相見歡 春紅
La Serre
Oil, acrylic, ballast, sand, cement, ash, bronze and iron rust on canvas
120 x 160cm, 2022-23
林花謝了春紅,太匆匆。無奈朝來寒雨晚來風。
胭脂淚,相留醉,幾時重。自是人生長恨水長東。
––––李煜
On Hortus Conclusus 寓形於兩間
What does “Hortus Conclucus” mean?
In Latin, hortus conclusus translates to “enclosed garden.” In Medieval and Renaissance art and literature, it is both an emblematic attribute and a title associated with the Virgin Mary. A virgin who relies on no earthly male, embodying the concept of Immaculate Conception—a fusion of the divine and earthly, as the author of life, father and mother in one.
Why call this painting series “Hortus Conclusus”?
The symbolic resonance of the term, particularly its role as “conceiver and creator,” naturally speaks to an artist. Goethe’s final line in Faust—“The Eternal Feminine leads us aloft”—comes to mind. Additionally, the enclosed garden evokes innocence and protection. Think of Juliet’s garden in Romeo and Juliet or the Grand View Garden in The Dream of the Red Chamber (《紅樓夢》中的大觀園)—spaces where fragile love can take root, shielded from the chaos and destruction of the external world.
After completing a Bachelor’s in Commerce, a Master’s in filmmaking, and a graduate course in Chinese art history—not to mention brief stints in advertising, at a Contemporary Art museum, and in an auction house—I found myself disenchanted with the material world. I yearned for a spiritual enclosure where I could immerse myself in art, a pursuit through which I sought love in its purest form. I began by establishing a boundary that insulated me from the loveless distractions of the external world, creating a sanctuary where love could grow and flourish. It is no coincidence that the word “paradise” itself originates from the idea of an enclosed garden.
Looking back, I believe this schism—between the external and internal, the loveless and the loving, life and art—spurred my sudden leap into painting at age 27 and shaped my journey as an artist. Through art, I seek to reconcile these opposites, moving toward a transcendent unity. For me, art is a passion toward the whole.
In that sense, Hortus Conclusus represents my odyssey as a modern individual in search of a soul. Like Goethe’s lifelong quest for meaning in Faust or Odysseus’s journey homeward, this series narrates my own spiritual adventure. As Joyce writes in Ulysses, “The longest way round is the shortest way home.”
What do these paintings depict?
This series spans a vast range of themes and subjects—from past to present, from East to West, from landscapes to portraits, from myths to politics. Yet the unifying thread is the exploration of two fundamental aspects of being: boundaries and duality.
In everything, there exists its opposite. Boundaries distinguish one thing from another; without separation, existence itself is impossible. It is through these boundaries, these distinctions, that we understand and construct our world.
My work delves into the tensions and transitions between opposing forces—life and death, spirit and matter, light and shadow, order and chaos, ideal and real, eternal and ephemeral. These dualities are not static opposites but dynamic counterparts, engaged in a perpetual process of transformation. Each contains the seed of the other, echoing the Taoist principle of enantiodromia, where opposites inevitably reverse and metamorphose into one another.
Instead of directly translating Hortus Conclusus, I chose the Chinese title “寓形於兩間,” meaning “taking shape between the two.” This phrase, drawn from Wang Fuzhi’s commentary on Zhuangzi (王夫之《莊子解》), reflects the interplay between boundaries and dualities. It suggests that existence itself arises from this ongoing process of transformation and balance between opposing forces.
Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain encapsulates this idea in a dialogue between Dr. Behrens and Castorp:
“What is death?”
“Oxidation.”
“What is life?”
“Oxidation.”
Life is dying.
相見歡 春紅 / La Serre (detail)
相見歡 春紅 / La Serre (detail)
相見歡 春紅 / La Serre (detail)