Erenlai - Image and Imagination 亞洲的想像花園
Image and Imagination 亞洲的想像花園

Image and Imagination 亞洲的想像花園

Artists teach us how to look at the world anew as well as into our own hearts. Here you will find a selection of artworks and art criticism that goes transcends the spectrum of fashionable trends. In this section we also feature a series of guided tours of the site, showing our best features!

從古至今,亞洲的創作力源源不絕。亞洲人的眼界究竟觀察到什麼與他方不同的事物呢?這裡刊登的藝文創作與評論不是遊竄在古老與後現代之間的一場秀,而在呈現亞洲藝文多元的文化交融。這些文章將帶領我們以新意探究世界,以真摯凝望內心。

Monday, 06 April 2009

Daddy, Uh-huh

When imagination embarks us on adventures...

Drawings by Inca pan
Texts by Arlene Hsing

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Wednesday, 01 April 2009

White canes bend at two places, like fingers

 
Cities through fingertips inebriate me.
Everywhere I travel lies this pavement
defining the town with a kerb that may
or may not curve to where I go. Patient,
I like to try and see it with my cane,
slightly slanted in the hand. Not a stick,
a pen I use to trace my life again
as I walk and tap or touch stone or brick
or granite at my feet. No need to prove
God or splendour. If you don’t listen well
to night you may miss the bat that moves
with rubber wing, and flickers round walls
in a feeding frenzy. For the glory
of everything belongs truly to the night,
which holds day as dead retinas carry
light, to watch life with previous sight.


Thursday, 26 March 2009

When I feel dry…

I used to feel so proud of the continuous flux of my imagination… it was translating into poems, stories, new ideas for my work, new ways of relating to people... But, since a few months now, my imagination runs dry… Nothing is coming… no ideas, no glimpses, no insights… Like if I was deprived of the eyes and the heart of my soul… It is truly a very painful challenge…

Part of it, I think, comes from overwork. I just cannot stop, I do not take any real rest from my work. Imagination needs to be nurtured, it requires free time, greenery, walks in the mountain or the seaside, gratuitous readings… I do not indulge in these things anymore, and I am now dry like a waterless well. Another reason might be that, when I am tired, I rely too much on present-day technology: like so many of my friends I allow myself to be spoon-fed by movies, television, computers and handheld Palms...Like so many of my contemporaries, my imagination has been dulled and domesticated…

So, it is time for me to take care again of my imagination, the way you take care of a rare essence of flower. My imagination needs sun, nutriments, a good and rich soil, it needs to be trimmed, I have to protect her from dust and pollution… Nursing my imagination amounts to nursing my soul and restoring the integrity of my self. A few months of spiritual dryness might be a good lesson after all if it makes me cherish better the gifts I have been endowed with.


Drawing by imagination
In the course of this healing process, I have discovered that pressure and worries were indeed an important reason for this lack of imaginative power and spiritual strength that I am experiencing. As a way to overcome such a state – very close to depression really – I have taken up drawing. I draw by imagination. I can draw almost unconsciously, I let my subconscious do the drawing. I just take pleasure in combining colors and shapes, I let them come out from my hand without trying to control them. I do not even ponder upon what they tell about me. I look a them as if they were coming from someone else. I just take pleasure in seeing the red, the yellow, the blue, the pink, the square, the triangle, the circle surge from my hand as if they were surging for the first time from the hand of God.
Imagination is really about what we do not dare to say or even to think. So, sometimes, we have to let her run freely without trying to analyze or control her. These uncontrolled moves will teach us what we need to know at the exact time we need it. Being good to oneself, not too harsh on oneself, accepting anything that comes from the depth of our soul, this is truly what the wanderings of our imagination teaches us to do, and this is the best lesson she can teach us.

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Thursday, 26 March 2009

Joe's imagination wanders in Taiwan

Here are the images of several secret places in Taiwan where I let my imagination wander.

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Tuesday, 24 March 2009

Taiwan, Twenty Five Years From Now

In twenty-five years, I will arrive in Taipei by United Airlines – a Chinese airline company, which will directly connect Ningbo to Taipei. Customs will have taken only the necessary three minutes to read the electronic passport formatted the size of a bank card. To be able to enter a state member of the Confederation of the Chinese States (CCS) from another one of the territories, the procedure will have become extremely simple; it will no longer be required to make a record of one’s iris colour by a digital camera connected to the federal database. I will pass quickly to the self-service check-in machine to enter my luggage code, select a destination and a means of transport. I will gently brush the “subway” button and choose the central station that is located under the old Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall.

I will let the silent and rapid escalator carry me towards a quay of a green fitted carpet where there will be magnetic levitation trains. Twenty-three minutes later, I will reach the heart of the metropolis’ historical districts, whose arteries are suspended on top of the urban sea, stretching to the residential zones of Taichung, today a district of the capital. The long tube of glass, buried half underground, will meander at a speed of 280 km/h, along the avenues and between the towers of the business districts whom will have invaded the old industrial parks and the countryside. With a vision at ground-level, in the muffled surroundings of the train’s belly, I will see the top of skyscrapers which will appear distinctly detached from the azure of the sky. Sometimes, one will be plunged into half darkness while the trajectory penetrates speedily into the carefully protected forest zones. This will last several minutes and one will imagine the iridescent freshness and the invigorating scents of a nature that is difficult to access. The conurbation of Taipei will extend then from the port of Keelung to Taichung. There will be a concentration of the largest pharmaceutical laboratories of the world, the florets of Asian biotechnologies and the research centres and development of the electronic world. 29 million inhabitants will mass around this nerve centre of the networks globalised by production, connected by an underwater motorway to the world capital of finance on the mainland, Zhuhai.
Beyond Taichung, down further south, time will seem to have gone into reverse. One will not venture there and the broad band of steppes will separate the two worlds.

4

With the progressive departure of the companies, the State will have gone bankrupt and with it the institutions will have sunk. The big harbour of Kaohsiung City, a formerly compulsory stop for the container boats that used to cross oceans, will have been emptied of its life force. Nature will have regained its lost ground and the aboriginal tribes will have taken again their rights, reconstituting the autonomous communities of the origins. Only the peasants attached to the ground of their ancestors will have remained and will live in good agreement with the Atayals and the Bununs. Far from the high-rise office buildings, the south of the island, savage, will resemble an immense industrial waste land, beaten by the winds, and travelled by the hunters of the tribes, drunk with independence and freedom.

In the north, I will be bored with the unravelling of this succession, repeated ad infinitum, of urban centres, office districts, residential zones, complexes dedicated to spirituality and “preserved nature zones”. Downsized to a surface of 10.000 square kilometres, the State will have lost all its authority due to its incapacity to face the challenges of the rising water level, disordered ecosystems and a problematic human density. The usual technocratic demagogues and powerful populist orators in business suits will have failed to stop the fall of rate of participation in the electoral polls. Sick and tired, people will have ended up with a degenerated plutocracy and an enlightened theocracy dedicated to the durable governorship which will have been put in place with general indifference. The Venerable Shen Master will be the head of the management of general interest unit, supported by the 29 million responsible citizens at the service of the public interest, both spiritually and environmentally. The armed forces will have been dismantled and the recalcitrant generals will have taken refuge in the lawless area of the great south where they will be at war with the aboriginal tribes. The State of Taiwan, associated with the Confederation of the Chinese States, will have become a neutral and international zone, exempted from tax. Consequently, whoever wishes to conquer it by the means of military coercion would put the world economy in danger.

3

When I arrive in the centre of Taipei, on the quays of the Central station which will be spread out under the esplanade of memorial CKS, I will rediscover this island, that was once familiar to me. I will go up to the surface of the Central Station by the means of a silent and speedy lift and discover a new world. The esplanade of the memorial hall will have been transformed into a gigantic park extending well beyond the old Presidential Palace. The Ketagalan Boulevard will be nothing more than rose trees and flowerbeds of geraniums. The unattractive architecture of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, emblematic of the ancient authoritative regime would have been demolished.

There traffic will be reduced to only public vehicles running on gasoline recycled from cane sugar, that zigzag across the pedestrian zones. I will need to walk through a compact crowd of smiling people to reach the river banks of Tamshui… It will be a good walk in the fresh air, a time to imagine Taiwan twenty-five years ago.

Translated from French by Alice Lin - Photos by Hubert Kilian

Read the original version of the story in French

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Monday, 23 March 2009

The sand at dusk

I spilled all my goods on the sand,
My body, my soul and my gold,
I expect nothing, nothing but the wave
That all of a sudden will cut my links.

I desire nothing but desiring nothing,
Doing nothing, knowing nothing.
At last there is nothing, nothing that I can do, My hands wide open on the sea.

May this gold blaze hard on the shore,
Then plunge in a darker, farther light
That shines behind ages and oceans,
Baking the world in the glow that preceded it.

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Thursday, 19 March 2009

The Man in the Mountains

When imagination replaces memory

The morning quiet is only troubled by the strong heat hitting on the iron roof of the shelter. He stretches his limbs and jumps on his feet. He can feel the accrued stiffness of his body week after week. That’s a bad sign- it means that the water is still rising. Like people who live in extreme territories, he is prematurely old and at the same time, ageless. He doesn’t know when he was born; in fact, he doesn’t remember anything that happened before the catastrophe. He goes out and feels the sun on his face. He ritually commences the day by making a tour around his “estate”, a complex of old sheds and buildings that seem to stand together only by the trash piled all around. He closes his eyes and tries to reassemble the puzzle of sensations and recollections: a great tumbling that sounds like a crash, a shrilling noise that drilled his eardrums and left him deaf ever since. Did he really feel the warm dashes of blood spilling inside his head before slipping into nothingness or has his mind made them real after dreaming of them so many times?

He realises suddenly the insistent presence in front of him: at his feet, the cat fixes him with its green eyes, asking for its daily ration of food. The cat is the only living being he has seen around for months and maybe years, he cannot be sure anymore as it’s been a while since he has completely lost track of time. “Old man,” the cat seems to say, “Stop brooding on the thoughts of the past that would not feed either of us.”

“Alright, smart pal, let’s see what’s fishy today…” the old man says while readjusting his straw hat on his head.

Together they follow the brook downstream, a brook that is formed like a gutter on concrete ground. Despite its muddy colour, the water is clean and fresh and it even tastes sweet. He can hear his heartbeat, following the rhythm of his rapid walk and the strong thumping just brings back other memories: a terrifying rumble and the sea thrashing the city like a gigantic whip. He has to stop for a moment; his head has started to hurt. He massages his temples to get rid of the salty after-taste in his mouth. During the first weeks, the plains were like a big hot pot: houses, cars, trees, animals and bodies were floating in a dense liquid made of tar and sea water. And the mixture was slowly being boiled by an unexplainable heat. Then the island started to sink and the few survivors had to reach higher heights in the mountains. The cat and the old man have arrived at the pond; the old man looks satisfied, two of the fishtraps are full. In one of them, there is a flat plastic box spotted with hardened tar.

3283397609_edc6806514_oOnce back home, he cleans out the catch, sticks the frogs on picks and puts everything on the grill. Then he shares his meal with the cat who eats the fish heads delicately before leaving as soon as it has finished. Usually, the old man would take a nap but he wants to examine his find, the flat plastic box, and he takes it to his “workshop”: a makeshift shelter where he stores all kinds of objects he found in the mountain- his treasures. Many of them are still piled randomly here and there, waiting to be washed, sometimes repaired and then classified. In a rather short period of time, he has built up a real museum but only a few shelves actually display some carefully chosen items. His favourite objects are well conserved lucky charms with a shiny golden colour. He likes to think that some other people before him hung these knickknacks in the entrances of their home, in front of their window, as the shadow of the magical and entangled character would dance on the walls like a crazy spirit. He himself carries one around his neck and tried some time ago to tie one to the cat who resisted with claws before escaping. Most of the things are strange to him and doesn’t trigger any memory; still, by cleaning them, repairing them and classifying them, he ends up by creating a familiar bound and he convinces himself that these objects must have been made to be used that way. Somehow, these altars are meant to be catalogues of the past civilization he used to belong to.

3283391645_967ea58a08_oHe scrapes carefully the tar on the plastic box and a photograph of faded colours appears. He reads aloud the characters: “Aguirre, the Wrath of God”. It’s the cover of a movie from the past century. A man with insane eyes looks over his right shoulder, his iron helmet contrasts with his blonde straggling locks. On his lap a young girl, also blonde, looks toward the same mysterious direction, she has an arrow stuck in her chest. On the other side of the box, he deciphers the text, scratching with his nail the remains of tar: “Lope de Aguirre, a Spanish soldier, leads a group of conquistadores down the Amazon River in the deep jungle of Peru but his search of the legendary city of gold, El Dorado, only leads him to madness and death”. The old man reads several times these few lines as if the repetition could unveil their mysterious signification. He feels strangely upset by Aguirre’s futile quest as it fails to arouse some forgotten memories but still moves something deep inside his mind. He can easily imagine these men struggling to open their paths into the thick tropical jungle of another world, but similar to the one that surrounds him now. He can experience in his own flesh the madness and the frailty of an existence lead by imagination.

He raises his head suddenly, the sun is high, burning his tired eyelids and stinging his wrinkled neck. His ears are buzzing again, he goes back to his shelter to lie down and he dreams of men with iron clothes, setting foot for the first time on this forgotten island.

 

Download here the short story in pdf

All photos by Roy Berman
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Thursday, 19 February 2009

叛逆心鏡

─刺青文化與身體藝術

文‧攝影│潘云薇

傳統的刺青,是用針沾上墨,一針一針把圖案刺在皮膚上,刺青者必須經過一段痛苦的過程,並在身上留下永久的圖像。刺青的過程既是痛苦的,勢必也對應著另一個痛苦的心境,像是戰士視死如歸的灑脫,也有自以為看透生命的傻勁。這樣的特性,使得刺青在一些群體中成為勇氣的表現,或是認同的象徵。在許多社會的文化中,刺青則是一種階級與地位的表徵,例如台灣的泰雅族與賽夏族都有黥面的文化,古埃及社會也以刺青來畫分社會地位,而英國維多利亞時代的婦女則有紋唇的習慣。

刺青在中國歷史文獻的記載中被稱為「紋身」,《墨子‧公孟》:「越王句踐,剪髮文身。」《越絕書‧外傳本事》:「越王句踐,東垂海濱,夷狄文身。」從中可以發現,當時的主流社會把紋身視為野蠻的表現,不是中原的主流文化。在文學作品中,刺青亦常與叛逆人物有關,例如中國四大名著之一《水滸傳》中至少有三個身滿刺青的重要角色:花和尚魯智深、九紋龍史進與浪子燕青。小說家利用刺青突顯人物的特性與魅力,藉此表彰陽剛、野性、反動的力量。

隨著社會風氣的開放,現代的刺青已經漸漸成為一種身體藝術,大家也逐漸能接受,刺青愛好者不再躲在社會角落,會主動組成團體,定期舉辦展覽或進行交流。在日本,刺青被視為價值極高的藝術品,所以刺青者希望在身上留下刺青師傅的作品。在不同國家,刺青圖騰的選擇也有很大的變化。例如在西方社會中,目前流行的是刺幾個不一定連貫的中文字或是非本國文化的新奇圖案,香港流行紋印度文字,東方人則喜好選擇英文字,亦即刻意與本身的文化脫鉤。不過,這仍未跳脫刺青是叛逆的傳統思維。

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Saturday, 31 January 2009

未完成的印記

作品是聖境、渡口,為的是走向開闊的天地。

我結識很多藝術家,他們有的立足於自身道家傳統的基礎上,有的汲取佛教傳統的源流。當我研究道家思想,用書法寫出莊子或是老子的言論時,對我來說,就是一個跨宗教的體驗。

跨靈修相遇,我祈禱更寬廣的地平線
這種跨宗教的體驗,可說是一種「原始」的體驗,這樣的體驗並不是透過完整的辯論,也不是來自和各方公認的靈修大師對話的結果。對於這樣的方式,我抱持保留的態度。不過,學習氣功的入門把我的祈禱帶向前方。跨宗教的實踐和繪畫上的實踐兩者是合一的,也許我應該用「跨靈修」的體驗比較恰當。但我能夠確定的是,跨靈修的相遇轉化了我自己的心靈景色,而我心靈的景色相信也轉變了因畫結緣的友人心中的景色。
到中國大陸以前,我常拜訪一位隱士,他離群索居好幾年,我常常想起他對我說的話。我想知道他從神那裡學到了什麼。他對我說:「我從神那裡學到的,就是祂永遠不會一成不變。」這句話無法交代他所有的體驗。如果他無法體驗神的不可捉摸,如同神的實在,他就難以堅守他所選擇的道路。但是這句話也精確傳達出一種永遠日新又新的驚喜,他越熟悉神,越不敢怠慢輕忽。

離一切相,聖境是一個渡口
中文的用詞提供豐富的比喻和新字,成為我書畫靈感的來源,並培育我的靈修體驗。老子在《道德經》第五章談到天地之間的橐籥,《莊子》首篇提及海中大鯤化為天上大鵬,《金剛經》第十四章說:「應離一切相,應無所生心。」這些見解引發我內心的共鳴,讓我的美學探索更上層樓。我在前面說過,作品讓我發現一個聖境。中國的古文使我明瞭聖境是一個渡口,有如河中的淺處,為的是走向開闊的天地。
宇宙的真氣,大鯤的鰭一開一閉,大鵬的雙翼拍動,荒地是所有靈修地的濫觴。一切直指一個「無」地,每次我們要確定三王朝聖的地點,這個地方就彷彿不見了。繪畫作品是一種示眾,讓大家思考誕生的過程,而非誕生的結果。品味創作的苦澀、喘息與希望,共同來到未完成的地點。繪畫的美學應該是懂得如何表達「未完成」。中國水墨畫家都明瞭作品中的「空」傳達的是靜謐與高妙。

異與同之間,我們的居住地
同樣的,未完成也是宗教交流的印記。來自不同傳統的男女,彼此的對話正是白日與黑夜的搏鬥。大家必須承認每個人在同一艘船上摸黑前進,大家也必須承認黑夜使得道路難以分辨,我們被困在河洲上。沒有人能催促誕生的腳步,「痛苦」和「未完成」是過程中的兩個印記。
我的作品汲取中國靈修傳統的泉源,作品的階段性說明對話仍有待完成。更大膽地說,我的作品可能是一個過渡地。雅各伯搏鬥的夜晚,神性被視為他者,神性被視為一個個體,被人抱緊不放。心靈與宗教的相遇,在異與同之間緊繃到極點。我一揮筆,我身居此地,我身無所居。
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Friday, 30 January 2009

幻影.改變.新生

透過幻影.改變.新生,請與我們一起讚美筱婷的作品。



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Thursday, 01 January 2009

当嘻哈遇到唢呐

冬天的初雪不断重来,没日没夜地下著,使时间归零。

笨笃 撰文

夜色升起,明火同暗火升起,使我目盲,寻找希望的底色,却没有任何东西留著白天的幽深:颤抖的呼唤,隐约传来的歌曲,门口以及窗口粉色、灰色、减了一分黑的边框…如果您愿意的话,爱上这样的等待吧!
我的大窗,窗口赤裸,我看见夜的亮饰。耀目的冬天为夜的小火添加柴木,我的视野一片乾涸。我小心翼翼地转过眼。谈论无形的世界。或者,谈些肉眼无法见到的事物。至少,谈我们此刻看不到的。听说大海近在咫尺,我从未发现这只是一种气味。哀悼海,哀悼礼仪,我是否要声嘶力竭?
钢和海湾发出同样的弧光,同是蓝光,不同属性的使者。两者的双曲线达到顶点时,本源增强著心志。我接受了预兆,我是被画出的空间,或说是念头。反覆的变奏凝聚物质,或说是想法,直到终点。至少这是钢和海湾的闪烁长光确实诉说著的。
雪覆盖我全身,清柔而寒冷。同样凛冽而白色的天空在我上方。地平线荒芜一片,散文诗低语起来,难以停息,沟壑满溢。雪面下的漩涡和记忆重新搅动。银河系的腹心被吸卷抽乾。
斜坡和地洞倾斜,垂直度被啃蚀,毫不宽容地曲身。生硬的黑,乌鸦贪婪地张口…雪总是下个不停。雪在夜间回归,高高低低停息在我纯净的曲线上。雪使我窒息,燃烧著我。冬天的初雪不断重来,没日没夜地下著,使时间归零,使时钟的指针倒转。夜雪使我清醒。

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Wednesday, 31 December 2008

六位大师的童年框景

横跨二十世纪的六位电影大导演,六段童年故事的切片。不管童年散发微光、蒙胧与强光,日后都串起光芒大师一路探索的灯火…

导演 彦高乐Yann Le Gal等六人
编剧 彦高乐
《六个大师的童年》(Childhoods)
法国出品.2007年德国首映
台湾上映时间 2009年1月1日(联影/联赢发行)

从六段故事的吉光片羽,透露六位电影大师影片中日后为人称道的线索。
《六个大师的童年》描述的是电影大师成为大师的童年轶事。不一定愉悦,不一定被保护,不一定被允许,但他们都有一双探索的眼睛。
这六段童年故事发生的时间是他们与家人朝夕相处的生活、闲暇时光与学校中的逃逸时刻。时间上让观者感觉与他们共渡一段时光,编剧选取真相、差异、阶级、嫉妒、幻想、勇气等不同角度的轶事片段,叙事色彩相连,同时是艺术教育的素材。

真相与差异
〈门后的秘密〉描述的是出生于奥地利导演佛列兹朗(Fritz Lang, 1890-1976)的往事。他十岁参加父母亲的婚礼时,惊觉到的秘密让他坚定的信念瓦解:眷恋的母亲,犹太人的身份,粉碎的世界…期待、女性、等待中的确信与误会于是偷偷地渗入他的底片。
〈拜托开门噢〉说的是一段法国导演贾克大地(Jacques Tati, 1907-1982)与同学、老师拍合照的故事:身高过于高大的他怎么都走不进相机的镜头里,于是出现他的一小段漫游。忧郁、对望、散步、异于常人高度的观想后来转变为《我的舅舅》(Mon Oncle, 1958)中的逗趣、欢笑、紧凑,目不暇给的速度是嘲讽现代科技的节拍。

阶级与嫉妒
〈秘密基地和旧皮鞋〉中叙述尚雷诺(Jean Renoir, 1894-1979)在假期中与一名贫困少年的相遇,两个人在河畔相谈的画面令人想起尚雷诺的父亲印象派雷诺瓦画中的光景。树叶下的点点光影却不再是富贵人家的欢聚,而充满不同阶级之间存在的紧张、友谊与相互学习。日后尚雷诺《游戏规则》(La Règle du jeu, 1939)作品中,则在一片凄迷的树林中呈现贵族奢华的聚猎,猎物全数中弹,中产阶级的荒谬世界一览无遗,像似透过童年同伴的眼光。
瑞典导演英玛柏格曼(Ingmar Bergman,1918-2007)自称是大教堂的工匠,导出六十多部直指人心的影片,其中柏格曼的影片《野草莓》(Smultronstället, 1957)或属〈童年杀人事件〉的回响。《野草莓》男主角晚年获颁医学成就勋帽,前往领奖的路途中脑中的想念却都是年轻时的蠢事与罪感,而年轻女孩摘著野草莓,对他热情地说话模样却挥之不去。这样的热情之火在〈童年杀人事件〉影片中变成了刚出生的妹妹的啼哭声。小小柏格曼斯文、懂事,最终决定拿起枕头往下一按,因为妹妹抢夺父母的爱。剧情结构与影像铺陈深具柏格曼影片之风:最后哭声终究短暂消失…

幻想与勇气
〈魅夜〉中童年的希区考克(Alfred Hitchcock, 1899-1980)是个胆怯人物,让人很难联想起拿著烟斗,斜著眼看著观众巨大而幽默的形像。童年住在英国的他敏感、崇拜剧团女主角,畏惧母亲严格的家规;他怕黑,活脱像极自己剧中在楼梯狂奔的演员。场景的营造让人想起一幕幕希区考克的惊悚形式,而严厉的母亲似乎在他的影片中缺席,温柔美女一个个跳出他的相簿上场。
〈少年的凝视〉诉说的是奥森威尔斯(Orson Welles, 1915-1985)的坚持与勇气。他从小爱演戏,朗朗上口的他让我们想及《大国民》(Citizen Kane,1941)中报业大王的口才与表演才情的出处。此外,他在重病母亲的床前守候,不离开半步,小小年纪的坚持与勇气令人动容…

小孩子喜欢穿大鞋,摇来晃去想和大人一般高;年纪日长的人们往往喜欢端望小孩子的微笑,想和纯真童心一起悠游。穿越导演的童年,再欣赏大师的作品,在交错中品味其趣…每个人可找到与自己同调或是不同调的欣喜与惊奇。

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导演一览表
佛列兹朗【门后的秘密】Yann Le Gal
大地【拜托开门噢】Joana Hadjithomas & Khalil
尚雷诺【秘密基地和旧皮鞋】Ismaël Ferroukhiao
柏格曼【童年杀人事件】Safy Nebbou
希区考克【魅夜】Corinne Garfin
威尔斯【少年的凝视】Isild Le Besco
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延伸观影【六位电影大师陪你跨年】就在国家资料馆
2008年12月23日-2008年1月13日
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【人籁论辨月刊第56期,2009年1月】

附加的多媒体:
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