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圖片說明 Captions：
1. - 5. 天台塾策劃的亞洲種子泰國研學之旅，2018年8月  Rooftop Institute''s ''Asia Seed'' trip to Thailand in August 2018
攝影：約翰百德 Photographs: John Batten



Below is a simple story that was included in an exhibition at ACO in Wan Chai about Rooftop Institute''s ''Asia Seed'' trip to Thailand in August 2018, which I joined with 4 secondary students and 4 artists = in total there were 9 of us. A letter (in English and Chinese) was put in a box with about thirty photographs, with descriptions explaining each photograph. Below is the story and a selection of photographs that were in the box. On the box was this note to visitors of the exhibition:

欣賞《那盒屬於舅舅的照片》前，請先細閱以此為靈感的故事。
Before looking at My Uncle’s Box of Photographs – please read the story, in Chinese or English (Please scroll down).


[故事]

那盒屬於舅舅的照片
2018年9月1日
香港上環


這盒照片藏於舅父舊足球物品之中，放在一個門內掛著蔘茸店女郎月曆的衣櫃裡。舅父兩年前了離開香港，留下了上環祖屋老房的睡房，現在已當作儲物房。

幾星期前，我們收到一封附上鎖匙的信，內容是請我媽媽到上環郵局郵政信箱33-713號收取郵包。這是我常來的地方，大學之後會為家裡的公司處理瑣事，也賺點零用錢。我拿著包得妥妥當當，通常載有瓶裝產品的郵包，到郵局量重、填表和蓋印，再在郵包貼上郵票，每次都會禮貌地對職員說：「請給我最新發行的郵票」。

我們的客戶，特別是美國德州休斯頓的曾先生，每次都收到最新的香港郵票都特別高興。他喜歡近期推出的颱風信號郵票和趣味數字版本（對，就是一組以1至9數字為設計的款式，他當然明白8早已售罄）。他告訴我，他會小心處理這些郵票，然後送給他愛錫的孫兒。我常以為小朋友會寧願收到新的電子郵戲，又或使用Spotify的預付金額。但曾先生心裡可能另有想法：小孩長大一點後，能透過郵票欣賞和想起老人家。

我打開郵箱，裡面已經放有一個郵包，但上面沒有貼上郵票，也沒有郵戳。它並不是郵寄而來，而是放在郵箱內的。

舅父在家中排行最小，媽媽排行最大，她另外還有兩個弟弟。小舅父和其他兄弟姊妹顯然不同。他很有想法，文靜，熱愛音與藝術。他比我只年長三年，像我哥哥多於像我舅父：我們會開心地一同抽煙（以我來說，有幾年是不當的做法），然後會在他的車上以低音強勁的音響播放Metallica。我的朋友們，很羨慕他又厚又長的頭髮和鋼筋一樣的運動員大腿，說他「火辣」，這個評價通常只會讓嗤之以鼻，他們應該往別的地方看！

離家之前，他常常說笑自己要成為外科醫生。他說：「但首先我要當個紋身師，這樣可以訓練手定！」也許與當醫生這想法最接近的，就是在外公創辦的家族藥油生意中工作。他常納悶於店裡的工作，不喜歡要向顧客笑臉迎人， 還得和那些在永樂街推著手推車跑上跑落、要向舅父拿煙抽的送貨工人稱兄道弟。他們永遠都赤膊上陣，並在下腹位置縛上一條毛巾，以防止在抬起重重的鹹魚箱子（又或諷刺地，我們以龍紋標記聞名的藥油箱子）時出現疝氣。 我們家賣的藥油是外用的，可以紓緩頭痛，但功效大概僅此而已。

回到家中，我把原封未動的郵包交給媽媽。她看了一眼，感到郵包輕輕的，再看看我說：「就是這個？沒有其他的？」

「是的，只有這個。」我交回那個裝著郵箱鎖匙的信封。

「可是上面沒有郵票！」

「我也看到，一定是有人直接放到郵箱裡了。」

她小心地剪開郵包周圍，裡面是許多不同的照片和一封小心地摺好的信，收信人寫著媽媽的名字。她面無表情地讀完後交給了我。

「我很好，現時在泰國的清邁和曼谷兩邊住，打些散工，然後每年有3個月在有機稻田當義工。我也為到訪泰國的旅客當導遊。他們來自香港、馬來西亞，而且越來越多廣東團體旅客。工作給我足夠的生活費。我在做自己一直想做的，畫畫和拍片；一些以相似短篇畫作拍成的短篇定格動畫，就是那些你年輕時候一直都很害怕（雖然你年紀比我大）的古怪畫作。我知道你認為藝術家是沒希望的工作，但把生命花在店的話，我來說就像被判死刑一樣。你懂的。你是唯一一個懂我的人。我最近遇上了一群來自香港的學生和藝術家，我帶他們遊覽清邁……

「媽媽，他當了藝術家！」我滿臉驚奇地抬起頭來。

她彈彈手中煙灰，然後用手撥開臉上想像出來的頭髮。

「……這些是我拍下的一些照片；我沒有被拍進任何照片內。這群香港訪客在清邁留了4天，我帶他們到了 Pun Pun有機農莊，我每年在那裡幫手種米的地方。你看到的美妙風景，正是由我睡覺的共居廳看出去，遠望山谷的景色。我們也探訪了一個以失敗告終的藝術家社區，名叫Land Foundation。社區在等待重生；現在只是一堆空置建築物，但卻是建築師過去的夢想。我們到過新的當代藝術博物館，一個連香港也沒有的地方！我帶他們到爵士吧，然後漫步街上。其中一名藝術家向同學展示偶然相遇如何可以帶來更深入的瞭解……嗯，我想是瞭解生命吧。主辦單位向學生介紹觀察、瞭解和欣賞世界與其他文化的創意方法。其他照片則是在曼谷拍的。我沒有前往––他們都是由組織送來找我的。你該認得出唐人街的街道和Jim Thompson House，那些多年以前，我們年輕時候，全家一起渡假時，媽媽和爸爸帶我們到訪過的地方。那些地方沒有太大改變。」

我一面讀信時，媽媽一面翻看照片。

「我需要遠離香港一段時間。抱歉沒有和你聯絡；但你知道，香港各種問題、爭拗和政治，我實在看夠聽夠了。我只是需要離開一段時間。種植稻米和畫畫對心靈都有好處。現在比較冷靜。我把這箱子寄給香港的藝術家，他們的組織名為Rooftop Institute，是他們幫我把箱子放進我舊郵箱中讓你收到的。我只是想跟你報個平安，我在這裡的生活，比家裡老店可提供的精彩得多。但，就如金鐘最後一天那些雨傘運動孩子說過……我會回來的。」

媽媽拿過信，小心地把它摺好，再放回郵包內，著我把放回老家舅父的衣櫃內。

那就是我放著郵包的地方。等待舅父回來。

他在信的最後位置寫了這麼一行：「我記下了一些Rooftop Institute藝術家到過的地方。請也在那裡想起我。」

我們一家很高興可以在Rooftop Institute舉行是次展覽期間暫時借出那箱照片。

www.rooftopinstitute.org/asiaseed/


中文譯本： Aulina Chan

[a story]

by John Batten


My Uncle’s Box of Photographs
1 September 2018
Sheung Wan, Hong Kong

This box of photographs is tucked under my uncle''s old football gear in a wardrobe with a calendar-girl calendar from a ginseng shop posted on the inside wardrobe door. My uncle had abandoned his bedroom in our old family-owned Sheung Wan flat, that doubles as a warehouse, when he left Hong Kong two years ago.

We received a letter with a key in it a few weeks ago, asking my mother, my uncle''s sister, to collect a parcel from P.O. Box 33-713 at the Sheung Wan Post Office. It was a place I regularly visit doing the company’s errands after university, earning some pocket money. I take my carefully wrapped parcels, usually containing packed bottles, to be weighed and forms checked and chopped, and, postage stamps stuck to the parcel, always politely requesting, "the latest stamp issue, please."

Our customers, especially Mr Tsang in Houston (Texas, USA), always appreciate the latest Hong Kong stamps. He liked the recent weather signal issue and the numbers issue (yes, a designed numbers set of ''1'' to ''9'' except number ''8'', which was understandably sold-out). These, he told me, would be carefully steamed-off and given to a favoured grand-child. I thought the child would prefer a new video game or a credit to access Spotify. But possibly, Mr Tsang had a strategy: the stamps would be appreciated as a reminder of Grandpa when the child was older.

I opened the post office box and a parcel was sitting inside. It was not stamped or post-marked. It had not been sent through the mail, but placed inside the mail-box.  

My uncle was the youngest and quite different from his siblings, my mother - the eldest - and two other brothers. He was thoughtful, quiet and loved music and art. He was three years older than me, more like an older brother than an uncle: we happily shared cigarettes (illicit for a few years, in my case) and played Metallica on the deep-bass-stereo in his car. My friends, admiring his thick long hair and taut athletic legs, said he was "hot", a comment I always ignored; they should, I hissed, look elsewhere!

Until he left us, he often joked he would become a surgeon, "But first I want to be a tattoo artist, to train my hand to be steady!" The closest he’s got to being a doctor was working in our family''s medicinal oil company - founded by our grand-father. He was bored by shop work and the fake smiles needed for customers and the buddy-camaraderie demanded by the delivery guys that trundle trolleys up and down Wing Lok Street and smoked his cigarettes. They were always bare-chested, and tied a towel around their midriff to fend off a possible hernia while lifting heavy boxes of dried fish, or, ironically, of our own oil famous for its dragon curlicue logo. Ours was a rubbing oil that relieved a headache but not much else.

When I returned home I gave the unopened box to my mother. She looked at it, felt its lightness. Eyeing me, "Is this it, nothing else?"

"Yes, that''s it." I handed back the envelope with the post office box key inside.

"There''s no stamps on it!"

"I know, someone must have placed it inside the post office box."

She carefully cut around the package and an assortment of photographs were inside and a carefully folded letter. Addressed to my mother, she read it without expression and passed it to me.

"I am well. I am living between Chiang Mai and Bangkok in Thailand now. I work odd jobs and do volunteer work on an organic rice farm for three months of the year. I am also a tour guide for people visiting Thailand. They come from Hong Kong, Malaysia and increasingly, in droves, from Guangdong. That gives me money to live. I am doing what I always wanted, painting and making videos; little stop-animations using similar strange drawings that you were always scared of - despite you being older than me - when we were younger! I know you think being an artist is hopeless, but spending my life in the shop was a death sentence. You know that. You are the only one who knows that. I met a group of school students and artists recently from Hong Kong and I showed them around Chiang Mai....

"Mum, he''s an artist!" I looked up in amazement.

She flicked the ash of her cigarette and brushed an imaginary hair off her face. 

"...these are some photographs I took; I’m not in any of the photos. The group was in Chiang Mai for four days and I took them to Pun Pun Organic Farm, where I help with the rice crop every year. You can see the wonderful view from the community hall where I sleep overlooking the valley. We also visited a failed artists'' community called the Land Foundation. It is waiting for a second life; it''s now only a collection of buildings, all sitting vacant: architects'' past fantasies. We went to the new contemporary art museum, a place even Hong Kong doesn''t have! I took them to a jazz bar and we walked the streets. One of the artists showed the students how chance encounters can bring a better understanding of...well, I suppose, life. Those students are being introduced to a creative way of seeing, understanding and appreciating the world and other cultures. The other photos are in Bangkok. I wasn''t there – they were sent to me by the group. You will recognise the streets of Chinatown and Jim Thompson House, places Mum and Dad took us to as kids when we had that family holiday years ago in Bangkok. It hasn''t much changed."

Mum was leafing through the photographs as I read.

"I am having some time away from Hong Kong. Sorry not to contact you; but, you know, after all the troubles and arguments and politics in Hong Kong, I had seen and heard enough. I just needed to get out for awhile. Growing rice and painting is good for the soul. I am calmer now. I sent this box to the Hong Kong artists, they’re an organisation called Rooftop Institute, to put in my old post office box for you to collect. I just wanted to let you know that all is well and my life is bigger than the family shop can ever provide. But, to paraphrase the Umbrella kids on that last day in Admiralty....I''ll be back."

Mum took the letter. Folded it carefully and placed it back inside the box, and asked me to put the box in my uncle''s wardrobe in the old flat.

That is where I left it. Waiting for my uncle to return. 

He left a note on the bottom of his letter: “I have noted some of the places that the Rooftop Institute artists visited. Think of me there, as well.”

Our family is happy to temporarily lend the box of photographs for the duration of this exhibition organized by Rooftop Institute.

www.rooftopinstitute.org/asiaseed/