關於 how to make a guitar with paper ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

期待九月

「創作大概也就是這樣一回事，每天所見所聞所觸所感，似有還無的儲在身體，就等那道光線那個角度的出現。」―黃大徽

《如夢幻泡影》舞者介紹
黃大徽(香港)

「胡導演給大家的首項功課，是把《金剛經》從頭到尾抄一次。抄寫是學習的其中一個方法，但收到指令後我郤在想，到底怎樣才可把過程變得不一樣。結果我買了本小小的寫生冊和幾枝白色水筆，有空就靜下來搬字過紙。白色墨水寫到白色畫紙上，文字像出現了但又隨即消失，就是墨水耗盡也不易察覺，因此有一段經文基本上有如紙刻。完成後逐頁翻看，一切似有還無，然而把畫冊迎著光線調到某個角度，每筆每劃都清晰可辨。創作大概也就是這樣一回事，每天所見所聞所觸所感，似有還無的儲在身體，就等那道光線那個角度的出現。」―黃大徽

演出及創作：黃大徽 (香港)
新聞系畢業生，九十年代中於出版界變節，全身投入表演藝術，既舞且演亦編。
2004年獲香港藝術節委約創作《B.O.B.*》，首演後發展成兩個不同版本於歐亞九國巡演，當中包括巴黎的法國國家舞蹈中心，倫敦的沙德勒井劇院及柏林的八月國際舞蹈節等等。
2009年於東京完成的《1 + 1》，其後獲邀到巴黎卡地亞現代博物館及神戶國際舞蹈節演出。
2010年獲選為巴黎黑克雷國際文化交流中心駐村藝術家，並於巴黎城市劇院合辦的國際舞蹈大賽Danse Elargie中擔任評委。同年與日本編舞川口隆夫及電影導演今泉浩一聯合創作《Tri_K》，隨後三年於東京、神戶、金澤、香港、里斯本、貝洛奧里藏特及聖保羅巡演。
2011年獲德國In Transit國際藝術節委約，於柏林世界文化中心首演《Be Me》。
2012年，以進念。二十面體過去三十年事跡為題的首個劇場作品《0382》，於香港文化中心劇場面世。

《如夢幻泡影Dream Illusion Bubble Shadow》
藝術總監：平珩 (台北)
導演、設計及編舞：胡恩威
音樂總監：于逸堯＠人山人海
現場演奏及音樂創作：盧凱彤
舞台設計：陳瑞憲 (台北)
演出及編舞：松島誠 (東京)、黃大徽、楊永德、舞蹈空間
舞蹈空間舞者：戴于修、陳柏文、陳楷云、駱宜蔚、蘇冠穎
甘翰馨、張智傑、吳禹賢、陳韋云、邱昱瑄
日期︰9月19–21日
地點︰香港文化中心大劇院
票價︰$140, $190, $280, $420, $1,000*
*慈善門票
門票已於城市售票網發售。
演出長約90分鐘，不設中場休息

Dream Illusion Bubble Shadow
Performer Introduction
Dick Wong (Hong Kong)

“The first piece of homework Director Mathias Woo gave us was to copy the Diamond Sutra once. Copying is a way to of learning. But upon receiving such an instruction, I asked myself how I could make the experience uncommon. Finally I bought a little sketchbook and several white ink pens and, whenever I had time, copied all the words quietly and peacefully. When white ink was transferred onto white paper, what I had written down seemed to appear and then disappear immediately. Sometimes I even failed to discover that the pen had been out of ink and part of the scripture thus became paper sculpture. When I revised my writing after I had finished, I was a bit dubious about what I had done. But when light shone upon the sketchbook at a certain angle, every stroke of the characters became distinctly clear. The process, I guess, resembles that of producing a creative work. We are all dubious about what is seen, heard, touched and felt every day, hoping that a light will shine upon our hidden sense at the right angle.” ― Dick Wong

Performer: Dick Wong
A graduate in journalism, Dick Wong left the publishing industry in the mid 90s to pursue a career in contemporary dance and theatre.
In 2004, commissioned by the Hong Kong Arts Festival, he created B.O.B.*which was later developed into two versions touring renowned venues and festivals across Asia and Europe, including Paris' Centre National de la Danse, London's Sadler's Wells, Berlin's Tanz Im August and Singapore's Hua Yi Festival.
In 2009, he completed 1+1 in Tokyo. The work was later presented in Paris' Fondation Cartier and Kobe International Dance Festival.
In 2010, as a laureate of the French International Residence Program at Recollets, he was invited by Paris' Theatre de la Ville to be a member of jury at the international dance competition Danse Elarge. The same year he co-created Tri_K with Takao Kawaguchi and Koichi Imaizumi and in the following three years toured to Tokyo, Kobe, Kanazawa, Hong Kong, Lisbon, Belo Horizonte and San Paulo.
In 2011, commissioned by the In Transit Festival, he premiered Be Me in Berlin's Haus der Kulturen der Welt.
In 2012, he created 0382, an oral history theatre work examining the 30 years of existence of Zuni Icosahedron.

Multimedia Dance Theatre
Dream Illusion Bubble Shadow
Artistic Director: Ping Heng (Taipei)
Director/ Design and Choreography: Mathias Woo
Music Director: Yu Yat-yiu@PMPS
Live and Recorded Guitar Music: Ellen Joyce Loo
Stage Designer: Ray Chen (Taipei)
Performers/ Choreography:
Makoto Matsushima (Tokyo), Dick Wong, David Yeung, Dance Forum
Dance Forum Dancers: Yu-Hsiu Tai, Po-Wen Chen, Kai-Yun Chen, Yi-Wei Lo, Kuan-Ying Su, Han-HsingKan, Chih-ChiehChang,Yu-Hsien Wu, Wei-Yun Chen, Yu-Hsuan Chiu
Sep 19 – 21
Grand Theatre, Hong Kong Cultural Centre
Ticket Price︰$140, $190, $280, $420, $1,000*
*Charity Tickets
Tickets NOW available at URBTIX www.urbtix.hk
Running time approximately 90 minutes with no intermission

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

🎧 專輯 Sounds of My Life 數位平台點播：https://orcd.co/soundsofmylife
🔔 訂閱韋禮安官方頻道 : https://pse.is/WeiBird_Sub

校園生活是一場用不完精力的派對
黑板上一筆一畫唱出屬於我們的歌

當週五最後一堂下課的鐘聲一響
老師的叮嚀和書包立馬拋諸腦後
卻在迫不及待衝出教室的那一刻
就開始想念起教室裡發生的青春
See you on Monday ！

—

See You on Monday

詞：WeiBird 韋禮安
曲：WeiBird 韋禮安

See you on Monday
See you on Monday

It's the final chime
Time to say goodbye
For the weekend
For the weekend

And you be on my mind
To push me through the grind
Of the weekend
Of the weekend

Don't know how I'd make it through
If it wasn't me and you
Weekdays such a pleasure
With you it's always better

You make every day a party
From Monday to Friday
If I gotta take a break from joy
Hear me say

See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
Monday here I come

Pencil, pen and paper should be labor
You turn it into pleasure
Every seconds filled with laughter

I wanna be I wanna be I wanna be I wanna be with you
Don't wanna be don't wanna be don't wanna be without you

Don't know how I'd make it through
If it wasn't me and you
Weekdays such a pleasure
With you it's always better

You make every day a party
From Monday to Friday
If I gotta take a break from joy
Hear me say

See you on Monday (See you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)

Break it down break it down now
Play it

See you on Monday (See you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
See you on Monday (I'll see you on Monday)
Monday here I
Monday here I
Monday here I come

—

MV製作 Production：二二川 ERERCHUAN
導演 Director：張瀞予 Chang Ching Yu
攝影 D.O.P：張瀞予 Chang Ching Yu
攝影大助 1st A.C.：謝宗諭
攝影助理 Assistant Camera：蘇品豪
攝影器材 Photographic Equipment：鏡頭銀行
燈光器材 Light Equipment：貞寶企業
美術設計 Art Designer：王殊懸
製片 Producer：卓虹伶
場務 Grip：范子薺
九巴 Driver：獨家企業有限公司
後期製作 Post-Production：王殊懸
字卡設計 Graphic Designer：王殊懸
TWFG72001002

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