Liu Yujia: Field without Idylls，Body without Organs

Text by Deng Anqi

In the moving image work A Darkness Shimmering in the Light, the landscape of Changbai Mountain and the upper reaches of the Songhua River is transmuted into a lyrical composition: icy rivers meander through mountain ranges, elk pause to gaze amidst the woods, and "mountain-runners" (foragers/hunters) venture into the sylvan depths with their hounds to hunt and harvest. A Taoist priest practices martial arts under the vigil of a hybrid tiger-human idol, culminating in the intimate, flickering warmth of domestic life. The perspective oscillates between aerial top-down views and buoyant aquatic flotsam—an "eco-vision" reminiscent of the perceptual field of flora and fauna. At first glance, Liu Yujia appears to narrate the relationship between humanity and nature as one of primordial affinity and romanticism. However, a "punctum" within the film shatters this idyllic illusion: "The tiger can come back to life whenever it wants." This pronouncement declares that the tiger—simultaneously animal and icon—possesses the agency to invert natural life and subvert the ecological imagination of the region.

In fact, contrary to the concept of "pristine wildness" situated on some distant shore, ecology can be degenerative and degenerate, paradoxically intertwining with human "progress" and "evolution" through this very destructive force. The film Annihilation constructs a similar "shimmering" world where the genetic codes of all things reflect, hybridize, and mutate through light: fungi decompose corpses into blooming lichen-like ecosystems; beasts speak with the vocal apparatus of the humans they have consumed; human skeletons extend into the sinuous forms of vines and branches. For both Annihilation and A Darkness Shimmering in the Light, the "shimmer" allows mortal beings to interbreed within a drive toward self-destruction, collectively overcoming death to achieve a form of immortality. In this sense, the "shimmer" echoes Timothy Morton’s concept of "Dark Ecology": a realm where "life" is no longer confined by the human-nature binary, but instead emerges as a heterogeneous, murky, and monstrous hybridity. It is a state where "ecology" may return to the light at any moment—just as the tiger may stir at will.

This radical rewriting of life is further evidenced in Tales From the Confluence of Three Rivers. Here, a Korean-Chinese elderly woman assumes the role of a shamanic healer through embodied mediumship. In her practice, "healing" and "spiritual cultivation" are two sides of the same coin. She once "channeled toxins into her own body" to save others, transforming her physical form into an iconography of suffering; later, during the process of "detoxification," her prowess grew until she could commune with the spirits of plants and trees. In this cultivation, the body becomes a cryptic conduit—a site of universal intersection summoned by a sacred energy—while the actual texture of the body becomes unknowable. Similarly, in the history of schizophrenia, Judge Daniel Paul Schreber described himself as "living without organs" and "swallowing his own throat." These self-referential and reflexive bodily states are described by Deleuze and Guattari as the "Body without Organs" (BwO): when the (desiring, social) body is hyper-productive, this "imageless body" intervenes as a form of anti-production to interrupt the flow. It is not an emptying of the desiring subject, but a desire for a disjunctive energy. For the healer, symptoms do not point directly to clinical nomenclature or pharmaceutical solutions; the authority of diagnosis becomes fluid. As she tells a patient, "You simply cannot concentrate"—therein lies the mystery of all illness and cure.

However, neither A Darkness Shimmering in the Light nor Tales From the Confluence of Three Rivers signifies a nostalgic yearning for pre-industrial civilization. On the contrary, they adhere to an almost anthropological rationality and detachment. In The Market, ginseng—revered for its life-extending properties—becomes a microscopic "duty-free product." From the obscure locality of Wanliang in Fusong, it circulates through every corner of the market via livestreaming and logistics, constructing a national (and even trans-border) desire for longevity. Here, the "King of Herbs" is exempted from its medicinal value and its responsibility toward health. It colludes with a sort of "capitalovirus," fulfilling its mission of value appreciation through digital contagion while paradoxically threatening the very health it promises. Conversely, in Harvesting, Korean-Chinese female workers in an ear-fungus plantation sit among a forest of wooden stakes, surrounded by coils of incense and ethereal veils. The grain of the 16mm black-and-white film resembles the "texture strokes" (cunca) of ink wash painting, evoking an atmosphere of scholarly detachment (xiaosan jianyuan). Yet, this "picturesque" landscape serves as a satire of the workers' labor conditions. Resisting the scorching sun and insects, they repeat the same physical gestures for hours in silence. Their stillness forms the "obverse" to the incessant noise of The Market.

By this point, Liu Yujia’s "field" seems to have been revealed: it is the production of Northeast Asian silviculture, agriculture, and the broader ecology. Yet, the question remains: how should an artist engage with their field? Liu’s answer does not lie in objectifying verbs like "collecting," "analyzing," or "researching," but in following a ghostly, non-human logic. From "encountering images by chance" to "following the gaze of the image itself," "letting the image write itself," and attempting a "de-authoring" of the work, her methodology is no longer about exoticizing or spectacularizing the margins. Instead, it dissolves the violence of the "gaze"—and perhaps the gaze itself—within the banality of the local. Just as Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s Tropical Malady intimately resurrects the face of the tropics, the gaze in Mushrooms is one of the close-up (an intimacy of proximity). The latter reflects the experience of fungi: microscopic organisms offering their hospitality through mutual invasion and colonization. In the frontier, everyone is an external "Other," yet these frontier images teach us how to be hospitable within the strange and find affinity within alienation.

刘雨佳：没有牧歌的田野，没有器官的身体

文 / 邓安琪

在《微光渐暗》里，长白山和松花江上游的景观被转化为这样一首抒情诗：冰河蜿蜒于山川之内，麋鹿在林间驻足凝望，跑山人载着狗去山林深处狩猎、采伐，道士在虎首人身像的注视下练功，最后的最后是家庭生活与烟火微光的温情脉脉。影像的视角时而从空中俯瞰，时而在水上沉浮，仿佛花鸟虫鱼之所见。乍一看，刘雨佳将自然与人之间的关系叙述为一种原始的亲和与浪漫。但是，“只要老虎愿意，它随时都可以活过来”，影片的这句“刺点”打破了这种田园牧歌式的幻影，转而宣告：同时作为动物与偶像的虎既能扭转自然生命，也能颠覆对于地区生态的想象。

事实上，与远在彼岸的纯净自然（pristine wildness）不同，生态（ecology）可以是破坏性的（degenerative）、堕落的（degenerate），并以这种力量悖论性地交织在人类的“进步”与“进化”中。电影《湮灭》（Annihilation）构建了一个相似的“微光”（shimmer）世界，在其中，万物的基因以光的形式互相反射、杂交、变异：真菌腐殖尸体、将其化作一片苔藓状盛开的生态群，异兽因吃掉人的喉器而启齿说话，人的骨架则以藤蔓枝桠的形态绵延生长。不论是对于《湮灭》还是对于《微光渐暗》来说，微光世界使得一切有死的生命体在自我毁灭的动力中交错繁衍，共同克服死亡、享有某种永生。在这个意义上，“微光”呼应着莫顿“黑暗生态”（dark ecology） 的构想：在其中，“生命”不再受到“人类-自然”的二分区隔，而是异质地、晦暗地、怪物般地杂交丛生，使得“生态”随时重现光明——正如老虎随时复活一般。

这种对生命的巨大改写也体现在《三江源头故事集》中。朝鲜族婆婆以具身的通灵体验承担起了巫医的角色，在她身上，生命的“疗愈”与“灵修”是一体两面的。她曾为了治病救人而“引毒入体”，将自己的身体转化为受难史的图像；也曾在“排毒”的过程中功力大进，能与生灵草木对话。在这样的修炼中，身体近乎一条隐秘的通道，在其中万物相交，共同受召于某种神圣能量，但身体本身的肌理却成为不可知的。类似地，在精神分裂史上，法官施雷伯（Daniel Paul Schreber）也曾描述自己“无器官地活着”“吞掉自己的喉咙” 。这些身体的自指与自反被德勒兹与伽塔利描述为“无器官的身体”（the body without organs） ：当（欲望的、社会的）身体超负荷生产时，这具无像之身（imageless body）就会以反生产的形式介入并打断生产。它不是欲望体的清空，而是欲求着一种解离（disjunction）的能量。在婆婆那里，症候不能直指疾病的名称与医药的手段，诊断的权力变得十分松散，正如婆婆对病人说“精神集中不了”——这就是一切疾病与疗愈的奥秘。

但是，不论是《微光渐暗》还是《三江源头故事集》，都不是刘雨佳试图回归前工业文明的乡愁热望；相反，它们恪守着一种近乎人类学式的理性与冷静。在《市场》中，被认为能够“延年益寿”的人参成为了某种微观意义上的“免税品”（duty-free product） ，从抚松万良这一籍籍无名的方寸之地出发，通过直播与物流迅速流布市场的每一个角落，构建了整个民族（甚至异域）对于寿命的想象与渴望。在这里，曾经的“百草之王”被豁免了药用价值与对健康的责任，与某种“资本病毒”（capitalovirus） 合谋，通过数字传染来完成增值的使命，转而悖谬地威胁着健康。而在《采摘》中，木耳种植园的朝鲜女工坐在星罗棋布的木桩丛中，蚊香缭绕，面纱缥缈；16厘米黑白胶片的颗粒仿若笔墨皴擦，一派萧散简远的气象——这种“如画”（picturesque）的景观却是对女工劳动困境的讽喻。她们抵抗着烈日与飞虫，经久地重复着同一种肢体语言，却鲜有交谈。她们的沉默构成了《市场》中无休止的噪音的背面。

至此我们似乎可以说，刘雨佳的“田野”似乎得到了某种揭示，即东北亚的种植业林业乃至整个生态的生产。但是，我们尚未形成共识的是，艺术家究竟该如何对待自己的田野？刘雨佳的答案不是“采集”、“分析”、“研究”这样的对象化动词，而是遵循了幽灵般的、非人的逻辑：从“偶然遇见影像” ，到“遵循影像自身的目光”“放任影像自我书写” ，以及“去作者化”的尝试 ，田野的方法不再是对边缘世界的异域化与景观化，而是在日常的在地性之中消解观看的暴力、甚至消解观看本身。正如阿彼察邦的《热带疾病》如此亲密地复活了热带的面貌，《蘑菇》的目光也是特写的（close-up，也可以说是亲近的）——后者再一次映照出真菌的经验：微观生物以相互侵略、相互殖民的方式付出自己的热情（hospitality） 。对于边疆来说，人人都是外来的“他者”（the others），边疆影像却教会我们在陌生中好客、在疏离中亲和。

[1] Timothy Morton: Ecology without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007), p. 181-197.

[2] Sigmund Freud: “Psycho-Analytic Notes upon an Autobiographical Case of Paranoia (Dementia Paranoides)”, in Collective Papers: Authorized Translation under the Supervision of Joan Rivière (New York: Basic Books, 1959), Vol. 3, p. 396; Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari: Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, and Helen R. Lane (New York: Penguin Books, 2009), p. 8.

[3] Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari: Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, p. 9-15.

[4] See Hito Steyerl: Duty Free Art: Art in the Age of Planetary Civil War (London: Verso, 2017).

[5] Jean-Luc Nancy: An All-Too-Human Virus, trans. Cory Stockwell, Sarah Clift, and David Fernbach (Cambridge: Polity, 2022), p. 20.

[6]“如果你的旅程和拍摄周期足够漫长，你会很自然地和各种各样有意思的拍摄对象相遇。”见许璐：《刘雨佳：北方的行旅、想象与拓写》，载“Kering跃动她影”，2023年11月14日，https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/J-oPolQv3lN4-QIUIE1__w。

[7]“……素材本身会有自己的逻辑…我们不能只用人类的思维方式去衡量这种逻辑。所以在《微光渐暗》里，我选择从无人机的视角去串联起不同时间和语境下拍摄的素材…无人机注视着这一切，我就循着它的目光，在人类理解力不能触及的非生命的精神世界中将这一切重新组织为一个故事。”见刘林：《刘雨佳：莽林中的东北故事集》，载“Art Ba Ba”，2024年6月28日，https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/8aAM-DceXTH1dHm80XAUtQ。

[8] “……我最终把影片交给了剪辑师，剪辑师把它精剪成60分钟以内的片长，这时，你需要完全信任另外一个人的取舍标准。”载“Kering跃动她影”，2023年11月14日，https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/J-oPolQv3lN4-QIUIE1__w。

[9] See Jean-Luc Nancy: The Intruder, trans. Richard Rand, Jeff Fort, and Anna Moschovakis (New York: Fordham University Press, 2024).