夜世界－林葆靈的夜景繪畫 | The Night World—Lin Bao Ling’s Night Paintings

夜世界－林葆靈的夜景繪畫

↓ English version below

文∣陳貺怡

國立臺灣藝術大學美術系所專任教授、前系主任與所長


姑且不論「夜」是否是繪畫最重要的主題之一，它無可否認的在繪畫史中佔有一席之地。夜的顏色強化了夜的戲劇性，使悲劇的悲更無所遁形。然而夜的色彩不只是黑：若無白，襯不出黑；若無明，襯不出暗；若無黎明，襯不出黑夜。正因夜的黑如此戲劇性，在文藝的創作上被賦予了濃厚的象徵意義，耶穌受難的黑夜，對比於祂復活的黎明。黑夜也是理性讓步，潛意識與想像力竄升的時刻：希臘神話中的夜神尼克絲(Nyx)生下一對雙胞胎「睡眠」與「死亡」，以至於畫家哥雅(Francisco Goya)、非斯利(Henry Füssli)所畫的夜景中充滿了紛擾不安與被死亡威脅的夢魘。

然而夜的色彩真的不是黒，只消看梵谷的或孟克那幾幅精彩的〈星夜〉用了多少鮮豔大膽的藍、綠、紅、黃、紫，甚至是白，便能一目瞭然。當然，對佛烈德利赫(Caspar david Friedrich)而言，他的畫〈港都之夜〉(Nacht im Hafen)中夜的顏色則是無盡微妙變化的棕色調子。此外，夜的嫵媚也在於日與月的輪替：浪漫主義詩人德·拉馬丁(Alphonse de Lamartine)認為當「太陽將它的帝國讓位給蒼白的夜之后(la pâle reine des nuits)」時，詩意便展開了 !月夜因此是無數藝術家偏愛的題材，縱使此後月夜的景緻逐漸的從荒山暗夜、水面倒影的寧靜大自然，變成印象派畫家筆下高樓林立、燈火通明的繁華不夜城。大都會夜的樂趣，是車水馬龍，是燈紅酒綠，是載歌載舞，是無盡的熱鬧與喧囂。當然也有像霍普(Edward Hopper)這樣的畫家，將夜之城描繪的百無聊賴、蕭索孤單又寂寞。

深深被夜景吸引的林葆靈，2003年還在學院學習時畫了第一幅夜景，十餘年來，依舊在這個豐富而久遠的題材裡「感受著與思考著」，試圖尋找出更多的可能性。水墨、油彩與壓克力彩兼擅的他，對於夜景的思考首先是材料的：他研發了以製圖膠片作為載體的技法，使飽含水分的壓克力彩在不吸水的半透明膠片上產生流動，但卻不同於傳統水墨渲染與暈開的效果。他利用膠片的透明性兩面作畫，使顏料的層次更豐富。顏料的層疊、筆刷的厚塗刮擦、流動的漬痕、色塊交接處的縫隙、大量滴淋、噴灑或描繪上去的大小不一的色點，模糊了也威脅了以細膩的筆法描繪或刮抹出的，細瘦而脆弱的形體，製造出彷彿雨霧瀰漫或烏雲密布的濕潤感。青綠紫灰的寒色系，吟唱著如水的涼夜及其憂鬱；棕黃赭黑的暖色調，則書寫著夜的昏黃與神祕。他偏愛長長的橫軸，人物景物皆極為渺小，取景變化多端且異常高遠遼闊，有若運轉著架設在高處的廣角鏡頭。他的夜景明暗交替、明月高掛、光芒閃爍，萬家燈火，但喧囂與熱鬧的感覺經常被彷彿圍觀著什麼的呆立人群吞噬了，凝結了，變的既熟悉又陌生。

然而，除了台北的夜景之外，他創作了另外一個調性乍看迥異的系列作品《沒有名字的小傢伙》。這個漫畫風的小人物2006年時即已存在，他無名、赤裸、無武裝、黑眼圈、無瞳孔、無手指，是林葆靈「心中的小孩」，是畫家自我意識的投射，展現出人們堅強外表下孤獨、脆弱、易感的內心世界，與當代人類的生存景況。雖然使用的材料不似《夜曲系列》那麼特別，但聯繫兩組作品的元素仍是「夜」：小人物或者像佛烈德利赫筆下的〈漫遊者〉一樣，孤單地俯看著深藍的夜與棉絮般的雲海，或者在暗夜的森林與荒郊野外獨自跋山涉水，險象環生；他甚至流著淚與死神共飲一壺熱茶。小人物這個敘事元素為夜景添加了更強烈的情感，展現了浪漫主義的靈魂，訴說著夜的孤寂、夜的威脅、與它所提供的無盡想像。

不論是《夜曲系列》)或《沒有名字的小傢伙系列》，林葆靈都迎戰了「夜」這個繪畫史上的特殊題材。他不但深諳夜的色彩、夜的象徵、夜的元素，並能賦與它時代性、地方性與個別性。他筆下的夜是喧囂的，卻又能帶我們逃離喧囂；是現實的，卻又帶我們遁入想像；是沉靜的，卻又令人感到危機四伏；他的夜威脅著我們，卻也保護著我們；他的夜啟發著我們，並且引我們再發現了夜的無窮魅力。

The Night World—Lin Bao Ling’s Night Paintings

by Chen Kuang Yi

Full-time Professor, Department and Graduate Institute of Fine Arts, National Taiwan University of Arts; former Department Chair and Director

Whether or not “night” is among the most important subjects in painting, it undeniably occupies a place in the history of art. The colors of night intensify its drama, making the tragic all the more inescapable. Yet the colors of night are not only black: without white, black cannot be set off; without light, darkness cannot be revealed; without dawn, night cannot be defined. Precisely because the black of night is so dramatic, it has been endowed with rich symbolic meaning in literature and art—the night of Christ’s Passion contrasted with the dawn of His Resurrection. Night is also the moment when reason yields and the subconscious and imagination surge forth: in Greek mythology, Nyx, the goddess of night, gives birth to the twins Sleep and Death. Thus, the night scenes painted by Francisco Goya and Henry Füssli are filled with unrest and nightmares haunted by the threat of death.

Yet the colors of night are truly not black. One need only look at the brilliant “Starry Night” paintings by Vincent van Gogh or Edvard Munch to see how boldly they employ vivid blues, greens, reds, yellows, purples—even white. For Caspar David Friedrich, however, the night in Nacht im Hafen (Night in the Harbor) unfolds through endlessly subtle variations of brown tones. The charm of night also lies in the alternation of sun and moon: the Romantic poet Alphonse de Lamartine believed that when “the sun yields its empire to the pale queen of the night,” poetry begins. Moonlit nights thus became a favored subject for countless artists, even as their imagery gradually shifted—from tranquil natural scenes of dark mountains and reflected waters to the bustling, brightly lit modern cityscapes of the Impressionists. The pleasures of the metropolitan night lie in traffic, neon lights, revelry, music and dance—in endless liveliness and noise. Yet painters such as Edward Hopper depicted the nocturnal city as dull, desolate, and lonely.

Deeply drawn to night scenes, Lin Bao Ling painted his first nocturne in 2003 while still a student. For more than a decade since, he has continued to “feel and reflect” within this rich and enduring subject, seeking new possibilities. Proficient in ink, oil, and acrylic, his inquiry into night begins with materials: he developed a technique using drafting film as a support, allowing water-laden acrylic to flow across a non-absorbent, semi-transparent surface—distinct from the diffusion and bleeding effects of traditional ink. By painting on both sides of the transparent film, he enriches the layering of pigment. Layered paint, thick brushwork scraped and dragged, flowing stains, fissures between color fields, abundant drips, splashes, and scattered dots of varying size—all blur and threaten the slender, fragile forms rendered or incised with delicate strokes, creating a sense of dampness akin to rain, mist, or heavy clouds. Cool hues of blue, green, violet, and gray sing of the watery chill and melancholy of night, while warm tones of brown, yellow, ochre, and black write of its dimness and mystery. He favors long horizontal formats in which figures and scenery appear minuscule; the compositions are varied, often set from an unusually high and expansive vantage, as if seen through a wide-angle lens mounted high above. His nocturnes shimmer with alternating light and shadow, bright moons, flickering lights, and countless illuminated windows—yet the bustle and liveliness are often swallowed and stilled by crowds that seem to stand watching something, rendering the scenes at once familiar and strange.

Beyond the nightscapes of Taipei, Lin has also created another series that at first glance differs markedly in tone: The Little Figure Without a Name. This cartoon-like character has existed since 2006—nameless, naked, defenseless, with dark circles, no pupils, and no fingers. It is the “child within” Lin, a projection of the artist’s self-consciousness, revealing the loneliness, fragility, and sensitivity beneath outward strength, and reflecting the conditions of contemporary human existence. Though the materials are less unconventional than in the Nocturne Series, the element that links the two bodies of work remains “night.” The little figure, like Friedrich’s Wanderer, may gaze alone over a deep blue night and a sea of cotton-like clouds, or traverse perilous forests and wilderness in the dark; it may even shed tears while sharing a pot of hot tea with Death. This narrative element intensifies the emotional resonance of the nightscape, embodying a Romantic spirit and speaking of the solitude, menace, and boundless imagination that night affords.

Whether in the Nocturne Series or The Little Figure Without a Name, Lin Bao Ling confronts “night” as a distinctive subject in the history of painting. He not only understands the colors, symbols, and elements of night, but also imbues them with a sense of contemporaneity, locality, and individuality. The night in his work is bustling, yet it allows us to escape that bustle; it is real, yet leads us into imagination; it is tranquil, yet fraught with a sense of lurking danger. His night threatens us, yet also protects us; it inspires us, and leads us to rediscover the boundless allure of the night.