OFOTO&ANART | 相对湿度——朱浩个展

相对湿度

朱浩

从梅雨到台风季，总是傍晚的时候，临弄堂的窗里飘出浓油赤酱的菜香和广播里的天气预报：“相对湿度86%......”。

上海有阳光的日子没有什么特色，倒是阴雨或暴雨的日子充满质感。弄堂砖墙、石库门脱色的油漆、晾在天井里的伞、忘收了的褪色的衣服、孩子留在外面的塑料玩具，一切在湿漉漉时才呈现一种沉得住的亮色。

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再次走进弄堂，刚动迁的人家还散落着刚丢弃的杂物，人却象是在骤然间消失了的一样。凌乱的厢房或窄小的亭子间窗户大开，飘进来的细雨新风，混杂了房间陈年的霉味，再夹带那户人家多年积攒独特的人气，这一刻也一样湿湿的：陈年白酒味、挥不去的油烟气、隐隐的化妆品香、渗进发黄墙面和天花板的香烟残味、被褥和旧衣服没干透又被焐干的味道……

南市的一个石库门，西厢房里散落一地乐凯胶卷盒、纸卡做的测光换算盘、劣质的红黄绿色滤镜，因此我毫不怀疑是走进一个同好者的家。五斗橱敞开的抽屉里，一堆5寸或7寸的彩色旅游合影或风景照是从相册里抽出来的，也许因为之前塑料相袋受潮，照片的正面布满粘连后再揭开的斑驳，背面则是大块大块黄褐色的水渍。

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总相信人的故事在没有人的空镜里依然还在叙述，而影像也不只是色彩和光影，一定含着气味和湿度。

城市景观一如有机世界的衍化，从地貌的变化到其间生态的迭代迁徙，一切其实都是常态。我们过不去的只是情结的坎。回看上海的变，十年、几十年，自然带了一两代人的怀旧；而一百年或更久，便只是史料上干巴巴的几页记录了。

留住《相对湿度》，无非只是影像的徒劳，只为怅然间的丝丝点点情绪，缓缓绽放如那些最细小的霉花。

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Relative Humidity

Zhu Hao

Always on evenings from the start of the plum rains to the typhoon season, the smell of cooking with thick red sauce would waft from the window of a nearby lane, along with the voice of the weather forecast over the radio, "Relative humidity... 86%......"

Sunny days in Shanghai is not so glamorous as the rainy or torrential days which are full of texture. The brick walls of the alleys, the faded paint of the shikumen, the umbrellas hanging in the patio, the bleached out clothes forgotten, the plastic toys left outside by children — each takes on a bright but heavy color when wet.

Once again in the lane, a few abandoned belongings lie scattered, left by an someon who seemed disappeared unexpectedly. The windows of the messy wing rooms or narrow garrets remain open, and the fresh air of a light drizzle mixes with the sour must of the space. The smell’s been accumulating for years, and is similarly wet: old baijiu, stale cooking smell, the faint odor of makeup, a yellow patch seeping through the wall, the residue of tobacco somewhere from the ceiling, bedding and old clothes left wet then heated by the summer again…

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On the western wing of a shikumen in the former Nanshi district, canisters of Lucky film, paper card meters, and light filters in red, yellow, and green are strewn about the floor, making me wonder if it had been the home of a hobbyist like myself. In an open drawer of a dresser, a pile of 5 - or 7-inch colored travel or landscape photos are left out, yanked from their album. Perhaps because the plastic photo bag had become damp, the front is sticky and peeling in patches, and the back is covered with large, tawny water stains.

I always believe that human stories can be told despite the absence anyone in the pictures. Images are more than color and shadow. They must contain smell and humidity.

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Urban space works just like the evolution of the natural world, from changes of the landscape, to the iteration and transformation of its mechanism, nothing paricularly different. The only thing we simply can’t cross is our affection for the old days. Looking back at the changes in Shanghai over the past decade or decades, naturally the nostalgia of certain generations lingers. But as to the things a hundred years ago, they would be only a few bland pages in the history books.

Retaining Relative Humidity is as helpless as taking pictures. It is just a little consolation to the melancholic sentiments, and there bloomes slowly the tiny flowers of mildew.

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