伏流現身的地方，是在表面。太直接太赤裸，你忽然看不懂――白漆從壽桃的身上滑落，血從乩童的雙頰滑落――你要，跟著它流。不要停在知覺命名的狀態，流下去，不要進入視覺馴化的文化敘事，流下去，不要怕你不能透過定位它來定位你自己，不要怕惶然迷失，不要怕你的內在伏流被勾引出來。

從它所是脫困，線條掙脫形似的摹擬而化為自然的刮擦紋理。你看見時間的痕跡，看見毀和棄的生命張力，在渾沌和裂痕之間，竟有那樣美的光線和色澤。岳凌的第一本攝影集《Raw Soul》和這本《伏流》的開場，都要我們凝視一張「面」。取消空間深度，岳凌敞開了一個看似封閉的「象」：背對的人和緊掩的門。重要的並非探問另一邊有什麼，而是把眼前的這一個表面當作唯一的世界。它不指向什麼，它已經是什麼――純粹視象的形色之美，無需轉化為喻體，它已是伏流本身。

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《伏流》呈現了兩種靜止的運動，既是猶疑、未定、介於穩定與崩落之間的懸垂狀態，也是篤實、確鑿、緊密深刻的承諾。懸垂的紗網、懸垂的紅布、懸垂的壁畫手臂、懸垂的破洞、懸垂的枯葉、懸垂的眼神，它們如此等重於牢牢扶持的手、牢牢張貼在牆上的褪色照片和愛心、牢牢刺進肉身的關公聖像、牢牢纏結的白斑樹幹、牢牢對摺的紙錢、牢牢插進樹根的紅香。岳凌凝視破敗的旺盛野性，凝視不朽的虔敬心意，《伏流》是台灣當代的搜神記，留住了嘉南平原的神話場景。

背上流動的血、墓地上蓬勃的草、地表上塌陷的廟脊神獸……，逐一在岳凌的凝視中，恢復神性。他讓每一個「面」，無論是背面、表面、牆面、斷面，保有它原生的伏流，靜待事物自我揭露――不是岳凌看見它，而是它讓岳凌看見，或更準確地說：它讓岳凌參與它被顯現的歷程，展示時間和命運的流動與乾涸。伏流於是從攝影內容流向了攝影者自身的創作態度，返回「徵象」的本源位置：不是岳凌說了什麼，而是他願意讓世界在他面前綻露各自的語言。

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岳凌讓創作的主體意志撤離、退隱、伏流化，但若存在本身就會自我揭示，那麼，攝影創作者的存在意義是什麼？《伏流》讓我們懂得：觀看是一種拒絕意義化的倫理承擔，編輯是一種開放意義混融的構形政治――意義的伏流在影像的編輯排序中湧竄出來，令每一個徵象交織出一個更龐大更繁複的身體。

土地上的陣頭一如神桌上的香灰，身上的神明刺青線條一如攀緣金爐的藤蔓，傾斜而虯勁向上生長的樹木一如朝著虛空走去的流血乩童……，看似無關的畫面相互應答，像夢的意識那樣頑強，於現實表面泛起無形的漣漪，在非敘事的結構中創造出一種詩意的秩序，牽引出萬物共在共感的神祕網絡。

岳凌的《Raw Soul》展露了象徵的詩藝，將尋常的物象魔幻化，傳遞異質的美感經驗；《伏流》實踐了發現的詩藝，直視物就是物，不閃躲，不轉化，要我們跟他一樣勇敢地投入「表象就是本質」的觀看哲學中，如同這本攝影集最後的那一張照片――傾頹、孤絕卻執傲地蔓生――這是對生命伏流最堅定的臣服和致敬。​​​

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李岳凌 Yehlin LEE

《Untitled，台南大內 | Untitled, Danei, Tainan》

56.25x42.2cm, Ed.7+2AP

檔案級紙本藝術微噴 Archival Pigment Print on Hahnemühle Photo Rag Baryta

​2022

​​Undercurrent reveals itself on the surface. So direct, so bare, that you don’t know what to make of it—white paint slips down the body of a longevity peach; blood runs down the cheeks of a tâng-ki[1]—you must follow its flow. Do not stop at the state of naming your perceptions. Keep flowing. Do not fall into the cultural narrative of visual perceptions. Keep flowing. Do not fear being unable to orient yourself by defining it. Do not fear disorientation. Do not fear your own undercurrent being stirred.

 

Freed from its original state, the line escapes mimetic likeness and becomes a natural abrasion. You see the traces of time, the tensions of life shaped by ruin and abandonment. And between chaos and rupture, unexpectedly, such beautiful light and color emerge.

 

The very first photographs in Yehlin’s Raw Soul and Undercurrent both lead us to gaze upon a mian[2] (面). Spatial depth is annulled, and Yehlin opens what appears to be a sealed xiang[3] (象): a person turned away, a tightly shut door. The point is not to inquire what lies beyond. It is to treat this surface before us as the only world. It does not point to anything. It already is—the pure visual beauty of form and color. No need to transform it into metaphor: it is undercurrent itself.

 

• [1] Tâng-ki (乩童): A spirit medium who becomes possessed by deities in Taiwanese folk religion.

• [2] Mian (面): In Chinese, this character commonly means "surface" or "face,” but in aesthetic contexts, it often refers to a visual plane or frontal presence that resists depth or narrative penetration. It emphasizes the immediacy of appearance and the confrontation with form.

• [3] Xiang (象): A complex concept in Chinese aesthetics, often translated as “image” or “form.” Beyond visual resemblance, it refers to symbolic configurations that express the formless through form. In classical texts such as the I Ching, xiang mediates between appearance and meaning, functioning as a perceptual and metaphysical bridge. In contrast to mian (面), which emphasizes surface immediacy and resists symbolic interpretation, xiang gestures toward interiority and the latent presence of meaning.

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Undercurrent presents two modes of still movement: one is a suspended state—hesitant, unresolved, hanging between stability and collapse; the other is a grounded, certain, deeply etched commitment. The suspended gauze net, the suspended red cloth, the suspended arm in the mural, the suspended rupture, the suspended withered leaf, the suspended gaze, all held in equal weight against the firmly gripping hands, the faded photograph and heart[1] firmly pasted to the wall, the statue of Guan Yu[2] firmly embedded in flesh, the firmly tangled trunk of the mottled tree, the firmly folded joss paper[3], the red incense firmly inserted into the roots. Yehlin gazes at the unruly wildness on the verge of collapse, gazes at the undying sincerity of reverence. Undercurrent becomes a contemporary Record of Searching for the Spirits, preserving the mythic topography of the Chianan Plain.

 

The blood flowing across a back, the grass flourishing over a grave, the ridge beast on the collapsed roof of a temple—one by one, under Yuhlin’s gaze, they regain their divinity. He allows every mian (面)—be it the reverse, the surface, the wall, or the cross-section—to retain its original undercurrent, patiently awaiting each thing to reveal itself. And each thing is not merely something Yehlin sees, rather, it is something that enables him to see. Or more precisely: something that enables him to participate in the process of manifestation, where the flows and desiccations of time and fate are revealed. Thus, the undercurrent flows not only through the photographed content, but also into the attitude of the photographer himself, returning to the primal locus of zhengxiang (徵象)[4]: it is not what Yehlin declares, but that he allows the world to unfold its languages before him.

 

• [1] The heart shape here refers to a visual stylization of the lower half of the Chinese character 囍 (double happiness), a symbol commonly used in Taiwanese weddings and folk iconography. In this case, it has been reinterpreted as a heart motif and affixed to a wall, blurring the sacred and the decorative.

• [2] Guan Yu: A deified historical figure from the Three Kingdoms era of China, worshipped as a god of loyalty, war, and righteousness in various folk and religious traditions across East Asia. In Taiwanese folk belief, he is often enshrined as a protective deity and martial guardian.

• [3] Also known as spirit money or ghost money, Joss paper is paper burned in traditional Chinese religious rituals as an offering to ancestors or deities. The folded form, often resembling ingots or symbolic currency, signifies material respect sent to the spiritual world.

• [4]Zhengxiang (徵象): A term referring to meaningful signs or symbolic manifestations, often used in semiotics and traditional Chinese cosmology. In this context, it may refer to visual or material phenomena that resonate relationally—more than representations, they reveal a poetic or spiritual presence in the world.

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Yehlin withdraws the authorial will from creation, letting it recede, letting it become an undercurrent. But if the world reveals itself of its own accord, then what, exactly, is the photographer’s role? Undercurrent reveals this: that to see is an ethical commitment to resist the imposition of meaning, and that to edit is a politics of morphological openness—where meaning’s undercurrents surge forth through the sequencing of images, causing each zhengxiang (徵象) to intertwine into a vaster, more intricate body.

 

The temple troupes on the ground echo the incense ash atop the altar; the deity tattoos on the skin mirror the vines coiling around the censer; the trees leaning and twisting upward in forceful growth resonate with the bloodied tâng-ki (乩童) walking toward the void—images that at first appear unrelated begin to respond to one another. Tenacious as the consciousness of a dream, they ripple invisibly across the surface of reality. Within a non-narrative structure, a poetic order emerges, drawing forth a mysterious network where all things exist and feel together.

 

Yehlin’s Raw Soul revealed a poetics of symbolism, transforming ordinary objects into something magical, transmitting an experience of heterogenous beauty. Undercurrent, by contrast, enacts a poetics of discovery: to see the thing as the thing itself. No avoidance, no transformation. It calls on us to join him in a philosophy of seeing, one that dares to believe that appearance is essence. It is like the final photograph in this photobook—a tree, slanted, solitary, yet growing defiantly: the most unwavering surrender and homage to the undercurrent of life.

李岳凌 Yehlin LEE

《廟門，台南新營 | Temple Door, Xinyin, Tainan》

56.25x42.2cm, Ed.7+2AP

檔案級紙本藝術微噴 Archival Pigment Print on Hahnemühle Photo Rag Baryta

​2021