看到臉書上他在職業欄上寫著「夾層」員工，我笑了。他的工作室果真就在一處「樓梯間」。在裡面停留了約莫三小時，如今我還是不太能判斷那究竟是一個多大的空間？
還能留下來的記憶是，我很自然地在進門首先遭遇的那張（顯然是為客人準備的）雙人軟墊座椅坐下，在我們之間有一張權充小桌的圓凳，上面放著我正在錄音的手機以及他和我的咖啡杯，總是在一邊說著什麼的同時，他在我右前方的位置燒水、磨咖啡豆、沖咖啡，在我左側上方的書架上翻找著要給我看的某本畫冊，突如其來的聲響嚇了我們一跳原來是下雨了我才發現右方牆面上有一排窗，望向窗外則是一排他晾曬的衣服，聊起我在他的作品網站上曾看過的那些特異的「椅子」，他於是順手拿起正放在左邊檯面上的三張一一解說，聆聽著他如何輾轉繞道以逐漸逼近一個「藝術家」的實質與身份時，我突然好奇他是否真住在這個我們正共處的空間裡，他指向因為很合理以致我從不曾懷疑過的天花板，原來在那裡竟然橫亙著一張單人床，一度我必須起身欺近他身後的筆記型電腦觀看他過往執行過的兩件現地裝置的紀錄照片和影像，這時我想起一個一直想問的問題：你有幾公分啊？他像是習慣了似的笑笑說183，跨出房門前我說你睡在那（個我的視線全然無從抵達之處）不會很憋嗎，他帶著始終剛剛好的笑容說這空間倒是意外地夠高所以他依然能如常地坐在床上。
四乘四乘四公尺吧我猜 （註1），是想像與技藝的靈巧讓他在僅能所在之處撐開了一個得以讓自己靈巧地生活與工作在其中的空間，然而對照著他在2006至2009年間的另一項實踐 （註2），這個我親身經歷的小奇觀瞬間顯得自然而日常了起來。
那是一件我有一點點遺憾沒能親身經歷的「作品」。
在作為作品記錄的影片初始，我（們）看到的是在某條四線道對街的一組建築物，右側是一棟較高也佔據主要量體的兩層樓建築，左側則是兩道相連的長圍籬及其後被遮蔽了大半以致難以判別實況的其他建築，這些絕大多數屬於灰階的結構體與其前方的柏油道路，雖不至於突兀卻在鑲嵌於郊野的自然環境的畫面裡，清楚地顯露出自身屬於人造物的身份。於此，在影片裡看不到的前情是，那曾是位於台南縣柳營鄉一處約600坪大的廢棄養雞場，在租下它之後的某日起，他住進了那棟兩層樓建築，並開始投入一項既屬於生活空間建造也屬於藝術創作實踐的持續性勞動，為期兩年六個月。
藉由作者的身體代替我們所經歷的（一段不可能替代的經歷）是，他推開那扇明顯是那巨大場所唯一入口的金屬拉門，然而這行動卻並未理所當然地讓我們迎向某處想像中的「門後」，而是一堵形貌與前者近似卻再無商榷餘地的「牆」——一個不無挫折的徹底阻絕，以及另一個有些意外的「入口」――—扇通往那棟兩層樓建築的門。緊接著，我們「看到」的是，他藉由手部操作而非雙腳移動以將自己的身體從室外移至室內的程序，室內空無一物，僅有一座無從迫近入口的連接通道（樓梯），他走向它並且不太困難地推移右側那堵傾斜的牆面，入口出現了。然而設於樓梯啟始與盡頭的連動裝置，使其「打開」這通道啟始閘門的動作其實同步「關閉」了預期為終點的閘門，直到他隨即回身「關閉」那來時的通道以同步「開啟」其將往的通道。在終於進入那一樣空曠的二樓空間後，他陸續在屋頂鐵架上吊掛了數個狀似鞦韆的結構物，它們是一群與所處空間平行的小空間，卻有著外在於其那固著空間所無能的「行動力」，晃動搖擺之外還可自體旋轉360度，想像著為其所承載的身體可能的經驗，那外在於其的固著空間似乎也開始搖晃了起來；一個類似的裝置也出現在全然脫離室內的屋頂。影片（以及這段被編織的經歷）的最終處在二樓外的陽台，他兀自轉動著一個不知所謂的裝置，藉由左近的照後鏡及隨後的影像內容我們進而得知其所引發的是一樓空間左側牆面我們此前（或許）未曾覺察的隱藏版出口的開啟，此時，作者逆反之前的順序／程序並一路走向那個最初我們無能到達的「門後」。
之所以有一點點遺憾，除了這顯然是一段無法替代的經歷之外，也因為這經歷已無從可能。那為期兩年六個月既屬於生活空間建造也屬於藝術創作實踐的持續性勞動所奔赴的終點在提出一項畢業製作／創作發表，而包括其為台南縣柳營鄉一處前身為600坪大的廢棄養雞場以及其他現實因素，真能親歷這件作品的觀眾並不太多。畢業後他離開台南來到台北，住進台北藝術大學山腳下一所匯聚諸多創作者的廢棄學校中的某個「夾層」，那個既屬於生活也屬於藝術實踐的空間則被轉租給學長直到一次劇烈的颱風將它浸在水裡，於是它又回復為在他承租之前那600坪大荒草叢生的廢棄場域……
當終於即將奔赴屬於這段敘述的終點之際我想說的是，在顯然被賦予著推介／推薦藝術家及其作品的某種期待，我卻幾乎未曾觸及他於這項即將發生的發表中預計發表的作品，這個結果或可能是我以為截至目前即便在外表上毫不相似但屬於他的創作實踐，其實來自同一的原初——托／拖出那具體存在但在此之前無從被覺察或感知的空間（體驗）。換言之，這段敘述嘗試以另一種形式模仿著這段敘述中的主角那曾經且一貫的形式，並期望能托／拖出那具體存在但在可及的這些作品之間無從被覺察或感知的部分。
註1：經完稿後向戴翰泓確認該空間實際尺寸為：高3.4m，寬3m，深2.6m，約2.36坪。
註2：戴翰泓 維間轉換 廢棄房屋，門、窗、牆等建築元素 20 x 20 x 6 M 2009
（台灣製造 2012台北國際藝術博覽會 新人推薦特區 專刊，p116-119)
“He” is TAI HanHong（the Artist）By Chin Yachun
When I saw that he had listed “a mezzanine” as his place of employment on Facebook, I smiled. His atelier is literally located on a staircase landing. I was there for about three hours, and, to this date, I am still uncertain on how big the place was.
What lingers in my memory is that I found myself sitting on a double chair with cushions apparently meant for guests. There was a small round stool placed between us that served as a small table. I placed my mobile phone on it alongside our coffee cups to use as an audio recorder. I sat there as he stood to my right, chatting away while he boiled water and ground coffee beans. He then walked over to a bookshelf, rifling through it to find a catalogue he wanted to show me. Suddenly, we were startled by an unexpected noise. The noise turned out to be the rain outside. I noticed a row of windows on the wall to my right, and a rack of clothes he had left hanging outside those windows. While we chatted, I mentioned the strangely designed chairs on his website. He immediately grabbed three chairs from a platform to his left and began introducing them one by one. He began to slowly meander towards what he defined as the core and identity of an “artist”. Then, overcome with curiosity, I asked him if he really lived in this small space. In response, he pointed to a corner of the ceiling. To my surprise, I found a bed installed there! I stood up to examine some photos and videos on his computer of two installation art pieces he had exhibited. I suddenly asked him, “How tall are you?” With a practiced smile, he replied, “183 cm”, as if he was no stranger to the question. As I was leaving, I asked him, “Don’t you feel cramped sleeping like this?” (Judging from what I saw, it seemed to be very cramped) He smiled again and indicated that the ceiling is surprisingly high enough for him to stand up straight on his bed.
I guessed that it was 4mx4mx4m① in size. I imagined him being able to live and work nimbly in such a limited space using his abundance of imagination and skills in craftsmanship. When I recalled the works he exhibited between 2006 and 2009②, I could clearly see how he excelled in operating within cramped spaces, which made his “mezzanine” atelier somewhat less surprising.
There was a particular art piece I regret not being able to witness in-person.
In the beginning of the documentary, I (or we) can see a set of buildings across a four-lane road. On the right, there stands a taller two-story main building. On the left, there are two connected long fences. A few other buildings are situated in the back, but they are largely obscured, making them difficult to discern. Although these mostly grey structures in the background and the asphalt road in the foreground are not awkwardly inlayed within the natural surroundings, their artificial nature is obvious. I must point out that these structures are part of an abandoned 2000 m2 chicken farm located in Liou-ying-shiang of Tainan County. After he rented the place, the artist moved into one of these two-story buildings and began building a living space/piece of installation art that would last two and a half years.
What the artist’s body experienced for us (an irreplaceable experience) is: imagine him opening the metal sluice door, which, apparently is the only entrance to the gigantic place. However, this action does not take us to the space “behind the door” as we would expect. Instead, there is a wall, which looks like the metal door but leaves no extra space for us— it is a complete shutdown laden with some frustration. There is this slightly unexpected “entrance”— a door to that two-story building. After that, we can “see” him moving his body indoors on hand, instead of foot. It is completely empty inside. There is only a connecting path (stairway), which has no way of approaching the entrance. He walks towards it and easily pushes the leaning wall on the right, revealing the entrance. The sluice gates are linked in a way so that the “opening” one sluice gate on the path simultaneously “closes” another one at the other end. He cannot pass until he turns back and immediately “closes” the gate on the path where he came from to continue on his intended path. After entering the similarly empty space on the second floor, he hangs several structures that look like swings onto iron bars located on the ceiling. They represent groups of small spaces parallel to the greater spatial setting they reside. Yet, they preserve a sense of “mobility” independent from the fixed space. Apart from swinging, they can also spin 360 degrees. If a person were to use one of those swings, it would seem that the whole room would be swinging as well (at least that’s what I would think). A similar installation also appears on the rooftop completely detached from the indoor space. The video (and this experience) ends on the balcony outside of the second floor, where the artist is rotating an indescribable contraption. From the images reflected by a rear-view mirror located near the left-hand side, we can assume that it triggers a hidden exit on the left wall of the first floor, which we (perhaps) may not have noticed opening. The artist then reverses the previous order/process and walks towards the space “behind the door”, which was previously unreachable.
I am slightly regretful not only because this was an irreplaceable experience, but it is also now forever unavailable. The two and a half years of continuous labor that gave birth to this living space/installation art met its objective, and came to a close. Since the space was an abandoned chicken farm located in a remote area in Liou-ying-shiang of Tainan County, very few visitors actually had the chance to experience this project. After graduation, he left Tainan and came to Taipei, moving into a “mezzanine” within an abandoned school where many artists had enjoyed gathering. The abandoned school is located at the foot of the mountain where TNUA is located. The space, a place of residence and art venue of sorts, was rented to a senior student until a severe typhoon-induced flood rendered that place a 2000 m2 abandoned wasteland once again. Thus, it was returned to its previous state before it was rented to the senior student…
As we near the end of this narration, I wanted to say that I obviously created certain expectations by promoting this artist and his works. Yet, it seems as if I have never come in contact with this artist’s proposed works. This may have resulted from my assumption that, although different appearances may result, his creative practices all come from the same origin— disclosing/dragging out that space (experience) which actually exists yet had never been perceived nor sensed before. In other words, this narration tries to imitate the consistent form of its protagonist, and hopes to disclose/drag out parts that actually exist, but never perceived nor sensed in these works.
① After the article was written, it was confirmed by TAI HanHong that the actual space is: 3.4 x 3 x 2.6 M, about 7.8 m2.
② TAI HanHong, Transitions between Dimensions, house in disuse, door, window, wall, stairs, etc., 20 x 20 x 6 M, 2009
(Made In Taiwan – Art Taipei Young Artist Discovery 2012 Special issue, p116-119)