Following a sinuous and intriguing route, I arrived at your site. There was a book. An open book. Two chapters -

A chapter of randomly put together photos, uncommented, mostly black & white, all in the smallest scale: a scene from a polo game, close-up of an eye of a horse, glittering street lamps in the dusk, a plane taking off, an apple, clouds, shadows, an empty corridor with two empty chairs and a table…

Followed by a chapter of a soundless video clip: the clouds were forming up on the mountain, and slowly, the sky of blue engulfed by the fog of rain.

It was there, then, I could hear the sound of silence.

P.S. I’m sorry - the sound was too strong, and I had to write it down.

——

那是一處極靜的居所，開一個窗口任由雲跡的影像一遍遍反覆播放，時間仿若停止。就在這一刻，我看到了寂靜的聲響。

文字(text)是有聲的，圖像(image)則無。眼目見到字跡，心中的耳自然聽到默誦的聲音。無題注的照片完全以形色說話，那些成功的表達，促生超然文字之上的默示。移動的影像(moving image)如果恰與某一份記憶重合，喚醒那時的心境，更觸發強烈的震顫與回響。我就是每當看到雲的時候會聽到寂靜吧？看著你那些圖影，我聽到一顆無聲的心。

——

Random thoughts 11/12:
How words betray us! In review of this writing I was almost astonished to discover what’s intended to be said was turned into verses of morbid melancholy, by my unintentional, personal touch. Is that my style, really? I am afraid of my own words now. Every letter of it seemed to have been soaked in this dreary gloom, which I just cannot rid of. My Chinese writings, especially. Why, am I trapped in using such words and forming such phrases that’ll dim the light a shade or two?