​Photographer's Note

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在異國他鄉的生活，往往更能引發對自我身份的深刻思考和探尋，讓人愈發想要了解故土的歷史與文化。在翻閱資料的過程中，我發現了清朝時期一些外國人在澳門和廣州從事貿易時留下的文字記錄與繪畫，描繪了他們往返於廣州和澳門之間的水路。當時因清政府的閉關鎖國政策，廣州成為唯一的通商口岸，外國人只能在貿易季節進入廣州，其餘時間只能停留在澳門。外商們的活動受到嚴格限制，不能離開十三行，更無法進入內陸。而那條通往廣澳的水路，成了他們窺探中國的一個窗口。

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令我深感好奇的是，他們描述的水道，正是我珠江出海口的家鄉，一些我曾未了解甚至忽視的地方。他們筆下的水道風景充滿了懷舊色彩，九曲十八彎的河道上屹立著不同年代建造的寶塔，沿途點綴著寺廟、牌坊、村莊，與如今的景象大相徑庭。80年代起，珠三角經歷了劇烈的現代化變革，高壓電線、工廠、煙囪、沙船、渡輪、農田、魚塘、夕陽，到如今各地如雨後春筍般冒出的房地產、高樓大廈、高速公路，這些才是我熟悉的家鄉風景。關於本地歷史的文字記錄其實非常稀少，鄉土志也只是粗略的描述，風景繪畫更是難得。這些外商提供了一個獨特的視角，填補了我們對鄉土歷史認知的空白。

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於是我就想帶著他們的故事和繪畫，決定重走他們描述的水道。一是帶著對過去的想象重新認識家鄉，在與過去這些外商進行對話 - 他們曾作為外來者探索這片土地，而我則作為現代土生土長的人看到的是與他們如何不同的景象。第二個目的也是去感受這幾十年來現代化變革對珠江出海口風景的變化。第三個目的，也是想要去體會故土江河的靈魂。

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這些年來，我依據一張鴉片戰爭前的海防水道圖，逐一找到那些標誌地點。每到一處，便用無人機拍攝一張照片。無人機提供了一種前人未曾擁有的視角，現代而理性，彷彿地理勘查，但也是一種超凡的視界。我並不沉迷於無人機的高科技視覺效果，反而更想要去把它作為“風”、作為“雲”、作為自然的視角去觀察，賦予自然以主體性。於此同時，我也帶著相機走訪沿途的城市、村莊，帶著對過去歷史的想象去觀看當下，也透過看得見的東西去尋找一些肉眼所不能見的，譬如去想象一段歷史、一段生活，站在珠江新城的橋上，看到的不是摩天大樓，而是去透過那座淹沒在高樓中的赤崗塔去想象一個千舟萬帆的江面。有時候我也把江海想象成神明，去觀看一種推動歷史的神力，去體會時間，去感知變遷。

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童年時，我們對家鄉的地理毫無概念，只知道坐車的時候每次去不同的地方都要穿過很多很多條河。直到很久之後，才意識到我們生活在一個個被水道分割的小島上，而公路橋的建設不過是近三四十年的事，以前的人全靠船隻出行。現代化的城市建設讓我們遺忘了這片土地原本的面貌，忘卻了依山傍水的生活方式，忘卻了對故土山水的崇拜。我將珠江視作有意識的主體，而我則成為客體，來經歷這一段旅程，而它總能給我帶來很多的想象。直到去年，我才看到了林棹的《潮汐圖》一書，感嘆攝影是否能如文字般擁有豐富的想象力。我所拍攝的，也希望如書裡面那只巨蛙，描繪一個舊珠江的化身。

 

 

Living in a foreign land often prompts deeper reflection and exploration of one's identity, igniting a desire to understand the history and culture of one's homeland. While sifting through various records, I discovered writings and paintings from foreign traders in Macau and Guangzhou during the Qing Dynasty. These works depicted their journeys along the waterways between Guangzhou and Macau. Due to the Qing government's isolationist policies, Guangzhou was the only port open to foreign trade, and foreigners could only enter Guangzhou during the trading season, spending the rest of their time in Macau. Their activities were strictly limited, confined to the Thirteen Factories in Guangzhou, with no access to the inland. The water route between Guangzhou and Macau thus became their window into China.

 

What deeply intrigued me was that the waterways they described were part of my hometown at the estuary of the Pearl River, places I hardly knew or even overlooked. Their descriptions were imbued with nostalgia—winding rivers with pagodas from different eras, temples, archways, and villages along the way, all starkly different from today's scenery. Since the 1980s, the Pearl River Delta has undergone intense modernization—power lines, factories, chimneys, sandboats, ferries, farmlands, fishponds, sunsets, and now the ubiquitous real estate developments, skyscrapers, and highways. These modern elements are the landscapes I am familiar with. Historical records of the local area are scarce, with local chronicles offering only broad descriptions, and landscape paintings even rarer. These foreign traders provided a unique perspective that filled the gaps in our understanding of local history.

 

Inspired by their stories and artwork, I decided to retrace the waterways they described. My first aim was to reimagine my homeland through the lens of the past and engage in a dialogue with these historical foreign explorers—understanding how they, as outsiders, perceived this land, and contrasting it with my modern, native perspective. The second aim was to observe how decades of modernization have transformed the scenery at the mouth of the Pearl River. The third aim was to experience the soul of these ancestral waters.

 

Over the years, I have methodically matched locations from a pre-Opium War coastal defense map to their present-day counterparts. At each site, I used a drone to capture photograph. Drone provides a view that our predecessors never had—modern, rational, like a geographic survey, yet also a transcendent perspective. I am not captivated by the high-tech visuals of the drone; instead, I seek to use it to observe from the viewpoint of the "wind" and the "clouds," attributing agency to nature. Simultaneously, I have traveled with my camera through cities and villages along the way, viewing the present with the past, searching through visible elements for the invisible, such as imagining a segment of history or a life. Standing on the bridge in Zhujiang New Town, I don't just see skyscrapers; I see through the Lob-Creek Pagoda submerged among the high-rises, envisioning a river teeming with boats. Sometimes, I imagine the river and sea as deities, observe the divine forces that drive history, feel time, and sense changes.

 

As children, we had no concept of the geography of our hometown; we only knew that every car trip to different places involved crossing numerous rivers. It was much later that I realized we were living on small islands divided by waterways, and the construction of road bridges has only been a development of the last three or four decades. Previously, people relied entirely on boats for travel. Modern urban development has made us forget the original landscape of this place, as well as a way of life nestled between mountains and waters, and a reverence for the native land and waters. I view the Pearl River as a subject, while I become the object, experiencing this journey, which always brings me much imagination. It wasn't until last year that I read Lin Zhao's novel "Tidal Map" , I kept marvelled at whether photography could possess the rich imagination of literature. I hope that my photographs, like that giant frog in the book, can depict an embodiment of the old Pearl River.