text by Wang Te-Yu
Sometimes I feel that my works bear more than a passing remembrance to the speech balloons in comics and cartoons. The latter’s shapes are plot- and composition-determined, and the former serve as the mappings of the environment I live in, of the people, affairs and things I encounter, or the responses to my own conditions. The only difference is that my speech balloons have neither words nor specific contents, but only circulating air and trajectories of light.
The concept of “receptacle” has been ingrained on my mind at my first visit to the distillery. Entering the production procedure, the barley is removed from the blue containers, put in proper receptacles that are different in size, shape, material and function, and finally turned into whisky. Each receptacle has its particular temperature and scent that will be incorporated as part of the final product. The distillery per se is a transparent receptacle tapping out its own rhythm, bustling and thriving. Made of stones, the huge warehouses are more a mysterious receptacle in which nearly 6,000 large whisky barrels are neatly arranged and stored. It is filled with a rich and mellow aroma of the spirit, waiting for the invisible mechanism to cast magic over the course of time.
The Glenfiddich Artists in Residence Program also provided a perfect receptacle with a rheological and undefinable shape, formed from its natural, humanistic and historical surroundings, the visible and invisible materials it offered, the fickle weather in Scotland, as well as the three-month duration of the program, and then, artists from different cultural backgrounds and lifestyles blended, ground, stirred, heated and fermented in this receptacle, adding some strokes of genius from time to time, and formally presented a transitional state, subsequently, they returned to their countries, continuing to distill and extract their respective spirits with their craftsmanship. For these works, time played a significant role again as an incubating receptacle in which invisible mechanism keep working. No one knows what flavor the spirits may have in the end, but we are sure that they must contain the ingredient of Glenfiddich.
I still find it difficult to describe my experience of the Glenfiddich Artists in Residence Program.
For example, the huge beeches surrounding the Balvenie Castle radiated a powerful aura. I felt recharged with enlightenment every time I passed by them.
There must be magic working in the grove up the hills behind my house. I always had new discoveries, feelings and ideas whenever I wandered in it. That place was probably the very source of inspiration to me.
My house and its lovely backyard garden must be in an auspicious astrological aspect to me. We fell in love with each other at first sight and got along so well that we took care of each other and love each other too much for separation. (In fact, they took care of me more than I did for them).
Throughout the summer, the side slope of the path to the castle behind my house was covered with sweet cicely full of the fragrance of fennel. This fragrance extended from River Fiddich to the Giant’s Chair in Dullan Water. On my walk along the path, I saw a monument inscribed with a simple yet thought-provoking sentence left by a dead person who was a year younger than me. I can’t believe that I often forget such a simple principle insofar as to frequently lose my way.
During my residency at the Glenfiddich distillery, I happened to bid a final farewell to something detestable and prepare to enter the next life stage, of which “rebirth” could be an apposite description. I simply hope that I’m able to summon the natural powers used to heal my body, mind and soul whenever I recall the halcyon days.
I was blessed by the breathtaking scenery and made some special friends there.
It was midsummer in July. The sunshine duration there was so long that I lost my sense of time. In the wonderful tranquility, plants seized the seasonal sunlight, contending in beauty and fascination with an untrammeled delight. Different varieties of Scottish heathers formed the most natural and alluring color chart I’ve ever seen. They spread from the rugged coast of Bow Fiddle Rock to the undulating hills of Cabrach(the most northern to southern I’ve been visited), showing vivid shades of purple and green with various values and chromas. The summer sun blazed down on the slate quarry up the hill near the Auchindoun Castle. I could hardly open my eyes in the gusting wind. The heathers creeping on the ground exposed their branches as white as skeletal remains. Gazing at the castle ruins in the distance, I saw the tree under which Queen Victoria used to picnic near the gully embellished with the interplay between light and shadow. In mid-August, the faint evening mist surrounded the landscape, as if everything was coated in a fine layer of golden powder. Following the tracks of the deer via Robbie Dhu to Aberlour, I reached the heart of the forest covered with thick moss whose substantial and soft texture made me feel like holding up a chubby hamster in my hands, which was reminiscent of the carpet in my house. The abrupt rain and wind in early September signaled the arrival of autumn. A flock of crows occupied the newly harvested barley fields. A golden lining appeared all of a sudden on the crest of the small hill on the south, while a stretch of deep purple brown haunted the mountain top on the north.
I had great comrades in the artist-in-residence program. They were so friendly and easy-going that my poor English had never become a hindrance to our mutual support and concern. I wish I’d arrived there one month earlier to hang out with them. Andy, the amazing curator of the residence program, was the reliable pillar holding up the whole project, reassuring the artists-in-residence of their creative practice and imagination. Knowing that he was always there with us (actually, he wasn’t, haha) gave me an inexplicable sense of security. Local artist Dick not only shared his intriguing short stories with us, but also introduced us the most enchanting season and the ringing stone in his favorite area — Cabrach. Collin and Penny, who live in the immediate vicinity of the Auchindoun Castle, showed us their enviable lifestyle and fascinating collection. I felt that the herd of highland cattle and sheep in the hills behind my house finally recognized me after three months. If it is true, I hope that the kyloe wandering away in the storm that night could be found soon.
There are still some memorable moments and many picayune matters working dutifully and continuously in the receptacle of my mind. They always lift the corners of my mouth as if I’m slightly tipsy whenever I take a stroll down memory lane.
|
