從近觀到遠望 Observations from Near and Far
美術科一直是我喜歡的科目，在學習的道路上，無論材料，題材以至想像中的藝術家，都是以西方為主，毛筆與那發臭的墨盒是小時候對中國藝術的唯一記憶。在這個以「中西文化匯粹」為口號的城市裡，我看的是日本漫畫，打的是日本遊戲機，模仿與欣賞的畫作也是日本動漫的東西。哼得不亦樂呼的是宮崎駿的《天空之城》，畫的是鳥山明的《龍珠》，還有第一本的漫畫書，是某天母親放工回家路上隨便買回來的《叮噹》（多拉A夢）。那時小學一年級。當時大熱的還有改編日本的流行曲，同學為之瘋狂的帶玩具食品或零食，還有覺得很高級的「出前一丁」。不知道政府是如何將我這代人受日本流行文化影響抽取出來而變了我城是個中西交流地。
因此，我有意識地繪畫的時候，都是在臨摹一些日本漫畫角色，直至 中四（高一），看到一個叫畢加索的傢伙，居然將一件東西的不同角度畫在同一個平面上，稱這才是「真實」，天哪，概念也太好玩了吧。剛好要決定在美術科上走下去，之後直至進入香港中文大學藝術系的幾年間，就在西方什麼主義x什麼主義的爭鬥中渡過。
中文大學的藝術系對我往後的創作有了決定性的影響。這是一所提倡中西藝術兼備的學系，學生在三年完成必修課的油畫素描，還有書法國畫，以及中西藝術史，餘下的時間自由選修史科或者中西藝術創作。要在如此短的時間跟本不可能貫通這幾千年的人類兩大文明體系吧，即使我與大部份的同學最後都再廷長一學年，但老實說，整個四年的學習其實是一個中西藝術的入門，剛到門口就已是畢業了。不過正是掌握了這個導讀，使到日後當我想深入探究的時候，知道從何處入手。
當時學習中國書法，中國畫以及中國藝術史是我最頭痛的事。尤其中國藝術史考試播放幻燈片要點出畫家及作品名稱，對我來說，所有國畫仿似是同一個畫家的畫，而且異常沉悶。在學期間，跟同學在大學附近的工廠區租了地方，面對山景工廠，有點超現實，也像世外桃園，並開始了工作室的開放。畢業後我討厭以教學作為創作的支持，總是希望找到另一些出路，雖然如此，當初申請藝術發展局的留學獎學金也沒有什麼期望，最後留學旅居英國也是見步行步。
在英國的三年是另一個影響至深的階段，這裡就只談談兩件關於自己與中國的事。一是中國當代藝術在西方的爆紅及受關注度不斷提昇，許多藝術空間，雜誌，以至官方的藝術館都展出當代中國藝術家的作品。有次大學的室友驚訝地對我說第一次在電視上看到關於中國城市的影像，我沒想到在他們的世界裡，中國是如此的遙遠，我想他這番說話對我來說才是最驚訝吧！而對他們來說，中國與香港是同一個地方，也沒有分別。可是，香港藝術在這片中國當代藝術板塊裡是不存在的。我並不認為香港最好的那一群藝術家比內地或人家的差，但我卻在學校圖書館掉出來的書中撿到香港第一次參加威尼斯的畫冊，這的確令我很不忿又疑惑。
第二件事說不上是一件事，而是生活在香港及倫敦兩個城市的印象。在香港的時候，不論在學院裡還是在畫廊，藝術家老師面前，我的作品都是被稱為「西畫」，而在英國的時候，就變成了「東方繪畫」。在倫敦的某一天，不知什麼原因，我突然很渴望看到中國的書法，很想去聞一下那曾經發臭的墨盒。我一直以為，國族的分界已經不體現在膚色上，而是在肚子裡，而那個「想找中國書法來看一下」的衝動，也許跟想吃燒鵝的慾望是一致的。不過，我並不認為那是對身份的醒覺，而更大的原因應該是對遠古及過去的祟拜。
當時除了接觸當代藝術之外，另一個使我有興趣的範疇就是古希臘或更早期的西方藝術，我還經常隨手拿些紙，勾畫了些雕塑，大英博物館及V&A都是這方面的好去處，英國國家畫廊的中世紀繪畫也是我的喜好之一，我總是被那近乎笨拙的人物及畫面吸引。
在不斷接觸當代藝術的同時，我卻對於這種「遠古而笨拙」的祟拜越來越強烈，也許這是一個反彈。我認為藝術的創作都是體現藝術家在生存上的追求，也因此成為了社會的一個縮影。因此，策展人不應怪罪藝術家的作品很個人，因為這是必然與必需的，而是反省自己在閱讀藝術作品與社會意義關係之間的能力。我認為有魅力的藝術作品都是來自藝術家那很個人的性格與特質，使他能排除或接受一切外來的壓力或非議，而有深度的策展人，總是能在個人與社會之間鋪設一條寬敞的大道，打開溝通與想像的可能，讓人來往自如。
這「遠古而笨拙」的特質是每個文化也會經歷的階段，這點對於我來說是十分有趣的現象，即遠早在互聯網世代的來臨，人類就已曾經有了「全球化」的現象，而且可能在互不相通的情況下出現。
而另一個意識到的現象，是過往自己在繪畫或生活上追求的某些特質，漸漸地發現可以在中國的傳統繪畫中找到相對應的特質與根源，例如我一直不喜歡油彩那依附在畫布面上的感覺，而更多是利用塑膠彩在木板上製造滲透感，而直至我在英國找到了令畫布變成如紙般吸水的媒介，我才重新以畫布作畫。在作畫的時候，除非是大背景的色面，否則我很少用到排筆，而我更喜歡用圓頭筆畫畫，即畫面是透過不同粗幼的線條組織而成，我更在中國畫畫樹的特質上學習線條的運用。又例如在生活上，我總希望與社會保持一定的距離，在火炭向著山景的工作室總是有種在世界內找尋逃避的感覺，也是我對社會那生活形態不滿下的自處方式。凡此種種，我相信並不只是中國傳統藝術中獨有，也可能產生於其他文化裡，但正因為在香港學習藝術的經歷，使我從那扇門走進去找尋創作上的資源。
東鵬二零一一年三月香港
Observations from Near and Far
I grew up in the 1980s and picked up a smattering of Putonghua in school. Anyway, it was neither a core subject nor was it required. The Putonghua I speak now is largely the result of what I was forced to memorize as a child for the yearly return trips to visit with relatives. . Although many people my age or my generation were born in Hong Kong, a large number of them had parents who had been born in China and later escaped to Hong Kong. Because they still had relatives back home, this gave rise to the great event of my youth; the annual “trip back home to visit relatives” in which the majority of my classmates took part. On the 1st page of our primary school student handbook, was our photo, which we reluctantly replaced every year, and a space where we entered our native province. I was obviously born in Hong Kong, so what was all this about “native province”? Time and again I asked my father, not that I wanted to know what “native province” meant, but when would I be able to list “Hong Kong”? As I write these words, I wonder when, in a few years from now, my daughter passes this handbook to me, what should I write? China is so near, yet so far.
Art has always been my favorite subject. During the course of my art study, in my imagination, materials, themes, and even artists, were all based on the Western Art tradition. As a child, the writing brush and the unpleasant smell of the ink box were my only impressions of Chinese art. In this city that propagates the slogan, “Where the essence of Chinese and Western cultures converge”, I read Japanese comic books, and played games manufactured in Japan. The paintings I imitated and admired were related to Japanese animation. The tune I loved to hum was from the film, The Castle in the Sky, written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki; the painting I drew was the Dragon Ball, written and illustrated by Akira Toriyama. My first comic book was “Ding Dang” (Doraemon), which my mother picked up one day on her way home from work. At the time I was in the first grade of Elementary school. In those days, it was also popular for local song writers to rewrite Japanese pop songs. My classmates were crazy about bringing Japanese toys, food, or snacks, to school. There was the Demae Itcho, instant noodles, which we felt was of great quality. I don’t know how the government could have ignored this heavy influence of Japanese pop culture on my generation and claimed that our city is a place where East and West met.
Thus, when I seriously took up drawing, I copied the characters from Japanese comics. It was not until I went to high school that I learned about the existence of some fellow named Picasso, who actually painted one object from different angles on the same surface and claimed that this was “Reality”. Good heavens, what an amusing concept. This was about the same time I made up my mind to continue studying art., and from that point on, right up to the years I was a student in the Chinese University of Hong Kong, Department of Fine Arts, I spent my time engrossed in the struggles of the various “-isms” of the West.
My study of art at the Chinese University of Hong Kong played a decisive role in my subsequent work. The department promoted both Chinese and Western arts. Students had 3 years to complete required courses in oil painting and drawing, as well as Chinese calligraphy and painting, plus the art history of both China and the West. For the remainder of our course work we could elect to study Art History or Modern Art Studio. It was absolutely impossible to thoroughly grasp these two great civilizations, both of them thousands of years old, in such a short time, even if I and most of my classmates had been willing to extend our study for another school year. But frankly speaking, 4 years of study is actually just an introduction to Chinese and Western art. Having just reached the threshold, we graduated. However, owing to this solid introduction, when I decided to obtain a deeper understanding in later years, I knew exactly where to start.
When I was a student, Chinese calligraphy, Chinese painting, and Chinese art history were my biggest headaches. This was especially so during Chinese art history exams, when slides would be shown and students had to identify the name of the artist and the painting. To me, all Chinese paintings seemed to be the work of one and the same artist, and the class was extremely boring. During the school year, some fellow students and I rented a place in the factory area near the university. Our studio, with its mountain and factory view, seemed somewhat surreal and a bit idyllic. It was at this time that we opened our studio to the public. After graduation, I disliked the idea of having to teach in order to support my creative work, and always hoped to find some other means. I had applied for a Hong Kong Arts Development Council scholarship to studying abroad, but did not have high hopes. Even the decision to study in England had to proceed one step at a time.
My 3 years in England is another stage that deeply influenced me. Here I’ll just mention two incidents related to myself and China. The first is that Chinese contemporary art suddenly became popular and attracted much attention in the West. Much space devoted to art, magazines, and even official art museums were exhibiting works of contemporary Chinese artists. Once, my college roommate told me how surprised he was when he first saw images of Chinese cities on TV. I did not expect to learn that in their world, China was so remote. I think I was the one who was surprised by this remark of his! As far as they were concerned, China and Hong Kong were one and the same place; there was no difference. No acknowledgement was made of Hong Kong art in any discussion of Chinese contemporary art trends. I do not feel that Hong Kong’s finest artists are in any way inferior to artists from China or other places in the world. However, I was upset and confused when I picked up a painting album, carelessly discarded by the school library, documenting Hong Kong’s first participation in the exhibition in Venice.
The second incident is not an incident, but rather the impression I have as a dweller in both Hong Kong and London. When I was in Hong Kong, whether in school, art galleries, or in the company of my art teachers, my works were referred to as “Western paintings”. However, in England, my works became “Oriental painting”. One day in London, for some unknown reason, I had a sudden craving to see traditional Chinese calligraphy, and wished very strongly for a whiff of that pungent ink that I had formerly so disliked. I had always thought that racial distinction was not a matter of skin color, but of deep inner feelings. The sudden impulse to “look upon traditional Chinese calligraphy” was perhaps the same as a craving to eat Cantonese roast goose. However, I don’t believe it is a sudden awareness of one’s identity, but rather a reverence for the past and that which is ancient.
Besides studying contemporary art at that time, another field that attracted me was ancient Greek, or the even earlier Western art. I always carried paper with me and often made sketches of the sculpture in the British Museum. Both the British Museum and V&A are fine places for sketching. The medieval paintings in the National Gallery were also among my favorites. I was always attracted by those somewhat rigid-looking human figures and compositions.
At a time when I was constantly exposed to contemporary art, my admiration for this “ancient and rigid” element was growing increasingly strong. Perhaps this was some sort of reflex. I think artistic creation is a manifestation of the artist’s existential quest, and, as such epitomizes society. Thus curators should not blame artists if their works display too much individuality, for it is both inevitable and essential. Moreover, they should examine their own ability to interpret the relationship between the artwork and its social significance. I believe works of art that exert a powerful attraction all come from the hands of those artists who are uniquely individualistic, a quality that enables them to either dismiss or accept pressure or criticism. A discerning curator can always find a way to create a bridge between individuality and society, opening up possibilities of communication and imagination, and freely accessible to everyone.
This special “ancient and rigid” quality is a stage that every culture experiences. It is a phenomenon that I find extremely interesting. Long before the Internet age there were already signs of “globalization” among mankind, and it seems likely these emerged in the absence of communication.
Something else I have become aware of is that throughout my former years, both in my painting and in my life, I was seeking a certain special quality. Gradually I discovered that which I had been seeking and traditional Chinese painting sprang from the same source. For example, I have always disliked the feeling of oil paint on canvas, and preferred the feeling that acrylic paints give of having thoroughly permeated the wooden board. That is, until I went to England, where I found a canvas medium that could absorb water like paper, at which point I resumed painting on canvas. When I paint, I rarely use a broad brush unless coloring a large background, and prefer, instead, to use the round brush. In other words, a painting is a combination of broad and thin lines, and I have painted them in the way trees are painted in traditional Chinese painting. Take my personal life, for example. I make it a practice to keep a certain distance from society, and my studio in Fo Tan, with its mountain view, gives me the feeling of a sanctuary where I can escape from reality. This is how I deal with the displeasure I feel towards society. I don’t believe all of these aspects are only found in traditional Chinese art. Perhaps other cultures have produced them as well. However, just because of my experience of studying art in Hong Kong, it was the door through which I entered in my quest for a creative resource.
Tung-pang
March, 2011, Hong Kong