在過去的十二月完成了 deTour 2024 Creative Voice 的講座，過程中與香港設計師 Sandy Choi 對談，並探討了一些對「擁有」及「存有」收藏品的理解。近年，我希望透過參與文化相關的講座，使我有機會整理過去十五年收藏古物的經驗，將思緒梳理後沉澱成一個系統。沉澱的過程中一直消化符號學家 Roland Barthes 提及「創作作品的作者在完成作品後，不再擁有作品的主宰權」的「作者已死論」，把詮釋作品的空間留給讀者延續當中的意義下去，但前者是先把意識提出，讓沒有這種思想練習的人也可了解作者，並想像後續意義。
In December, I participated in a seminar at the deTour 2024 Creative Voice, where I engaged in a thought-provoking dialogue with Hong Kong designer Sandy Choi. Together, we explored concepts of ownership and the essence of collecting. My recent cultural discussions have allowed me to distill fifteen years of experience in antique collecting into a coherent framework. This process has been influenced by Roland Barthes’ semiotic theory, particularly his notion of “the death of the author,” which posits that once a work is completed, the creator relinquishes control over its interpretation. This invites the audience to continue the work’s meaning, fostering a connection that encourages both understanding and imagination.
很多時候古道具商在販售古物或古家具時，會透過各種陳列的暗示來表達對古物的想像，這些暗示往往與客人走進店內的路線相關。其中一個例子是本人營運的店名「Douguya Hatcharea」其中「Hatcharea」源自日文數字「八」的發音「Ha Chi」。因為我於1988年某日的8點08分出生，因此「Hatch」象徵著我本人，而加入「area」後代表屬於我自己的空間。
同時，我運用了二戰後日本的鋁製手套模具「工業用」和「家庭用」的版本象徵工藝與家居之間的平衡，托起大正時期（1912-1926）留下的鐵圈（形而下）後產生的影子表達形而上的虛無精神狀態。
Antique dealers frequently utilize a range of display cues to convey their artistic visions, often reflecting the pathways that customers traverse as they enter the store. My own shop, Douguya Hatcharea, takes its name from the Japanese pronunciation of the number eight, “ha chi.” Born at 8:08 AM on a significant day in 1988, “hatch” symbolizes my identity, while “area” represents my personal space.
I also incorporate aluminum glove molds from post-war Japan—both industrial and domestic versions——to highlight the balance between craftsmanship and everyday life. The shadows cast by iron rings from the Taisho era (1912-1926) evoke a metaphysical sense of emptiness.
有部份的古道具商擁有了一件不明的物品後，認為必須了解其故事和文化，以便詮釋現代社會中的使用可能性和其來源。在 detour 講座中，我也分享了一個關於收藏木材的故事，它是源自火山爆發及土石流而孕育出的木材—— 神代杉。
2400 年前跨越秋田縣和山形縣縣境的鳥海山曾發生大型的山崩及土石流，而鳥海山是東北有名的玄武岩混合安山岩（含二氧化矽即 SiO2 約 50-60%，屬自然界中最常見的是石英）的成層火山。這次山體崩壊的體積約 30 多億立方米，把大量的杉樹藏於泥土下。後來根據文獻記載，平安時期 871 年曾多次流出熔岩流。直到江戶時期 1801 年的火山爆發，累積了大量火山灰，偶然下被活埋了千年樹在沒有與空氣接觸下反而沒有腐爛 ，因吸收火山灰和土壤成分中的鐵質，變成一種像奇特黑色的半化石木頭。因被埋沒於水中或泥土中過千年，故被冠以「神代」。
2015年，在日本沿岸的東北高速公路進行工程時，工人挖掘出多達 150 棵被掩埋的杉樹。其中一些木材是由當時挖掘出來的樹木製成，後來與幾位考古隊的成員一起去了鳥海山附近查看木材生長與當地泥土，並作紀錄。
Some antique dealers assert that grasping the story and cultural context of unfamiliar objects is crucial for interpreting their potential use in contemporary society. During the deTour seminar, I shared my experience of collecting wood sourced from volcanic eruptions and landslides, which gave rise to Jindai Sugi, or divine cedar.
Approximately 2,400 years ago, a significant landslide occurred on Mount Chokai, which straddles Akita and Yamagata prefectures. This region, known for its layered basalt and andesite (containing about 50-60% silica (SiO2), one of the most common minerals in nature), experienced a catastrophic collapse, burying countless cedar trees beneath over three billion cubic meters of earth. Historical records indicate that lava flows emerged during the Heian period in 871, and a volcanic eruption in 1801 deposited additional layers of ash, entombing ancient trees for millennia without exposure to air, thereby preserving them. These trees absorbed iron from the volcanic ash and soil, transforming into a unique black semi-fossilized wood, aptly named jindai (divine) due to their long entombment.
In 2015, during construction along the Tohoku Expressway, workers unearthed around 150 buried cedars. Some of this wood was repurposed, prompting me and several archaeologists to investigate the origin of the wood and the local soil around Mount Chokai for documentation.
透過兩個簡單例子，可以了解五年前，我與幾個日本的收藏家及古道具商發起的「新骨董主義」意識形態 ——「土根生」概念。
「土根生」概念分為「呼吸的材質」，即土地生長或孕育出來的事物，如樹木、粘土及植物等，並透過手工改裝古物，以「真、副、虛」形態出現。這反映大自然所帶來的美好，一個短暫且優雅的瞬間也是古時日本人對「丸石神信仰」的基礎。
Through these examples, we can understand the ideology of “New Antiqueism,” which I initiated five years ago with several Japanese collectors and antique dealers, centered around the concept of “from soil to spirit in life.”
This concept includes “breathing materials,” referring to elements nurtured by the soil—such as trees, clay, and plants. By modifying antiques by hands, these materials can embody “essential, supportive, and abstract” qualities, reflecting the beauty that nature brings. This captures fleeting yet elegant moments, resonating with the ancient Japanese belief in Maruishi Shinkou, or the reverence for round stones.
「丸石神信仰」也被日本古代認為「丸石與靈魂有關係」，實際上日文「タマ」即「玉」與「魂」是發音相通為Tama，因此丸石理所當然地被認為是物之魂魄，並與大多數日本石神論者的論點相通。
日本民俗學家柳田國男與折口信夫兩位大師也提及過「魂ごもる石/魂寄宿於石中」的故事，以及「石はタマ シイの入れもの/ 石是靈魂的容器」這一句話。關於解釋丸石、玉石、石的祭典習俗和信仰，相信會是不下三萬字的文章，這不便在此詳細解說。
The belief in Maruishi Shinkou was historically understood in ancient Japan as being connected to the idea that “round stones are related to the soul.” In fact, the Japanese word “タマ” (tama), meaning “jewel,” is homophonous with “魂”, meaning “soul.” Thus, round stones are naturally perceived as vessels of the soul, aligning with the perspectives of many Japanese stone deification theorists.
Notable Japanese folklorists Yanagita Kunio and Orbito Noboru have both discussed tales of “魂ごもる石” (Tamago moru ishi; meaning “the spirit dwelling in stones”) and the phrase “石はタマ シイの入れもの” (Ishi wa tamashii no iremono; meaning “stones are containers for souls”). An article dissecting the rituals and beliefs surrounding round stones, jade, and stone worship would easily exceed thirty thousand words, making it impractical to elaborate here.
在寫這篇文章的前一天，剛參觀了台北友人在 San Galeria 舉辦的 「光 」河合悠個展，看到了一張名為「月瞳」的畫，利用卡迪紙混入木灰及煤煙灰等，生活周邊不被重視的大自然副產物，表達夜空的月亮與記憶相連的想像。當藝廊主理人聿文問我要不要聽聽作家河合悠的注解時，感覺作家並不需多作解釋，就像體驗了符號學家 Roland Barthes「作者已死論」，不如讓作為觀者的我去詮釋作品吧，並把它帶回香港，讓意義在不同的天空下延續下去。
Just a day before writing this article, I visited Yu Kawai’s solo exhibition titled “Light” at San Galeria in Taipei. There, I encountered a piece called “Moon Eyes,” which combined cardboard paper mixed with wood ash and soot—natural materials often overlooked in daily life—to explore the connection between the moon and memory. When the gallery owner, Yuwen, offered to share Kawai’s interpretation, I felt it was unnecessary. This resonated with Barthes’ idea of “the death of the author”; why not let me, as the observer, interpret the work myself? I brought that experience back to Hong Kong, allowing its meaning to evolve under different skies.
