1/2 The process through which each scene developed: from written text, to integrated word–picutre forms, and ultimately into a purely visual language.
2/2 A Magnolia Tree's Discourse
Magnolia Tree is preparing a birthday present for herself in her cubicle.
She was once standing outside the printmaking studio together with her fellows in a distant garden. What enchanted her were the herbal smell of Charbonnel ink, similar to when the tearing leaves dry under sunshine; the crunchiness of the printmaking machine, almost the same as the noise of her root running deeper. The snowy buds burgeoned in the very first warm breeze and withered overnight in the March thunderstorm.
A string of patrol wagons and ambulances whizzing pass by. Ghost does not understand death; the ghost is honest to death. The living asks about dying yet trembles to elude; dies and decayed by bacteria gracefully. A magnolia tree is a researcher, and she examines the journey, meditating with a tougher torso and stretching branches, life after life.
The seagull reminds her, she's only one hour ride away from the North Sea. "Do I miss my hometown" "What is the singularity" "If I never leave, how can I miss it" "How many miles is the tipping point"? What reminds an outer-space-astronaut of home? Could it be like this: the bright moonlight penetrating through the porthole. He woke up; it was so familiar as if it were…He was so close to the moon for the first time. He shut off the engine, retracted the solar sails…
Frankel, H.H. (1976) The Flowering Plum and the Palace Lady: Interpretations of Chinese Poetry. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Her leaves always start to grow after the flowers fade away, even if in her cubicle, the laws of nature work. She knows there's nothing called loneliness unless sincerely believed in the illusion of not being so. But she fancies a book about the plum tree, especially when the author says, "(she) is a poet, a lifelong student of Chinese poetry, and a living embodiment of the finest in Chinese civilisation" , though epitaph now.
Being titled by a friend, the island owner, she's familiar with the gradient of various Cramond sunsets and the high or low tides in every hour outside of sleeping. The soil by the sea is not suitable for a magnolia tree. Otherwise, she would stay there for the echo of her childhood whistling by. Words from an ancient scroll fondling her, "burn me blue on top of that hill with the fire gushing from the deepest sea".
Magnolia tree is dancing in her cubicle, with her little friends from Cramond, the salty wind wisps the laughter. She bears in mind every tiny trait of them. But who is that astronaut? It seems that all this book is dedicated to him—the timid but sweet younger boy, the brave and reliable older boy, maybe the disappearing father. A tree has faith in love, in many ways, distinct from human, but a tree cannot answer in any language. What would the embossment of the trident on the left airfoil tell us?
"When you start working, everybody is in your studio – the past, your friends, enemies, the art world, and above all, your own ideas – all are there. But as you continue painting, they start leaving, one by one, and you are left completely alone. Then if you're lucky, even you leave."
Cage, J. (1961) Silence: Lectures and Writings. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press.
A string of patrol wagons and ambulances whizzing pass by. No one is dancing in the cubicle anymore. Without a doubt, an illustrator should manage to depict time and space visually. How long and how far should her hero be away from home? A tree can imagine the distance from her crown to the stars and the fleeting four seasons. If you ask a magnolia tree why, she blossoms.
Magnolia tree is polishing the gift in her cubicle. Although she was never really disappointed, she worried assiduously that she was the only magnolia tree in this foreign burgh. Until, in the corner of a balmy spring day, the neat petals bloomed and fell one after another, interweaving with hers. Relieved is a brushstroke of the pale reddish shading.
