Off Beat 「踏空」 /
Feyerabend /
Hong Kong /
Apr 1 – May 14, 2022 /
As you enter art space Feyerabend, located in an old Tai Kok Tsui tong lau – a type of residential building built before the 1960s – a barber’s pole catches your attention. Its spinning action draws your eye yet lacks focus. As you continue to approach the centre of the space, the audio effects that usually come before announcements at old-style Cantonese teahouses or railway platforms blast from four mini speakers, filling the rectangular space, as if an announcement is imminent but not forthcoming. An abandoned wooden ladder and a dried up can of latex paint give the space a sense of being stuck in the past. If not for the video Sudivision playing, one might suspect that the objects were left behind from a previous occupant, instead of being part of an exhibition.
I was told by the person in charge of the art space that many viewers had expected to see Kong Chun Hei’s technical pen drawings in the exhibition Off Beat, and were disappointed to find that they were not displayed. Those who have followed the artist’s works in recent years know that Kong has often used modern industrial products such as stainless steel and machinery. His presentations have been simple, restrained and succinct. For example, in the recent Double Vision exhibition at Tai Kwun, he showed a lightness of touch with the way he submerged a water level gauge horizontally in a centimetre of water to create a sense of crisis.
Despite the difference in approach to this exhibition from his previous ones in galleries, which might not meet some viewers’ expectations, Kong’s usual creative approach and way of thinking were still in evidence. They were based on observations of certain paradoxes, with all emotions and symbols filtered out during the creative process. He handled materials with minimal interference, but by changing their presentation or materiality, turned them into contradictory forms that questioned the nature of art.
The quiet space was a psuedo disaster scene: the barber’s pole was spinning like a fire alarm (was it an advertisement or a warning?); the wooden ladder leaning on the wall was hollow, left with its bare bones, which collapse when stepped on (was it a method of escape or a trap?); the speakers seemed to be calling for someone in an intermittent, repetitive manner (were they calls, alarms or brainwashing?). Kong’s deliberate designs persistently attracted viewers’ attention, visually, aurally and conceptually, disrupting their subconscious and habits through interruption and negation to confuse their cognitive abilities and recognition of their environment. Finally, he slowly builds a wall in the video Sudivision that blocks the audience’s view, ultimately separating himself from the quiet disaster scene.
Living in a fast-paced, densely populated place, individuals are bundled into groups, emotionally blackmailed with a sense of urgency by social media, forced to give an immediate response, so that they can feel relieved from anxiety and moral obligation. The world exerts an invisible pressure that drives people to go further. Kong’s exhibition counteracts this pressure, simultaneously blocking visitors’ view and inviting them to participate in an exercise that subverts their preconceived ideas. Kong might not have provided any symbols to evoke emotional responses, and nor could his repeated negations and disrupted narrative provide any grand solution. But in the context of art, can the blank space between the interruptions and confusion be interpreted as a kind of creation?
The piece Dried Paint on Wall acted as the conclusion of the exhibition, but could also be seen as the beginning of the next one. A block of dried latex paint that could be mistaken for a sculpture or a piece of pottery, it turned out to be only a found object the artist came across in a can when he was cleaning up. It was both an artwork and not an artwork, both handled – taken from the can – and not handled. It was a rebuttal as well as a welcome – he was willing to come with the viewer to this emptiness to rediscover the nature of seeing and thinking. In retrospect, one might come to understand that the block of dried paint was the beginning of all meanings.
你來到大角咀一幢舊唐樓中的一個空間「Feyerabend」，甫進門，一盞舊式理髮店的旋轉燈佔據你的注意，它逕自轉動，但引人目光後又彷彿無法著落；你繼續走向單位中央，空間呈長方形，裝有四個小型喇叭，每隔十秒就播放茶樓／月台進行廣播前的提示音效，彷彿不斷準備宣佈什麼，然後欲言又止；被遺下的裝修木梯、一個已經乾涸的乳膠漆，整個空間有一種滯留在過去的氣氛。如果不是錄像作品《分界》正在放映，你甚至會懷疑這統統是上一手遺漏的陳設，而非展覽。
空間負責人告訴我，有不少觀眾預期會見到藝術家的針筆素描作品，但來到現場卻發現沒有展出，有落空之感。有留意藝術家近年的創作，會發現他有不少作品都以不鏽鋼和機械等現代工業品作為物料，雖然作品呈現手法簡單克制，但總是菱角分明，例如最近在大館展覽「雙同」展出的水位尺，將水位尺橫放然後在表面鋪上一公分的水製造「危機」，舉重若輕。
而今次展覽的質地，則和畫廊展出時雖然頗有不同，大概會令觀眾的預期落空，但我們依然可以看見鄺鎮禧一貫的創作手法和思路，一開始總是建基於某種矛盾現象的觀察，在創作過程中總是過濾所有情緒和符號，盡量透過最少的介入處理物料，可能改變其呈現方式、或是轉變其物質狀態，將物料形成矛盾狀態，最後引申至關於藝術的想像和思考。
在這種認知下，錯過的細節就一一顯現，這個安靜的空間，竟同時是一個（偽）災難逃生現場：理髮店旋轉燈如火警燈般轉動（是宣傳還是警告？）；擱淺在牆壁上的木梯是鏤空的，剩下徒然的結構，一踏就會落空（是逃生工具還是陷阱？）；喇叭作勢呼喚某人，戛然而止又不斷重複（是呼喚、警告還是洗腦？）。在藝術家的設計下，我們不斷被勾引，勾引你的注視、勾引你聽、勾引你思考，然後藝術家透過中斷、抹除等手法令種種潛意識和習慣落空，混淆你對眼前環境的認知一一最終，他在錄像《分界》中一步一步築起圍牆，拒絕你的視線，亦拒絕世界對自己的異化，亦和這場冷靜的（偽）災難區隔開來。
在一個生活急速、密集的地方，個體的靈魂被綑綁成群體，社交媒體以緊急的口吻勒索情緒，促使你馬上反應，解除自己的焦慮和道德責任。世界正在以一種看不見的壓力，驅使你作出下一步。鄺鎮禧的展覽，有如對這種壓力的抗衡。所以「踏空」的關鍵不在「空」，而是「踏」，它一邊拒絕你的視線，一邊邀請你一同進行一個混淆習慣的演習。鄺鎮禧也許沒有提供任何符號，可以引起你共鳴和感性上的反應。他的重重否定和中斷的敘事，也不可能提供什麼解救問題的宏大方案。但在藝術的語境中，這種中斷和混淆留下的空白，何不可以理解成一種創造？
作品《乾涸的漆在牆上》，儼然是這個展覽的終結，也可以是下一個展覽的開始：是一件已經乾涸的乳膠漆，令人誤以為是雕塑／陶瓷，原來只是藝術家在執拾打掃時無意中從鐵罐中拿出的現成物。是作品，也不是作品。有處理（只是從罐中拿出來），同時也沒有處理。在拒絕之後同時是迎接 ── 他願意你和他一起走到這片空白之中，重新看見和思考存在本身，回首時也許會發現，那個乾涸的乳膠漆正是一切意義的開始。