“催眠和片断的真实”艾未未评李松松展 （作者：艾未未）

来源 ：网络

李松松作品


　　催眠通常是指使用特殊手段使角色进入类似睡眠状态。或者说，通过诱导使被催眠者脱离主动积极的境域，自主判断和自主意愿行为减弱或丧失，感知、思维、意志、情感接受催眠的诱导和暗示。

　　李松松出生于1973年。三岁时，毛泽东离开了人间，同年发生了唐山地震，三十万人的生命在一夜间消失，寓言般告别了在这片土地上几十年来的腥风血雨，告别了阶级斗争的和无产阶级专政的残酷的现实。这个时代的身后拖着一条巨大的阴影和残垣断壁，离它彻底地结束，还需要很长的时间和很崎岖的路途。

　　一个普遍无意识的时代，含混迷茫，缺少理性，缺少思想和人性的光辉，缺少审视和道德判断，缺少明辨是非曲直的可能。一片灰暗色调的画面，历史被断然的切成了碎片，切成了突兀的、不经意的、武断的许多部分,只存在局部的、片断的真实.这使得这幅被分割和切断的图卷，奇迹般的重新整合起来，百般矛盾却融为一体，互相支撑。

　　一个黄昏，与李松松聊天后，开车离开工作室,去晚饭的路上，车窗望出去，依旧是夜晚降临，华灯初起，微风拂面，人流如梭。道路旁的一间间店铺，一户户人家，一栋栋构成了这座城市的一部分的楼宇，正在准备着晚饭的人们，并不在意这个世间的是非曲直，不在意他们的祖先和后代的事，不关心这池中的水是动是静，这条河流将要流向何处。这里的人们，有太多的，在任何朝代都恒久不变的，习惯性的琐事，烦恼和快乐。有一点是相同的，这里所有的烦恼和快乐都只能是片断的，都无法真正的述诉和表达，都无法繁衍和给予，都只可意会不可言传。

　　这是一个真正意义上的废墟，浩瀚辽阔，一望无际地超越时空。人们出生、生活和行走之上，已经有很久的时间。人们的行为方式，观察方式，感受的可能，语言、视觉、声音无不附带有一个确实的情感和态度，我们只是生在这里，长在这里，并将在这里死亡。这是一种特殊的文明，一条特殊的途径，像是高原上的植物，在不同的气压和温度之下，只有适者生存。

　　废墟的存在，证明了曾经的强盛和繁荣，可以被彻底摧毁和消失。证明了理性的脆弱和易折，灵魂可以坍塌，精神可以离走，良知可能泯灭。在这片废墟上，长者拒绝真理，幼者及时行乐。

　　废墟展现了强权和野蛮的力量，展现了软弱和失去原则的生存可能，展现了悲惨之中的快乐和空间。废墟是无法自我存在的，它永远与暴力愚昧为伴，与柔弱放弃共存。

　　李松松用足以覆盖一切的一层厚厚的油画颜料绘画，在过去的三年中，画了五十多张作品。开始时候的作品基本上是单色调的，笔触粗放而强劲，黑白色调的画面中，层次和色彩关系承载着坚实的秩序，粗犷的笔触概括和营造了不寻常的视觉震撼。在近期的画面上，色彩从早些时候的单色转变为画面的局部区域的多种单色，形成了不同色块分割、不同区域层次的同一情节的场面。只有在不多的几张小画中，色彩的逻辑是和现实的经验相似，色彩在绘画中的作用同步或接近于自然无干扰的情形。在另外几张画中，画面附着在一种金属铝板上，铝板均匀的金属反光、机械加工的生冷光洁的表面、银灰色调与周围环境的映照，暴力的介入，与厚重凝重的笔触形成了刺激的视觉经验。

　　如果说一切都将成为历史，则一切题材都终将是历史题材。一切真正关于现实的绘画都具有象征性，具有提示和诱导的作用，绘画所表达都将是历史的面目和色彩。李松松的这些画，无论是涉及历史的，或非历史的，有意图的或偶然的，重大题材的或无含义的，恒久的或瞬间的，都永远与那层有着厚重的颜料的笔触，笔触的速度，笔触所遮盖，停留在颜色表面的光泽，如同一种音调和光线一样，不可分割的融合在一起。同时被另一种系统打断和干扰，它们是断裂的，分割和独立于其它，游离于之外。绘画的阅读方式生成障碍，图解产生困难，困难产生于渴求解读带来的迷惑。在这个时候，兴奋和疲劳同时产生，艺术可能是催眠的。它致使人们在寻找中失去，在渴望时失欲，自觉的无助的被暗示和诱导。

　　人类不允许个人的活动与历史无关，一切的人制造的真或伪的痕迹，都将被视作是历史的痕迹，它们有时清澈透明，几乎看不见一物，有时晦涩凝滞，如胶似漆的不似一物。从表面上来，李松松的画属于后一种。不同的是，李松松的画是来自西方的油画，而这些绘画却具有东方绘画的含义。这些绘画在其完整性上的力量，不是依靠视觉的景象，逻辑，光感，色彩的强度，而更是来自心理暗示，情感和自由意愿，这使它们呈现出不确定和游离。在这里，色彩只是心理的内在需求，是不可言状的，笔触是必然的。质量来自画面经营和情绪质感，它们与画中之物无关，与心理的品质却不可分。

　　在今天，个人的表达和国家、民族的历史,和世界有某种必然的关联的话，唯物主义的简陋的理论所说的因果关系成立的话，那么我们看到的世界是放弃多于坚持，混沌多于清澈，矛盾多于条理。人们更加情感和更加远离理性。情感是阴弱的，它有着是无限的疆界，而逻辑则是不一样，它坚硬而易碎，明了而缺少可能。在东方这片土地上，阴晴圆缺的月亮才是真正的、永远的神，尽管在地球的另一边，四十年前，已踏上的月亮只是一片废墟，而这里的人们不用去那里发现废墟，那个美国人费劲登上去的，不是中国人心中的月亮。


2006.10.13




Hypnosis and Fragmented Reality

Hypnosis generally refers to the use of special techniques to bring a subject into a state similar to sleep. Or rather, guiding the sleeping subject to lose his or her active and positive state, thus leading to a weakening or loss of decision-making ability and self-control. In this state, perception, thinking, will, and sentiment all fall away, subject to the subtle whims of hypnosis.

Li Songsong was born in 1973. When he was three, Mao Zedong passed away, the same year that the Tangshan Earthquake ended 300,000 lives in a single night. It was a fable-like farewell to the reign of terror that had ruled this land for the previous few decades, a valedictory to the brutal realities of class struggle and the dictatorship of the proletariat. This era carries a long shadow and left ruins in its wake; its thorough end would take much more time, a long rugged path.
This is an era marked by widespread unconsciousness, ambiguous and hazy, lacking rationality, lacking thought and human glory, lacking moral judgment, lacking any possibility of distinguishing right from wrong. It is a muted gray canvas, in which history has been suddenly cut into a thousand pieces, arbitrarily, suddenly, carelessly. Truth exists only in the details and fragments. In the vast majority of cases, that which is hidden from view outshines that which is easily perceived, and fabrication and forgery outshine true situations and historical fact. Even in the obvious cases where there exist believable truth, moving details, and human emotion, there is an indubitable logic and rationality. These factors make this broken and severed scroll of history miraculously reassume its shape, a hundred contradictions folding into one, impossible to distinguish, utterly intertwined. Like a pile of porcelain fragments, every piece contains a complete image, even if there is no way to piece them together again.

One day at dusk after talking with Li Songsong, on the way from my studio to dinner, I looked out the car window. The night was approaching like any other. The lights had just been flicked on, a light breeze was at my face, people were flowing back and forth. Along the street, store after store, family after family, building after building made up this little part of the built landscape of this city. People were preparing dinner, not really concerned with right and wrong, nor with the affairs of their ancestors or descendants. They weren’t concerned with whether the water in the pool was still or rippled, or where the river would flow in the future. There are too many people here. It is the same under any dynasty, the common trifles, the pains and joys. One thing is constant: these pains and joys are all fragmentary, they cannot be truly described or expressed, they cannot be multiplied or rendered. They can be felt but not described, understood only tacitly. They are utterly shattered, not a single piece unbruised.

This is a city of ruins in the true sense, vast and limitless, extending beyond horizons of space and time. For a long time now, people have been born among them, lived and walked atop them. People’s behavior, observation, perceptive ability, language, vision, sound: none do not resonate with sentiment and attitude. We only live here, grow up here, die here. This is a special civilization, with a special path, like a plant that grows on high ground. In different climates and temperatures, only those that adapt can survive.

The existence of ruins proves that strength and glory can be thoroughly destroyed and obliterated. It proves the weakness and fickleness of rationality, the collapse of the soul, the departure of the spirit, the extinction of the conscience. On this patch of ruins, the old refuse reason, while the young just want to play.
Ruins prove the power of violence and barbarity. The attest to a potential for survival that lies only in weakness and loss of principle. They show the joy and freedom in tragedy. Ruins cannot exist independently, paired by necessity with violence and stupidity, existing alongside fragility and abandonment.

Li Songsong paints with layers thick enough to cover anything and everything. In the past three years, he has painted over fifty works. The early works are essentially monochromatic, with thick, strong brushstrokes. In these black-and-white canvases, the connections among layers and colors carry a definite order, as the rough brushstrokes create and articulate an unusual visual shock. In the recent works, his palette expands beyond the monochromes of the early paintings, into multiple color schemes divided by area, forming a patchwork of colored squares, a scene made of different layers and pieces. Only in a few small works does the pigmentary logic approach the experience of reality, with the use of color in the painting proceeding naturally and without interference. Several other works are painted on sheets of aluminum; the even light of this metal lends the works an air of mechanical coldness and brightness, with silver and gray tones reflecting the environment around them. It marks an introduction of violence into the work, combining with the thick and imposing brushwork for a stimulating visual experience.

If we say that everything will become history, then all painterly subjects will become historical subjects. All painting that concerns reality carries a whiff of symbolism, hinting and guiding it from beyond. All that a painting represents will become the face and color of history. These paintings by Li Songsong—whether historical or non-historical, intentional or contingent, heavy-handed or meaningless in subject matter, eternal or transient—are all forever and inseparably connected to these layers and layers of thick brushwork, their speed, what they cover, how the light shines on the colors. At the same time, they are interrupted and disturbed by a system, broken off and independent from others, floating beyond them. Methods of reading these paintings beget obstacles, interpretation proves difficult, problems arise from the confusion brought on by the desire for interpretation. At this time, excitement and fatigue run side-by-side, and art becomes hypnotic. It makes people disappear while searching, lose desire while wanting, feeling helplessly driven and guided.

Humanity does not allow individuals to exist independent of history. All the traces of truth and falsity that they leave can be seen as traces of history. Sometimes they are clear and transparent, nearly invisible; other times they are obscure and intertwined, inseparable and unclear. Seen from the surface, Li Songsong’s works belong to the latter. But Li Songsong’s painting derives from the Western oil tradition, although it still contains some of the meaning of Eastern painting. These paintings, in the power of their completeness, do not depend on the strength of visual effect, logic, light, and color, but rather come from deep in the psyche, from sentiment and will to freedom. This makes them manifest an uncertainty and distance. Here, color is simply the internal demand of the psyche, ineffable. Brushstrokes are pure necessity. Their quality derives from his handling of the canvas and the tenor of his emotions, disconnected from the objects actually portrayed, but inseparable from the state of his mind.

If today there is a necessary connection between individual expression and the nation-state, national history and the world—if the damaged theories of materialism are indeed correct in postulating these kinds of cause-effect relationships—then our world is full of abandonment over persistence, chaos over clarity, contradiction over moderation. People grow ever more emotional, further from rationality. Emotion is weak but unlimited, but logic is different, stubborn and fragile, clear but devoid of possibility. In this Eastern land, the absent moon is the only real one, an eternal spirit even if it hangs on the other side of the earth. Forty years ago, the moon that man walked on was only another stretch of ruins. People here don’t need to go and discover these ruins again; the moon the Americans spent so much time and energy reaching is not the moon in Chinese people’s hearts.


2006.10.13

Translated from the Chinese by Philip Tinari.