故園無(wú)聲 —— 白冬泉個(gè)展

故園無(wú)聲

文：陳海燕

白冬泉是資深攝影人，延安農(nóng)人。作品的視界，是一組沉郁而飄渺的黑白夢(mèng)境，交付自已、又隔絕自己。他說(shuō)：“我用拍照的方式向這個(gè)世界告別，又對(duì)故土戀戀不舍。”

故園—73，2012

100 × 66.7 厘米，印數(shù)：6

61 × 40.7 厘米，印數(shù)：12

藝術(shù)微噴 藝術(shù)紙

Homeland - 73, 2012

100 × 66.7 cm, Edition: 6

61 × 40.7 cm, Edition: 12

Inkjet Print on Fine Art Paper

一道道那個(gè)山來(lái)、一道道水，這片北緯37゜的黃土高原，壟中埋葬著故去的親人，而生命的土塬上，依然飄揚(yáng)著高亢的信天游。空無(wú)，與實(shí)在物一樣具體，像水在水中融化、山在山中篤行，卻把具身認(rèn)知從自我的泥沼中解救出來(lái)。攝影，很多時(shí)候只是工具，并不在探討影像本身，正如黑白的影調(diào)，也絕不是可能的真實(shí)。那些被壓扁在平面里的空間感，不過(guò)是空間的表象與表象的空間。像素顆粒浮動(dòng)的視覺(jué)爆點(diǎn)，常常是沉默的深淵，被分解的一團(tuán)熱，化為熵的渦動(dòng)，急煎煎。是白冬泉的，也是觀者的。

故園—72，2014

100 × 66.7 厘米，印數(shù)：6

61 × 40.7 厘米，印數(shù)：12

藝術(shù)微噴 藝術(shù)紙

Homeland - 72, 2014

100 × 66.7 cm, Edition: 6

61 × 40.7 cm, Edition: 12

Inkjet Print on Fine Art Paper

在揣摩快門(mén)按下的驅(qū)動(dòng)時(shí)，忽記起，這個(gè)皮膚黝黑、發(fā)了福的西北漢子說(shuō)自己在種蘋(píng)果。“延安蘋(píng)果？”他愣了愣，客氣道：“回頭來(lái)摘蘋(píng)果，管夠！”然后，迅速告辭走了。山一程、水一程，那蘊(yùn)有形態(tài)的光陰，讓過(guò)去自成一體，慢慢在記憶的暗房里顯影——獨(dú)自朝覲的路上，看見(jiàn)久旱的紅黏土被雨水浸透，粉末般“烊”在酷暑的日頭里，汪出幾洼緋紅。

故園—71，2016

66.7 × 100 厘米，印數(shù)：6

40.7 × 61 厘米，印數(shù)：12

藝術(shù)微噴 藝術(shù)紙

Homeland - 71, 2016

66.7 × 100 cm, Edition: 6

40.7 × 61 cm, Edition: 12

Inkjet Print on Fine Art Paper

多年以后，終把可惜換作疼惜，看見(jiàn)漫山的蘋(píng)果花樹(shù)已匯成一片綺麗的云海，蝶醉蜂迷的春光深處，故園無(wú)聲。

丙午春於滬上書(shū)樂(lè)窩

游山記—13，2012

尺寸可變，印數(shù)：8

藝術(shù)微噴 藝術(shù)紙

Stray in the Mountains - 13, 2012

Variable Size, Edition: 8

Inkjet Print on Fine Art Paper

Silent Homeland

by Chen Haiyan

Bai Dongquan is a seasoned photographer and a farmer from Yan’an. The visual world of his work unfolds as a somber and ethereal black-and-white dreamscape—both entrusted to himself and estranged from himself. He once said, “Through photography, I bid farewell to this world, yet I remain deeply reluctant to part from my homeland.”

游山記—15，2022

尺寸可變，印數(shù)：8

藝術(shù)微噴 藝術(shù)紙

Stray in the Mountains - 15, 2022

Variable Size, Edition: 8

Inkjet Print on Fine Art Paper

Layer upon layer of mountains, stretch upon stretch of waters—on this Loess Plateau at 37 degrees north latitude, departed relatives lie buried in the furrows, while on the earthen tablelands of life, the piercing notes of Xintianyou folk songs still drift in the wind. Emptiness is as concrete as any tangible object: like water dissolving into water, mountains pressing forward within mountains. And yet, it releases embodied perception from the mire of the self. Photography, at many moments, is merely a tool; it does not necessarily concern itself with the ontology of the image. Likewise, black-and-white tonality is never an equivalent of truth. The sense of space flattened upon the surface is but the appearance of space—and the spatiality of appearances. The flickering eruptions of pixel-grain often open into silent abysses; a disassembled heat turns into the vortex of entropy, restless and urgent. It belongs to Bai Dongquan, and equally to the viewer.

游山記—2，2012

尺寸可變，印數(shù)：8

藝術(shù)微噴 藝術(shù)紙

Stray in the Mountains - 2, 2012

Variable Size, Edition: 8

Inkjet Print on Fine Art Paper

While pondering the impulse behind the pressing of the shutter, I recall that this dark-skinned, solidly built man of the Northwest once mentioned that he grows apples. “Yan’an apples?” I asked. He paused, slightly startled, then replied politely, “Come back to pick apples—there’ll be plenty for you!” And then he quickly took his leave. A journey of mountains and rivers, where time itself gathers form. The past becomes whole, slowly developing in the darkroom of memory. On a solitary pilgrimage, I once saw the long-parched red clay soaked through by rain, melting like powder under the blazing summer sun, pooling into several crimson patches.

游山記—11，2023

尺寸可變，印數(shù)：8

藝術(shù)微噴 藝術(shù)紙

Stray in the Mountains - 11, 2023

Variable Size, Edition: 8

Inkjet Print on Fine Art Paper

Years later, regret has finally turned into tenderness. The hillsides of apple blossoms have merged into a magnificent sea of clouds. In the intoxicated springtime of fluttering butterflies and humming bees, the homeland remains silent.

Written in the Spring of Bingwu Year At Shulewo, Shanghai