Create Deity, and Find the Spirit in the Box

Author/Zhiyi Wang

Finally, I climbed the mountain and reached the temple. Next to the door of the temple, you could see the shiny stone left and right that had been stroked by the hands of countless religious men and women over the years. I stepped over the high stone steps and received a pillar of incense from the monk by the door, then passed a step again to enter the inside hall. The main hall showed a Buddha statue as the main sight of the temple. Interesting was: the more priceless statues were, the often they were kept in a sealed glass box, for people to admire.

Went a few steps further, I saw three futons in front of the alms-box: the most worn in the middle, the least worn on either side.Kneeling in the middle, looking up at the glass box,bodies feeling the creases in the futon surface imprinted by human limbs after countless movements, we lowered our heads, and god seemed to be watching us, too. I began to petition.

I think maybe each of us is searching for our true god on earth. Believe it or not, too many things hang in the balance. The boundary is very ambiguous, but it seems to be unusually firm. Zhai yi and I have known each other for many years. I have seen her describe monks hurrying along under the moon, unknown wildfires in the cedar canopy, the meteor that strikes cloud as well as the finger pointing at the moon……. Artists are good at creating deity, but what really scares and impresses me are also the mazes created by them.

It is not bloody mazes, and the images themselves are not scary or unbearable. In these artificial obstacles, the creatures created by the artist are: hunting tigers, running white horses, birds and cranes… They are very comfortable in the box, shuttle between. I prefer to compare zhai yi to an architect, then, because from the start she has been quietly building her own “ego space” to satisfy her own imagination. Here, the artist fills and bestows on the walls of these “Spaces” ——those deified fragments that she sees at ordinary times, wants to express, and is difficult to balance together. And all these creatures, again by the artist’s hand by the three-dimensional image of the box to connect the fragments of many images, unified into a new organic life.

In many teachings, “folding” is a kind of practice, because it can temper one’s mind and improve one’s will. Obviously, boxes made of paper don’t last long. They’re highly flammable and fragile. In the space, this “paper” is intentionally cut, disassembled, kneaded and folded by the artist… They compete with the artificial images on the facade of the space: Japanese Ukiyo paintings, Qinglong temple murals in Jishan, Han dynasty stone sculptures in Xuzhou, and ancient Chinese erotic paintings. They reproduce images that are stronger and more fragile than paper. At this time, we have to spend patience and perseverance to probe understand the contrast between images,as well as the artist’s mental dynamic spirit.

At the same time, I also think of the ancient times: a roll of silk slowly spread out, we by the light of the candle secretly look, is to “peep”. And when we see these boxes in all their different shapes hanging in the air today, we can — see them above board. We looked at the things we could only see through peeping eyes: the bodies of men and women, the twin birds of the jadas, the caskets of upside-down paper, the secrets that grew out of the ears, the wonders of the waning moon and the full moon glowing together — clouds on the upper left side, rain on the lower side — bamboo branches connecting the upper and lower boxes, clouds forming into rain, and finally water on the right — and the eye.

At this point, I suddenly understand why we look into these hidden situations with such fear and trepidation: who on earth can look at the maze in the sky? That could not be human. When I get up, open my eyes again, and look at the creatures in the painting, I seem to be back in the original temple: the Buddha in the glass box has disappeared, a wick of incense has gone out, the incense in the central hall has not yet dissipated……I retreat, open the door, ready to go down the mountain. The ancient trees beside the temples are hung with red silk with wishes and appeals. Standing for a while, I silently read the divination on the door: “All things, such as dream bubble, such as dew,such as lightning——they are like phantoms. Let us not cling to them and be bound by them”. Then I look to the sky, recalling those pictures: very strange, always feel a pair of eyes, are watching me.