STUDIO PHANTASM

In recent years, Beijing's air pollutants has dropped precipitously, at a rate far exceeding natural repair. The blue sky above us is not so much "repaired" as it is precisely "manufactured". Then, looking up at this unnatural clear sky, what is the feeling of the people living in this land? Going to the Shougang ruins on a cloudy day, I walked among the cooled boilers and chimneys. The huge cooling towers and towering chimneys silently stand there, reminding us that Beijing's stifling smog in the past was largely created by such grand, rough industrial landscapes. Then I went to the world's loneliest high-speed railway station—Tianjin Binhai Station. Walking on the streets, there's a dull and strange atmosphere in the air. Through the glass curtain wall of the 31-story hotel room, all I saw was a misty gray. To "manufacture blue skies" in this grayness, I subscribed to Capture One, and for the first time, earnestly adjusted the tones of photos in RAW format...

2010年代以来，北京的空气污染物呈断崖式下降，其速度远超自然规律所能及。我们头顶的蓝天，与其说是被“修复”，不如说是被精密地“制造”。那么，生活在“京津冀”这片土地上的人们，望着这制造出的澄澈苍穹，览物之情，得无异乎？ 3月15日前往首钢园时，正逢一个灰蒙的阴天。冷静的光影下，我穿行于早已冷却的锅炉与烟囱之间。原先输送滚烫工业原料的粗大管道，如今铺上了木栈道，成了供人观赏的步道。巨大的冷却塔和高耸入云的烟囱，沉默地肃立着，向我们诉说一个事实：北京曾经令人窒息的雾霾，很大部分便是由这般宏大、粗犷的工业景观造就的。 3月21日与22日，我又前往了世界上最孤独的高铁站——天津滨海站。它是世界上最大的下沉式车站，却只与北京南相连。走在街头，你能感到四周的空气笼罩着一种沉闷而奇异的氛围。等我抵达31层酒店的房间，满怀期待地拉开窗帘，透过巨大的玻璃幕墙，看到的只有一片迷蒙的灰。为了在这片灰色中“制造蓝天”，我订阅了 Capture One，平生第一次，认认真真地用 RAW 格式去修理照片的影调……

Typically, pressing the shutter is an act of withdrawal. When I hide behind the camera, I am shielded from the biting wind of the Shougang ruins, the monumental chill of the reservoir dam, or the suffocating silence of an old, dying home. Placing a fumo in the frame started perhaps as a subcultural habit, but it gradually turned into a photographic question: what happens when a purely "soft fiction" is thrown into an unyielding reality? It is no longer a cute prop placed in front of beautiful scenery to "enjoy" the view for me. Instead, it becomes a proxy for my absence. It sits symmetrically beneath the cross-stitch "Home is a warm shore," enduring the weight of departure; it has nowhere to hide from gravity, harsh studio strobes, or winter ice. As the ancient text laments, "Yet living here, there is much to rejoice in, and much to grieve." It stays in the frame, feeling what I, safely detached behind the lens, cannot.

通常来说，按下快门是一个"退出"的动作。当我躲在相机背后时，我就安全地隔绝了首钢园的寒风、水库大坝的冷酷，或是那个即将告别的老屋里令人窒息的死寂。把 fumo 放进画面，最初或许只是受众圈子里的一种习惯，但渐渐地，它变成了一个摄影上的提问：当一个纯粹的"柔软虚构"被扔进"不退让的现实"中，会发生什么？它不再是那种放在美景前替我去"打卡享受"的可爱道具，而是成为了一个缺席的替身。它端坐在那幅"家是温暖的岸"的十字绣下，承受着离别的重量；它在重力、刺目的闪光灯和坚冰面前无处可躲。正如古文所叹："然余居于此，多可喜，亦多可悲。"它留在了画面里，替那个置身事外的我，去感受这一切真实。

Tools mediate our relationship with the ice. Wooden chairs embody the "desirable difficulty" of childhood learning, while handmade sleds reveal the resilience of age through adaptation. Finally, youthful imagination projects the pure sensation of sliding onto a warm psychological vessel—a plush avatar that feels what we cannot. And something pure, without thoughts.

工具介入了我们与冰的关系。木椅体现了童年学习中"合意的困难"，而手工定制的雪橇则通过对环境的适应，展现出了岁月的韧性。最后，青春的想象力将滑行那种纯粹的感官体验，投射到一个温暖的心理容器上——一个替我们去感受的毛绒化身。以及某种纯粹的、毫无杂念的东西。