Pottery, Books, Seeds
Pottery Tablewareclay collected from my grandma Deng Yuqing’s fields in Fangjiasi Village, Jianyang, Sichuan
various dimensions
Banana Leaf Bookwalnut husk dye and ferrous acetate on handmade banana leaf paper, walnut husk dyed cotton thread
15cm*21cm*2cm
A Book of Colorsloquat leaf dye, pomegranate skin dye, lotus leaf dye, five-leaved chaste tree dye, fig leaf dye, walnut husk dye, ferrous acetate, handmade paper, persimmon dyed cotton thread
15cm*21cm*3cm
Seeds
avocado ink, walnut ink, hibiscus pigment, and rabbit skin glue on lokta paper
30cm*21cm
我的奶奶只读到小学四年级，虽然她一直都在生活里随时学习遇到的字，到现在也会认很多字了，但她确实也可以被算作是一个“文盲”:她这辈子还没有读过一本书，还没有看过一张报纸，还没有读过一篇文章。她是一个和土地打了一辈子交道的农民，她没有读过书，却随时都在阅读大地，阅读天空，阅读植物，阅读动物，阅读雨，阅读风。奶奶的眼睛总是亮亮的，她的智慧在很大程度上就来自这样的“阅读”。
上周我和爸爸妈妈通了一个电话，电话里妈妈提到我从小就很会挑水果，总能挑出最香最甜的那个。其实是苹果教会我怎么挑苹果，桃子教会我怎么挑桃子。我是在阅读它们。只不过它们对我说的话不是靠语言，而是靠气味，形状，颜色，触感……
《陶餐具》这件作品，我使用了奶奶田里的泥土。这些红色的黏土里有奶奶的汗水，奶奶施的肥料，奶奶浇的水，也有我的祖辈们的汗水，施的肥，浇的水。在揉泥巴的时候，我还时不时捉出一两只肥肥的蚯蚓，或者清理出蔬菜和野草的根须。这些泥土也是大自然中的动植物们共同劳动的成果，以及亘古便存在的风雨雾露的作用。我从这些红色黏土里读到了时间，生命，祖先的血脉流淌，奶奶的爱。
《芭蕉叶书》和《色彩书》都是和植物有关的。《芭蕉叶书》使用芭蕉叶来晾纸，干燥后的纸张印下了芭蕉叶脉的痕迹。我用夏末村子里大量成熟的青皮核桃制成核桃墨，又把烧柴时收集到的废旧家具和房梁上的生锈的铁钉和米醋反应制成醋酸亚铁，把这些芭蕉叶纸画成了一本无字的书。《色彩书》是我用在村里收集到的各种植物煮成的不同颜色的墨水染成的，也使用了醋酸亚铁的魔法催化。植物在对我说话，我好像找到了植物的诗，用造纸的方式，用制作墨水的方式，把它们翻译在这两本书里，让它们把它们的诗念给我们听，让我们都可以读到。
《种子》这张画好像把土地和植物联系了起来。种子在植物身上孕育，成熟，落在泥土里，在黑暗里休眠，等待春天的发生。一粒种子就像一个字一样，小小的，紧紧的，却包含很多意思，有着巨大的能量，可以组成不同的词语，句子，变成诗篇，变成故事，甚至是咒语。这是每一粒种子的重量感和密度感。种子是一种lexicon。
My grandmother only attended school up to the fourth grade. Although she has always tried to learn the characters she encounters in daily life and can recognize many words now, she could still be considered “illiterate.” She has never read a book, a newspaper, or an article in her life. She is a farmer who has worked the land her entire life. She has never read books, but she has always been reading the earth, the sky, the plants, the animals, the rain, and the wind. Grandma’s eyes are always bright, and much of her wisdom comes from such “reading.”
Last week, I had a phone call with my parents. During the conversation, my mom mentioned that I’ve always been good at picking out fruits, always choosing the sweetest and most fragrant ones. In truth, it was the apples that taught me how to pick apples, and the peaches that taught me how to pick peaches. I was reading them. It’s just that they spoke to me not through words, but through scent, shape, color, and texture...
For the artwork *Pottery Tableware*, I used soil from my grandmother’s field. This red clay contains her sweat, the fertilizer she applied, and the water she poured. It also holds the sweat, fertilizer, and water of my ancestors. While kneading the clay, I occasionally pulled out a fat earthworm or cleared away the roots of vegetables and wild grass. This soil is also the result of the collective labor of nature’s plants and animals, as well as the wind, rain, fog, and dew that have existed since ancient times. From this red clay, I read time, life, the flow of ancestral blood, and Grandma’s love.
The *Banana Leaf Book* and *A Book of Colors* are both related to plants. The *Banana Leaf Book* uses banana leaves to dry the paper, and the dried paper bears the imprints of the leaf veins. I made walnut ink from green walnuts that ripen in large quantities in the village at the end of summer. I also collected rusted nails from old furniture and beams, reacting them with rice vinegar to create ferrous acetate. With these, I painted the banana leaf paper into a wordless book. *A Book of Colors* was dyed with inks made from various plants collected in the village, also using the magical catalysis of ferrous acetate. The plants were speaking to me, and I seemed to have found their poetry. Through papermaking and ink-making, I translated their words into these two books, allowing them to recite their poems to us, so that we could all read them.
The painting *Seeds* seems to connect the land and plants. Seeds are born and mature on plants, then fall into the soil, lying dormant in the darkness, waiting for spring to awaken them. A seed is like a character—small, tightly packed, yet full of meaning and immense energy. It can form different words, sentences, poems, stories, and even spells. This is the weight and density of every seed. A seed is a lexicon.
上周我和爸爸妈妈通了一个电话，电话里妈妈提到我从小就很会挑水果，总能挑出最香最甜的那个。其实是苹果教会我怎么挑苹果，桃子教会我怎么挑桃子。我是在阅读它们。只不过它们对我说的话不是靠语言，而是靠气味，形状，颜色，触感……
《陶餐具》这件作品，我使用了奶奶田里的泥土。这些红色的黏土里有奶奶的汗水，奶奶施的肥料，奶奶浇的水，也有我的祖辈们的汗水，施的肥，浇的水。在揉泥巴的时候，我还时不时捉出一两只肥肥的蚯蚓，或者清理出蔬菜和野草的根须。这些泥土也是大自然中的动植物们共同劳动的成果，以及亘古便存在的风雨雾露的作用。我从这些红色黏土里读到了时间，生命，祖先的血脉流淌，奶奶的爱。
《芭蕉叶书》和《色彩书》都是和植物有关的。《芭蕉叶书》使用芭蕉叶来晾纸，干燥后的纸张印下了芭蕉叶脉的痕迹。我用夏末村子里大量成熟的青皮核桃制成核桃墨，又把烧柴时收集到的废旧家具和房梁上的生锈的铁钉和米醋反应制成醋酸亚铁，把这些芭蕉叶纸画成了一本无字的书。《色彩书》是我用在村里收集到的各种植物煮成的不同颜色的墨水染成的，也使用了醋酸亚铁的魔法催化。植物在对我说话，我好像找到了植物的诗，用造纸的方式，用制作墨水的方式，把它们翻译在这两本书里，让它们把它们的诗念给我们听，让我们都可以读到。
《种子》这张画好像把土地和植物联系了起来。种子在植物身上孕育，成熟，落在泥土里，在黑暗里休眠，等待春天的发生。一粒种子就像一个字一样，小小的，紧紧的，却包含很多意思，有着巨大的能量，可以组成不同的词语，句子，变成诗篇，变成故事，甚至是咒语。这是每一粒种子的重量感和密度感。种子是一种lexicon。
My grandmother only attended school up to the fourth grade. Although she has always tried to learn the characters she encounters in daily life and can recognize many words now, she could still be considered “illiterate.” She has never read a book, a newspaper, or an article in her life. She is a farmer who has worked the land her entire life. She has never read books, but she has always been reading the earth, the sky, the plants, the animals, the rain, and the wind. Grandma’s eyes are always bright, and much of her wisdom comes from such “reading.”
Last week, I had a phone call with my parents. During the conversation, my mom mentioned that I’ve always been good at picking out fruits, always choosing the sweetest and most fragrant ones. In truth, it was the apples that taught me how to pick apples, and the peaches that taught me how to pick peaches. I was reading them. It’s just that they spoke to me not through words, but through scent, shape, color, and texture...
For the artwork *Pottery Tableware*, I used soil from my grandmother’s field. This red clay contains her sweat, the fertilizer she applied, and the water she poured. It also holds the sweat, fertilizer, and water of my ancestors. While kneading the clay, I occasionally pulled out a fat earthworm or cleared away the roots of vegetables and wild grass. This soil is also the result of the collective labor of nature’s plants and animals, as well as the wind, rain, fog, and dew that have existed since ancient times. From this red clay, I read time, life, the flow of ancestral blood, and Grandma’s love.
The *Banana Leaf Book* and *A Book of Colors* are both related to plants. The *Banana Leaf Book* uses banana leaves to dry the paper, and the dried paper bears the imprints of the leaf veins. I made walnut ink from green walnuts that ripen in large quantities in the village at the end of summer. I also collected rusted nails from old furniture and beams, reacting them with rice vinegar to create ferrous acetate. With these, I painted the banana leaf paper into a wordless book. *A Book of Colors* was dyed with inks made from various plants collected in the village, also using the magical catalysis of ferrous acetate. The plants were speaking to me, and I seemed to have found their poetry. Through papermaking and ink-making, I translated their words into these two books, allowing them to recite their poems to us, so that we could all read them.
The painting *Seeds* seems to connect the land and plants. Seeds are born and mature on plants, then fall into the soil, lying dormant in the darkness, waiting for spring to awaken them. A seed is like a character—small, tightly packed, yet full of meaning and immense energy. It can form different words, sentences, poems, stories, and even spells. This is the weight and density of every seed. A seed is a lexicon.