世界在不同的时间呈现不同的质地;或者，虽然世界是丰富的，但因为我们爬行的能力有限，所以，在我们生活的世界，同其它地方，具有不同的特质。就好象有的世界是石头，有的世界是水，有的世界是石灰，有的世界是原始森林，有的世界是混合物;有的混合物是有益的，像阳光加氧气加水，令我们得以呼吸，得到营养;有的会令人窒息，像石灰加水，或快或慢，它们会凝固，会变成混凝土。
不知什么时候，水和石灰搅和在一起了。起初，甚至是舒服的，有些像豆浆，又有些像玉米面粥;有点热，令人H，后来，水份慢慢地被吸干了，世界凝固了，像混凝土，甚至像钢板一样坚硬。
生命为什么不能按照个人的梦想自由生长?思想为什么必须顺着规定的管道流动而不能自由飞翔?
曾经不断有怀着希望的种子，像1980年前后的马德生、王克平、黄锐、芒克、阿城、栗宪庭、冯国东、毛栗子、严力、李爽、艾未未、黑大春等等等等…他们中有些人，不断地撞击，撞得头破血流;有些人，在不断的伤痛和失败后，远走它乡，逐水草而居了。另有些， 以柔弱、有限的生命相持着，无法取胜，也无路可退。
之后，又有了崔健、王朔们……
到1990年前后，水泥固化的硬度超乎寻常;却有些不安份的种子发现了裂纹，看到了可能性。一些艺术家、(或者说梦想家)，由无意到有意、散漫地聚集到了圆明园周边，逐渐形成了圆明园画家村。他们中有的意志顽强、坚韧不拔;有的率性潦倒;有的出身高贵;有的醋腐脏臭;有的喜欢酗酒斗殴……
他们根本不是一个种属的鸟儿，却聚在一个窝里。他们又如此相像，就好像：不同种属的鸟儿槽杂地飞翔，相比也在飞翔的风筝们——他们好像。
那里是他们寻到的微小的缝;他们越聚越多，用不妥协的意志、将缝儿越撑越大。又不断找到新的可能，又不断将它撑大…第二条、第三条;板块上分裂出碎碴子，分化出一些粉尘，种子们居然痴想发芽了……
圆明园画家村的长长名单(因为这是当初唯一的卵房)，鼎盛时的一两百人的名单显得无比壮丽——其中便有尹灵、陈逸青、鹿林、闫正学、李兴辉、岳敏君、杨少斌、田彬、刘彦、王强、王音、杨茂源、摩根、张洪波、王秋人、徐一晖、迟耐……等等等等以及——黑月——季胜利。
创造者的历史同今天繁荣商业世界的修饰才能是两回事;就好比造汽车：什么样的座椅硬度更受欢迎?什么样的轮胎花纹摩擦力更小?什么样的的方向盘更适合亚洲人?什么样的线条更显凶猛?
但在创造者的时代，只有一个问题：将你的肉体放在这个未知的钢铁怪物上，不知是否还能完整地回来?
强硬的混凝土不想变成野草们的沃土;它用强大的力量将种籽们击撒到漫无边际。于是它们生了根、发了芽;原本无望的痴想变成了生机勃发的生命个体，茂盛地繁珩……
强大的力量预期粉碎种籽们的痴想，结果却将自己的世界击打粉碎;令人窒息的世界慢慢地居然可以呼吸了……
我们中有的太年青，有的太老，错过了谱写那段历史的时机;季胜利也不过以为自己生逢其时，是命运赋予的机会。
我们自然可以抱怨生不逢时;但我们总能看到：每段历史，都不缺少属于自己的创造者，更缺少为它涂脂抹粉的矫饰者。
有的人创作了美好的作品，我们应该向他们献花，为他们鼓掌;但有些人，为我们创造了崭新的生命方式，我们该怎样?
作品不过艺术家身上的寄生虫、生命体中的疾病、人体的排泄物……它的价值因生命的意义而存在，其中的差别，就好像亚马逊流域生命的茂盛，与生活中随处可见干皱的、需要不断修饰的油漆，都被称做‘绿’色。
方力钧
2007春
HeiYue •Ji Shengli
The texture of the world is always changing with the changing of the times. The world is rich and varied, but we traverse it at a crawl. So the world in which we find ourselves is always different. There are worlds of stone or water, lime or primeval forest, or different textures mixed together. Some combinations are beneficial, like sunlight and air and water that let us breathe and grow. Some are suffocating, like lime and water, which sooner or later harden into concrete.
No one knows when water and lime were first combines. In the beginning, the mixture seemed benign, like warm soymilk or porridge, spreading through the veins of the world with a rush of pleasure. Later, as the water was absorbed and dried up, the world congealed until it was like concrete, a texture as unforgiving as armor plate.
Why can’t people live according to their dreams? Why do ideas have to be channeled by rules, instead of being free to take wing?
There have always been seeds of hope in the world of concrete. In the late 1970s and early 1980s there were Ma Desheng, Wang Keping, Huang Rui, Mang Ke, A'Cheng, Li Xianting, Feng Guodong, Mao Lizi, Yan Li, Li shuang, Ai Weiwei, Hei Dachun, and others. Some of them never stopped flailing out, until finally they were battered bloody. Some fled the pain of constant failure, drifting off in pursuit of their dreams. And some used their fragile and limited life force to keep each other going, with no success in sight and no way back.
And then came Cui jian and Wang Shuo ……
By the late 1980s and early 1990s, the concrete had hardened into an unrelenting grip. But still there were seeds of resistance, seeking cracks in the world where they could make new lives. Gradually these artists, dreamers, and visionaries started to congregate, first by chance and then by choice, in the old village around the ancient Winter Palace in Beijing. This organic gathering eventually became the Yuanmingyuan Artists Village. Some of its dwellers were tireless pioneers and some outspoken dropouts; some were born with a silver spoon in their mouths and others were the dregs of society; and some spent their time drinking and fighting……
They certainly weren’t birds of a feather, but they all ended up in the same nest. Despite their differences, they took flight together, like a flock of variegated birds or a sky full of multicolored kites.
Yuanmingyuan started out as a hairline crack in the concrete world. As more and more people came together, the crack widened under the force of their vision. As they created new realities, a second and third crack appeared. Chunks started to break off from the slab of concrete and crumble into dust, and the seeds gave birth to impossible dreams.
Yuanmingyuan Artists Village was a hotbed of incendiary art, the only one of its time. Its list of residents is long and illustrious. At its height, several hundred people lived there. Among them were Yi Ling, Chen Yiqing, Lu Lin, Yan Zhengxue, Li Xinghui, Yue Minjun, Yang Shaobin, Tian Bin, Liu Yan, Wang Qiang, Yang Maoyuan, Mo Gen, Zhang Qiuren, Xu Yihui, and Chi Nai..... as well as Hei Yue •Ji Shengli.
A visionary’s concerns are nothing like the surface consideration that characterize today’s commercial world. For instance, car makers ask certain questions: How firm should the seat be to attract buyers? What pattern of tread looks best? What size steering wheel is appropriate for Asian drivers? Which design is the most visually striking?
But a visionary has just one question: If you entrust your body to this alien metal construct, will you get it back in one piece?
The world of unyielding concrete has no wish to become fertile soil for weeds. It uses all of its force to attack the seeds and fling them far far away. But the seeds have already put down roots and sent up shoots; their unattainable dreams become a burgeoning living thing that can’t be stopped……
An overwhelming force tried to pulverize the dreams of seeds, but succeeded only in crushing itself. And the once stifled world slowly started to draw breath.
Some of us were too old or too young to have participated in this piece of our history. Hei Yue•Ji Shengli and his cohorts consider themselves lucky to have lived in those times.
We may bemoan the fact that we missed out on that ride. But we realize that every new era has its visionaries, as well as its poseurs who live only to embellish.
When people create exceptional art, we celebrate them with flowers and applause. But what can we give those who changed the texture of our world?
Art is no more than a parasite in the artist’s body, a life-sucking disease, the shit that the body strains to excrete. Art only has value when life has meaning. True art is like the teeming life of the Amazon rainforest, compared to the slabs of concrete that surround us, gilded with paint and hailed as a greenbelt.
Fang Ljjun
Spring 2007
出处：《HEIYUE •JISHENGLI》2007，第123页。
