黄安澜:以“残忍的真实”讲述
“不合逻辑的天真”
Yasmine Anlan Huang: Narrating "Illogical Innocence" through "Brutal Honesty"
“不合逻辑的天真”
Yasmine Anlan Huang: Narrating "Illogical Innocence" through "Brutal Honesty"
Interviewer: 陈泉池 Starry
Date: 06/29/2024
Keywords: hidden power structures / fiction and reality / personal cosmology
Date: 06/29/2024
Keywords: hidden power structures / fiction and reality / personal cosmology
黄安澜,艺术家,写作者,1996 年生于广州,在都市间候鸟般迁徙。她游走于诗歌、哲学与地下文化之中,携一系列角色掠过巨大的悲悯,结合流动影像、装置、表演等各种媒介,将个体的生命经验注入宏大叙事或批判理论的缝隙中,以此转译时常共生的爱与伤害。
黄安澜的作品广泛展出,包括 2024 惠特尼双年展、上海当代艺术博物馆、Peckham24、HART Haus、并在 Floating Projects、三影堂厦门摄影艺术中心、首尔国立大学 Woosuk 画廊,香港歌德学院(Upcoming)举办个展或双人展。她曾获得 Skowhegan 绘画与雕塑学院、Wassaic Project 等机构的驻留机会。她的写作和翻译发表在《黑齿》、《虚词》、《样本 SAMPLE》、《别的女孩》等平台上。
Yasmine Anlan Huang (b. 1996, Guangzhou, China) is an artist and writer migrating from cities to cities. Diving into the complexities of ingénue or shōjo archetype across diverse cultures, her works dedicate to uncover hidden power structures and decolonize storytelling. She orchestrates a polyphony that blends past and future, fiction and reality, sublime and absurdity, innocence and violence. With a fusion of personal cosmology, classical literature, historical archives, youth subcultures, and everyday objects, she crafts emotive worlds through moving images, texts, performances, and installations, all serving as surrogates for her hyper-vulnerability — she is also interested in how digital spaces swallow up and regurgitate life experiences.
Huang’s works have been featured internationally, including Whitney Biennial 2024, Power Station of Art, Peckham24, HART Haus, with solo or duo exhibitions at Floating Projects, Three Shadows Photography Art Centre, Seoul National University Woosuk Gallery and Goethe-Institut Hong Kong (forthcoming). She has been awarded residencies in Skowhegan School of Painting & Sculpture, Wassaic Project, Penland School of Craft, among others. Her writings and translations appeared in Heichi Magazine, p-articles, SAMPLE Mag, and many other platforms. Her debut book of poems and essays, Love of the Colonizer, has been published by Accent Sisters.
黄安澜的作品广泛展出,包括 2024 惠特尼双年展、上海当代艺术博物馆、Peckham24、HART Haus、并在 Floating Projects、三影堂厦门摄影艺术中心、首尔国立大学 Woosuk 画廊,香港歌德学院(Upcoming)举办个展或双人展。她曾获得 Skowhegan 绘画与雕塑学院、Wassaic Project 等机构的驻留机会。她的写作和翻译发表在《黑齿》、《虚词》、《样本 SAMPLE》、《别的女孩》等平台上。
Yasmine Anlan Huang (b. 1996, Guangzhou, China) is an artist and writer migrating from cities to cities. Diving into the complexities of ingénue or shōjo archetype across diverse cultures, her works dedicate to uncover hidden power structures and decolonize storytelling. She orchestrates a polyphony that blends past and future, fiction and reality, sublime and absurdity, innocence and violence. With a fusion of personal cosmology, classical literature, historical archives, youth subcultures, and everyday objects, she crafts emotive worlds through moving images, texts, performances, and installations, all serving as surrogates for her hyper-vulnerability — she is also interested in how digital spaces swallow up and regurgitate life experiences.
Huang’s works have been featured internationally, including Whitney Biennial 2024, Power Station of Art, Peckham24, HART Haus, with solo or duo exhibitions at Floating Projects, Three Shadows Photography Art Centre, Seoul National University Woosuk Gallery and Goethe-Institut Hong Kong (forthcoming). She has been awarded residencies in Skowhegan School of Painting & Sculpture, Wassaic Project, Penland School of Craft, among others. Her writings and translations appeared in Heichi Magazine, p-articles, SAMPLE Mag, and many other platforms. Her debut book of poems and essays, Love of the Colonizer, has been published by Accent Sisters.
A: Welcome to Artisle! Could you briefly introduce yourself?
Y: 我是Yasmine,黄安澜。小狗的姐姐,思明文学bot,当代艺术练习生(一不小心出道了),都是互联网马甲。现居伦敦,但主要在纽约和香港工作。特长是乘坐长途飞机和倒时差,梦想是做令和年间的吟游诗人。创作主要以Time-based media(影像、表演、文本)为主,也做凝固时间的装置。
Y: I’m Yasmine, puppy’s sister, a Siming Literature bot, and a contemporary art trainee (who accidentally debuted), all of which are practically my burner accounts. I currently live in London but primarily work in New York and Hong Kong. My specialties include taking intercontinental flights and dealing with jet lag, and my dream is to be a bard in the Reiwa era. My work mainly focuses on time-based media (video, performance, text) and also includes installations that crystalized time.
A: Your work “Servitude: do not believe that Google Map ”(2021) exhibited at “Antagonistic Superpositions”, Peckham 24 in London has also been shown in various versions at different venues. Could you briefly describe the development of this piece and its experimental effects in different contexts?
Y: 这个作品的单屏版是受委托创作的。最初,我在微博上看到一则“洋葱新闻”疯传:一名西伯利亚少年因谷歌地图导航出错,在-50°C的天气中被困一周,最终被冻死。我对技术故障一直很感兴趣,看到这条新闻后觉得该写些什么。真正开始动笔是在许多Subreddit上看到Norilsk石油泄露的图片以后。我好奇,是什么特质让这两条相似的新闻在思想迥异的社交媒体上都能病毒式传播。是对失败的审美情趣吗?怀着这样的困惑,我在飞机上写下了文本初稿。
因为疫情,我没有看到作品第一次在公众面前展出,但在网上搜索观众反馈时,完完全全震撼于观众的洞察力。为了守护作品的核心叙述——少女选择逃离只为采矿业存在的城市,却走向最终的覆灭——我在图像和音乐上都设置了很多障碍,比如仅用档案图片,加以噪音般精神污染的背景音乐,力图让观看的过程毫无乐趣可言。可小红书的很多用户都能在克制和隐忍的叙述中,找到最核心的这一帧,并以不同方式拍照打卡。我其实挺难想象,他们出于什么心态执着地等这一帧,只是永远感激他们的慷慨和宽容,走进了我的世界并读懂了我。
做完单屏版本后,直觉告诉我这个故事还有许多潜力可言,毕竟牵涉到跨国企业、国家机器,情欲作为原动力,意识形态的斡旋等。可我不相信知识的堆砌,或理论的陈列,它们只会党同伐异,砌起壁垒,大大减弱叙事的张力。我真正关心的是“天真”和“幻觉”。所以比起把嵌套的叙述一一展开,我选择往上叠加俄语——中文的对话,让过剩的信息浪狠狠地拍打在观众的脸上:少女和作为幻觉的现代化象征相互诘问、推拉,呼救、失败。
在纽约展出时,策展人宗晓选择了把作品放进单独的放映室,玻璃门只能打开一半。有一部分观众选择走入漆黑一片的放映室,坐在地上的软垫,还有一部分则站在玻璃门外“瞥”。我很喜欢她的处理,像把放映室变成了陷阱,所以在后来的版本中我也学习了这种“围猎”观众的方法。
Y: The single-channel version of this piece was a commission. Initially, I came across an Onion-y news that went viral on Weibo (Chinese’s version of Twitter): a Siberian teen was trapped for a week in -50°C weather due to a Google Maps navigation error and ultimately froze to death. I have always been interested in tech failures, so reading this news prompted me to write something. I started to pen down some notes after seeing images of the Norilsk oil spill on Weibo and various subreddits, as I was curious about what made these similar pieces of news go viral across such different social media platforms. Was it an aesthetic interest (fetishization) in failure? Driven by such confusion, I began composing the video script on my flight to Shanghai.
Due to the pandemic, I wasn’t able to make it to the exhibition, but completely amazed by the audience’s insights when I searched for feedback online. To protect the core narrative of the piece—where a young girl chooses to escape a company-town existing solely for the mining industry, only leading to ultimate destruction—I set up many barriers in the imagery and music, such as using only archival images and noise-like background score, striving to make the viewing experience as unpleasurable as possible. Yet, many users on Red managed to find and take selfies with the crucial frame within the restrained and subdued narrative. I find it hard to imagine what mindset drove them to persistently seek out this frame, but I am forever grateful for their generosity and tolerance in stepping into my world and understanding my work.
After completing the single-channel version, my intuition told me that the story still held much more potential, given its involvement with multinational corporations, machinery of the government, the drive of desire, and ideological maneuvering. However, I don’t believe in the mere accumulation of knowledge or the display of theories, as they only serve to create barriers and weaken the narrative’s tension. What I truly care about is “innocence” and “illusion.” Therefore, rather than unfolding the nested narratives one by one, I chose to layer another storyline in Russian and Chinese dialogues, allowing the excess information to slam relentlessly against the audience’s faces: the girl and the symbol of modernization as an illusion, interrogating, pushing, and pulling each other, calling for help, but failing.
When the work was exhibited in New York, curator Zong Xiao chose to place it in a separate screening room with a glass door that could only open halfway. Some viewers chose to enter the pitch-dark room and sit on the floor cushions, while others stood outside the glass door, “glancing” in. I really liked her curation, as it turned the screening room into a sort of trap. So, in later versions, I adopted this method to “trap” the audience.
A: No matter it was through new commissions or exhibitions, what does the method of continuously revisiting and updating past projects mean to you?
Y: 正好今天看到这个meme page,吓死,谁在偷拍我——“回看”并非我能选择的方法论,而是我的生存技巧。怀抱全部记忆的每一天都太痛苦了,不得已得像蜕皮一样,把记忆丢掉。我有某种就算一声不吭在家呆着,蚂蚁也要绕路来踢我一脚的神秘体质。仅列举今年上半年的例子。回家过年顺便拍新作品,结果半夜一点有人来砸门,高声叫骂问我是不是想死。Peckham 展览时有路人一路尾随我来到画廊,在沙发上坐下就不走了,吓得策展人连忙摇人来一起待着。再往前,荒谬的事情就更多了(笑)。
可把记忆连根拔起彻底丢掉,也太凄凉了,我不愿那么做。每次乘上失去信号的地铁和越洋飞机时,加速度让我觉得很安全。在这样的阈限空间中,我会开始重温设备里的里的各种文件:iCloud相册,微信聊天记录,备忘录,它们是我存在过的证明,像ef里新藤千寻的日记本。最直接呼应这种工作方法的作品是“Your Earnest Fondle”,我在隔离时(对我而言的另一种阈限空间)把手机里的十万多张照片全部看了一遍。后来做出来了这本七百页的书,全部都是从2013年开始积累的,我的“手”的图片。沟壑纵横的手,咬手指后流血的手,美甲被抠掉一半的手。观众翻阅它就是拨弄我苦于不完美的恨与痛。
其实非常想拥有线性(健康)的工作方法,而不是像现在这样在时间里折返跑。为了不只是 “顺从” 接受这种命运,我只能拒绝为之赋予意义。
Y: I just saw a meme page today and was shocked—who’s been spying on me? “Revisiting” is not a method I willingly choose but a survival skill. Carrying all memories around is too painful, so I have to discard them like shedding skin. I seem to have a mysterious ability that even if I stay at home in silence, strangers will still go out of their way to hurt me. Just considering incidents from the first half of this year: I went home for the New Year and happened to shoot a new work, and at 1 am, someone came to bang on the door, yelling and asking if I wanted to die. During the Peckham 24 exhibition, a stalker followed me all the way to the gallery and sat on the sofa without leaving, which scared the curator into quickly calling others to join. There have been even more absurd events before that lmao.
It would be too bleak to completely uproot and discard memories; I don’t want to do that. Every time I get on a subway with no signal or a transoceanic flight, the acceleration makes me safe. In such liminal spaces, I start to revisit various files on my devices: iCloud photos, WeChat chat history, notes. They are proof that I existed, like Chihiro’s diary in ef: A Tale of Melodies (my favorite anime). The work that most directly echoes this method is “Your Earnest Fondle”. During the quarantine (another kind of liminal space for me), I reviewed more than 100,000 photos on my phone. Eventually, I created a 700-ish page book filled with images of my hands accumulated since 2013: hands with deep creases, hands bleeding after biting fingernails, and hands with half-peeled manicures. When viewers flip through it, they are sifting my frustration and pain over imperfection.
I really want to have a linear (healthy) working style, rather than running back and forth in time as I do now. To avoid merely “submitting” to this fate, I can only refuse to give it meaning.
A: In “Crescendo”(2024), you mentioned the feeling that “My language doesn’t belong here.” How does bilingual creation in Chinese and English, and living in different cities, affect your work?
Y: 这个问题被问过很多次,还好近期有了很多新的体悟。从前用英文创作是“转译”,是为了生存的不得已之举:我需要适应环境,也需要异国他乡的观众认真对待我的作品。已经很担心自己的生命经验与观众相去甚远了,那么在语言上,得稍微温和一点吧?我很羡慕那些可以坦白地讲“我不需要观众”的创作者,我不是那么勇敢的人,但也不会屈服的,只能把稀烂的语法和作为“局外人”的造词方式,化为武器罢了。
现在长大一点,能放松用英文嬉笑怒骂了,创作也进入了新的阶段。去年突然交到了来自世界各地的好朋友,我逐渐意识到和互联网、移动设备、约会软件一同长大的Zillennials,生活经验几乎是共通的。经常想起这个场景:我教来自瑞典的男艺术家怎么制作和丰田汽车有关的拓片,再一起鸡同鸭讲地聊齐奥朗(他读的瑞典语译本,我读的中文)。
比起二元对立地战斗,我现在的创作更加像寻找能穿越文化和时间的最大公约数,再以更加当代的媒介重温叙事母题。直白点讲,就是古典神话或寓言的当代演绎版。比起“将中文翻译为英文”,成长后的我更加坚定了,即使“我的语言不属于这里”,也要强行加塞不带翻译的中文。毕竟我的观众都很厉害,他们相信我,爱我,向前走九十九步,从颤抖的声线和树梢跌落的阳光中感受到我,我也要坚定地相信他们的敏感和洞察力。
Y: I’ve been asked similar questions many times, but thankfully, I’ve had many new insights recently… Writing in English used to feel like “transliteration”, a survival strategy: I needed to adapt to my environment, and I wanted foreign (maybe I am the foreign one here?) audiences to take my work seriously. I was already worried that my life experiences were vastly different from my audience’s so I needed to be somewhat gentle with my language. I envy those artists who can frankly admit “I don’t need an audience.” I’m not that brave, but I also won’t surrender either. Instead, I weaponized terrible grammar and the outsider’s way of coining new words.
Now that I’m a bit older, I can relax and use English more freely and creatively. My work then entered a new phase. Last year, I suddenly made friends from all over the world, and I gradually realized that Zillennials, who grew up with the internet, mobile devices, and dating apps, share almost universal life experiences. I kept recalling how I taught a Swedish artist to make rubbings related to Toyota cars using traditional Chinese techniques, and how clueless we were regarding a Cioran book as he’s reading the Swedish translation, and I read the Chinese version.
Rather than fighting dichotomously, my current practices resembles the search for the greatest common divisor that can transcend cultures and time, and then reinterpreting these narrative themes through more contemporary media. To put it plainly, it’s the contemporary reinterpretation of classical myths or fables. Instead of translating Chinese into English, the grown-up me is more determined that even if “my language doesn’t belong here,” I will still insert untranslated Chinese. After all, my audience is incredibly talented — they trust me, love me, and take ninety-nine steps forward to feel me through trembling voices and sunlight falling from the treetops. I, too, must firmly trust in their sensitivity and insight.
A: Many of your works are inspired by real-life experiences and feelings, such as Her “Love is a Bleeding Tank” (2020). There are also various expressions used to describe Siming and Yasmine, such as “avatar” or “surrogate of my agony.” How do you view the relationship between yourself and these projections in your works?
Y: 很多人都很难相信,我的作品其实完完全全就是我自己,除了某些委任创作。有人在采访时问,思明的故事“应该是虚构的吧”——男孩子真的把情人节巧克力的碎片分给了大家吗?这太荒谬了很难相信是真实的!”我只能说是真的,某(前)艺术从业者(同时也是初高中同学)在旁边,她看到了。
托尔卡丘克写,”以第一人称叙述是编织一个绝对独特的模式,它有一种作为个体的自主,意识到你自己和你的命运。这也意味着在自我和世界之间建立一种对立,这种对立有时会让人感到疏离”。我的勇气只有那么一点,不能一直站在对立面,所以用第一人称做作品也太危险。假装只是某个“人格”或“surrogate”让我觉得更安全,能掌控更多纤细的力量。像是心理治疗中的间离手法。
那么困惑地长大,那么多悲哀的事情雨落如注,我无法指认,也没有前人的经验倚赖,只能以手指月,独立发明一套语法。即使现在有了那套语法,我也不能百分百骄傲地说,是!这就是我的故事。隐喻和借代就是拯救我的那根绳索:只要假装是“思明”的经历,我的头好像就能昂得更高一点了。
Y: Many people find it hard to believe, but my works are entirely about myself, except for some commissioned pieces. Someone once asked during an interview, “Siming’s stories must be fictional, right?”—like, did that boy really share pieces of his Valentine’s Day chocolate with everyone? “It's too absurd to believe it’s true!” All I can say is, it really happened. A (former) art practitioner (and also a classmate from middle and high school) was there and witnessed it.
Olga Tokarczuk once wrote: Narrating in the first person, so conceived, is weaving an absolutely unique pattern, the only one of its kind; it is having a sense of autonomy as an individual, being aware of yourself and your fate. Yet it also means building an opposition between the self and the world, and that opposition can be alienating at times. My courage is limited, and I can’t always stand in opposition, so making works in the first person feels too dangerous. Pretending to be a “persona” or “surrogate” makes me feel safer and allows me to harness more delicate power. It’s like the distancing technique in psychotherapy.
Growing up in such confusion, with so many sorrowful events pouring down like storm, I was unable to identify them or rely on the experiences of those who came before me. I can only point to the moon with my finger, independently inventing a set of grammar. Even now, with that grammar in hand, I can’t proudly proclaim that, yes, this is my story. Metaphor and metonymy are the lifelines that save me: as long as I pretend it’s Siming’s experience, I can hold my head a little higher.
A: Many of your video works feature voiceovers or monologues. What roles do writing and video play in your creations? Will you continue to create installation works?
Y: 最近得知奥尔汗· 帕慕克在伊斯坦布尔拥有自己的博物馆,里面装载了他小说中描写过的所有物件,算是小说情节和场景的可视化。越级碰瓷一下,我在干的事情和他类似,不过是操纵各种媒介做“叙述”的可视化罢了。“画外音”或“独白”其实是“证言”或“呼救”,物件则是“物证”。 制作这些证据,像是在跟困在从前某个时间点的自己说——没关系的,就这样活下去也是可以的,落在自己头上的巨大荒谬不是我的幻觉(小时候,大人们都告诉我是自己多想了,或者无关路人在我呼救时评论“只是你太软弱”。)
当然想继续做装置啊,只是在没有机构支持时储存和制作都太贵了。家人以“Yasmine 的森林”代指我的一部分装置,它们也确乎是某种水泥森林,我期待人们能从其中穿行。另外一种则是“家居用品”,在最最开始也只是我便携博物馆的填充物。我喜欢收藏洛丽塔时尚配件,前苏联军功章,古董绶带。也喜欢更换家里的摆设。所以许多物件的初始创作动机非常不纯,只是想在家的角落里放点什么。
Y: I recently learned that Orhan Pamuk has his own museum in Istanbul, which houses all the objects described in his novels, serving as a visualization of the novel’s plots and scenes. To some extent, what I’m doing is similar—manipulating various media to visualize narratives. The “voiceovers” or “monologues” are actually “testimonies” or “cries for help”, while the objects serve as “evidence”. Creating these pieces of evidence feels like speaking to a version of myself trapped in a past moment — reassuring them that it's okay to continue living this way, that the immense absurdity falling upon them is not just their imagination (As a child, adults often told me I was overthinking, or unrelated bystanders would comment on my cries for help as “you’re just too weak.”)
Of course I want to keep making installations, but without institutional support, storage and production are way too expensive . My family refers to some of my installations as “Yasmine’s forest,” while some of my installations indeed resemble a kind of concrete jungle. I hope people can wander through them. Another type of my installation is “household items”, which initially served as fillers for my portable museum. I enjoy collecting Lolita fashion accessories, Soviet military medals, and antique ribbons. I also like changing the décor at home. So, many objects were initially created for quite practical reasons—just to put something in a corner of my house.
A: In previous interviews, you mentioned an ongoing interest in idol culture and a desire to establish your own idol system through your work. From discussing how to become a former idol (“Illogical Innocence”, 2019) to creating virtual idols (“Genesis”, 2020/2023), do you have any new thoughts on this topic recently?
Y: 就算是现在,我也觉得自己就是在艺术行业中做偶像啊(笑)。每天发Instagram和日本地偶更新推特相差不多,喊人来看自己的展览就跟催粉丝来握手会一样。
当然还是想要成为偶像,只不过长大了,没法年年都去参选AKB了。比起“亲自”寻找聚光灯,唱歌跳舞等,我更想看看这个系统的核能怎么移植到其他文化中。橘生淮南则为橘,同样的种子在不同土地中可以长出百样的果。最近的观察是 Spice Girl 绝对就是 ENG48,Hannah Montana 绝对就是 USA48 solo版。想明白这个事情后,对自己叙事中的力量也更坚信了!
Y: Even now, I still feel like I’m being an idol in the art industry…Posting on Instagram is quite similar to Japanese idols tweeting, and asking people to come to my shows feels like urging fans to attend hand-shaking events.
I still want to become an idol, but now that I’m older, it’s unrealistic to keep auditioning for AKB every year. Instead of seeking the spotlight through singing and dancing, I’m more interested in seeing how the core essence of this system can be transplanted into other cultures. Just as the old Chinese saying — an orange grown in Huainan is still an orange, the same seed can bear various fruits in different lands. Recently, I’ve come to a conclusion that the Spice Girls are definitely ENG48 (AKB, but England), and Hannah Montana is like a solo version of USA48. Understanding this has further strengthened my belief in the power of my own narrative!
A: How do you perceive your audience? In your various attempts to convey personal experiences to the audience, are there any methods or expressions that you find particularly effective?
Y: 前几个月,林奕含的这段话一直在眼前回旋:“只有处在这样的处境的女孩才能解读出那密码。就算只有一个人,千百个人中有一个人看到,她也不再是孤单的了。”
除了“热情”和敬畏观众外,诚实,或者忠实地面对自己和观众应该是最有效的吧?我想要我的作品残忍地诚实(brutally honest),也一直是这么做的。可能正因如此,不管我以多“无聊”或“单调”的方式讲故事,共享一套密码的观众都能看得进去。我的观众群体一定是在我的叙述中看到了他们自己。可观众只是女孩吗?不见得。比起林奕含,我的困境和挣扎更与全球化(的尾巴)、科技与媒介息息相关,所以只能相信普世(universality)的力量。而我也希望自己的叙述不仅拯救自己,更能给所有地球人带来慰藉。
Y: A few months ago, I kept reflecting on this quote by Lin Yi-han: “Only a girl in such a situation can decipher that code. Even if it’s just one person among thousands, if someone sees it, she is no longer alone.”
Apart from “enthusiasm” and reverence for the audience, I believe that honesty, or being genuine to oneself and the audience, is the most effective approach. I’d like my work to be brutally honest, and I’ve always done so. Perhaps because of this, no matter how “boring” or “monotonous” my storytelling might seem, the audience who shares the same code can connect with it. My audience must see themselves in my narrative. But are the audiences just girls? Not necessarily. Compared to Lin Yi-han, my struggles and dilemmas are more intertwined with globalization (and its remnants), technology, and media, so I can only trust in the power of universality. I hope that my narrative not only saves myself but also provides solace to everyone on Earth.
A: Can you share some artists, authors, or works that have had a particularly deep impact on your creative work?
Y: 哦报菜名时间吗?激动!喜欢的东西实在是太多了。改变了我一生的作品包括《窄门》《白夜》《马尔特手记》,喜欢的作家包括保罗·策兰、纳博科夫、索尔仁尼琴、阿列克谢维奇。喜欢的电影包括《雏菊(Sedmikrásky)》,哈斯的《砂制时镜下的疗养院》,安东尼奥尼的《放大》和寺山的《死者田园祭》。喜欢是喜欢,根本不敢被他们影响,能调用的资源不是一个量级的。受影响最深的反而是小津安二郎,特别是他对静止镜头的运用,和编织对话的方式。
我也不太会被艺术家影响,但有些作品让我觉得“找到同类”。11年刚上高中时买了陈哲的初版《蜜蜂》,明明是群体自伤史,却像抚慰的手。去年看到《If Revolution Is A Sickness》,从影片一开始就开始哭,能读懂所有的隐喻和冲突,同时被巨大的苍凉和无助攫住了。和Diane找到彼此的时刻梦幻又美妙,和她的所有对话都鼓舞着我继续把故事讲下去。
要说有影响的还是艺术家好朋友,之前有两年和她们每天狂发一万条消息,有幸能和她们在艺术语言还未完全成熟时就相遇,一起长大,近距离见证她们把自己的叙述和视野勇敢抛向世界,我很幸福。
Y: Oh yeah, time for name-dropping! I’m excited! There are so many things I love. Works that have changed my life include Strait is the Gate, White Nights, and The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge. Authors I admire include Paul Celan, Nabokov, Solzhenitsyn, and Alexievich. Films I like are Daisies (Sedmikrásky), The Hourglass Sanatorium by Wojciech Has, Antonioni’s Blow-Up and The Red Desert, and Shūji Terayama’s Pastoral: To Die in the Country. While I love these works, I don’t dare to be influenced by them as their resources and network are on a different scale. The most profound influence on me has actually been Ozu Yasujiro, particularly his use of static shots and his way of composing dialogues.
I am not that type of person who gets influenced by other artists, but some works make me feel like I've “found the same kind.” When I first bought Chen Zhe’s Bee in 2011, just as I was starting high school, it felt like a soothing hand despite being a collective self-harm visual history. Last year, watching If Revolution Is A Sickness had me crying from the start, as I understood all the metaphors and conflicts while being overwhelmed by the immense desolation and helplessness. The moment I connected with Diane was both dreamlike and profound, and all our conversations have inspired me to keep telling my stories.
If there’s anyone that has influenced me, it’s the artist friends I’ve had. For two years, we literally texted from morning to night every day. I feel fortunate to have met them when our artistic language was still developing, so that we could grow together, and to witness them bravely putting their narratives and visions into the world up close. I’m truly grateful for that.
A: Could you share about your recent creative projects and exhibition plans?
Y: 七月和九月在纽约有两个语境截然不同的画廊群展,一个在中国城,一个在上东区,我非常期待。作品也是我最喜欢的,简单却有效的那一些。感觉莫名很环保。
最重要的工作是准备双人展,除“Crescendo”外也许还有一个新影像(被变态半夜砸门的那个),想做高亢明亮的故事。一直在思考“时差”的概念。“时差”或许不只是越洋飞机带来的身体性经验,对我而言,“时差”甚至微小到落叶的季节。秋天一直是别人的,我什么都没有,毕竟亚热带的落叶,往往在春天。
今年回广州过年时,我路过了小时候的春游地点“航天奇观”,榕树下停着莫名其妙的亚特兰蒂斯火箭和飞碟。仔细研究才发现,这个主题公园在美苏太空争霸以后二十年才动工——我们对世界、太空的狂热,怎么也和世界存在着时差?这种狂热又如何在全球化退潮的当下流通,成为审美奇观,进而被消费的?与此同时,“亚特兰蒂斯”也是柏拉图设想的虚拟岛屿,我喜欢“虚拟”的概念,也一直住在岛屿或半岛上。实在有太多问题想在这个影像里探索了,所以在思考如何从视觉或音乐上做得平易近人一点。以及在何种程度上我需要特地为了在地的观众再转译(recontextualization)。
最喜欢的公共活动也变多了!感觉所有的活动都很像开握手会?诚惶诚恐,也在努力思考说怎样的话才会有意义,不浪费所有人时间。
Y: In July and September, I’ll be part of two group exhibitions of different contexts in New York—one in Chinatown and the other in the Upper East Side. I’m really looking forward to them. The works I’ll be showcasing are some of my favorites—simple yet effective, which is kind of ESG-y, if you understand my humor…
The most important project right now is preparing for a duo exhibition. Besides Crescendo, there will be another film, hopefully a story that’s both bright and intense. I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of “time difference.” Perhaps “time difference” is not just an embodied experience brought by transcontinental flights; for me, it might be as subtle as the season of fallen leaves. Fall has always belonged to others for me; I have nothing of my own, as in my subtropical hometown, leaves falling in spring after the sprout.
This year, when I returned to Guangzhou for the New Year, I passed by “Space Wonders”, a childhood attraction. Under a banyan tree, there were suspicious replicas of Atlantis rockets and flying saucers. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that this theme park was constructed two decades after the US-Soviet space race —how is it that our fervor for the world and space is so out of sync with the actual timeline? How does this fervor circulate as a spectacle and become consumable in an era of globalization’s retreat? Meanwhile, “Atlantis” is also a fictional island conceived by Plato. I’m drawn to the concept of the “fictional” and have always lived on islands or peninsulas. There are so many questions I want to explore in this video, so I’m thinking about how to make it more accessible visually and musically, and to what extent I need to recontextualize for local audiences.
There will be more public programming, which is my favorite. They often feel like handshake events, even though I’m quite nervous and always trying to figure out how to say something meaningful without wasting anyone’s time.