As embodiments of a fleeting, volatile reality, Annie Wan’s ceramics reflect the artist’s attempts to defy time and capture the ephemeral. Focusing on the everyday and on the intrinsic qualities of her medium, Wan plays with the paradoxical fragility of ceramics and on their ability to give tangible forms to lost moments, collective heritage or vanishing memories. With the idea that reality is subject to successive reinterpretations, she uses the language of ceramics to question the reiterative process of perception, and the reproduction of reproductions, searching for points of resistance against a truth that has slipped out of our grasp.
You told me that you first studied design before jumping into art and ceramics. What triggered the change? I am not a person with a clear plan for my life path; I usually follow my intuition. I studied design after secondary school and then worked as a textile designer for a few years. Although I enjoyed the textile design job, I wanted to have some new experiences. Therefore, in 1989, I studied studio ceramics part time at the [Hong Kong] Polytechnic [University]. It was a course designed with a technical approach. I took this course not for career improvement or any professional expectation. Those two years were enjoyable and relaxing to me and I enjoyed the making process very much. My works at that time were quite expressive; I liked drawing on clay spontaneously. That was all about material, as I found I didn’t like to do narrative images or storytelling. I loved the unfinished quality of drawing: an immediate response to scratches and marks made by hands or tools on clay. I forget if I had artists as models – maybe Peter Voulkos’s expressive way of making ceramics: let clay itself be the most significant.
You have always embraced natural phenomena within your work; you let organic material grow out of Lost Sheep (2009), for instance. Can you explain this process and the idea behind it? The idea of the Lost Sheep started when I wanted to create a work with unfired clay, in which clay would refer to soil, our land. In the making process, 10 enclosed glass boxes, each one featuring a raw clay sheep on muddy ground inside, were made every two days. Organic substances and seeds had also been mixed up with the clay. Moulds and plants gradually grew inside these boxes, creating different scenery for each lost sheep. The process of evolution inside each box followed time, but then the boxes together formed a scenario that reversed the order of time: the seeds in the first box grew first, so it contained the tallest plants, while the last box contained the shortest plants. Therefore, visually, it created a reversed curve. However, the development of the scenario and the eco-evolution of the materials will be everlasting.
This work demonstrates the conflict system of daily life as well. The interaction between the nature of the clay and the ecological condition of its environment is a metaphor: the apparatus creates beautiful scenery when we look from the outside the boxes, but inside the mould is actually stinky, dirty and rotten. It reminds us that what we see is not always trustworthy.
With Cultivation (2014), you also let some grass grow from your works, which resemble found objects or relics from our civilisation. Is this to suggest that, with time, nature takes back its right? Or are you hinting at the idea of a circular conception of time? I think both. Nature has its own equilibrium of flow, which sometimes is distracted by human beings. This agitation depends on the intensity of the distraction but, over time, a balance is maintained when new nature grows. Time is an important concept in my practice. I sometimes want to do ceramic works that are not static in time and keep changing over time.
You also play with nature in Organic Book (2013); contemplating life arising from these pages makes us feel that books are alive. The content of books exceeds their physical embodiment; they are part of a vivid collective memory. Books are also alive because their interpretation changes all the time.
In contrast, you could say that ceramics are very stable objects that resist time: we can find antique ceramics that are still intact. Do you also use this material to defy time, for example in Proust in Time Regain (2013)? For me, the process of making Proust in Time Regain is like fossilisation. It is a process of casting: the original remains of the organism dissolve and leave an empty space, which is gradually filled with other minerals. Informed by this thought, I put clay slip in every space between the pages of a book and then fired it; a fossil of a book was formed after burning away the sheets. The outcome is a defiance of time. To me, Proust’s big volume is like a condensation of time. Sometimes he can describe a single instant over many pages: this is why his work inspired me to think about the relationship of time and memory.
You also produced a 2015 series dealing with Hong Kong fossils. Was it a way to imagine, build or crystallise collective roots for Hong Kong? Did you use real models or is this fictional? Instead of using stones and shells as samples of Hong Kong heritage, I used real objects found now in Hong Kong and put them directly into the kiln for firing with clay, transforming them into art objects. Although a transformation occurs, they retain their identity and recognisable forms.
Some of your pieces could be seen as the embodiment in ceramics of something immaterial like projected light from a window, moonlight or the contents of books that you turn into sculptures. What does it feel like when you give a tangible shape to an idea or projection? This filling or casting and recreating both positive and negative space is done to augment and honour a universal sense of place while simultaneously dealing with memory, metaphor, intellect and culture. By the power of fantastical imagination alone, my ceramic works connect the present with the past and future. This achievement stems from the difference between the original and the copy, which leaves an empty space for imagination.
When you are coating books with clay, with the content of the book burnt during the process, what is left? The weight of the collective memory? Is this a form of resistance?Exactly. A resistance to the physical world, maybe.
Casting a book implies bringing weight to it, adding to its value and meaning. You’ve cast some dictionaries that you and your friends used during your school years. To what extent would you say that this resembles a process of fetishisation? Fetishism is a word that is always in my mind when I am attracted by the details of objects transformed into ceramics through moulding, especially when their colour and content are gone and when only pure forms remain. All the little details are revealed.
In many of your works, it seems that there is the idea that a true reproduction is impossible, since something is always changed during the process. At the same time, you play a lot with reproductions, multiplying objects from everyday life, like consumer products or toys. Is there a friction between these apparent contradictory processes? How do you conceive reproduction? It is true that changes always occur with ceramics. For instance, the reproduced model shrinks. However, moulding preserves the original since it is kept inside during the process. Unlike photographic images, though, ceramic reproductions do not, in my view, carry a sense of nostalgia. Ceramic objects, as solid forms rooted in our present time, somehow fill up the sense of loss. I see reproduced ceramics of found objects very much like 3D materialisation of photography. Yet, as we cannot get back to the real objects either, the reproductions are able to carry quite a lot of different meanings.
One of your works is dedicated to Walter Benjamin, who saw in the technology of reproduction a way to “actualise” the reproduced object. It is also a way to move away from tradition. Did you create your objects in celadon to play with the idea of tradition?Yes. I also wished to create a contradiction between traditional and mass-produced objects. I regret the passing of the uniqueness of traditional objects. At the Hong Kong Museum of Art, for example, I did an installation entitled Tung Zan Baak Fo (2019), a series of replicas of everyday objects, cast in celadon. It contrasts today’s mass production techniques with Chinese porcelain wares, which were also produced in great numbers at that time. What is the value of an industrial replica? With this installation, I also question the value of art and our current perception of techniques and modes of production. In the series, the identity of the reproduced objects has been removed; all the brands disappear, so that I only keep the form of the objects, freed from their marketing references.
I also feel there is some fragility in your work, obviously because of the material you have chosen, but also because of your last installation work at Tai Kwun. Do you aim to point to such a fragility? Yes. It’s from my experience in life: the vulnerability and weakness of human beings. The ceramic tiles I have cast for the installation, inspired by traditional Hong Kong floors, look solid at first sight. However, they are empty inside, so walking on them – as I do in the video performance – emphasises the fragility of the ground we are currently moving on.
Within these last few years, I have also been feeling a form of insecurity that is not derived from external circumstances. Ageing, sickness and death – all these elements one cannot control. A sense of helplessness and desperation comes out. I used incense ashes to fire my pieces. Like in Buddhist temples, I somehow tried to connect with ancient rituals where ashes were used to guard a place.
Do you see this recent work as a continuity of the installation you did at Cattle Depot in 2012 about broken tiles? You could indeed build a connection. However, the installation at Cattle Depot addressed more specifically the urbanisation and rapid changes that have transformed Hong Kong. At Tai Kwun, the work tackles more inner feelings. In particular, it points to a general sense of anxiety and to a feeling of an irreversibly broken peace or balance.
You increasingly use videos in your installations, as if to record and emphasise your working process. Why? Videos somehow complement my ceramics practice, as a different mode of encapsulating time. I am still using a very simple format, focusing on stills or repeated actions, with the idea to transform the moving images into still forms. It is true that I also use more documentation processes. At Tai Kwun, there is a part of the installation dedicated to my work process, recipe for the ceramics, process of firing etc. Perhaps it is a way to project again the past into the present, but in a different way than with ceramics.
Social engagement is also an important part of your practice. Do you conceive art as a way to transform society or to educate and connect people? I was once a believer in art for art’s sake, but now I seem quite happy with its ability to connect people. I don’t like the word “educate”, as I think art is not a tool.
尹麗娟的陶瓷作品是現實短暫多變的象徵，反映出藝術家對挑戰時間和捕捉瞬間的嘗試。尹麗娟專注探討日常生活和媒介的內在特質，研究陶瓷的脆弱性質，以及它們能夠以實體的形式呈現過去時光、集體傳統和流逝回憶的矛盾。她以現實會不斷重新詮釋的想法，透過陶瓷向感知的重複過程以及複製品的再現提出質疑，尋找無法掌握的真相的對抗點。
你提過你是先學設計，然後才開始接觸藝術和陶瓷，是什麼引起了這個改變？我不是一個對自己人生道路有明確規劃的人，我通常都是憑直覺行事。中學畢業後我去了攻讀設計，然後做了幾年紡織品設計師。雖然我很喜歡紡織品設計的工作，但也想有一些新的嘗試，因此1989年起我就開始在[香港]理工[大學]兼讀工作室陶瓷課程。課程很著重技術，而我參加這門課程不是為了發展事業，亦沒有任何要成為專業的期望。那兩年對我來說非常放鬆愉快，我亦很享受製作的過程。當時我很喜歡即興在陶泥上畫畫，作品亦帶有很強烈的表達色彩。我的享受完全是與陶泥有關，因為我發現我其實不喜歡用圖像來敘事或講故事，我喜歡的是繪畫那種未完成的特質，用雙手或工具在陶泥上留下的劃痕和痕跡的即時反應。我忘記了我有否邀請過藝術家做我的模特兒，也許像彼得·伍爾科斯製作陶瓷的方式一樣，要讓陶泥成為它自己最重要的部分。
你的作品一直環繞著自然現象，例如在《為迷失羔羊提出逆向》（2009）中你就讓天然的材料從作品中長出。能否解釋一下這個過程及背後的想法？當時我想用未燒的陶泥創作一件作品，於是便有了《為迷失羔羊提出逆向》的概念，當中陶泥指的是土壤，亦即是我們的土地。在製作過程中，每兩日我會製作10個密封玻璃箱，每個箱裡面都有一片泥地和一隻陶塑的羊。陶泥混合了自然物質和種子，箱子裡逐漸長出霉菌和植物，為每隻迷路的羊創造出不同的風景。每個箱內的進化過程都是隨著時間的推移而發生，但這些箱子放在一起同時又形成了一個顛倒時序的情景。第一個箱裡的種子最先長出，因此裡面的植物最高，而最後一個箱裡的植物則最矮。在視覺上它成為了一個反向的線程，但場景的發展和材料的生態進化則是接連不斷的。
這件作品也展示了日常生活中的衝突系統。陶泥的性質與環境的生態條件之間的相互作用是一個比喻，從箱外看時我們會欣賞到美麗的風景，但箱內其實是骯髒發臭，提醒我們眼見未為真。
在《Cultivation》（2014）中，你亦讓看似現實中可見之物的作品長出草來。作品是否想提出隨著時間的推移，大自然奪回了它的權利？抑或你是在暗示循環的時間概念？我覺得兩者都有。大自然有自身的流動平衡，有時會被人類干擾。這種鼓動取決於干擾的強度，但隨著時間的推移和新自然的生長，兩者會保持一種平衡。在我的實踐中，時間是一個很重要的概念，有時我會想創作一些在時間上不是靜止的、可以隨著時間不斷演變的陶瓷作品。
在《Organic Book》（2013）中你亦有圍繞大自然創作，看著從這些頁面中出生的生命令人覺得書本亦是有生命的。書本的內容遠超它們外在的體現，成為了生動的集體回憶。書本仍然活著，因為它們詮釋日新月異。
相比之下，我們可以說陶瓷是非常穩定、可以抵抗時間的物件，比如完好無缺的古董陶瓷如今亦非罕見。在你的作品，如《Proust in Time Regain》（2013）中，你是否也想透過陶瓷來挑戰時間？對我來說，製作《Proust in Time Regain》的過程就像化石化一樣。那是一個鑄造的過程，生物的遺骸溶解，然後留下一個空間，逐漸由其他礦物填滿。受這個概念所啟發，我在書本的每頁間放了陶片，然後拿去燒製。書本燒掉書頁後形成了一本化石書，成為了一種對時間的反抗。對我來說，普魯斯特書本內容的長度凝結了時間，有時他光是描述一個瞬間就可以花上多頁，他的作品引發了我思考時間和記憶的關係。
2015年你還創作了一個關於香港化石的系列，那件作品是一種想像、建立或凝聚香港集體根源的方式嗎？你使用的模型是真實還是虛構的？我使用的香港文物樣本不是石頭或貝殼，而是在現代香港找到的物件。我將物件直接放入窯中用陶泥燒製，然後將它們轉化為藝術品。儘管物件的形態會發生變化，但它們的身份和形式仍得以保留和識別。
你的一些陶瓷作品將一些無形物以實體的方式呈現出來，比如窗戶的投射光線、月光，又或你變成雕塑的書籍內容。為概念或投影賦予一個實體時有什麼感覺？這種填充或鑄造和重建正負空間的過程是為要增強和尊重普遍的地方感，同時探討記憶、比喻、思維和文化。我的陶瓷作品單憑天馬行空的想像就將現在與過去和未來聯繫起來，這種實現源於原作與復製品的差異所留下的想像空間。
在塗上陶泥的過程中，書的內容會被燒毀，那麼留下的是什麼？集體回憶的重量？這是一種抵抗的形式嗎？沒錯，也許是對物理世界的抵抗。
鑄造書本會為它帶來重量，增加它的價值和意義。你鑄造了一些和朋友在讀書時期所用的字典，你認為這與戀物癖的過程有多相似？當我受到透過倒模轉化為陶瓷的物體細節所吸引時，「戀物癖」一詞經常會在我的腦海中浮現，尤其是當它們的顏色和內容都消失而只剩下單純的形式時，所有的小細節都會原形畢露。
在許多你的作品中好像都充斥著一種真正的複製是不可能的想法，因為在過程中總是少不免會產生一些變化。與此同時，你經常製作複製品，將日常生活中的物件（如消費品或玩具）繁衍。這些明顯的矛盾是否存在分歧？你又如何看待複製這回事？的而且確，陶瓷的製作過程總是會發生變化，例如複製品的模型會縮小。但倒模可以保留物件原來的形狀，因為它在製作過程中會保存在裡面。不過我認為陶瓷複製品與攝影圖像不同，它並不帶有懷舊感。陶瓷物件是起源於我們這個時代的實體形式，填補了我們的失落感。我認為陶瓷複製品好像3D攝影，由於我們無法看到真實的物件，複製品能夠承載很多不同的含義。
你有一件作品是向華特·班雅明致敬的，他認為複製技術是一種「實現」複製品的方式，亦是一種擺脫傳統的方法。你是否故意透過青瓷創造物件探討傳統的概念？是的。我還希望在傳統和大量生產的物品之間製造一種矛盾，傳統物獨特性的消失令人非常惋惜。我在香港藝術館創作了一個名為《童珍百貨》（2019）的裝置，裝置是一系列用日常物品的青瓷複製品。作品將現今的大量生產技術與當時也大量生產的中國瓷器形成對比。工業複製品的價值是什麼？我亦透過這個裝置質疑藝術的價值，以及我們對技術和生產方式目前的看法。作品消除了複製品的身份，所有品牌都消失了，所以我只保留了物件的形式，除去它們的營銷標記。
我亦在你的作品中感受到一種脆弱，當然這感覺是與你選擇的材料有關，但同時也是受到你上次在大館的裝置作品影響。你是刻意指出這種脆弱的嗎？是的，人類的脆弱和弱點的靈感都來自我的生活經驗。我為這個裝置鑄造的瓷磚靈感來自傳統的香港地板，乍看好像很堅固，但它們裡面其實是空心的，所以我在影片中走在它們上面就是強調了我們目前的所站之地很脆弱。
在過去幾年，我也一直有種不安感，這種不安不是來自外物，而是生老病死這些無法控制的因素，令一種無助和絕望的感覺油然而生。我用香爐灰來燒製我的作品，就像佛寺透過香爐灰保護土地的傳統儀式一樣。
你覺得最近的這件作品是你2012年在牛棚所作關於破碎瓷磚裝置的延續嗎？的而且確，你可以在兩者之間找到聯繫，但牛棚的裝置更具體地探討了香港的城市化和急速發展；而大館的作品則討論更多內心感受。它特別指向了一種普遍的焦慮感，以及一種被破壞而不可逆轉的和平或平衡。
你越來越常在裝置中用到影片，好像想紀錄和突顯你的製作過程一樣。為什麼會有這種變化？影片填補了我的陶瓷實踐，是一種不同的時間封裝模式。我仍在使用一種非常簡單的格式，集中於靜止或重複的動作，目的是將移動的圖像轉換為靜止的形式。我最近的確也更常進行紀錄，大館的裝置亦有一部分專門展示我的製作過程、陶瓷配方和燒製過程等。也許這也是一種將過去投射到目前的方式，只是與陶瓷不同。
社會參與也是你實踐的重要部分，你認為藝術是一種改變社會或教育和聯繫人們的方式嗎？我曾經認為藝術就是藝術，但現在我認為它確實有連結人們的能力。我不喜歡「教育」這個詞，因為我認為藝術不是一種工具。