the confessional, the wandering, the lichtung
http://www.heichimagazine.org/zh/articles/1015/six-hours-westward
http://www.heichimagazine.org/en/articles/1015/six-hours-westward
往西六小时
文：唐一菲2021年4月，程新皓由东八时区抵达东一时区的瑞士，开始他在苏黎世Gleis 70的驻留。小半年后，他此次及以往境外驻留期间创作的三件作品，以及早前在云南的创作等一系列名为“情境中的身体”的录像，再度回到东八时区，呈现在Tabula Rasa画廊北京空间的个展上。相较于他在2019年的作品《致海洋》中，以徒步行走丈量云南滇越铁路的尺度，于2021年在瑞士驻留的作品Der Rhein中其丈量对象则变为瑞士境内的莱茵河沿岸——它们是展览中尺寸最大的投影，两者相对而立，音频声交错重叠，让观众的视线来回徘徊于两端的屏幕。瑞士地形多是高山与湖泊，国境几乎都在阿尔卑斯山脉之中；云南高原波状起伏，高山峡谷相间，也拥有众多江河湖泊。于是，在具有历史意义和独特地理景观的线路中，由个人步伐连接的是接近相同速度的时间流动和画面推进，遭遇却截然不同。
《致海洋》萌发于艺术家对滇越铁路的童年记忆，他试图身体力行地顺着滇越铁路的基础设施一路向南行走至铁路尽头的海洋。在2018年至2019年的数次尝试后，他终于成功从昆明徒步到中越边界，并间隔每公里捡起一块石子，完成了徒步境内滇越铁路的19天共465公里的旅途。在这件作品中，当成长于云南的程新皓走在铁轨上，捡起可能是两亿多年前的沉积石时，当下的身体并置于历史和现在，回顾着其间的演变。此时，云南的特殊地景被抽离出既定的叙事框架，个体携带着碎片化的记忆，企图面临曾在场或者依旧在场的历史时刻。程新皓在影片中采用固定镜头拍摄，画面中，他往往从远方走来，或者从镜头后走向远方。在每个小段中，无论是放羊赶牛的村民、废弃的房屋、被砖头封上的候车站、浩大的桥梁还是冒烟的工厂，这些场景被程新皓贸然闯入，观看，而后离开。其中也有很多具有离奇张力的驻足——等待火车经过，偶遇站台上穿着民国和抗战服装的游客，从著名的人字桥往下俯瞰。
在这些场景里，时间似乎被错置地展开，由或荒诞或沉重的方式遭遇，直面那些“发展”过的痕迹：掠夺、劳工和战争。个体与历史的交汇构成了当下的多重现实，也呈现出个体如何重新嵌入当下的风景，徒步于群山荒野之中的未被掩盖的残骸。
一年多后，程新皓循着当年法国籍铁路工程师Georges-Auguste Marbotte对云南的投射（“像瑞士一样的山峦”），前往时差六小时外的瑞士进行驻留创作，像是在逆向凝视回20世纪初的Marbotte投向他者的目光。在Der Rhein的影像中，程新皓从莱茵河源头，便在每次固定镜头的注视下捡拾起一小粒碎石块，沿途不停交换新的石块，直至目的地。莱茵河沿岸的风光当然是美的，白雪皑皑的高山，走入平原后饱和度很高的蓝天和树木，但这一切似乎并不呼应程新皓在资料上所阅读到的“云南的影子”。在他企图用肉身模拟河流运动的途中，他遭遇的是心旷神怡的风景，自得其乐的行人，一切都诗意得刚刚好，却让他的身体找不到“搏斗”的对象。其中也不乏一些似曾相似的时刻：偶遇羊驼，等待观光火车的经过，在一座小桥上看溪流。比较云南、瑞士的风景相似物，后者更接近田园牧歌。这则差异，对程新皓而言，似乎是文本比较上的失败。而由于行程准备得不够充分，程新皓这次徒步甚至不是从莱茵河的源头托马湖出发，而是从阿尔卑斯山的山口起，中止于原定二十天旅程的第十天——博登湖。在程新皓的记录《莱茵河的溃败》中提到：“山穷水复，我脑海中的词语开始错乱，除了时不时被动涌出的云南记忆，不再能够描述眼前的现实。”不知道这一次的“溃败”是否会让程新皓联想起前几次未完成的滇越铁路徒步；而那一块止于博登湖的石头，是否会让他联想起《风往南刮》中在云南玉龙山顶被强风吹倒的石柱？
艺术家的行走成为一种仪式，是走向远方与离开现实的冲动和想象。在行走过程中，逐步被刻画的“神话地景”，它由个人化的浪漫想象、物质化的风景形成其政治功能。艺术家企图去映射的，正是这种受自然风景，人文景观而牵扯出的对宏大叙事的隐喻。而这种“拜物”于景观的方式产生的“失语”，如果是一种未来得及的，具有排异反应的，未完成的，待续的精神刺激，它经由本地的经验和记忆所促成的在陌生语境的尝试能否得到回应？或者说，身体直面的环境能否如条件反射般使新经验诞生于旧经验？这个分娩过程或许是艰难而疼痛的，因为需要承认预设的局限以及遭遇一个不确定的未被识别的陌生场域。
这种“失语”是第一次出现吗，我觉得不是的。在2019年8月于美国的驻留作品《怀抱有时》（A Time to Embrace）中，程新皓同样带着云南的经验试图将其直白地与陌生语境相联系。他在美国佛蒙特州的火鸡山溪中搭建石柱从而让其形成与云南梅里雪山的河流相似的形态，再沿河捡石块上溯直至溢出臂弯。影像中，固定镜头的夜晚画面，模糊可见参差的由石块搭建的石柱，程新皓由镜头右侧远处走来，穿越这些石柱，同时捡拾石块，在每次弯腰时，也有些石块顺势掉落，最后从镜头左侧的远方消失。艺术家采用夜景拍摄并且黑白呈现的方式，企图削弱并模糊地点的属性，从而创造出一个“异质空间”（third space）的叙述场域——在想象的云南和真实的佛蒙特州差异之间的第三种可能。但吊诡的是，程新皓所加于佛蒙特州山溪的真实的云南经验甚至地理形态，正局限了这个异质空间所需要的开放性和流动性。
在这次展览之外，他在2019年还受邀至英国皇家艺术学院的群展“回致：天空与万物”，并在那进行短期驻留。不过，他这次介入陌生场域的方式不再是呈现身体与风景的对比，而是选择了不同地区的植物，进行对照与研究。在这个项目中，程新皓用蓝晒记录一支树枝不同时期的变化，并且制作了一系列图谱和梳理其中的科类逻辑，包括一些收集的旧书和三本蓝晒图谱，分别是云南的本土植物，云南出现的欧洲起源物种（早期通过自然扩散或贸易种植）以及他在英国采集的树木标本。在植物迁徙和被各自系统识别和归类的过程中，不同的植物档案之间的传承和差异，以一种直观而生动的方式涌现，同时也折射出背后的文化复杂性，让人感受到书写和档案的张力。
在当代艺术实践中的“田野”，是艺术家深入接触和体验的结果。其中收集到的和生产的知识，来自于阅读，道听途说，以及真实的身体经验。艺术家的身体不只是艺术家本人的躯体，而是他作为丈量尺度，去探测，感知不同叙述场域的媒介。然而，当身体的田野设于不熟悉的千里之外时，比如瑞士，产生了六个小时的时差，这种时差不仅是时间维度的，更是历史和地理维度的。在这种时差当中，程新皓用身体将宏大叙事切割为可感知的细枝末节。关于滇越铁路的作品，他也延伸出《铁路的二十四封邮件》和历史一手档案的收集；在《对一条河流的命名》中也有对行人肖像的整理。这些档案是当代艺术中的田野实践切入“共生性”的窗口，一种新的融合的语言。这种语言或许不是简单地套用自身经验、想象和地理形态，而是在这些表征之下的内在变化过程。我们拥有全球具有时差的共识，我们也明白地球是圆的，“往西”或许也可能是一种“往东”。
* 文中时差按照夏令时计算，故为“六小时”。
Six Hours Westward
Text: Yifei Tang
In April 2021, Xinhao Cheng arrived in Switzerland having traversed from the UTC plus-eight time zone to the plus-one time zone. He then commenced his studio residency at Gleis 70 in Zurich. Half a year later, Cheng returned to the plus-eight time zone, bringing with him three pieces of work he produced during and before this residency, consisting of a series of video recordings titled Body in Situations. This collection of work was brought to the Tabula Rasa Gallery in Beijing and presented in Cheng’s solo exhibition. Similar to his earlier work To the Ocean (2019), in which he walks the formidable length of the Yunnan-Vietnam Railway, Cheng’s most recent work Der Rhein (2021), produced during his Swiss residency, follows the artist walking the length of the Rhine’s shoreline within the Swiss border. These two works are the largest video installations in this exhibition. Placed across from one another, they allow the gaze of the audience to trail between the two projections on opposite screens while the audio tracks interfere and eventually descend into dissonance. The Swiss topography is dominated by mountains and lakes, with almost the entire nation wrapped around the Alps, whereas Yunnan has undulating highlands, alternating between steep valleys and ridges, as well as rivers and lakes. Along the two routes, the artist traces a historically significant and unique topography in each place. Despite being connected by the artist’s pace, and thus the same passage of time in the evolving vistas, the two experiences are phenomenally different.
To the Ocean (2019) was a project inspired by the artist’s childhood memories. Cheng wanted to trace a great infrastructure project by bodily effort, walking all the way to the very south end of the Yunnan-Vietnam Railway to where the ocean lies. After multiple attempts between 2018 and 2019, he finally succeeded in traveling on foot all the way to the China-Vietnam border from Kunming. Picking up a pebble with every kilometer treaded, Cheng completed a 465-km journey in 19 days along the domestic section of Yunnan-Vietnam Railway. Across this journey, Cheng, who grew up in Yunnan, carried with him what might possibly have been sedimentary rocks from more than two hundred million years ago. His body become situated in both past and present, allowing him to look back on the changes that took place as he walks along the tracks. In these moments, the unique landscape of Yunnan was emptied of any predetermined narratives; it is only an individual carrying fragmented memories who attempts to make contact with the actual course of history, current or bygone. Cheng films in static camera frames, pacing either from far to near, or from behind the camera into the distance. In every scene, whether the camera captures villagers herding sheep, an abandoned house, a walled-up train station, a monumental bridge, or steaming factories, Cheng’s entrance is abrupt. He watches, then he leaves. The video is also punctuated by intervals of pause. In these moments of eerie tension, Cheng waits for a train to pass; encounters travelers on a platform who are dressed in Republican-era clothes and attire representing the wartime resistance effort; and gazes downwards from the renowned “Inverted V Bridge” (another moniker for the Faux Namti Bridge).
The passage of time seems to unfold in a disorderly sequence in these intervals. Through an experience loaded with absurd encounters and events, the body confronts the vestigial traces of “development”—pillage, labor, and war. The convergence of the individual with the course of history has given rise to multiple realities; Cheng’s walk among relics in the mountain wilderness reveals how the individual is re-embedded in alternating scenes of the past and present.
Roughly a year later, Cheng visited Switzerland for his studio residency, a country in a time zone six hours apart from that of his, guided by the photography works of the French railway engineer Georges-Auguste Marbotte and his remarks on Yunnan (“A mountainous terrain alike Switzerland”). By going to Zurich from Yunnan, Cheng sought to gaze back at the early 20th century lens of Marbotte. In Der Rhein (2021), Cheng, who began his journey from the source of the Rhine River, picks up a pebble under the static gaze of the camera, and substitutes his old acquisitions with new ones until reaching his destination. The views along the waterfront of the Rhine were undoubtedly very scenic, the snowy Alps gradually replaced by vivid blue skies and woods. However, none of these images seemed to suggest the “similitude to Yunnan” which Cheng had previously read abou. As Cheng attempts to reenact the flow of the river with the progression of his physical journey, he is greeted with sublimely beautiful views and joyful travelers all along the way. There is just the right amount of poetic bliss to this picture, but his body lacks something to “fight against.” There are nonetheless a few déjà-vu moments: spotting a herd of alpacas, waiting for scenic trains to pass, watching a creek from atop a footbridge. Comparing the sceneries of Yunnan to those of Switzerland, one would likely find the latter more idyllic and pastoral. For Cheng, his experience of the perceptible differences between Yunnanese and Swiss landscapes could be attributed to the failure of their metaphorical conveyance through text. Due to inadequate preparation prior to embarking on this journey, Cheng did not start from Tomasee, the source of the Rhine River, but instead began walking from a mountain pass in the Alps. He eventually concluded his journey at Lake Constance on the tenth day, rather than the twenty-day itinerary he had planned. In Cheng’s written account, Fiasco on the Rhine (2021), he describes the experience as follows: “Where the mountain ends and the water resurfaces, my mind became muddled, my vocabulary faltered. Besides being occasionally occupied by my memories of Yunnan, I was no longer capable of describing the reality before me.” It is unclear to the reader whether the “fiasco” had reminded Cheng of his aborted expeditions along the Yunnan-Vietnam Railway. It is also unknown whether he was reminded of the rock cairn which had succumbed to strong wind at the summit of the Jade Dragon Mountain—as documented in As the Wind Whirls (2018)—while he pondered his final pebble acquired at Lake Constance.
The act of walking, as performed by the artist, becomes a kind of ritual, a creative impulse to leave reality for a distant world. As one walks, the “legendary landscapes” effect their political function through commodified sceneries and the individual’s romanticization of the landscapes. What the artist intends to reveal through walking is the grand metaphoric narrative embedded within both natural and cultural landscapes. This “fetishism” with the way landscape is perceived has triggered the condition of being at “a loss for words” for Cheng. If such a condition were only a sign of rejection by the body at first, and perhaps prelude to a latent and consistent mental stimulation, would one still be capable of building a concoction of local experiences and personal memories, and eventually manage to generate a response to the exotic context? In other words, by situating the body in its immediate surroundings, would one be capable of instinctively transposing a new experience onto the old? The process of delivering such a response would most likely be strenuous, even agonizing, as it requires recognition of the limitations to one’s presumptions, in addition to confronting an exotic milieu that is yet to be substantiated or identified.
This experience of being at a loss of words, I reckon, was not a novel one for Cheng. In A Time to Embrace (2019), an earlier work he created during his residency in the United States, Cheng had made another attempt to replicate his experience in Yunnan with the intent of establishing connections in an exotic context. On Vermont’s Turkey Mountain, he built rock cairns in a creek to resemble the shape of rivers on the Meili Snow Mountains. He picked up pebbles along the creek and continued to do so until the pebbles fell from his hands due to their sheer amount. The video documents a dark evening from a fixed point of view, showing the irregular silhouettes of the rock cairns. Cheng walks towards the camera from the far right of the frame, moving across the field of rock cairns while acquiring more pebbles along the way. Bending at the waist to pick up pebbles, Cheng loses several from his grasp each time. He then proceeds towards the far left of the frame until he can no longer be observed by the camera. The artist made a conscious decision to film at night and to present his work in greyscale. By doing so, the peculiarity of the locale is obscured and undermined, creating a “third space” apt for an alternative narrative—a narrative which arises from an imaginary Yunnan and the Vermont of the present. Paradoxically, as Cheng superimposes the topographic forms and the experience of his previous expeditions in Yunnan to Vermont, it is also precisely the authenticity of these elements that pose limitations to the much needed openness and fluidity of the third space.
In addition to his current work on view at the Tabula Rasa Gallery, Cheng was invited by the Royal College of Art in the United Kingdom to participate in the group exhibition Re: Over everything which exists under the sky (2019), for which he also stayed for a short residency. In this project, instead of intervening in exotic contexts by juxtaposing of the body with changing landscapes, Cheng studied and compared a diversity of flora he selected from different regions. He applied cyanotyping to document the changes of a single tree branch through designated periods of time, and created a taxonomy with the images in order to analyze the underlying classification systems at work. He also collected vintage books as part of his research, including three cyanotype taxonomy books: one on the native plants of Yunnan, one on plants found in Yunnan with European origins (possibly spread by natural means or through trade), and one on the tree specimens he collected in the UK. Through the cyanotype series, the artist reveals the legacies and discrepancies within plant migration, and the subsequent process of classifying them into different regional systems. Cheng’s work channels the cultural complexity hidden in the construction of these classification frameworks, allowing the tension intrinsic to the practice of writing and archiving to manifest in palpable forms.
The “field,” as used in the context of contemporary art practices, is a result of the artist’s interactions and experience. The knowledge acquired and produced within this field has been built upon extensive reading, oral history, and personal anecdotes. The artist’s body is not merely his own, but an object of scale, a tool for investigation, and a medium through which he can experience myriad spatial narratives. When the body is situated in an unfamiliar field, such as Switzerland, the six-hour difference that arises from displacing the body thousands of miles from its origin occurs not only along the dimension of time. Rather, that six-hour difference can be perceived and experienced in its multidimensional impact along the stretch of both history and geography, on top of being a mere passage of time. In this “time difference,” Cheng deconstructs grand narratives by segregating them into tactile fragments with his bodily efforts. Building upon his previous work on the Yunnan-Vietnam Railway, Cheng has also produced 24 Letters from the Railway (2020) and expanded his personal collection of primary historical references. In The Naming of a River (2015), he began to take and archive photo portraits of passersby. These archives have provided a point of departure for a “symbiosis” in the practice of field studies, establishing a hybrid language for contemporary art expression. This new language goes beyond the simple reapplication of one’s own experiences and imagination, or the replication of topographic forms; it is an internal transformation of superficial idiosyncrasies. As we share a common understanding of global time zones and the fact that our planet is a sphere, perhaps we might also agree that going westward can sometimes be an eastward journey in itself.
*The time zone difference is counted under Daylight Saving Time, thus is “6 hours”.
Translated from Chinese by Joanna Wong.
Joanna Wong is a New York-based writer and researcher of architectural history. Her writings have appeared in a number of print and digital publications including Arquitectura Viva and ArchDaily. She received her MA degree from the Architectural Association in London, where she was also a guest critic for undergraduate history and theory studies.