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whatnow 2012 4/7~/29 I Go TravelingⅩ/An Epitaph-stage1 旅行十/墓誌銘─前置
Solo exhibition / installation & performances 4/7 4/14 4/21 4/28 / Z Space/ Taichung

墓誌銘─前置 湯皇珍 台中Z空間
I GO TRAVELING Ⅹ/An Epitaph-stage1
TANG HUANG-CHEN Solo
Performance installations. A performance brings forth installations. Installations for a certain performance. There’s no separation between the two—a document, an object, or an installation that is both of the two and taking place in turn, or simultaneously.
表演裝置-為表演而生裝置,裝置為了發生表演,我們無從區別這些介於兩者或同時是兩者的文件或物件的設置。同時安排並發生表演於其中。
Time 4.7~4.29 2012
Live Performance every Saturday (4.7, 4.14, 4.21, 4.28) at 19:30
Venue Zspace
No.2, Alley 3, Lane 71, Sec. 1, Wuquan W. Rd., Taichung City
Thursday and Friday 17:00~21:00
Saturday and Sunday 14:00~21:00
zspace.pixnet.net/blog

說墓誌銘,凜然一震,好像逼人面對:一個人人心知肚明卻不肯開口的實況。我們躲著,儘量九彎十八拐,轉開頭去。不僅是死亡的終極之聲讓人膽寒,更是語言的絕境之處讓人失舌。

如果把墓誌銘當墓誌銘,它是固定了的文化語式顯得這麼務實,然而事實卻這麼飄忽。為什要替已逝的人抒寫一句話?我們評論已逝的人對於已逝的人有何意義?墓誌銘對於死者沒有殺傷力,對於生者則椎心難捱,墓誌銘應該在逝者生前出現,但從沒有生人的墓誌銘。難道我們只肯對著已逝的人說出真心的衷言?

Epitaphs shock. They force one to face a situation that everyone is familiar yet refuses to talk about. We avoid it, beat around the bush, and avert our eyes. Not only the final cry freezes you up, the inadequacy of words even makes you speechless.

If one treats an epitaph as what it is—a fixed literary genre—it might seem quite practical. However, the reality invites questions. Why one particular sentence for the deceased? What’s the purpose of our comment? The epitaph hurts him not, but pains the living. It should be done when one’s alive, but there’s no epitaphs for the living. Is it that one could only speak one’s true mind after someone passes away?

我們困難。因為沒有一句話真能描述一個人。人,如果是無數論斷的碎片組合,再怎麼組合都還是碎片的組合,然而非簡潔完整合一的語意無法成為墓誌銘,墓誌銘所能容納的空間最多只有墓誌銘那麼大。墓誌銘所尋求的語式與其所要描述的對象各自為政。我們可能找到一個讓人絕倒的墓誌銘,卻不見得說準了那個逝去的人。

我們禁忌。因為生死契闊,死亡不可逆轉。說墓誌銘,告別後就不可轉身,界域已成,天人永絕。生者必須繼續參照逝者們的墓誌銘活下去,而逝者毫無選擇的接受著那些放在墓誌銘上的墓誌銘而死去。

We face a predicament. No single sentence could sum up the existence of a human being, which, if were consisted of countless fragments, would only be a fragmented existence. However, an epitaph has to be complete and concise, a unified signification; and it only allows so many words. A disparity present itself between the form and its subject. One might find an exemplary epitaph but could never be certain whether it precisely captures its subject.

We try to delay death, the only truth that beckons life. Epitaphs are a genre that aches one’s heart—words that speak our impotence of detaining death or the deceased. One could not finish it before death arrives; one could not carry on with it after death departs. Words are always incomplete, and death is always early.

我們延宕死亡這件唯一認證生命真相的手勢。墓誌銘是一種徒然令人心痛的文體,我們無能捕捉─無論是死亡或死者的一種語式,我們來不及在死者身前完成,亦無法在死者身後繼續。語言永遠尚未完成,而死亡已至。


墓誌銘前置dm

展訊二

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