Unfinished3 未完成3

我很愛收集東西,尤其是新買衣服,多附贈的釦子還有線,小小的,包裝精巧,裡頭塞著一兩顆紐扣,還有一條大概50公分的線。我們都知道那是幹嘛用的,而基本上來講,可能這一輩子都很難會去用。但是我就是喜歡搜集著。偶爾把他們貼在牆面上,看著欣賞,自己很得意。又或者把它們集合在一個精美的盒子裡頭。就在某個夏日,我望著它,總覺得可以拿它來幹些什麼,於是這就是這個未完成3的來由。剪了一大堆拿來裝幻燈片的透明小資料夾,也剪了一大堆黑線,重複動作,塞進去,再剪。我常常覺得我的創作是一種禪,但我想我的level應該只能說是”蟬”。

I love collecting stuff, especially those little bags they come with clothes, with buttons and thread. We all know what those serves for, and rarely use it. So, I like to put them on my wall, just to stare at it when Im tired from my computer screen, because the petiteness made it so pretty.

One day, after my work, I was looking at it, and thought maybe I could make something out of it. I cut a lot of small clear sheet, and black threads, storing them into these little cases. I always think that my work has some sort of Zen in it, because its tons of repeat action, practicing my patient. 

那透明小袋子,包覆著棉黑線,似有順序,但又有點不規則的形狀,透明反光,黑的一目了然。那線條雖然不整齊,但是,它很乖的待在這個透明方格裡,我頓時覺得,我的人生,就同如此。我不愛計劃,但實際上我照著父母的計劃在進行,也就這樣兩間設計名校就畢業了。十八般武藝好像都快要精通了,但事實上不然,知道的多,但是精的少。我心想,那又如何呢?任何事情都有利有弊,如何評價,那自在人心。

Those little clear bags, a square with natural shape thread with it, seems even, but not. It's almost like me, seems normal, but not, or even following my plan, but i can't stand plan. Like my life, I don't want to follow my parent's plan, but I am following their plan. Now I had graduated two famous design school, seems like I almost know everything, but I'm not. I know quite a few, but never really dig into it. So What? There are pros and cons, and it all depends on how you see it.

想起了和媽說:我都可以去唱歌仔戲了。

然而說這句話的時候,我是人在國外,沒有什麼東西是比越洋電話來的溫暖了,縱使是這APP通訊流行的時代。什麼都比不上電話那頭,母親的聲音。那已經沒有卷卷通心粉的電話線,就如同這些黑線所能代表的,傳遞的概念,又甚至是人生的路程,都如同一張張被框好幻燈片,安靜的,被收得好好的,在想念的時候,才會再被拿出來,細細品嘗。

Now I thought about those times I have conversation with my moms through phone, complain school, work, and boyfriend, and she never know what to say to me, because she is pretty bad at parenting, sometimes she would even tell me just go to sleep. You know, to me, phone talk is better than those app we use on smartphone these days. I miss old school, those phones with curly string. I always wonder how can my voice really travel through that and someone can hear it. These black thread, are like those curly string, I use to transit my longing for my parents love. Or even like my path, that are stored in slide show clips, quietly, and only taste it when I miss it.