可以說“小說月報(bào)”是一批十分強(qiáng)調(diào)地域性色彩的繪畫，所充塞的形象是屬于我們自己的。從視覺上來講，這些繪畫可能會(huì)給人一種似食物半生不熟，難以下咽的生澀印象——生硬的色彩，呆板的人物姿態(tài)，以及在風(fēng)格方面看似對早期土油畫的有意無意地摹仿。我將自己這些繪畫所暴露出的意圖，看作是在做一次清醒的撤退——一方面是退回自己身體內(nèi)部，可以解釋為內(nèi)向性與記憶化的，帶有吸允性質(zhì)的，甚至是自我嘲諷的；另一方面則是意味著漠視時(shí)尚，像收撿舊貨一般撿回一些值得玩味的繪畫樣式和手段，從新拆裝以期從過時(shí)的繪畫語匯中吸取熱量。這是一種刻意的保守姿態(tài)。當(dāng)有人面對這些繪畫時(shí)說：“你畫的這些人物是你自己么？”或說“你的畫給人一種既陌生又非常熟悉的感覺?！崩蠈?shí)說這類看法令我覺得滿意。但這不夠。我畫畫是認(rèn)為繪畫在今天仍具有觸人心脾的能量，能夠帶給我們許多已經(jīng)匱乏的記憶力。繪畫可以使我擺脫貧困的吞噬以及給蒼白的時(shí)光涂抹上一些顏色的愿望變?yōu)榭赡?。繪畫可以給我?guī)砉铝⒌目旄小?BR> 另外，我喜歡繪畫在當(dāng)今倍受冷落的境遇，只是在這樣一個(gè)角度：繪畫的“過時(shí)感”在我看來，它恰恰可能成為繪畫在今天存在的意義，它以這樣的方式發(fā)人深省，激動(dòng)人心，我是說繪畫被拋入到充滿活力的自言自語式的吟詠獨(dú)白的角色之中。我以為這是今天繪畫存在的真相，我在力圖使自己的工作能夠證明這一看法。
——這些作品模擬了一些并非存在的“場面”，是一些虛構(gòu)，更是一種氣息。我反復(fù)使用了一些單調(diào)的色彩與近乎重復(fù)的形象，我的企圖就是質(zhì)地化某種我仿佛可以觸摸得到的氣息。形象與色彩在這里象構(gòu)成音色的音粒，使我試圖把握的，若隱若現(xiàn)隱匿于其中，盡管畫面中的人物們是刻意打扮的結(jié)果（順便說，我并不清楚他們是如何身份，是誰？再說這并不重要）。其實(shí)“打扮”并沒有什么具體的含義，只不過是為了滿足我刻畫某類質(zhì)地的歡娛感而已。我讓人物們穿上硬梆梆的工褲，套上靴子戴上帽子——就類似我喜歡用顏色描述沙土泥地一樣，在我的畫面中，土丘與荒地總是有機(jī)會(huì)被描述出來。說穿了在我的繪畫中， 形象是缺少動(dòng)機(jī)的，或是說不象現(xiàn)實(shí)主義繪畫所依賴的那類視覺規(guī)則——形象負(fù)載著明確的動(dòng)機(jī)與目的駛向遠(yuǎn)方的不毛之地......
“屬于我們的”種種場面故事，天空土地和文字，是些混亂駁雜的信息的情節(jié)和圖象拼湊，與其說似有所指不如說含糊其辭倒更為精當(dāng)些。我喜歡暗示的動(dòng)機(jī)勝過暗示。我喜歡喪失掉目的性的形象。我也喜歡搬用形象。喜歡描繪不可能描繪的東西，比如氣味和聲音。還有我討厭非此即彼。
圖象的曖昧性是繪畫的本能和權(quán)利。我一向認(rèn)為畫家應(yīng)該有意識(shí)的“享樂”這一“規(guī)則”。大多數(shù)現(xiàn)實(shí)主義繪畫是帶有很強(qiáng)烈的“禁欲”色彩的繪畫，因而圖象所包含的信息也是具有明確動(dòng)機(jī)和目的，因而從本質(zhì)上來說也是貧困的。再這個(gè)意義上，“小說月報(bào)”所流露出的繪畫意識(shí)，與現(xiàn)實(shí)主義的繪畫原則相對立。
……有一瞬間，我仿佛覺得自己的腦袋是一棟堆滿了雜物的庫房，畫畫就像是推開了這間倉庫的大門，當(dāng)我在平面上試圖呈現(xiàn)那些雜亂的物什的時(shí)候，發(fā)現(xiàn)它們就在這時(shí)候消失得無影無蹤，除了那些物什所散發(fā)出令人暈眩、使人沉迷的氣息外，眼前只是一片空曠。因此，當(dāng)我開始工作，所面對的只能是這種看不見得存在。
從某種意義上來講，我的繪畫就是一次次努力逼進(jìn)這種氣息的結(jié)果；是接近它確定它的唯一途徑和手段。這種氣息對于我?guī)状_切又莫名，比我們賴以存在的這個(gè)世界要真實(shí)的多，可信的多。
The "Short Story Magazine" By Wang Yin The paintings in the Short Story Magazine series, composed of images that "belong to us", can give the impression that I concentrated on "regional" schemes of tone. Visually, these paintings make us think of undercooked food difficult to swallow. They seem rough: the colors are harsh, the postures stereotyped, and the style suggests a semiconscious reference to early Chinese oil paintings. I think they express my original intention to make a sober retreat - in one sense returning to inside my own body, which could be interpreted as a tendency towards introspection and calling up of memory, a tendency colored by the desire to draw from the past, even a kind of self-mockery. In another sense, my approach represents a certain aversion to what is fashionable: just as other people collect used objects, I recuperate techniques and ways of painting that seem to me worthy of consideration. This attitude is deliberately conservational. When someone looking at my work said, "Aren”t you painting yourself through these subjects?" and "Your paintings convey a feeling that”s both strange and very familiar at the same time", to tell the truth, I was pleased. But that was not enough. If I paint, it”s because I believe that painting today can still have the power to touch our hearts and revive long since wilted memories. Painting offers a possibility to my aspirations, the hope of breaking away from poverty, the hope of heightening the colors of pale days. When I paint, I take pleasure in being alone. But, even though I like to paint in today”s condition of ever increasing solitude, it is because the impression given by a painting of "obsoleteness" might be exactly what gives meaning to the fact that paintings still exist today. It is their way of raising questions and stimulating thinking. By that, I mean that painting has been relegated to the function of those great actors whose only remaining form of expression was the soliloquy. I am convinced that this is our present condition and I try to demonstrate this point with my work. These works simulate scenes that have never existed in reality; they are completely fictional, an atmosphere more than anything else. I used monotonous colors in a repetitive way and images that are almost "cut-and-paste". My intention was to give form to certain currents of energy that are sometimes palpable to me. Images and colors only serve here to create a timbre, to make appear, in a stealthy or evident manner, what I intended to capture. This is in spite of the fact that the subjects are deliberately "dressed" (incidentally, I have absolutely no idea who they are, or any idea about their identity and that, furthermore, I don”t care). It is useless to look for a concrete meaning in the way they are "dressed" - in so doing I was only trying to satisfy my desire to represent certain textures. I made them put on the austere clothing and boots of workers and I made them wear caps in the same way I like to paint sand, earth, and dust - in my paintings you are almost always certain to come across a dusty hill or fallow ground. It can be said that the images that appear in my paintings have no raison d”etre or that they have no relation to the vehicle of visual impressions which constitute the basis of realistic painting, images that carry a blatantly obvious meaning or intention and whose direct consequence is sterility. The writings, landscapes, and stories that "belong to us" are collages of scenes and images, expressing a confusion of information that can probably be more accurately described as obscure than evocative. I prefer the spirit of evocation to direct evocation. I like pictures without precise intentions. I like to transpose images. I like to paint what cannot be painted, such as a flavor or a sound. And I hate having to be either this or that. Ambiguity is an instinct and a prerogative of painting. I have always thought that painters should consciously "take advantage" of this premise. Most realistic paintings have a very "ascetic" quality making the intention and subject of their images so clearly defined that the paintings are deprived of vitality. In this respect, the graphic style used in the paintings of the Short Story Magazine is diametrically opposed to the principles of this kind of realistic painting. There are moments when my brain feels like a warehouse filled with miscellaneous bric-a-brac. Painting should be a way to open the doors of this warehouse, but when I try to represent these objects on canvas, I see they have disappeared without a trace. Apart from the vertiginous and addictive feeling they impart, all that remains before me is emptiness. That is why, when I start working, what confronts me is invisible. In a sense, my painting is the result of repeated attempts to capture this impression. The only manner and the only way to approach it. Because this atmosphere, which is both vague and precise, is far more real and believable than the world on which we depend. 1997
