2024

 ‘廚房裡喝茶的下午’

‘An afternoon tea in the kitchen’

 

  當我第一次見到 sarah 的陶瓷作品時，我把它們拿在手裡，感到它們有些治愈。 sarah 經常回收很多材料，她穿着拖鞋去工地回收泥土，騎自行車的路上在街邊停下回收碎掉的玻璃，我們燒熔的氧化金屬或矽，她都會好好收起來。她回收塑料，纖維，泡沫，許許多多的材料。我想回收是她創作過程的一部分，每個材料在她手裡眼裡都是材料本身，我很佩服她這一點。我和 sarah 在一個溫暖的下午喝茶，因爲這個星期太忙碌了，我們都沒有時間好好坐下來看看春天的陽光。

  不知是誰説：“在廚房嗎？”
另一個人説：“爲什麼不呢？”
於是我們挑好茶具：“是呀，燒水吧。”


   When I first saw and held sarah’s work, I sense some healing. Her practise is both functional and sculptural/experimental. She is interested in how waste material are viewd, how clay heals and reveals the subconscious, and deep attraction to the quality and nature of ceramic. Her making process allows her to bond a strong connection with her embodiment and breath practices, and she is drawn to the concept and process of repairing, which in many ways stems from her relationship to them.

   We used her functional works to brew some tea on a warm afternoon. 
’In the kitchen？’
‘Yeh, why not?’
‘Great, let’s put the kettle on.’

   我非常喜歡廚房裡堆積的那些麵包，這個下午我們都覺得暖洋洋的。

  今年我的練習開始變得私人化一點了。Sarah問我泡茶有什麼要求嗎？我説如果用很透氣的材質泡茶我會有點猶豫，因爲那會影響茶湯和香氣。其實這個問題我一直沒有找到好的答案。茶文化裡好像有太多的邊界，器皿的使用也有很多規矩，有時候我好像找不到我的空間在哪。我想，我希望一件好的茶具應該在不犧牲茶湯的基礎上自由的表達它自己，因爲味道是誠實的，直觀的，無法欺瞞的。我想起我的茶道老師曾説隻要能讓在場的人感受到與茶湯的連接，這就是一期一會的意義，而我知道各種茶器會有不同的個性，我需要熟悉它們的特點。

  所以我試着用不同的器皿來體會我泡出的茶。我説我總覺得今天的茶有種蜂蜜的味道，Sarah説這個茶湯讓她回憶起了honey suckle。這讓我想起小時候經常在樓下花園裡拔下一串紅的花蕊。那個花園在中國飛速的城市建設中被拆除了。

  I love the way those bread piles up in the kitchen, especially on a warm, cozy afternoon like this. 

  This year, my tea practice has started to getting personal. Sarah asked if I have any particular preferences for brewing tea, and I said I prefer to use less porous teawares, as they can affect the taste and the aroma of tea. But honestly, I still haven’t found a perfect anwser to this question. There seem to be so many boundaries in tea culture, so many rules governing the use of teawares, that sometimes I feel unsure of where I fit with them. Ideally, I think I would prefer a piece of teaware to express itself freely, without compromising the taste and the texture of the tea, because taste is honest, direct, and beyond deception. I remembered my tea teacher once said that as long as your guest can feel the connection with the tea, that is the meaning of ichi-go ichi-e. And I understand that every teaware has its own character, part of my learning is to recognize their unique qualities. 

   So, I tried to let each object speak througth my tea, I brewed a pot of oolong for Sarah on this busy afternoon, it is as simple as it sounds. I sensed a hint of honey in today’s tea, and she said she sensed it too and it reminder her of honeysukle. This brought me back to my childhood, when I would pull out the nectar of a flower to taste its sweetness. That garden was demolished in the rapid urban expansion in China.

  

  我跟sarah説，喝茶對我現在來説有點悲傷的感覺，像是在悼唸什麼。因爲這些茶的香氣和滋味是我小時候很熟悉的。我知道我家樓下的梔子和茉莉會在四月前後開花，這正是像今天這樣的時節，將要入夏的時候。但我在這裡已經很久沒聞到中國的茉莉了。這裡雖然有梔子花，但是它們總開在刺眼的陽光下。

  sarah跟我分享她從小喝的茶。她從櫥櫃裡拿出一袋茶包，放到一個錫製方盤上，然後把她的常用水盃，糖盒，茶勺，和牛奶也放了上去。她喜歡和她的外婆喝茶，她們總是泡好紅茶，然後加一點奶，一勺糖，一起度過許多她小時候的時光。隨後她拿起方盤，跑到客廳窗邊的沙髮上，那裡放着她外婆織的毛毯。

  她的外婆已去世多年了，而我也離開家鄉很多年了。在這個暖洋洋的下午，我們麵對那些生命中大大小小的喪失。

   I told Sarah that drinking tea in the foreign country now feels like a warm sadness to me, as if I am greifing. The aromas and flavors remind me of my hometown. I remember the garden at the downstaris of my dad’s apartment would fill with the fragrance of gardenias and jasmine around this time of year, just before summer start to settle in. But I haven’t smelled the chinese jasmine here. We have gardenias, but they bloom under the harsh, glaring sunlight. 

   Sarah shared with me the tea she grew up with. She took a tea bag from the pantry and put it into her favorate cup, then she placed the cup on a tin tray, with sugar, spoon, and some milk. She enjoyed drinking tea with her nanny. They would brew a bag of tea, add a little bit of milk and a spoonful of sugar, and they will just spend time together. After preparing everything she need for her tea, Sarah picked up the tray and we walk to the couche by the window in the living room, where her nanny’s knitted blanket lay. 

   Her nanny passed away many years ago, and I have also been away from my hometown for a long time. In this quiet, warm afternoon, we sense those losses - both the great and the small - softly, gently. 

 

  我想，我需要專注的是我現在生活的土地。這裡的一草一木，這裡春天的狂風暴雨，還有夏天刺眼的，燃燒皮膚的陽光。我應該學習這裡的四季的天氣，本地蔬果的種植，不同區域的水的味道和質感，以及我會留心散步時聞見的那些不熟悉的花香。

  這樣，喝茶時我可能將不在被過去拉扯，而是終於踏實地連接到了當下。
 

   I think what I need to focus on is the land I live on now - the grasses and the trees, the hails and constantly changing weather in the spring, and the intense, skin-burning sunlight of summer. I should learn about the local seasons, how the fruits and vegetables grow here, the taste and texture of the water from different areas, and the unfamiliar scents of flowers I noticed while walking down the street. 

   That way, when I drink tea, I may no longer tethered to the past, but instead, grounding to the present moment.  

  至此，這場在瘋狂的春天，忙碌的廚房裡的茶會冩到這裡就結束了。謝謝你的閱讀。


   And so, this tea experience in the middle of a frantic spring, in the heart of a busy kitchen, comes to a close. Thank you for joining me in this quiet moment.

 

 

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