今年夏天的一天晚上，我正想上床睡觉，山下来电话，说现在几个朋友正聚在山川画室喝酒，再过一会儿山川又要画一张新画，要不要来看看。这事听上去挺捧，隔着几重山，在一座城市的江南，几个画友吃饱喝足了准备画画，而我如果趁兴连夜赶去，与他们海阔天空一番，其间一个家伙忽儿兴起，手舞足蹈地画了起来，还真有一番古趣。我独自一人驱车在弯弯曲曲的山路上，在忽近忽远的车灯的光束后面，我仿佛看到自己正在遁着时间追溯某段古人的事迹，又仿佛在为记忆中的某个风流轶事再度追踪而至，当真的心旷神逸，甚至不禁地哼起歌来。直到终于驶入北峰的山顶，俯瞰到一座光的城市，我才忽然感到我这是朝着山川的画面驶去呀。可是到了画室，只见一幅两米乘四米的画湿漉漉的，靠着墙站在那里，吃惊地问：“完事了吗?”“完事了!”只是沾满颜色的手闲着不知往哪放。不久再问：“完事了?”意犹未尽的山川忽然又抓向颜料桶，好似一个山民跳上自家的墙，为了在那里狠狠地敷上一把，颜料桶摇晃了起来，好象那是一桶专门用来给墙画记号的颜料，脏兮兮的已经见底了。

　　这一次山川当然还是画他的“当天新闻”。我想那是他的隐喻，今天他的隐喻是一块块豆腐式的版面，除了故意糊涂的标题依稀可辩，好象是“中国制造”的什么字，周围便是一片白茫茫的白色，象刚下过一场倾盆大雨的白色世界——除此之外再无他物。但我喜欢这幅似乎甚于他先前带具像的那几幅，原因是画里充满了光，似乎要给人以征兆，一个关于两个世界(现存社会和历史意识)之间彼此脱离的那部分征兆，一个空空的但又充满了意外的感觉。而这时候，画家站远几步，一付全身而退的样子，必须做出决定的样子。那么真的可以完工了吗?真的已经不多也不少了吗?有时，一幅画似乎只有在你决定放下它离开的时候，那最后一笔仍旧闪着诱惑的光才会慢慢地融入它那充满冲突的画面，在各种力量中得以调整平衡。我们相信山川的那种狂风暴雨式的画法，也许留下某种余地是合适的。

　　“山川在画报纸”!这件事在同行朋友中传开已有一些时日，但至今仍是人们的话题，而从中所引起的广泛的惊奇反应里面有一个共鸣的东西，即一个创作者对紧要价值的敏感。这种敏感在当今似乎越显其迫切性。确切地说，这是普遍的焦虑，只有一种新的社会批判和历史批判的出现，某种真正创作意义上的释放才成为可能。当山川在沉寂了一段日子后说：“我在画报纸”，大家重新把目光转向他，心里却在想这次他到底又要干什么。也许他真的找到了自己的“现实”，那么当这种“现实感“在他身上显得越来越不可避免而表现为一种勇气时，大家仿佛又找到了他，并且开始期待。幸运的是大家没有等待太久。

　　从山川那些速记式的巨幅绘画我们可以感受到他的激情，他的在场，他的隐喻。往日那种无时间性的乌托邦画面不见了。取而代之的是他对“现实的”复辟——借助“外在的”题材，依据历史的因果关系，重新冷静地审视处身其中的社会现实，从中获得自己绘画形式的渊源，功能和缘由。这就是他的那些“报纸画”。那一幅幅复制的巨型“报纸”，那些庞然大物(也许已经不仅仅是某天的头版头条)，那个在绘画过程中，在活生生的材料应用中得以消解的外在经验世界，以某种当代文献的形式似是而非地，奇怪地再次考验着我们的视网膜，我们的记忆承受能力。这就是我看山川绘画的大体感受。是的，这些颇具讽刺意味的作品，在这里打开的是一间我们这些社会动物共有的房间，里面空荡荡，却有着一份我们共有的档案。只是这份档案由于过多的翻阅，如今成了我们不同面孔的同一张面孔。并且多少有点陈旧。它或许还是一份用过的菜单，有点虚无，有点无可奈何，只是当我们重新拾起它，它就意味着继续。是的，它是每一天的，正如山川在完成它们时忠实地在上面签上的那些日期。

　　我想山川在画这些“新闻”时未必想到有一天它们还会变成大家桌上一盒开了封的沙丁鱼。但这并不重要，重要的是他带给了人们复杂的心理暗示。翻阅报纸是一个公开的动作，但在山川画面的新闻，却仿佛让人看到一个封闭的表情和一个秘密的日子。也许这是不能解读的。也许这也是山川以某种似是而非的“再现”所给予的审美效果。但不论怎样，作为一种与日常生活直接关联的艺术，它从日常生活出发，它就应该是我们的真实生活和真实心境的直接和真挚的表达。山川要画他的那些画时，提到他的画倒很适合放在大而荒凉的仓库般的画廊墙上，从他对自己的画的归宿的想象，似乎可猜想他面对世界的方式是具有挑战心理的。也许他的世界更大——他还要放大画的尺寸，大到可以放在一片荒野，从此在荒野上确立一个中心。这是他的自信。这是他在强调的“在场感”——时间的过去也是时间的将来，当他在画面上处理对当下新闻的瞬间感受，也许正是缘于这种对时间的感知。他试图留住时间，这又让我想到那一夜，当我驱车赶路，想着他如何在一幅中抵达艺术的手段和原则，却怎么也没想到一幅两米乘四米的画，在他手里竟然只用了我在途中的四分之三的时间，不到四十钟，然而这四十分钟的速度，在一个创作者和观众之间，任何时候都是不多也不少，关键是我来了，而一幅画正好摆在那儿。它提供了另外的时间。

　　2007.10.8

　　注：吕德安，当代著名诗人，旅美艺术家

　　One evening this summer, I was on the point of going to bed when a call came, inviting me to Shanchun’s studio, in which a bunch of friends who were drinking beers and waiting for a new painting to be churned out by the master of the studio. It sounds awesome, that several friends snapped to painting on the heels of a drinking binge, in a city of southern China, with mountains far away. Nothing would be more exhilarating if I set off on the spur of the moment and caught them that very night in their impassioned conversation, finding that a guy swept across the room out of the blue and painted on the wall with wild abandon. I drove along a winding mountain road alone, with gleams of headlights far or near. I immersed myself into the vista of the ancient times, tracing back an untold unrestrained anecdote alike what I was doing at the moment. Feeling soothing and relaxing, I couldn’t help humming to myself, until a city of light was exposed before my eyes when I reached the peak of North Mountain and realized that I was on the way with a picturesque night view to another picture rack. On my arrival at the studio, a piece of work with fresh paint, two meters by four meters, leaning against the wall, struck my eyes. “Have you finished?” I asked in amazement. “Yes.” the painter murmured, with idling hands in the air. “Finished?” I added. Abruptly, not given full expression, Shanchuan reached for the paint bucket and poured the paint onto the wall with a heavy stroke, leaving an empty bucket shaking on the floor.

　　As usual, Shanchuan was working on his own “daily news”, which sounds to me like a metaphor. With a barely perceptible headline reading “Made in China” in Chinese characters, this painting was fogged with deliberate thick white palette, resembling a white world washed by a downpour of rain. The stark whiteness seemed to suggest emptiness, but I saw from inside the painting brimming light, which signifies an augury of two separated worlds of current society and historical identity. I like it far more than those previous ones with concrete images, as it impressed me with a sense of unpredictable interpretation. At that instant, the painter stepped back, acting as if he should pull back for a decision. Was it completed, then? Could a final touch be added to it? More often than not, there comes the moment only when a painter leaves the rack and hails the completion of a piece of artwork, would the finishing stroke wraps up the gleam of enticement and permeates into the picture plane, merging into the harmonious entity. I believe that some room in the painting is necessary to accommodate the wild and stormy painting approach of Shanchuan.

　　“Shanchuan is painting newspapers.” The story has been a town talk among his friends and counterparts for some time, and still dominates a conversation sometimes. There prevails something in common in people’s amazement, the fact that they smell the painter’s acute sensitivity to the values imperative to society. To be exact, it is the pervasive mood of anxiety. No creativity in the real sense could be unleashed prior to the advent of subversive social and historical animadversions. In the wake of being in the doldrums for some time, Shanchuan jumped up and waved a banner saying “I’m painting newspapers”, drawing attentions again from the bewildered heads, who had increasing anticipations for the artist who just set foot on his own ground and grew guts to break the silence. Fortunately, he doesn’t make us wait long.

　　Catching a glimpse of Shanchuan’s giant sketch-like paintings, we can sharply feel his passion, his presence, his metaphor. Instead of the timeless utopian worlds, he puts his fingers on the revival of reality. Via external subjects, he casts a look at historical causations, sheds prudent light on the social reality and encapsulates the genesis, function and approach of his present artistic practice into his so-called “newspaper paintings”. Through such massive reproductions of newspapers (which are far more than the large-font headlines), as well as the whole process of consuming live materials, Shanchuan clears up an outside world he perceived and experienced and presents certain codes of contemporary art, which seem to be an odd test for our appetite and the faculty to bear them in mind. This is my impression of his way of painting. Truly, his works, smacking of some irony, unlock a room in which we social animals cell. Nothing else could be found in this empty room except for an archive applicable to all. As a result of being turned over for too many times by too many people, the timeworn archive is like a mirror, reflecting the most identical one of the diverse faces of us. Or perhaps it is simply a used menu, inane and no-good, only comes to its meaningful existence when it is picked up. Surely, it waits there day in and day out, like the date Shanchuan dutifully signs on his paintings.

　　I think the idea would never ever come into Shanchuan’s mind that one day the pieces of his “newspaper painting” could be brought to the public like an opened sardine can. But it doesn’t matter, as long as the he brings sophisticated psychological implication to the forefront. Reading newspaper is a public behavior. On the contrary, a private expression and a secret date are found in Shanchuan’s interpretation of news events. Perhaps it is unfathomable, or just an aesthetic effect by his vague reproduction. Nevertheless, as an art form that bears on life and is originated from life, it should be the reflection of our real existence and a token of genuine insight. Shanchuan referred his paintings to those better be placed on large and desolate warehouse-like walls. In light of the envisioned destination for his paintings, we can somehow presume that he is challenging the world he is confronted with. Probably he thinks bigger. He needs larger dimensions for his painting, so that he can erect his works in a boundless wilderness. He has his confidence and the “sense of involvement”, in which time is stagnant and the past and the future overlap. It is probably based on such sense of time does he conveys his split second impressions of the news event. His endeavor to hold up time brings me back to the night when I drove along the way to his studio, and tried to figure out what artistic techniques and principles he would apply to the painting. To my surprise, he completed the huge painting in less than 40 minutes. However, the time he spent was nowhere near the key to bridging the painter and the audience. The key is I was there, and the painting was there. The painting took me to another realm of time.

　　October, 8, 2007

　　Note: Lv De’an, Chinese contemporary poet and artist residing in America.

作者：吕德安