In a recent column for Asiaweek magazine（Dec 22, 2000）, the writer notes, “We need to decide what creativity is not. I'm appalled at what is presented as creativity. My suspicion is that we've been taken for a ride by those who don't always know better.” Here, he looks back at his journey from being an ardent lover of the arts to someone who is now more selective about what writers, film-makers or playwrights offer.
Gladly, I've forgotten quite a lot of the stuff I learnt as a literature student - especially those inward-to-the-core bits, complete with angst and those me-against-the-world pontifications.
And I sure have decided that, for my pleasure and for some good advice on living, I need to move beyond slackers, cynics, drifters, malcontents - however brilliant their novels, plays or films. （Now, I'm not saying those of us in the arts are all like this. Think, for instance, of the good works someone like Kuo Pao Kun has done. But, let's face it, we get more than our fair share of whiners in this circle）。
Growing older （and simpler）, I've looked out. Slowly, I'm learning - not always successfully - the beauty of engagement with the world. That means folks in one-room HDB flats I meet who're struggling daily to make ends meet. Or workers for whom the kind of “mundane existence” literary types fight against is all they'll ever know in life - but who learn to be happy all the same.
Not that there is nothing of enduring value in the arts I grew up learning - and liking, up to a point. There is. Till today, I remember some works partly because of the sheer beauty of the language or images but more because of their gems of wisdom.
In his poem “The Second Coming”, for instance, William Butler Yeats laments, “The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity.”
Looking at the much-celebrated （and much-publicised） arts scene, one must at the very least ask some fundamental questions. What exactly are “the arts”？ Where does experimentation end before madness sets in？ What good does stretching the limits serve, if at all？
Should private pain or angst be thrown at the public in the name of “giving a performance”？ And are the time, money and resources put in always worth it？ （No, I don't mean this in a cold, calculating “rate of return” way； I only mean to suggest that good works of art must go beyond self-indulgence and address issues we care - or should care - about）。
Against such questions, how have we measured up？ Not always very well, I'm afraid. Take a recent local play. A write-up describes how an actor “stripped to his G-strings and had starch, milk and wet soil smeared all over him for publicity pictures.” It adds that audiences too will have “anything but a conventional laid-back theatrical experience.” They will squeeze into specially-constructed 'pigeon holes' and the story will be fed to them through earphones.
Now, let's not attack this example too much. We get the plays or movies we deserve. It's arbitrarily highlighted just to give a flavour of some of the stuff that passes off as art these days.
Suffice to ask： Have we shortchanged ourselves？ Are we hearing only the voices of those of us who're simply intense （as opposed to truly creative）, who're still sorting out our inner demons？
If so, maybe it's time to take stock. Less （plays, books, movies, etc） may mean more. Let the truly creative ones seek their Muse, I say. For the rest of us, the Drama of Life beckons.
（The writer is an assistant professor at the NTU'S School of Communication Studies.）
走出象牙塔
蔡崇仁
在去年12月22日刊登于《亞洲新聞》的一篇專(zhuān)欄文章里,作者寫(xiě)道：“我們需要決定什么不是創(chuàng)意。我對(duì)現(xiàn)在的一些所謂藝術(shù)創(chuàng)意的表現(xiàn)感到震驚。我懷疑我們讓那些并不比我們懂得更多的人蒙騙了?！?BR> 在本文,他回顧自己如何從一個(gè)藝術(shù)熱烈愛(ài)好者,變成比較有選擇性的欣賞作家、電影工作者和劇作家的作品。
很高興自己已經(jīng)淡忘許多當(dāng)年修讀文學(xué)時(shí)所學(xué)的東西——特別是那些核心部分,包括對(duì)俗世的憂(yōu)慮和對(duì)世事自以為是的看法。
為了我自己的快樂(lè)和得到一些讓生活更有意義的啟示,我也決定,我必須超越那些逃避現(xiàn)實(shí)、憤世嫉俗、變化無(wú)常和不滿(mǎn)現(xiàn)狀的藝術(shù)家——不論他們的小說(shuō)、戲劇或電影有多精彩。（我并不是說(shuō)藝術(shù)界的人士都有這些特征,例如,郭寶就有許多佳作。但是,事實(shí)是,這個(gè)圈子里是有比較多滿(mǎn)腹牢騷的人）。
隨著年紀(jì)漸大（要求反而變得簡(jiǎn)單）,我開(kāi)始“往外看”。我正慢慢的學(xué)習(xí)體會(huì)——雖然不是時(shí)常都能做到——和外面的世界接觸的美好感覺(jué)。我指的是我所碰到,每天為三餐忙碌的一房式組屋居民,或者過(guò)著藝術(shù)型人士抗拒的所謂“平凡人生”的工人。但是,對(duì)于這些工人,這就是他們所知道的生活,他們也嘗試從中得到快樂(lè)。
我并不是說(shuō),我在成長(zhǎng)過(guò)程中所學(xué)習(xí)的藝術(shù),沒(méi)有一點(diǎn)恒久的價(jià)值,也沒(méi)有我在某種程度上,所喜歡的東西。答案是肯定的。一直到今天,因?yàn)樗鼈儍?yōu)美的文字或影像,我還記得一些作品,但是,大的原因是它們所表達(dá)的智慧。
例如,愛(ài)爾蘭詩(shī)人葉芝在他的詩(shī)作《基督重臨》悲嘆：“優(yōu)秀的人們信心盡失,壞蛋們則充滿(mǎn)熾烈的狂熱。”
看著現(xiàn)在充滿(mǎn)生氣（和新聞）的藝術(shù)界,我們低限度應(yīng)該提出一些基本的問(wèn)題。到底什么是“藝術(shù)”？什么是實(shí)驗(yàn)性創(chuàng)作？這樣的創(chuàng)作什么時(shí)候會(huì)演變成瘋狂的行徑？要求更開(kāi)放的尺度到底有什么好處？
個(gè)人的痛苦和憂(yōu)慮,應(yīng)不應(yīng)該美其名為“表演”,向觀眾宣泄？每演出所花的時(shí)間、金錢(qián)和資源是不是都是物有所值？（我指的不是斤斤計(jì)較的“回報(bào)率”,我的意思是,好的藝術(shù)作品必須超越自我放縱,探討我們關(guān)心,或者應(yīng)該關(guān)心的課題）。
用這些因素考量,我們的表現(xiàn)如何？我認(rèn)為不是時(shí)常都很好,舉一個(gè)不久前的本地戲劇為例。一篇報(bào)道形容男演員“在拍宣傳劇照的時(shí)候,脫到只剩一條暴露的底褲,同時(shí)把淀分、牛奶和濕泥土涂得滿(mǎn)身”。報(bào)道也說(shuō),“觀眾將不會(huì)悠閑的坐著,而會(huì)有一個(gè)非傳統(tǒng)的經(jīng)驗(yàn)”。他們需要擠進(jìn)特制的“格子”里,通過(guò)耳機(jī)聆聽(tīng)故事的發(fā)展。
我們沒(méi)有必要對(duì)這個(gè)作品作太多批評(píng)。藝術(shù)水平和觀眾的鑒賞能力,是息息相關(guān)的。我只是用它來(lái)突顯,在今天的藝術(shù)界,有一些類(lèi)似的東西,偽裝成所謂的藝術(shù)。
我們只需要問(wèn)：我們是否被蒙騙了？我們聽(tīng)到的聲音,是否只是來(lái)自那些具有強(qiáng)烈感覺(jué)（卻沒(méi)有真正的創(chuàng)意）,還在處理他們內(nèi)心掙扎的人？
如果情形是這樣,那可能是我們重新作出評(píng)估的時(shí)候了。少（戲劇、書(shū)本、電影等等）可能可以讓我們得到更多。就讓那些真正具有創(chuàng)造力的人去尋找他們的繆斯,對(duì)于其他的人,現(xiàn)實(shí)生活的起起落落已是一種“戲劇人生”。
Gladly, I've forgotten quite a lot of the stuff I learnt as a literature student - especially those inward-to-the-core bits, complete with angst and those me-against-the-world pontifications.
And I sure have decided that, for my pleasure and for some good advice on living, I need to move beyond slackers, cynics, drifters, malcontents - however brilliant their novels, plays or films. （Now, I'm not saying those of us in the arts are all like this. Think, for instance, of the good works someone like Kuo Pao Kun has done. But, let's face it, we get more than our fair share of whiners in this circle）。
Growing older （and simpler）, I've looked out. Slowly, I'm learning - not always successfully - the beauty of engagement with the world. That means folks in one-room HDB flats I meet who're struggling daily to make ends meet. Or workers for whom the kind of “mundane existence” literary types fight against is all they'll ever know in life - but who learn to be happy all the same.
Not that there is nothing of enduring value in the arts I grew up learning - and liking, up to a point. There is. Till today, I remember some works partly because of the sheer beauty of the language or images but more because of their gems of wisdom.
In his poem “The Second Coming”, for instance, William Butler Yeats laments, “The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity.”
Looking at the much-celebrated （and much-publicised） arts scene, one must at the very least ask some fundamental questions. What exactly are “the arts”？ Where does experimentation end before madness sets in？ What good does stretching the limits serve, if at all？
Should private pain or angst be thrown at the public in the name of “giving a performance”？ And are the time, money and resources put in always worth it？ （No, I don't mean this in a cold, calculating “rate of return” way； I only mean to suggest that good works of art must go beyond self-indulgence and address issues we care - or should care - about）。
Against such questions, how have we measured up？ Not always very well, I'm afraid. Take a recent local play. A write-up describes how an actor “stripped to his G-strings and had starch, milk and wet soil smeared all over him for publicity pictures.” It adds that audiences too will have “anything but a conventional laid-back theatrical experience.” They will squeeze into specially-constructed 'pigeon holes' and the story will be fed to them through earphones.
Now, let's not attack this example too much. We get the plays or movies we deserve. It's arbitrarily highlighted just to give a flavour of some of the stuff that passes off as art these days.
Suffice to ask： Have we shortchanged ourselves？ Are we hearing only the voices of those of us who're simply intense （as opposed to truly creative）, who're still sorting out our inner demons？
If so, maybe it's time to take stock. Less （plays, books, movies, etc） may mean more. Let the truly creative ones seek their Muse, I say. For the rest of us, the Drama of Life beckons.
（The writer is an assistant professor at the NTU'S School of Communication Studies.）
走出象牙塔
蔡崇仁
在去年12月22日刊登于《亞洲新聞》的一篇專(zhuān)欄文章里,作者寫(xiě)道：“我們需要決定什么不是創(chuàng)意。我對(duì)現(xiàn)在的一些所謂藝術(shù)創(chuàng)意的表現(xiàn)感到震驚。我懷疑我們讓那些并不比我們懂得更多的人蒙騙了?！?BR> 在本文,他回顧自己如何從一個(gè)藝術(shù)熱烈愛(ài)好者,變成比較有選擇性的欣賞作家、電影工作者和劇作家的作品。
很高興自己已經(jīng)淡忘許多當(dāng)年修讀文學(xué)時(shí)所學(xué)的東西——特別是那些核心部分,包括對(duì)俗世的憂(yōu)慮和對(duì)世事自以為是的看法。
為了我自己的快樂(lè)和得到一些讓生活更有意義的啟示,我也決定,我必須超越那些逃避現(xiàn)實(shí)、憤世嫉俗、變化無(wú)常和不滿(mǎn)現(xiàn)狀的藝術(shù)家——不論他們的小說(shuō)、戲劇或電影有多精彩。（我并不是說(shuō)藝術(shù)界的人士都有這些特征,例如,郭寶就有許多佳作。但是,事實(shí)是,這個(gè)圈子里是有比較多滿(mǎn)腹牢騷的人）。
隨著年紀(jì)漸大（要求反而變得簡(jiǎn)單）,我開(kāi)始“往外看”。我正慢慢的學(xué)習(xí)體會(huì)——雖然不是時(shí)常都能做到——和外面的世界接觸的美好感覺(jué)。我指的是我所碰到,每天為三餐忙碌的一房式組屋居民,或者過(guò)著藝術(shù)型人士抗拒的所謂“平凡人生”的工人。但是,對(duì)于這些工人,這就是他們所知道的生活,他們也嘗試從中得到快樂(lè)。
我并不是說(shuō),我在成長(zhǎng)過(guò)程中所學(xué)習(xí)的藝術(shù),沒(méi)有一點(diǎn)恒久的價(jià)值,也沒(méi)有我在某種程度上,所喜歡的東西。答案是肯定的。一直到今天,因?yàn)樗鼈儍?yōu)美的文字或影像,我還記得一些作品,但是,大的原因是它們所表達(dá)的智慧。
例如,愛(ài)爾蘭詩(shī)人葉芝在他的詩(shī)作《基督重臨》悲嘆：“優(yōu)秀的人們信心盡失,壞蛋們則充滿(mǎn)熾烈的狂熱。”
看著現(xiàn)在充滿(mǎn)生氣（和新聞）的藝術(shù)界,我們低限度應(yīng)該提出一些基本的問(wèn)題。到底什么是“藝術(shù)”？什么是實(shí)驗(yàn)性創(chuàng)作？這樣的創(chuàng)作什么時(shí)候會(huì)演變成瘋狂的行徑？要求更開(kāi)放的尺度到底有什么好處？
個(gè)人的痛苦和憂(yōu)慮,應(yīng)不應(yīng)該美其名為“表演”,向觀眾宣泄？每演出所花的時(shí)間、金錢(qián)和資源是不是都是物有所值？（我指的不是斤斤計(jì)較的“回報(bào)率”,我的意思是,好的藝術(shù)作品必須超越自我放縱,探討我們關(guān)心,或者應(yīng)該關(guān)心的課題）。
用這些因素考量,我們的表現(xiàn)如何？我認(rèn)為不是時(shí)常都很好,舉一個(gè)不久前的本地戲劇為例。一篇報(bào)道形容男演員“在拍宣傳劇照的時(shí)候,脫到只剩一條暴露的底褲,同時(shí)把淀分、牛奶和濕泥土涂得滿(mǎn)身”。報(bào)道也說(shuō),“觀眾將不會(huì)悠閑的坐著,而會(huì)有一個(gè)非傳統(tǒng)的經(jīng)驗(yàn)”。他們需要擠進(jìn)特制的“格子”里,通過(guò)耳機(jī)聆聽(tīng)故事的發(fā)展。
我們沒(méi)有必要對(duì)這個(gè)作品作太多批評(píng)。藝術(shù)水平和觀眾的鑒賞能力,是息息相關(guān)的。我只是用它來(lái)突顯,在今天的藝術(shù)界,有一些類(lèi)似的東西,偽裝成所謂的藝術(shù)。
我們只需要問(wèn)：我們是否被蒙騙了？我們聽(tīng)到的聲音,是否只是來(lái)自那些具有強(qiáng)烈感覺(jué)（卻沒(méi)有真正的創(chuàng)意）,還在處理他們內(nèi)心掙扎的人？
如果情形是這樣,那可能是我們重新作出評(píng)估的時(shí)候了。少（戲劇、書(shū)本、電影等等）可能可以讓我們得到更多。就讓那些真正具有創(chuàng)造力的人去尋找他們的繆斯,對(duì)于其他的人,現(xiàn)實(shí)生活的起起落落已是一種“戲劇人生”。