北投風景-英譯 @ 龍眼樹下 Under The Longan Tree

Scenes From Beitou

Translated from the Chinese by Susanne Ganz,2008

Land Piranhas

Last summer, not long after the plum rain season ended, termites quietly invaded my house through cracks in the wooden floor of my bedroom. They built mud tubes for cover along the dark corners of the walls and attacked my book shelves and kitchen cabinets all at once. They did not only build nests under the bed that I sleep in every day, but also chewed on several packs of drawing paper that I had been reluctant to use. Yet I didn't have a clue. When I accidentally discovered the termite invasion, it had already spiraled into a disaster almost beyond repair. Although I immediately turned over boxes and cabinets in a bid to thoroughly rout the enemy, they concentrated their troops within a few days for another full-blown attack. My house immediately looked like an utterly defeated place. Only then I came to understand how powerful a comeback after defeat can be.

On the surface the things inside my house still looked quite okay, so it was actually difficult to sense that termites were digging tunnels into it day and night. Cicadas were chirping outside on a July day and I kept wiping away sweat inside the sweltering room as I cleaned a broken wooden scaffold, box after box of books, already mounted drawings, unfinished oil paintings and cartons of paper materials, all by myself. When I caught sight of the garbage that I had cleaned out I sighed with regret and at the same time angrily wished these countless still greedily gnawing termites dead. When I ripped open the floor everywhere to look for traces of termites, I seemed to be hearing the snickering sound of legions of termites poking fun at me! I was surprised to find that several wooden file cabinets for artwork were fortunately undamaged, since the termite tunnels had only just reached their feet, or else this would have been an even bigger disaster!

Even though I had thrown my ruined note books and letters into the yard and burnt them like trash, it felt as if I was also burning the past that I had recorded in them, a partial loss that was difficult to make up for. When I took a closer look later on, I discovered that the termites had dug several pits into every single lauan plank in my workshop, which I use for woodblocks. But on one side the planks were still in good condition and usable. Although some of the drawing paper had been chewed off, it could be still used for small prints if the damaged parts were trimmed off. And while the termites had gnawed through two feet of my closet and nightstand, they would not topple over if I inserted a shim. Even if half of my bookshelf and tool cabinet had been eaten up, the one meter high part that remained was still usable. At least that stack of most important file cabinets was still unscathed! Somewhat consoled by that thought I even took this disaster as a warning from Heaven for shirking my duties.

It took a whole month before order and peace inside and outside the house was restored. The mud traces on the walls truly make one shudder. It is actually pretty discomforting, just like when one detects that a thief has broken into the house. At last I could calm down again, take a breather and relax. But when I turned around to look at the rusty tools and long dried up paints on my desk a strong sense of guilt welled up inside me that I hadn't take care of my work very well. Yet on the roof of the empty workshop the longan tree is full of ripe fruit ready to be picked. The cicadas on the tree are still chirping relentlessly. Is this probably the end of summer? Spurred into action by their clamoring I return to my desk and begin to work in a concentrated manner. As I realize how much my work has fallen behind schedule, my nerves begin to get taut.

Dwellings With Longan Tree

Outside the window an early autumn thunderstorm brings continuous rain. First I need to continue to work on the large woodblock for Dwellings With Longan Tree which I have carved only a bit, the last carvings dating back to spring. The black ink sketch on the woodblock shows light penetrating dense foliage to hit two low-roofed white houses. I have lived in this place for many years, but when I want to start carving, I am still not sure that I can do a good job! Lying on the enclosing wall I drew this sketch many times before it was finalized. Eventually I still needed to take another look at the details in order to find the appropriate expressive approach..

When I carved the windows of the flat-roofed white house under the big tree, it felt as if I was standing myself on the garden's brick wall observing my neighbor sorting out a big stack of negatives in front of his desk at the window and also seeing myself sitting at the window head bent over the drawing table, immersed in my work!

Indeed for a period of time before that I actually went to great pains to learn more about photographing. I wanted to make up for my inability to use the Nikon camera that I had had since my student days at the art department. Before my darkroom equipment broke I even learned by myself how to develop black-and-white negatives. During that time the beautiful sunlight often enticed me to go out and spend more time on taking pictures. Even so I went photographing only to places in Beitou that I could reach by bicycle. Occasionally I would shoulder my photographing equipment for short excursions to areas on the outskirts of Taipei that I could reach by MRT or bus. Sometimes I would go to the same places again to capture the seasonal changes in light and shadow. Later on I gradually became aware that within the repetitive movement of finding a view in the finder window and pressing the shutter I only enjoyed the intuitive response of picking a view and the delight of using a sharp lens to observe and record details.

During all those years that the Beitou Line carried me to my outings, the mountain scenery outside the train window would always follow me, making me feel at ease. These contours are so familiar that even the memories of my happy four years at the art department are still concealed in one of these mountains! Even if I moved to the foot of the mountain, the shadow of Mt. Yangming would still be within my everyday line of vision. Moreover for me living in Beitou actually only means a leased piece of land that allows me to quietly reside here for a while. Although I moved my household register here a few years ago, I still feel like an outsider who does not have his roots here. Aside from the owners of the streetside grocery store and the barbershop I seldom meet any familiar people in the street who greet me. But on the other hand this mutual sense of distance also makes me feel free and unrestrained.

When I moved here some ten years ago Beitou's tales of lust were already rarely told. With the subsequent clean up and renewal of the hot spring area, this era became history. I love to stroll along the winding and steep Hot Spring Road and have returned countless times. Although there was no nakasi performance (Translator's note: an old Taiwanese style of singing that evolved during the Japanese colonial period and is often performed in bars and brothels) when I once had dinner with friends sitting in a Japanese-style tatami room at the Yitsun Hotel, the experience still sufficed to make us leave the old hotel slightly drunk. As a cold wind blew our bodies swayed in the night like the coconut trees on Hot Spring Road, a quite romantic feeling. Once in a while I'll have a cup of coffee at an outdoor cafe next to Beitou Park, just to have a good time amid the crowd, that's all. With all these new-fangled highrises going up, I find it very difficult to get a feel for the hot spring town's new escapades.

I am not a landscape painter and have never shouldered my scaffold to draw Beitou. All that's imprinted in my brain are silhouettes and not detailed landscapes. Therefore I don't really know how to begin when I want to draw a portrait of my familiar Beitou. I also don't want to tell stories about Beitou's scenery like a local history guide. I only want to retrieve familiar scenes that have been part of my life for a long time, to draw and record them, nothing more. When I look across the plateau on top of the Mt. Danfeng mountain ridge as night falls, lights begin to shine everywhere in the streets and homes at the foot of the mountain and the thought enters my mind that increasingly metropolitan Beitou has a spectacular night view, but that I also feel a bit alienated!

Among Beitou's sights longan trees have a special place. In the New Beitou area where I live such trees have been planted a long time ago in numerous residential gardens. And the longan tree in my garden is the largest. Previously I never managed to clearly draw the entire tree on paper. When I caught sight of this tall tree I habitually drew it on a rectangular sheet of drawing paper, but no matter whether I used a vertical or horizontal format, whether I used an ever bigger paper size, I never managed to get its treetop into the picture. I thought I was familiar with this tree. But if I didn't step back behind the garden wall to look at it from outside I would always only partially see what was under it! In the end I was only able to draw the entire tree after using a square piece of paper, because it is so tall that its branches stretch across a wide area! When I understood its growth structure, I was no longer confused by its complicated trunk and branches. Although my place is shrouded in the shadow of this huge longan tree, understanding it enabled me to no longer see just parts without being able to piece them together. As a result my imagination also stood on firmer ground.

As I delve into this intense stage of work I reinspect my surroundings and discover a few structures and details that I will let my imagination reassemble later. Photographing only makes me take another look at the background of my life experiences. That way I often discover when comparing pictures taken before and after that many things have quietly left this world and that many things have soundlessly come into it.

Mt. Qixing and Mt. Shamao

I know the road up to the mountain very well. In different seasons, when the light was good at dusk, I would occasionally take the bus and get off halfway up the mountain. Then I would explore the unfamiliar hills and valleys there. During all seasons the terraced fields, vegetable gardens and fruit orchards at the mountainside would be full of life. Actually the farmers in the mountains and the farmers in the Guandu Plain of Taipei County both lay out their fields neatly.

I lift my head and look toward Mt. Qixing. The evening sky has still a tinge of cobalt blue. A thick while cloud appears from behind the mountain and floats to its top, while a thin layer of mist floats past like a fairy wearing a crown of clouds. The evening sun's shiny eyes illuminate the mountainside. Now that crops have been picked the vegetable gardens resemble altars with abundant offerings.

I turn my head to see the crest line of charming Mt. Shamao emerge in the twilight on the plain. I still remember the year when her image began to fill the window of the atelier where I studied oil painting. I also know that in that year I started to carry my box with oil painting tools along Qingshan Road on Mt. Yangming so that I got to pass her every day on my way to class and on my way home! I also made it a habit when reaching the end of the alley to turn my head and look at her in the distance, there on the left side, as if I was trying to pick out a familiar face in a crowd. Afterwards we could both feel reassured that we were safe and sound.

When turning around after passing the abandoned ticket booth in Houshan Park and turning toward the bridgehead you will see several towering tree ferns that have the top of Mt. Shamao locked under their armpits. In my mind I am already turning this scene into a woodblock print called Mt. Shamao With Tree Ferns. When drawing my sketch on the woodblock I know that I cannot reveal the simple concrete house near the precipice where Wei Wei and S lived back then. That was also one of the places where we often went after class!

Water from the little waterfall next to the park's back door dashes against the mountain wall, its sound, reverberating in the secretive valley, reminds me that it has been almost a decade since S became a monk. This schoolmate who was like a brother to me probably couldn't work out the principles of survival in the world, but I was also unable to help him figure it out. That year in late autumn his 30th birthday was still some time away. Our last conversation over the phone lasted very long, but in the end I was still unable to make him change his decision. Finally I had to wish him well for his entry into the Buddhist monastery! We have not seen each other since.

Several times I dreamt that S has become a layman again and in my dreams he still looked like before. He appeared in front of me in a happy mood, wearing a cloth hat and sucking on a cigarette. We squatted down at the road side for a chat, yet I couldn't hear his voice! I recall how we finished our art studies together back then as well as the student life that we had happily shared. Later on each of us left the mountains to look for his future. These days we resemble the individual fronds of that giant tree fern, rotating in the air together.

Like the farmers of Beitou I will again clear this messy plot of land in the secretive valley under the bridge. With my carving knife I create an orderly vegetable garden in the picture, yet the memory of that concrete house, I will need to hide that a little bit outside the frame.

At the Foot of Mt. Datun

As the autumn evening sun shines on the Longan tree in my garden, its branches seem to be ablaze. Like flickering flames the light outside dances on the windows, truly sending me, who spent the entire day working inside, an emergency warning to quickly get out of the house.

In the evenings I either ride my bike touring the Guandu Plain or walk up the hiking trails on the back of Mt. Yangming, leisurely strolling halfway up. Once I have found a spot with a wide view I will take a break and lose myself in admiring the evening sun as it slowly sets on the Guandu Plain behind Mt. Kuanyin. I work up a little sweat as I slowly follow the mountain path upwards to an altitude that makes me feel like I am floating on cloud nine. It feels really good to temporarily withdraw my body from the place where I live. Then I take another trail on the way down slowly groping in the dark as I return home. I know that nobody is waiting for me there to share dinner with me.

Since moving here I have traveled to Europe three times. All in all I have been away from Beitou for a year and a half. However, these memories are becoming more and more distant.

I have the impression that among the cities that I have visited there was hardly any where one could climb mountains! Aside from a large forest park in the center of Madrid, the outskirts of the city are just desolate open country. In Paris you won't even see the shadow of a mountain, but that eye-catching white church (Translator's note: Sacre Coeur) is built on top of a hill in Montmartre. When you stand on that high point you can see the endless horizon in one glance. Marseille has mountains, but these are nothing but barren rock. Berlin does not have mountains, if it had, would the East and West of the then divided city have then been able to get along peacefully? When walking around in the streets of London I would only see houses after houses. As expected Switzerland is located amidst high mountains. In the south of Munich there are also snow-capped high mountains, which are probably the Swiss or Austrian Alps. When I wanted to see the Park Güell in Barcelona that Antoni Gaudi designed I even needed to take a bus that slowly crept up the steep hill, which reminded me a bit of the feeling of climbing Mt. Yangming. However, in Barcelona the mountain slopes were overbuilt with houses so that it felt as if I had not yet left downtown! In Prague I saw a green mountain range in the far distance on the horizon, that much is sure, and the suburban homes in Florence are built into the hills.

But what about Taipei where we live? With mountain chains rising on all sides, Taipei lies in the embrace of lofty mountains with dense forests. It is even possible to climb the steep 1,120-meter high Mt. Qixing closeby, which is really rare!

Each time when I return to my Beitou home at night, I raise my head to observe the towering shadow of Mt. Datun behind our community. Against the lights of the densely packed houses this black shadow seems like a safe gable wall. Even if sometimes the wind blows and the rain falls outside at night I will sleep calmly and deeply if I imagine that behind the house there is this forested tower of strength.

Outside the Window

Probably I need to experience some dramatic excitement each time to be able to pull myself together. But then, if you give it some thought, breaking longstanding habits sometimes requires external intervention to stage a turnaround! However I have already paid the price. The year will soon be over and due to an odd pressure I remain unable to slacken off after I have found a reason to work hard, not until I am about to finish carving the pile of termite eaten wood planks into images. Using the drawing paper that the termites chewed on, I make one print after the other and hang them on the walls. Only then the anger and sense of regret caused by the termite invasion gradually dissipate a little.

On a clammy day I am bent over my drawing table at the window to carve Outside the Window. The dovetail joints of the chair that I use every day are not sturdy anymore. Day after day passes as I watch the same scenery outside the window from dawn to dusk. In the garden the floor tiles have become overgrown with slippery moss and several stray cats often patrol on the brick wall. But aside from that there's no other movement or change. I open and close this wooden window every day, glad that I didn't install an iron bar window in front of it.

Before the Lunar New Year I trimmed the orange jasmine tree's hanging branches, which had already touched my head, and now it seems to have grown taller by another inch. The crooked old paper mulberry tree has already been hollowed out by the termites. I don't know when it will no longer be able to support itself and collapse. Each time when I see that these large trees in the garden are unable to resist the invading termites and that their stems and branches become more hollow and rotten day by day, I feel quite helpless regarding these“land piranhas.”Only I can still start to do something to improve my own defense!

For many nights of dripping rain that cat and I have jostled for space under that 100-watt desk lamp. I need the light to be able to concentrate better on carving a relief pattern into frosted glass, while she needs to warm itself. The cat quickly falls asleep beside me, sleeping like dead with her belly exposed. While I was thinking about these things on the one hand, I also harbored various worries amid this atmosphere of a quickly approaching New Year. Yet unwittingly I had finished carving the details for this pattern glass window.

The Old Fountain at Beitou Park

With my body unable to fend off the cold winter night, I couldn't endure it any longer so I pedaled vigorously off to Hot Spring Road to take a soak. The light at the outdoor hot spring resembles the basketball field in the park at night with bodies of different shapes moving past each other narrowly missing. I also quickly squat down in the hot pool hiding my body pimples until sweat comes to my forehead and my hot body sweats out the winter cold through the crown of my head. Occasionally soaking in a steaming hot bath really feels good. Although I do not live far away from the hot springs, I only rarely get to come here! Directly after leaving the hot spring my body is still giving off heat and does not feel the cold. I still have a smell of sulfur in my nose, too.

Pushing my bike across the wooden bridge near the Hot Spring Museum I walk across Beitou Park on my way home under yolk yellow lights. As I walk up to the gloomy round fountain, its desolate water spray takes the color of the neon lights across the street. The light also penetrates through the giant araucaria trees and the swaying fronds of the Chinese fan palms at the entrance, falling on a washbasin-shaped pond like water drops and fine rain. The concentric steps that surround the edge of the basin like a three-story amphitheater seem to beckon you to sit down and admire the magnificent fireworks-like water feature. Too bad that the air is so chilly at night!

If the fountain was surrounded by lush azalea bushes it would make a nice place to meet for a walk or a chat. Unfortunately next to it a modern library has just been completed which seems conjoined with the pond so that it appears as if the fountain belongs to the building's garden. Hereafter the quiet sense of mystery that I originally felt in this place had disappeared.

Turning around I catch sight of a smaller fountain over there. Its basin, made from stone, is composed of four semicircular side segments that are joined together by four protruding sharp corners. It actually represents the largest intersection of four circles and a square. And the fountain pedestal resembles a church candleholder. The shapes of the small and the big fountain at each end are both constructed from interlocking or overlapping circles and rectangles. Even from today's perspective they are elegant yet modernist and can generate different emotional projections. The round fountain serves also as my wishing well!

This central fountain was built by the Japanese in 1910. Back then it may have served as a gateway that welcomed military officials and celebrities who came to Beitou for sightseeing and fun! In a few years it will be a hundred-year-old historic monument. The fountain reflects the past and present. I think many stories about the hot spring area must be waiting to be dug up here. Of course, I also recall a shattered dream. It's the memory of me and someone else wanting to spend the rest of our lives together several years ago. My hopes back then were for our future to be as perfect as us walking together in the fountain's concentric circles. The only thing is that beautiful dreams don't easily come true!

The elegant park of the old days has partially been preserved, although it has rather been left to itself than being well put in order and maintained. In the park additions and styles of different eras can be found rather than its intact original face. Nowadays the fountain is also only a fountain. It seems it has less and less to do with the surrounding newly built sights. It is just a remnant of that era. Anyway our city does not have an impressive grand plaza where people could gather and have fun, only small parks dispersed over the city for rest and recreation. Among these Beitou Park is located at the entrance of the hot spring area, wedged between two hills in a valley whose undulating landscape does not even allow you to overlook the park at a glance. Were it not for the two old fountains I wouldn't even like to go into the park for a stroll or to hang out there! Besides once the cable car line up the mountains takes up operation I will feel even less inclined to go near the park.

Fireworks

As I walk into the park at night and give the fountain another glance, a clear drawing has already appeared in my mind. During this New Year Eve's night my friends make appointments and meet with each other or they squeeze into the crowd in eastern Taipei to watch the fireworks, counting down the seconds that are left to the New Year. The chilly air truly makes you want to enthusiastically welcome the arrival of the New Year. However, as I realize that this period of intensive work is about to come to an end, I need to keep bending over my drawing table to carve that woodprint of a round fountain without background.

In the moment when the New Year begins firecrackers that seem to have been concealed all over the city simultaneously ignite and shoot into the sky. The dramatic sound of continuously erupting fireworks resonates through the night from near and far. The treetop also lets through the shine of the colorful fireworks to my window. In that moment I am right in the middle of carving into the woodblock drop after drop of the fireworks-like fountain jet, with the droplets spattering into the dark background.

I know how cheerful and exuberant everyone is tonight. And during this first night of the New Year I print the just completed Fountain with black printing ink, hang it on the wall and conclude my work. In that moment I virtually feel an eruption of joy inside me, while the crackling sound of the fireworks still keeps violently echoing in my ear!

Walking slowly around the round fountain I know that however good times have been, they will not come back to the original place. One day I will probably leave this place, maybe move to live in another corner. Be it taking a photo or drawing a picture, both are only meant to display a certain balance regarding the time and space in which I currently exist, just like a gift that one wants to take to a far flung place.

Beitou, April 18, 2007

北投風景(上)-中文版 http://blog.pixnet.net/wsming/post/3521504
北投風景(下)-中文版 http://blog.pixnet.net/wsming/post/3978638