An installation made by objects/ props related to three traditional Cantonese operas or dramas, ink calligraphy on rice paper and single-channel video
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Wearing the deep blue garment my grandfather left behind in a large tin box, its short and narrow cut tightly wrapping my upper body—it feels like an embrace. This was his ceremonial costume, worn once every ten years during the Kam Tin village’s Da Jiu festival to honor the gods. After dressing, he would chant scriptures in devotion; I, instead, sing Perish in the Name of Love, tracing the operatic memories of years gone by.
Cantonese opera is a classic close to my heart.
The Da Jiu festival in Kam Tin is held once every decade. My first time attending, I was about two years old, cradled often in my father’s arms.
The opera stage is built from crisscrossing bamboo poles, orderly and precise. Incense releases the scent of altar wood, drifting and gathering in dense pockets of smoke—immersing us in clouds tinged with herbal fragrance. Mist floats and cloaks the surroundings like phantom mountains, where gods and spirits stand solemnly. Their paper effigies appear especially majestic during this grand occasion. From dawn’s rituals to nightfall, the men are never idle. Fireworks erupt and vanish into ash, like a volcanic mouth suddenly releasing heat. As the sun retreats, a high-pitched voice announces the start of a string of performances. Scholars and warriors take turns on stage, their faces exquisitely painted, emotions vividly etched.
This scene, every time I recall it, feels like a dream of souls and other realms—a meditation on life and death, separation and reunion.
Beyond the festival, daily incense offerings never cease. We honor gods and ancestors each day; spring and autumn feasts bring the family together, with uncles and aunts humming familiar Cantonese opera tunes. On sleepless early mornings, I watch old black-and-white TV dramas, or vibrant Cantonese film fragments, their melodies steeped in rich Guangdong flavor.
These habits, cultivated over a decade, make the feelings hard to forget.
Performance is dazzling—on stage, before the lens, under the magnesium lights, it enacts a kind of truth. How many lines and stories flash by? Years later, they remain, becoming cherished tales that shape Hong Kong’s collective memory.
I sculpt the classics: sequins on collars, expressions, gestures, and postures distilled into a single moment—yet reflected in everyday objects imbued with shared consciousness. A minute on stage, a decade of practice—actors and audiences alike wait for those long-lost reunions in the currents of history.
穿起爺爺遺留在大鐵皮箱內的深藍色衣裝，短窄的剪裁緊束上半身，就似一個擁抱。這是十年一度錦田鄉酬恩建醮中爺爺會穿的戰衣。只是爺爺整裝後酬神誦經，我則追溯經年的戲曲回憶唱一遍帝女花。
大戲於我是很親近的經典。
錦田鄉酬恩建醮逢十年舉辦。頭一遍參與還是父親喜愛時常把我抱入懷中，約略兩歲的幼年。
戲棚由交錯有序的竹枝架起，線香將壇木味釋出，隨煙流竄又凝聚在綿密間隔，置身一團團染上藥材味的雲。雲霧飄散籠罩四處如山虛影，是神鬼莊嚴地佇立，其紙扎形態於此盛事可特別威風。從清晨種種酬神儀式至夜晚，大伙男兒不閒著，煙火起灰飛滅，像活火山口忽爾送遞高溫。太陽逐漸隱退，高吭聲緊接宣告出演連場好戲，雅士武者交替上場，面容均精雕細琢，喜怒於色顯著不過。
此情此景，每回想時總聯繫到異界與靈魂，有關生離死別的一場夢幻。
打醮外，日常香火從不間斷，每天奉神明祖宗；春秋二祭等聚餐，阿叔阿姨哼唱熟悉的粵曲歌韻；偶然凌晨無眠，觀看電視裡頭黑白灰，抑或襯有極其絢亮色的粵語殘片，曲風自是濃濃郁郁廣東意。
生活習慣，就似鋪陳蘊釀十載光景，讓感受不容易被忘記。
演藝是目眩的，舞台上鏡頭前鎂燈下演釋某種真實。多少台詞故事飛掠？經年過後猶存總成佳話，築構香港集體回憶。
我給經典造像，衣襟珠片表情步履體態歸結為一剎，卻又體現於各種託付了集體意識的日常物。舞台的一刻鐘與十年功，演員和觀眾可同樣等待歷史洪流內諸般的好久不見。
