妈妈：
新年快乐。
我正站在Lubaina Himid的装置《蓝格测试》里写这封信。如果你在这里，你会多困惑啊。你会被一条钢琴和吉他零件组成的饰带环绕，会看着一根长长、长长的蓝色细线裁开了房间的四堵墙。包裹这间屋子的声音起伏不定，像轻柔的浪。我花了些时间才听出这些飘着的声音在用不同的语言念“蓝”这个词。(西方的美术馆！总是有这些语言陷阱，埋伏着伺机提醒我：你会讲的不是“正确”的外语。)法语的“蓝”——我不会写——在我听来像英文的“模糊”。模糊，模糊，模糊，这些声音说。
我观察了那根蓝色细线很久。里面浮动着一些形状，像洋蓟、像被海水裹挟的水母和其他海洋里的动物。它们几乎在发光的鲜艳蓝色冲刷着我。我站在这里，像在日落时分潜进热带的海里，皮肤触碰到的海水尚有被太阳炙烤的余温。像被裹进柔软的、白色的棉布，那种会被用来给小婴儿做衣服的织物。
想念你，妈妈，想念我们一起去游泳的夏夜。
CZ
2022年2月2日
Mama:
Happy New Year.
Writing to you standing inside Himid’s Blue Grid Test. You’d be puzzled if you are here, surrounded by a long, long frieze made of torn-apart pianos and guitars with a zip of blue patterns cutting all the way across the four walls. The room’s wrapped in voices, rising and falling like gentle tides. It took me a while to realise that these dreamy voices are saying the word ‘blue’ in different languages. (Art museums! Always full of linguistic ambushes like this to remind me I don’t speak the right second and third languages.) The French word for ‘blue’(can’t spell it, asked Weitian to double-check if it’s French) sounds like ‘blur’ to my ears. Blur, blur, blurrr.
I’m spending so much time looking at these intricate patterns, with shapes like thistles and swirling jellyfish and all sorts of ocean animals floating up and down. Their different shades of blue – almost glowing – wash over me. It’s like submerging yourself in the tropical sea at dusk, when the water is still warm after having been backed all afternoon by the sun. It’s like being wrapped in soft, white textiles, the ones people would use to make clothes for little babies.
Thinking of you, mama, and the summer nights when we went swimming.
CZ
「信笺」收集、发表来自读者的任何回应。不论是日常生活中潦草写下的一两句展览观后感，还是深思熟虑之后对某件作品的评价，甚至是在草稿纸上写写画画的只言片语，我们都期待你的分享。
Comments