboard works are especially appealing since they preserve the labels and tags of their previous lives.

15 年后的今天，他的创作媒介已经十分多样化。他最喜欢在画布上创作，经常画出宽达 3 米的大幅作品。然而，他仍然觉得自己有很多东西需要学习。“如果说画布是艺术家的游戏室，那么它的所有棱角还需要我去摸索。”他说道。此外，Hehe 也会利用油墨和纸或硬纸板、丙烯酸颜料和模板，或是汽车涂料和黄铜板的搭配进行创作。他的瓦楞纸板作品尤其有趣，通常这些作品往往会保留瓦楞纸板原本的标签和标记。

“Everything starts with a scribble. Then it’s a matter of determining if it’s a painting or a three-dimensional thing. Every medium has its language,” he says. Hehe has also brought his weird characters into the third dimension, in acrylic and paper sculptures. Cartoons and urban toys have always been his major inspirations: in fact, his style could be described as cartoons refracted through his memories and emotions. “Different objects have different meanings depending on the context,” he says. “What I find interesting is bringing them to life and making them communicate as we do.”

“一切都是从乱涂乱画开始的。然后，我会决定到底想让它成为一幅画，还是制作成三维立体作品。每种媒介都有自己的特色。”他说。Hehe 还将那些奇怪的角色制成三维的丙烯酸作品和纸雕。动漫和城市玩具一直是他的主要灵感之源：事实上，他的艺术作品更像是通过记忆和情感投映而成的动画片。“根据不同的情境，不同的事物会有不同的含义。”他说道，“如果能赋予它们生命力，并能像人类一样交流起来，那一定是一件非常有趣的事。”

Occasionally, Hehe creates works with a specific message in mind. For instance, the hand with a mouth and eyes represents a tool to propagate dubious information in the age of social media. Another character has no hands or arms as if to say that some things are simply out of reach. Another recurrent theme is a floating home with large eyes, which he sees as a double for his studio, the place from which he observes the world outside.

Hehe 在创作时偶尔会预先确定作品主题。例如，一只有嘴和眼睛的手掌寓意社交媒体时代用来传播信息的工具；一个没有双手的角色仿佛在说，有些事情只能望尘莫及；而另一个经常出现的主题则是一幢有着大眼睛的飘浮房子，代表着他的工作室，那里是他洞察外面世界的地方。

Despite his global interests, Hehe can’t help adding nuances to his work that are specific to Indonesia. A patient eye can find many references to local textures, patterns, and colors. Everywhere there’s a sense of profusion and confusion. “The world I create is the same world we live in now,” he says. “The only difference is that I add colors and imagination to it.”

Hehe’s work is currently on show in the group exhibition Use Your Illusion, at Edwin’s Gallery in Jakarta. The show will continue until February 16.

尽管他对世界各地的文化都很感兴趣，但 Hehe 尤其希望用本土特色为自己的作品增添细节。他的作品中，你会看到病人的眼中充斥着印尼特色的纹理、图案和颜色，带着一种缤纷、混乱的感觉。“我笔下的世界与我们的生活环境是一样的。”他说，“唯一的区别是，我在这个世界里留下了更多色彩和想象力。”

目前，Hehe 的作品正在雅加达的 Edwins 画廊群展《Use Your Illusion》（发挥你的幻想力）中展出。此次展览将持续到 2 月 16 日。

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Website: www.hendrahehe.com
Instagram: @heheworks

 

Contributor: Tomás Pinheiro
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li

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网站: www.hendrahehe.com
Instagram: @heheworks

 

供稿人: Tomás Pinheiro
英译中: Olivia Li

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Flowers from Clay 陶土开花

December 4, 2019 2019年12月4日

Kanako Kitabayashi spends her days surrounded by clay. Trained in traditional pottery and sculpture, the Japanese artist creates pieces that are neither strictly functional nor inaccessibly abstract. Varying in size and texture—some include braided ropes, while others are covered in grass-like shoots—they seem to embody the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi, the notion that flaws can add beauty. And they all seem to share a plumpness that’s slightly suggestive, even unsettling.

Viewers often remark that Kanako’s sculptures, which were recently on display at Diego, a gallery and fashion shop in Tokyo, look more like rocks and stones than pottery. They lack a perfectly geometric shape or polished surface, and they’re dyed in understated pale or earthen tones. In the grooves and on the surface of these “rocks and stones,” yarn, resin plates, glass, tulle, and other materials burst forth like tender shoots, or like new leaves stretching outward.

日本青年艺术家北林加奈子终日与陶相伴。从工艺到雕塑，她一路接受着正统的学院派训练，手中的陶器却既不实用也不高冷。那些大大小小的陶塑总是圆滚滚的，要么扎着小辫儿，要么长出小草；既有日式传统的侘寂之美，又带着一点儿调皮或是不安分。

常有人说北林奈子的陶塑不像手工艺品而像石头。这些陶器没有完美的几何外形，颜色是安静的青白色或原土色，表面保留着两三分粗砺 。就是在这些“石头”的缝隙中或表面上，毛线、树脂、玻璃、绢网等材料像嫩芽一样破石而出，像枝叶一样自由伸展。

This sense of an artificially created nature is both a reflection of Japanese animism and an extension of the “soft sculpture” tradition of using pliable materials to mimic organic forms. Kanako’s threads, pearls, wires, strips of gauze, balls of feathers, and other objects call for a response different from detached appreciation. She seems to invite viewers to step into a miniature world and alight upon the details of each work—to touch the dimpled surface of baked clay, sit on a wire swing, or caress strands of yarn.

这种人为制造的天然感，既反映着日本传统中万物有灵的底色，又延续着软雕塑用非定形材料模拟有机体的脉络。面对这些作品中的那些丝线、小珠、铁丝、纱布、毛球等等，居高临下的“欣赏”姿态不再适用。这些作品邀请每一位观众把自身缩小再缩小，着陆到每一件作品的细处，去触摸陶土烧成后的坑洼表面，或坐在弧形的铁丝上荡个秋千，或与毛线的纤维肌肤相亲。

“Two years ago, at a show in France, viewers kept telling me that the style of my work was very Japanese, something I hadn’t thought about until then,” she says. “When working on a sculpture, I like to believe there’s a spirit living inside. I intentionally leave blank spaces to bring out the unseen elements, and maybe that’s part of what people mean when they call the work ‘Japanese.'”

“两年前在法国展出时，观众们纷纷表示我作品的风格‘很日本’，可在那之前我自己却从没有意识到这一点。”她说，“我做作品的时候总是相信物件中是住着灵魂的。我重视留白，希望把某些看不见的部分体现出来。可能这种感觉恰好与观众所理解的‘日本’这个词的某些内涵一致。”

Kanako was born and raised in Tokyo, and she now lives in the city’s Shinjuku district. “Shinjuku is very crowded, and the space between people is so slight that everyone’s are always on the verge of bumping into one another. In such close proximity to others, we can grow desensitized and feel cut off. It can be overwhelming.” This constantly crowded, overwhelming world has instilled in Kanako a solemn appreciation for the minor moments of everyday life, those unexpected discoveries that send a tingle down your spine.

“Such discoveries may be exceedingly small, hidden in the dust of everyday life. Or they can be short-lived, immediately forgotten once you look away,” she says. “Yet they latch onto the undefined spaces in our mind, and when the memories are one day triggered, they can surface again in a sort of déjà vu.”

北林加奈子在东京出生长大，住在新宿区。她说：“新宿总是有很多人，人与人之间保持着一种几乎要彼此碰到却还没碰到的非常微妙的距离。在如此近的距离下，我们反而会失去很多感受，觉得有很多东西无法触碰，如同过载。”正是这个纷纷拥拥的过载世界使她更加珍惜日常生活中的琐碎风景，郑重地对待那些让心里“‘呼’地动了一下”的不经意的发现。

“这些发现可能极其细小，隐藏在日常的尘埃中；也可能非常短暂，视线离开时就会被立刻忘记。尽管如此，这些发现仍然设法锁定了我们记忆中一些未定义的空隙。有朝一日若有什么恰好触发了这里的开关，那些记忆就会再次浮现，似曾相识。”

Kanako’s recent Tokyo show, Urn, represents a formal return to the point where pottery and sculpture meet. Each piece is an empty vessel with a body and lid, yet as in her previous work, what these urns contain is not so much of a material as of a spiritual nature. They are windows onto another world, a way for the living to look back on the dead. Each one offers a moment of kindness, bringing some quiet to the surrounding world and clearing a little space for memory.

上月， 她的新作《骨壶》系列在东京的 Diego 画廊/时尚杂货店展出。这一系列在形式上回归到了工艺和雕塑的结合点，每件作品都是有身有顶的中空容器。不过一如既往，这些骨壶，即骨灰坛，作为容器所承载的更多的是精神怀想，而非物件用具。它们是现世连接他界的窗口，是生者追思故人的凭借。它们各自献出一份诚恳的好意，让周遭的世界安静下来，为怀念保留一点余地。

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Website: kanakokitabayashi.com
Instagram: @kanako_kitabayashi

 

Contributor: Yangyu Zhang
English Translation: Allen Young

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网站: kanakokitabayashi.com
Instagram: @kanako_kitabayashi

 

供稿人: Yangyu Zhang
中译英: Allen Young

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Don’t Make Do, Make 我们都有一双“勤劳的手”

November 29, 2019 2019年11月29日

 

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Why buy a lamp when you can build your own? That’s a question the team at the Hive Lab wants to get more people to ask. The workshop aims to shake consumers out of their readymade comfort zones and realize they don’t have to limit themselves to what’s on offer at Ikea or Taobao. Anyone can create their own things, from lamps to tables to bicycles. In fact, with a little training and the right tools, you too can do it yourself.

Founded by Yan Pu, Tseng Yi-Wen, and Hsiung Yun-Pei, the Hive Lab opened its doors in Shanghai in 2018, and since then it’s provided a place where DIY enthusiasts can use the kind of power tools they’re unlikely to have at home, like jigsaws, belt sanders, wood lathes, or even 3D printers. It also aims to lower the barrier to making your own things by offering courses in the basics of product design and wood- and metalworking. “We offer a completely outfitted shared workshop, a cozy office space, and all kinds of fun design courses and talks,” says Yan. “We believe that training in working with your hands, along with interdisciplinary dialogue and collaboration, are the keys to innovation.”

家里少一盏台灯？买新的还不如自己动手：这是“新蜂巢”创始人提倡的想法。这个工作坊旨在让消费者踏出舒适区，让他们意识到没有必要把所有的期望值限制于宜家或淘宝的商品上。而不管是台灯或者餐桌或者自行车，每一个人都能自己制造物什。只要接受些培训，你也可以自己为 DIY 代言。

由严璞、曾乙文和熊元培共同创立的新蜂巢，于 2018 年在上海开业。自那时起，它就为手工爱好者提供了一个可供使用电动工具的场所，那些不太可能在家里配备的器具，诸如带锯、砂带机、木工车床，甚至三维打印机，都可以在新蜂巢找到。此外，它还开设一些产品设计和木工及金工基础课程，让手工制作更易上手。“我们为大家提供了一个设备齐全的共享工作间，以及一个舒适的联合办公区域，各类有趣的设计课程和讲座，以及创意产品设计和研发。”严璞说，“我们相信，动手能力的培养以及跨学科的交流合作，对创新的产出来说至关重要。”

Maker spaces, as such communal workshops are called, are now a common sight in cities around the world, and Shanghai itself already has several, including Zowoo and Mushroom Cloud. The movement originated on the West Coast of the US in the early 2000s, when people immersed in an entrepreneurial startup culture sought a respite from the internet in the older pleasures of working with their hands. It’s both a product of, and reaction to, online living, and it covers a range of low-tech to high-tech activities. Just as some people brewed their own beer, tinkered on their own circuit boards, or made their own jewelry to sell on Etsy, others learned how to work a saw, and founded communal workshops to share the costs.

Yan, Tseng, and Hsiung met while studying in the UK, where they noticed how popular do-it-yourself culture was. Yan thought DIY spaces would be an opportunity back in China. “It occurred to me that this was a weakness in how China taught innovation,” says Yan. “So once I returned to China, I started making plans for a training space to promote DIY skills.”

现在这样的公共作坊被称为 “创客空间”，在世界各地的城市都很常见，上海也有一些，比如作物和蘑菇云。“创客运动” 这一概念起源于 21 世纪初的美国西海岸，当时人们沉浸在创业文化及精神中，寻求从互联网中获得的喘息机会，享受用双手工作的古老乐趣。它既是网络生活的产物，也是对网络生活的映射，它涵盖了从低技术到高科技的一系列活动。就像有些人自己酿造啤酒，自己制作珠宝在 Etsy 上出售一样，其他人也学会了如何使用锯子、建立了社区讲习班来分担费用。

三位创始人严璞、曾乙文和熊元培在英国留学时相识，他们在那里意识到 DIY 文化超高的受欢迎程度。严璞觉得回中国开设手工作坊会是一个好机会，“我认为这也是中国在创新能力教育上的一个短板。于是在回国后，我开始了筹划这么一个旨在提倡动手能力培养的空间。”

The Hive Lab is a space where people can come together to learn new skills. Designers and anyone else working on a DIY project can use the tools for a daily or monthly fee. Those who want to learn foundational skills can sign up for one of the lab’s many classes. One course teaches students to make a wooden lamp shaped like a puppy, while another lets them “hack” an Ikea product and create something individual. A collaborative course with MMT shows how to build a bicycle out of bamboo, while another collaboration with Yu Design Studio produces a wooden scooter. “Everyone is welcome, not just designers or enthusiasts,” says Hsiung. “We also encourage anyone who has no experience to come see for themselves, to make something that’s their own, and not passively accept what’s already on the market.”

This last comment points to the larger meaning that Yan, Tseng, and Hsiung see in DIY culture: more than a set of skills, it’s a philosophy of creativity. “As we see it, innovation doesn’t just spring from the mind but comes from testing, through constant experimentation and iteration,” says Tseng. “Design through making” is one of the team’s watchwords.

新蜂巢是一个人们可以聚在一起学习新技能的地方。设计师和其他参与 DIY 项目的人可以支付单节课或每月的费用，来直接使用工作坊配备工具。想要学习基础技能的学生，则可以报名参加工坊的专项课程，比如其中一门课程专门教授如何制作小狗形状的的木灯，另一门课程则带领学生改装宜家的产品，并创造出个性化的产物。而一项与 MMT 合作的课程，则展示了如何用竹子建造自行车；另一个与 Yu Design Studio 合作的课程，让学生参与了木滑板车的制作。“我们欢迎所有人参加，不光是设计师或者爱好者。”熊元培说，“事实上我们鼓励所有没有动手经验的人们也来体验，自己来动手创造出属于自己的东西，而不只是被动接受市面上已有的东西。”

这也恰恰点明了三位创始人在 DIY 文化中看到的更大意义：它不仅仅是一项技能，更是一种创造力的哲学。“在我们看来，创意本身并不是一拍脑袋而跳出来的，而是通过不断的试验和迭代而来。”曾乙文如是说。“通过动手来创造”，正是团队的宗旨。

If you can build your own lamp, if you can make a bike frame from bamboo, if you can repurpose your Ikea chair, what else can you do on your own? It’s about not accepting the world as it’s packaged and presented and sold. This insight has implications that go beyond furniture or home improvement projects. It could even—who knows?—be political. “DIY is also an attitude of challenging the status quo and solving problems in your own way,” adds Hsiung.

创客创造的，远不只家具。如果你已经能够亲手制作台灯、用竹子组装自行车架、手动改装宜家的椅子，你或许可以创造更多。这关乎一种理念：你可以向包装并陈列好的商品世界说“不”。而它的含义，早已超越了家具及改装课程。它甚至可能关乎政治态度——谁知道呢？“DIY 也是一个挑战现状、用自己的方式解决问题的态度。”熊元培补充道。

When the maker movement came to China a few years ago, it initially enjoyed strong support as part of a policy to boost innovation. Encouraging people to tinker and make their own things would, it was hoped, promote creativity throughout the economy. Yet China’s rapid development in manufacturing and technology as also inhibited maker culture, says Yan. “It’s spoiled people, because when anyone needs something their first instinct is to buy it new, rather than to think about how they could save money and time by making it themselves.” In the world’s most convenient country, where you can order anything you need on your phone, DIY is still far from the mainstream. Perhaps even more than in the West, here the maker movement is countercultural.

Nevertheless, Yan’s optimistic about the future. “As digital manufacturing technology improves, the speed of the internet increases, and demand for individualized products grows,” he says, “DIY will become more democratic and more common. I think this is the overall trend, both in China and abroad.” Why make do, when you can make?

几年前“创客运动”作为促进创新政策的一部分来到中国时，最初得到了强有力的支持。人们寄希望于鼓励动手修补、制作自己的东西，以助于促进整个经济产业的创造力。然而严璞说，中国在制造业和技术方面的快速发展，也反过来抑制了创客文化。“大众被惯坏了，大家需要什么第一反应就是直接购买新的就行，而不是想为了省钱省时间怎么自己动手去解决。”在这个世界上最便捷的国家，你可以在手机上订购任何你需要的东西，DIY 离主流群体还很远。与西方相比，这里的创客运动是 “反主流趋势” 的。

尽管如此，严璞对未来依然很乐观。“在未来随着数字制造技术和网络的加速升级，大众对个性化产品的需求与日俱增的情况下，DIY 在未来将会变的更加大众和普遍，相信这个大趋势无论在国外还是国内都是一样的。”自制代替购买，何乐而不为？

The Hive Lab is taking part in Shanghai’s FutureLab 2019 at the West Bund Art Center. Stop by their booth this weekend, or visit their studio in Jing’an.

 

Studio Address:
800 Changde Road, Bldg. B16
Jing’an District, Shanghai
China

Hours:
Monday ~ Sunday, 11am ~  8pm

新蜂巢目前正在参与上海西岸艺术中心举行的艺术与设计创新未来教育博览会（简称“教博会”或 FutureLab），本周末你就可去他们的展台参加工作坊。或前往静安寺加入他们的工作空间。

 

地址:

上海市静安区
常德路 800 号 B16 栋
中国

营业时间:
周一至周日， 早上 11 点至晚上 8 点

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Website: www.thehivelab.cn
WeChat: thehivelab

 

Contributor: Allen Young
Photographers: Allen Young, David Yen
Videographer: Ni Zhaoyu
Chinese Translation: Chen Yuan

喜欢我们的故事？欢迎关注我们 Neocha 的微博与微信。

 

网站: www.thehivelab.cn
微信: thehivelab

 

供稿人: Allen Young
摄影师: Allen Young, David Yen
视频摄像师: Ni Zhaoyu
中译英: Chen Yuan

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Cultural Capital 好艺术需要好推手

November 12, 2019 2019年11月12日
Chi K11 Art Museum Chi K11 美术馆

“Being good in business is the most fascinating kind of art. Making money is art and working is art and good business is the best art.” Andy Warhol’s famous line lies somewhere between sarcasm and sincerity, and it’s probably best taken as a provocation: he’s trolling us, daring us to defend a belief in art as a spiritual pursuit unsullied by lucre. You don’t have to be a romantic to insist that art and business are, in fact, very different creatures, though you also don’t have to be a cynic to recognize that art’s production and circulation depend on the market—artists, curators, and gallerists still have to eat, after all. Even if business isn’t really art, art has a business side that can’t be overlooked.

Arts management, as this business side is called, is the subject of a new series of workshops put on by the Department of Culture and Education of the German Consulate General in Shanghai—which we’ve written about before—in cooperation with WhyWhyArt. “Arts Management and Society” pairs experts in various fields from both China and the West to inspire the next generation of cultural professionals. Free and open to the public, the workshops are especially intended for students and industry insiders, and they highlight the important role that curators, gallerists, theater managers, museum directors, and others play in the art world. Not only do such professionals educate the public, they also help to discover rising stars. “Cultural managers can be talent scouts, finding ways to give exposure to the work of a new generation,” says Zane Mellupe, founder of WhyWhyArt. (She is also a founding member of the collective Island6.)

“好的商业是最迷人的艺术。赚钱是艺术，工作也是艺术，好的商业是最棒的艺术。”安迪·沃霍尔的这句名言让人觉得既像讽刺也像肺腑之言。或许，你最好把这句话当作一种挑衅：其似乎在刺激人们去捍卫我们一向的信念——将艺术视为一种不被金钱污染的精神追求。就算不是浪漫主义者，许多人也会坚持认为艺术与商业是截然不同的两码事；同样，就算不是愤世嫉俗的人也能认识到，艺术作品的生成与流通取决于市场——毕竟，艺术家、策展人和画廊商人也要谋求温饱。即使商业算不上是艺术，但艺术也有着不可忽视的商业一面。

德国驻上海总领事馆文化教育处与 WhyWhyArt 合作举办了一系列以商业领域所谓的“艺术管理”为主题的研讨会。“艺术管理与社会”（Arts Management and Society）系列研讨会汇聚了一批来自中国和西方不同领域的专家，旨在激发新一代的文化专业人才的灵感创想。这些研讨会对公众免费开放，特别适合学生和行业内人士，并强调了策展人、画廊运营者、剧院院长、博物馆馆长和其他职位在艺术界中的重要作用，他们的角色不仅在于对公众的引导，也在于发现新晋的艺术人才。“文化管理者也可以被称为星探，他们会想方设法帮助新一代艺术人才的作品获得更多曝光机会。” WhyWhyArt 创始人 Zane Mellupe 说道。（她也是上海艺术团体六岛创始人之一。）

Zane Mellupe | Image Courtesy of Goethe Institut China Zane Mellupe | 图片由 德国驻上海总领事馆文化教育处 提供
Oliver Hartmann | Image Courtesy of Goethe Institut China Oliver Hartmann | 图片由 德国驻上海总领事馆文化教育处 提供

This series of six workshops, which began in August and will run through December, explores topics such as “The Arts between Production and Consumption,” “The Impact of Arts Institutions,” and “The Functions of Culture and the Values of Art.” Each workshop consists of a recorded lecture by an European arts professional (originally part of a MOOC, or massive open online course, produced by the Leuphana University of Lüneberg) and a live discussion with one of six China-based arts experts: Gan Zhiyi, of the Shanghai Minsheng Art Museum; Jin Xing, of Jin Xing Dance Theatre; Lin Hongming, from the Shanghai Conservatory of Music; Huang Rui, from Thinking Hands; Zhang Huiqing, of the Shanghai Dramatic Arts Centre; and most recently, Venus Lau, of the Chi K11 Art Museum. The recorded lectures are delivered in English, while the live talks are given in Chinese, with simultaneous translation to Chinese sign language. These new Shanghai-based talks are available online on the platform Yizhibo, and they’ll eventually be followed by a video series on the Goethe website, establishing a sort of cross-continental dialogue with the original lectures. “I think both parties can learn from each other,” says Oliver Hartmann, head of the consulate’s Department of Culture and Education. “That’s why we’re trying to combine perspectives of cultural managers with the experiences of prominent figures from the Chinese art scene.”

此系列的六场研讨会从 8 月开始，将一直持续到 12 月结束，所探讨的主题包括 “作品和消费之间的艺术”、“艺术院校的影响” 和 “文化的功能与艺术的价值” 等等。每场研讨会都会纳入欧洲艺术专家主讲的录制讲座（吕内堡大学 Leuphana University 在 MOOC 及更多开放性教育平台上的课程）以及六位来自中国的艺术专家的现场讨论，他们分别为：上海民生现代美术馆的甘智漪、金星舞蹈团的金星、上海话剧艺术中心的张惠庆、上海音乐学院的林宏鸣、思想手设计·计划的黄锐，以及上海 Chi K11 美术馆的刘秀仪（Venus Lau）。录制讲座以英文讲授，而现场讲座则是以中文讲授，并配有中文手语同声传译者。上海的现场讲座现已在 “一直播” 平台上公开，同时你还将可以在歌德学院的官方网站看到这些视频。现场的讲座视频与录制课程相互呼应，构成大陆间对话的形式。“我认为双方都可以从彼此身上学习。” 总领事馆文化教育处负责人 Oliver Hartmann 表示，“因此，我们试图将文化管理者的观点与中国艺术界杰出人物的经验相结合。”

Successful cultural managers need much more than an eye for art and a grasp of trends. “Creativity, sensitivity, attention to detail, planning skills, an understanding of different cultural backgrounds, and strong organizational skills are a necessity,” says Mellupe. “So are writing skills, fundraising, budgeting, and the ability to reach audiences and ideally generate revenue.” Versatility is key.

Finding ways to fund cultural projects, or even make them self-sustaining, is a central part of the profession, but that’s not to say the goal is to turn a profit. On the contrary, only when financial pressures are tamed can artists fully devote themselves to their creative work. “Since I came to China nearly 20 years ago, many artists I’ve worked with have ended their art practice,” Mellupe goes on. “And for many, the reason was societal pressure to make more money.” Arts managers can help artists realize their visions by insulating them from the vagaries of the market. In other words, a solid understanding of art’s relationship to business could serve to keep the two separate.

Hartmann concurs. “Making a profit is not the main concern,” he says. “Arts management is important not just because it supports artists in their creative work, but also because it has a social and educational value.”

成功的艺术管理者不仅需要有欣赏艺术的眼光和对潮流趋势的掌握。“创意、敏感性、对细节的关注、计划技巧、对不同文化背景的理解以及强大的组织能力都必不可缺。” Zane 说，“此外，还需要有写作技能、筹款、预算、吸引观众以及创造盈利的能力。”总而言之，就是要多才多艺。

想办法获得文化项目资助，甚至是让项目实现自我维持，这些都是文化管理者工作的核心，但这并不是说其目标就是盈利。况且，只有在没有财务压力的情况下，艺术家才能充分专注于自己的创作。“从我 20 年前到中国以来，和我合作过的许多艺术家都没有再进行艺术创作了。” Zane 补充道，“对于许多人来说，原因都是来自收入方面的压力。”而艺术管理者可以帮助艺术家实现他们的梦想，帮助他们对抗市场的变幻莫测。换句话说，对艺术与商业关系的深入理解，有助于保持两者相互的独立性。

Hartmann 点头表示同意，他说：“赚钱不是主要目标。艺术管理之所以重要，不仅因为它能支持艺术家的创作，更因为它具有社会和教育价值。”

Image Courtesy of Goethe Institut China 图片由 德国驻上海总领事馆文化教育处 提供
Image Courtesy of Goethe Institut China 图片由 德国驻上海总领事馆文化教育处 提供
Image Courtesy of Goethe Institut China 图片由 德国驻上海总领事馆文化教育处 提供
Image Courtesy of Goethe Institut China 图片由 德国驻上海总领事馆文化教育处 提供

In Shanghai, where the line between malls and museums is distressingly blurry, training in arts management is all the more important. Museums here sprout up like mushrooms, and while a few boast excellent collections, several more struggle to cover their walls. (A few are unabashed real estate ventures.) The past decade alone has seen the creation of the Rockbund Art Museum, the Shanghai Minsheng Art Museum, the Yuz Museum Shanghai, the Power Station of Art, the Long, the Shanghai Himalayas Museum, Chi K11 Art Museum, the Shanghai Center of Photography, the Fosun Foundation, the Modern Art Museum, the HOW Art Museum, the Pearl Art Museum, the Silo of 80,000 Tons, the Powerlong Art Museum, and Tank Shanghai—and that’s only to list the larger institutions for the visual arts. Theatre, music, and the performing arts are likewise developing apace.

在上海，购物中心和艺术博物馆之间的界线越来越模糊，艺术管理方面的培训显得愈加重要。这里的博物馆如雨后春笋，尽管其中一些博物馆有非常出色的馆藏，但也有一些博物馆难以为继（其中有一些更是不折不扣的房地产企业。）。在过去十年中，就陆续出现了上海外滩美术馆、上海民生现代美术馆、上海余德耀美术馆、上海当代艺术博物馆、龙美术馆、上海喜玛拉雅美术馆、上海 Chi K11 美术馆、上海摄影艺术中心、复星艺术中心、艺仓美术馆、昊美术馆、上海明珠美术馆、民生码头8万吨筒仓、宝龙美术馆和油罐艺术中心——这些都还只是其中较大型的视觉艺术机构。戏剧、音乐、表演艺术机构也在同样快速发展。

Shanghai Minsheng Art Museum 上海民生现代美术馆
FutureLab

If art is sold as a product, that’s partly because audiences seem less interested in works that challenge or move them than they are in “punching the card,” as the Chinese expression has it: posting a selfie to show that they’ve visited the same popular spots as everyone else. “Many people don’t know how to interpret or understand what they see in an exhibition, performance or play,” Hartmann says. “So I think one important role for cultural managers is to educate audiences in their habits of perception, to show them how to engage with art and how to be patient and self-reflexive, especially when dealing with serious or conceptual art that can be fairly complex.” 

For Mellupe, creating in-person experiences is an important part of the mission of arts managers. “As people spend more time online, art forms that make people move are becoming more and more important,” she says. “Physical experiences are attractive and get people to leave the comfort of living on the internet.”

艺术品作为商品出售，部分原因在于观众对于 “打卡” 的兴趣远大于作品本身对他们的触动与震撼 —— 大部分人们还是会选择拍一张自拍，在互联网上晒出来，证明自己也和其他人一样参观了某个热门景点。“很多人不知道如何解释或理解他们在展览、演出或戏剧中所看到的作品。所以，我认为文化管理者的一个重要职责是培养观众的感知习惯，向他们展示如何与艺术互动，如何耐心欣赏和自我反馈，尤其是在面对严肃而抽象的复杂艺术时。” Oliver 说道。

Zane 认为，创造亲身经验是艺术管理者的重要使命之一。“随着人们上网的时间越来越多，能够带动人们的艺术形式变得越来越重要。”她说，“相比于虚拟网络的舒适区，亲身体验显得更有吸引力。”

Thinking Hands 思想手设计·计划
Shanghai Conservatory of Music 上海音乐学院
Shanghai Dramatic Arts Centre 上海话剧艺术中心

The future of art in China depends not only on painters and sculptors and videographers, but also on the people behind the scenes, curating the exhibitions, organizing the tours, producing the shows, and critiquing the work. And for art to be art, rather than just business, cultural managers will have to play a decisive role. “If we understand that painting and sculpture are not purely decoration, that plays or dance performances aren’t just about filling the theatre and making a profit, then we can recognize that art institutions are for supporting artists and for appreciating and promoting their work,” says Hartmann. “They provide platforms for free expression, the exchange of ideas, and cultural education.”

中国艺术的未来不仅取决于画家、雕塑家和摄像师，也取决于幕后策划展览、组织参观、制作表演和评论家。至于如何让艺术成为艺术，而不沦为纯粹的商业，文化管理者在这方面将发挥决定性的作用。“如果我们明白绘画和雕塑并不是纯粹的装饰，明白戏剧或舞蹈表演不只是要让剧院满座和赚钱，那么我们也能够明白，艺术机构的目的是支持艺术家，欣赏和推广他们的作品，为自由表达、交流想法和文化教育提供了平台。” Oliver 说道。

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Website: goethe.de | whywhyart.com
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Contributor: Allen Young
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li

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网站: goethe.de | whywhyart.com
微信: AKuB_Shanghai

 

供稿人: Allen Young
中译英: Olivia Li

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Whimsical Nostalgia 世界本来就是一场幻觉

November 5, 2019 2019年11月5日

Malaysian illustrator Kexin Tan believes that modern life makes us miss out on the simple pleasures. From the changing shapes of clouds to the subtle gradients of color in the evening sky, we’ve lost the ability to observe the world around us with a sense of wonder. For Tan, illustration is a form of self-exploration that’s helped her rediscover the beauty of everyday life. “There are many—too many—beautiful things in the world. Why not open our eyes and look closer?” she asks. “The piece of Nattō that sticks to a pair of chopsticks could be something beautiful, too. Seeing it clinging to the chopstick could give you a different sense of calm.”

马来西亚插画师 Kexin Tan 认为现代人的生活缺少简单纯粹的乐趣。人们不再关注天空中云朵的形状变化，夜空中色彩浮动的微妙……我们正在失去用好奇去看待这个世界的能力。对 Kexin 来说，插画是自我探索的过程，亦能帮助她重新发现日常之美。“世界上美丽的事物太多了，为什么我们不睁开双眼去仔细看看？纳豆粘在筷子上也可以是很美好的事情，看到它们，会让你有一种平静的感觉。”

Tan draws under the name Wabiko, an alias that has dual origins. The first is wa bi, which means “nose-picking” in Mandarin. The name popped into her head when she realized that she didn’t care how others perceived her, sharing the same indifference as someone who actually picks their nose in public. Second, the name alludes to the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, which stresses the lack of permanence in life and the acceptance of one’s flaws.

作为画家，Kexin 化名为 Wabiko。这个名字有两层意思，“wa bi” 在中文普通话中是 “挖鼻” 的意思，当她开始意识到自己不必在乎别人他人的看法时，这个名字突然出现在她的脑海中，字面意思就像是那些在公共场合挖鼻孔的人一样；其次，这个名字也源自日本 “wabi-sabi”（侘寂）哲学的寓意，即生命非永存、接受事物的缺陷性。

Tan’s first solo exhibition, Memories Are Trapped and Kept, has been in the works for the past year. It’s inspired by the memories of people and moments that disappear like a dream, but are still kept within our subconscious and may one day reappear in our lives in the form of déjà vu.

“We often forget about certain chapters or moments in our lives, but they reappear when we see something, hear a familiar tune, or experience a scent,” she says. “We’re reminded of the feelings we used to have. Even though we’re like goldfish, always forgetting, those memories are trapped in our minds subconsciously and kept forever.”

Kexin 的个人作品首展《Memories Are Trapped and Kept》（《被困住和留住的回忆》）从过去一年到现在一直进行。其灵感是人们的一些记忆和经历，虽然像梦般转瞬即逝，却又一直留在潜意识中，也许在某一天就会以记忆幻觉 “déjà vu” 的形式在我们的生活中重现。

她说：“我们经常会忘记生活中的某些特定片段，但当那些事物重新出现在我的眼前，听到熟悉的曲调或闻到一种气味时，它们就会重新浮现在脑海。那一刻我们会想起曾经的感受。即使我们就像金鱼一样，总是会忘记，但是那些记忆却一直留在我们的潜意识中，被封存起来。”

Memories Are Trapped and Kept was held at APW Bangsar, one of the premier cultural spaces in greater Kuala Lumpur. A friend suggested the location, and it seemed like a perfect fit, given the site’s history as a printing press. “I felt it had a deep connection with memories, too,” Tan says. “Our life changes throughout time but the imprint of our memories is impossible to wipe away.”

This collection, like most of Tan’s works, plays with whimsy, nostalgia, and surrealism, yet it’s not always cheerful. One illustration, The Lying Android, depicts an expressionless female figure whose belly button is connected to a power socket. She exudes a cold, robotic demeanor, while her elongated Pinocchio nose and blacked-out eyes suggest lying and a desire to hide one’s eyes from the light of truth.

这次展览在吉隆坡著名文化场所 APW Bangsar 举办，选址来自 Kexin 好友的推荐。Kexin 认为这里是举办展览的理想场地，由一间旧印刷厂改造而成，“我觉得这个地方与记忆有很深的联系。我们的生活会随时间而改变，但我们的记忆深处的痕迹却不会消失。”

展览的作品与 Kexin 大多数作品一样，充满奇思妙想、怀旧情怀和超现实主义色彩，风格却不总是欢乐活泼。其中一幅插画《The Lying Android》（《说谎的机器人》），描绘了一个面无表情的女性，她的肚脐连接着电源插座，整个人散发出一股如机器人般冷冰冰的气息，在她的脸上，如皮诺曹般的细长鼻子和无神的眼睛暗示了她的谎言，不愿意让眼睛透露自己真实的一面。

Tan draws in a varied style that shows the influence of Salvador Dalí, René Magritte, David Hockney, Junji Ito, Suehiro Maruo, and particularly the Malaysian artist Roslisham Ismail. Her works are open to the viewer’s interpretation. To her, the world is an illusion: the past is like “a melted candy on the tongue,” with an aftertaste that’s “unreal” and fades like a dream. “I’m someone who tends to overthink, or maybe even obsess. I record the moments in my life—dreams, the universe in my drawings. Words really can’t describe my feelings.”

Kexin 的绘画风格多样，从中可以看到来自萨尔瓦多·达利、雷内·马格利特、大卫·霍克尼、伊藤润二和丸尾末広的影响，其中马来西亚艺术家 Roslisham Ismail 对她的影响最为特别。她的作品开放性很强，令观众自行解读。对她来说，世界本来就是一种幻觉：过去就像“舌头上融化的糖果”，有着“不真实”的回味，像梦一样消散。“我是一个容易想太多的人，甚至会执迷不悟。我会在画中记录自己生活中的瞬间，如梦境和这个世界。我的感受很难用言语形容。”

Tan is aware of Malaysia’s slow development in the art world, but she’s optimistic about the future. As more people take an interest in art, she says, the “hungry” stigma often attached to artists is fading. She’s hopeful that Malaysians will eventually become more daring in their artistic pursuits.

“Now there are more and more platforms for artists to shine and showcase their work. I hope this brings out more talented and inspiring artists,” she says. “Don’t constrain yourself or create art for the sake of approval of others. Create because you want to.”

Ke Xin 觉得马来西亚的艺术界发展太慢，但她对未来保持乐观。她说，随着越来越多人对艺术产生兴趣，人们对艺术家“难以温饱”的印象也在改变。她希望，在马来西亚会有越来越多人能大胆地追求艺术创作。

“现在有越来越多的平台让艺术家展示自己的作品。我希望这能吸引更多有才华和有想法的艺术家。”她说，“不要束缚自己，也不要为了别人的认可而创作艺术，按照自己的想法来创作。”

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Website: wabikowabiko.com
Instagram: @_wabiko
Facebook: ~/wabikowabiko

 

Contributor: Joanna Lee
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li

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网站: wabikowabiko.com
Instagram: @_wabiko
脸书: ~/wabikowabiko

 

供稿人: Joanna Lee
英译中: Olivia Li

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Brush & Kink 何为酷儿艺术？

September 18, 2019 2019年9月18日

What makes a work of art queer? Sometimes it’s a touch of camp, a nod to drag, an urge to turn convention on its head. Sometimes it’s a fiery voice, a call to storm the patriarchal prisonhouse of gender. Sometimes it’s a subtler note—a longing sigh, a wary glance, a pained admission of forbidden love.

And sometimes it’s just rainbows and sex. Hui Ma’s work delights in every sort of erotic conjunction, with women and men and trans and nonbinary folk, in couples and singles and groups, all hugging, kissing, touching, rubbing, licking, romping, cavorting, frolicking, and fornicating their way across scene after libidinous scene. There are bodies of every description and shape and gender and hue—especially every hue: the rainbow colors seem to run together, like a pack of Skittles that’s melted onto the page.

何为酷儿艺术？有时，酷儿艺术带着一股俗气，招摇的色彩、做作的变装风格、颠倒行为规范的冲动；有时它是一腔热血的呐喊，呼吁人们席卷父权制的性别藩篱；有时它则像一枚微妙的音符——夹杂着渴望的叹息、警惕的眼神和痛楚的爱的禁忌。

而还有些时候，酷儿就是彩虹加性爱罢了。马慧以各种各样的性结合为乐，她的作品展现了这些男女、跨性别和非二元性别人群，在淫溺之所里，成单成双或成群结队地，相拥、接吻、爱抚、摩擦、舔舐、嬉闹、玩耍、交媾。画面中的小人拥有多元的体型、性别和肤色，尤其是肤色：彩虹色彩勾勒身体的线条上流淌，像要流溢出来，仿佛是一堆融化的彩虹糖。

“My subject matter is desire and sexuality,” says Ma. Her most recent series, Paradise Lust, with its throngs of undressed bodies, almost looks like an homage to Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights—or better yet, an X-rated version of Where’s Waldo? As in the Waldo books, here too the artist has hidden “Easter eggs” throughout each painting, and the curious and patient viewer can spot the Birth of Venus, the Girl with a Pearl Earring, and various Japanese Edo-period prints, along with the Pink Panther, Sailor Moon, and Captain Marvel. The sprawling, often physically impossible settings are as much a nod to M.C. Escher as they are to the perspectival conventions of traditional Chinese painting.

“我的作品主题是欲望和性。”马慧说。她的最新作品系列《Paradise Lust》（欲望天堂）描画了一群赤裸相拥的人物，似乎是在致敬荷兰画家耶罗尼米斯·博斯（Hieronymus Bosch）的《人间乐园》，或是一个成人版本的《聪明的沃利》——和这幅画一样，作者在每幅画中隐藏了很多“彩蛋”，好奇和耐心的观众可以从中看到《维纳斯的诞生》和《戴珍珠耳环的少女》，以及各种日本江户时代的版画元素，甚至还有《粉红豹》、《美少女战士》和《惊奇队长》。向四面延伸、超乎现实的环境既致敬了荷兰版画大师 M.C.Escher，也体现了传统中国绘画的透视风格。

These titillating tableaux, these perverse panoramas, these—what shall we call them?—spectacles of salacity allow Ma to chart the breadth and variety of copulation. Bawdy as they are, they’re also strangely impersonal. Her figures are not individuals, but merely parts of a group, viewed from afar; in these paintings, the most intimate desires appear as a collective, almost abstract phenomenon. This effect is intentional, because in Ma’s view, sex links people across space and time. “I see sexuality not only as a personal experience, but also as a collective experience throughout history,” she explains. “The individuality fades in time, but the flesh, the experience, and the sensation are always there.” In Paradise Lust, she highlights the continuity of sex, rather than its subjective depth.

There’s also a political dimension to her choice. Instead of displaying, say, a single nude woman, like so many canonical works of Western art, Ma seeks to avoid the pitfalls of painting sexualized women, even as she celebrates a certain objectification. “I think it’s hard not to objectify the body you see,” she notes. And that being the case, why not make the objectification more universal, more democratic? “In my series, I depict not only female bodies, but also male bodies and even animals.” (Notably octopuses: in fact, in addition to the improbable and the impractical, the works contain a fair amount of the impossible and the unpalatable.) “I try to generalize the body form, and the fact that sex is enjoyable for all genders.”

马慧通过这不同寻常的景象、挑逗的造型、盛大的人体狂欢，淋漓尽致地展现了性的广泛和多样。然而，尽管画面大胆赤裸，却也充满抽离感。她笔下的人物不是个体，而只是被远观的一个群体中的一部分；即使是最亲密的欲望也像是一种近乎抽象的集体现象。这是马慧有意而为的效果，因为在她看来，性爱在空间和时间上联系着人们。“在我看来，性爱不仅是个人的事情，是历史中的集体经验。”她解释道，“个体会随时间衰老，但肉体、经验和感觉不会。”在《Paradise Lust》中，她展示了性的历史连续性，而不是其内在的深度。

她在创作时也加入了一定的政治色彩。比方说，她没有像大多数传统西方艺术一样，为了男性观众，特意描绘单身女性的形象，因为她试图打破“男性凝视”（“male gaze”，一种把女性定位于被看者，置于男性凝视主控操纵的现象，译注）的做法，尽管她也表现了一定的人格物化。“我认为不将你所看到的身体物化是一件很难做到的事情。”她说。既然如此，为什么不试着把“凝视”变得更普遍，更民主？“在我的作品中，我不仅画了女性的身体，还会画男性的身体，甚至是动物。”（尤其是章鱼：事实上，作品中除了完全不可能的事物之外，还含有相当数量的令人难以置信和不快的事物。）。“我试图让身体的形态概念化，让人们知道，性爱对所有性别的人来说都是一件快乐的事情。”

Ma grew up in Beijing and now lives in New York, where’s she’s working on her MFA at the School of Visual Arts. Her international education lets her draw on techniques and influences from both China and the West. “I studied Chinese traditional painting when I was little,” she says. “The way that water and ink interact with rice paper still fascinates me. I love its immediacy, its abstractness, and especially how the brush strokes illustrate power and passion.” It’s also an ideal vehicle for her themes. “The water-based medium is perfect for depicting the sensation of fantasy.” Like watercolors, desire rarely stays within fixed lines.

Sexuality has been a topic of fascination since she was a child—mostly, she says, because no one talked about it. She recalls searching for information about sex from Chinese romantic novels, only to be surprised to discover, much later, that her own experiences were nothing like the ones she’d read about in books. A curiosity about the gap between desire and reality drives her art today.

马慧从小在北京长大，现在在纽约视觉艺术学院修读艺术硕士学位。国际化的教育背景让她汲取了来自中国和西方两种文化中的创作技巧和影响。她说：“我自小研究中国传统绘画，水墨与宣纸的互动让我很着迷。我喜欢水墨画的即时性、抽象性，尤其是笔触对于力量与激情的表现。”水墨也是她表达主题的理想工具，“水性介质是描绘幻想的理想工具。”像水彩画，其中的欲望很少固定线路内停留。

性是一个自小就让她着迷的话题，主要是因为身边没有人会谈论性。她记得自己以前曾在中国的言情小说里搜索关于性的信息，在亲身体验后却惊讶地发现，现实的体验与她在书中描写的是完全不一样的。这种对欲望与现实之间的差异的兴趣塑造了她如今的艺术作品。

“Paradise Lust is not entirely realistic,” she says, revealing a fondness for understatement. The setting seems to be a series of pleasure gardens whose occupants luxuriate among Greek columns, palm trees, and arches. According to Ma, though, the scenes take place not in some classical locus amœnus but on an eighteen-story rocket ship: each of the paintings in the series corresponds to a different level, as it charts its course to a pansexual Fire Island in the sky.

“《Paradise Lust》不完全是现实的。”她轻描淡写地说道。画中的背景似乎是一个个乐园，画中的人物在希腊石柱、棕榈树和拱门之间纵情享乐。马慧解释，这些场景并未发生在传统的乐园之地，而是在一艘十八层的火箭飞船上：系列中的每幅画都对应不同的楼层，一层层堆叠，构筑出空中的一个泛性恋的孤岛。

Otherworldly scenes like these may seem far removed from our terrestrial life, but Ma insists that fantasy can shape reality. For one thing, the variety of bodily entanglements suggests an equal variety of power dynamics. “The bedroom can be political too,” she says. “Who has the power in bed, who is taking charge? In a way, it defines the power dynamic in a couple. A queer woman could potentially break the gender binaries, and achieve equality in bed. Different positions give different kinds of pleasure without the necessity of defining who’s dominant.” 

Blending the carnal and the carnivalesque, and folding in a strong dose of politics, Ma’s works are a celebration of desire in all its forms. They may not be realistic, but since when are desires confined to the limits of the possible? As that rocket blasts off, you almost wish you, too, could leave the earth behind for a while, and hitch a ride to Ma’s cosmic queer utopia.

To see the entire series as a single, unbroken image, click here.

像这样虚构的场景似乎与真实生活相去甚远，但马慧坚持认为，幻想可以塑造现实。一方面，各种身体的纠缠暗示各种力量的抗衡。“卧室也会充满政治色彩。”她说，“在床上谁掌握力量，谁是主导？在某种程度上，它体现了情侣之间的力量抗衡。一个女同性恋可能会打破性别二元，在床上实现平等。不同的姿势带来不同的快感，没有必要确定谁是主导。”

马慧的作品融合了肉体和狂欢，并蕴含丰富的政治元素，展现了各种形式的欲望。可能不太现实，但是对欲望而言，又有什么是不可能的呢？当这支火箭起飞时，你大概也会希望自己能够离开地球一段时间，随火箭抵达马慧所构筑的那个太空中的同性恋乌托邦。

点击这里，查看整个系列的无损长图

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Website: huimaillustration.com
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Contributor: Allen Young
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li

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网站: huimaillustration.com
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Contributor: Allen Young
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li

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