Searched high and low for the Muse

Author: Ye Tingfang
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2004-05-01
Features: This is an illustrated essay collection, including five parts: Master's Preface, Architectural Interludes, Artistic Whispers, Theatrical Experiences, and Elegant Prose. It is a work that blends scholar's sentiment with beautiful writing. Among them, the essays on architecture and literary masters are particularly outstanding.
Excerpt: The preface In my youth, I was full of vitality and loved to dream, often vividly describing my ideal future. I remember in a class during my primary school years, the teacher asked each student, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"—"I want to be a scientist!"—"I want to be a navigator!"—"An astronomer!" When it was my turn, I hesitated for a long time but couldn't find a "field" I wanted to pursue, yet I blurted out, "I want to seek the Muse!" This phrase, which I occasionally used from books for emergencies, left both teachers and students baffled but vaguely revealed my life's pursuit. At that time, the signal that inspired me to knock on the door of the Muse was my own voice: On the daily five-mile journey, my imitation of the singing style of a folk "daban" (a traveling troupe) female role was praised by classmates as having a "strong voice." This talent was later confirmed and encouraged by my music teacher in high school, who believed my tone was better than that of a classmate already famous in the school and offered to wake up early every morning to guide me in vocal practice. This teacher's dedication to his students inspired my musical passion throughout my youth: in middle school, I actively organized a choir and rehearsed difficult songs like the "Yellow River Chorus"; in college, a song I occasionally composed was praised by experts and used as a model for teaching in the Beijing University Student Choir, which led to me leading multiple amateur clubs at Peking University; even during the "May 7th Cadre School" period of the Cultural Revolution, I served as a soloist in the "Cultural Troupe." Even now, at over sixty, I sometimes sing at gatherings, unintentionally shouting at the relentless laws of nature. Yes, music, this art of time, not only expands my spiritual space and enriches my life but also guides me to spiritually meet the great German—Beethoven, making him my other voice, and a more important one: "I will grasp the throat of fate and refuse to let it destroy me!" If in the past, my defense against fate's attacks was passive and instinctive, viewing it as an unfortunate encounter, from now on, I understand how to arm myself spiritually and consciously resist fate. Later, of course, other thinkers from home and abroad also inspired me, but Beethoven was undoubtedly my spiritual guide. No other composer's auditory works, especially Beethoven's music, especially "Fate," have been as endlessly captivating for me as I listen to them, each time stirring my blood and bringing tears to my eyes. His bold and unrestrained style not only refined my inner temperament but also cultivated my aesthetic taste, making me even more fond of the unbridled romantic art than the elegant classical art. However, my love for music has not been fully realized. On one hand, I knew there were insurmountable obstacles on this path: the inability to use musical instruments. Moreover, I believed that once a hobby or skill becomes professionalized, it might lose its charm, as the smaller the gap you try to fill, the less passion you retain. On the other hand, and more importantly, I was born with another nature: a love for literature. This interest also came from primary school. It came from an essay titled "My Mother," where I wrote in simple language about the happiness in my mother's arms and the sorrow after her loss. Perhaps this stark contrast moved people's hearts, earning praise from teachers and winning the first prize in the school's essay competition. This sparked my interest in literature, making me believe that this art of words could more fully express my inner emotions. Later in high school, another essay—a short story about rural life—received praise from teachers, and classmates elected me as the Chinese language class representative instead of the English one, which time ignited my dream of becoming a writer. However, I realized that most writers are shaped by society rather than formal education. Therefore, when applying for university, I did not choose a literature major but enrolled in the foreign language department, hoping to connect with foreign literature through language and make finding the Muse in literature my central goal. Upon entering Peking University, I first joined the amateur literary society "Red Chamber Society" and later became a core member of the university's literary creation group. At that time, my interest in literature was mainly in poetry. Throughout my university years, I suffered from poor sleep and used those long nights of insomnia to my poetry. But strangely, after participating in the "Four Cleanups" in southern rural areas in the mid-1960s, my poetic inspiration suddenly declined, nearly disappearing after the Cultural Revolution, and even my interest in studying poetry faded. This might have been heaven's arrangement, as this period marked another important stage in my life: a spiritual encounter with another great man nurtured by German culture—Franz Kafka! The "trigger" was first his "The Metamorphosis." The protagonist, who suddenly transforms due to a disease, completely changes his status in the family and society, much like me as a child, who became a "surplus person" in my family and an outcast in society (even rejected from middle school exams—during the liberation period) when injured. This "resonance" of fate struck me, and I quickly immersed myself in Kafka's works, deciding to shift my research focus from the poet Heinrich Heine to the novelist Franz Kafka, from lyrical to narrative, from traditional to modern. With my poetic inspiration already gone, this strategic shift was relatively smooth. Now, it seems this transition was both timely and necessary for me. It underwent a baptism and transformation of my humanistic and aesthetic concepts, allowing me to see the modern prototypes of the Muse in literature and art, expanding my aesthetic vision from the realm of "mimetic theory" to "expressive theory." Otherwise, I would have remained a stranger to the "modern," and as a professional foreign literature scholar living in the modern era, it would have been a tragedy to see the modern Muse fall silent. Therefore, when I look back on the loss of my poetic inspiration, I truly thank fate for its fulfillment! My connection with theater began in my childhood in the countryside. It was in the 1940s. Every winter, a fixed-date market was held in the nearby town, bustling for several days, accompanied by folk "daban" performances. The majestic battles of emperors and generals left me breathless, and the loud singing of male and female roles filled me with joy. But after liberation, for some reason, these troupes suddenly disappeared, though no ban had been issued. By then, I was already in middle school, and I noticed the cultural hunger of the farmers. I used my winter and summer vacations to organize active young farmers in my village to form a rural theater troupe, taking on the roles of writer and director. The first play I tried to write was based on a set of comic strips in a newspaper about a child-bride resisting her forced marriage. Unexpectedly, this simple story with naive writing style was warmly received by the rural audience, not only in my village but also often invited to perform in other villages. I was inspired by the villagers' needs and continued to write and direct plays, so much so that one semester, I was nearly a month late in attending classes in the city. During my middle school years, whenever provincial troupes came to the county for performances, I made every effort to attend. A short Huangmei Opera called "Weeding the Pig Grass" left me spellbound. At that time, an amateur Yue Opera troupe in the city even recruited me to teach new singing styles. My interest in theater was overshadowed by poetry during college, but after my poetic inspiration faded, I had several attempts at theatrical writing. However, these were already during the Cultural Revolution, a time far from conducive to creation. Some early drafts were praised as "works of talent," but they were all self-destructed due to suspicion of the "theory of intermediate characters." The theatrical obsession that emerged in my youth later resurfaced in my translation activities. This was first seen in my translation of the play "The Physicists," one of the representative works of the renowned Swiss playwright Friedrich Dürrenmatt, which quickly gained attention after publication and was staged on the Shanghai stage. At the same time, several of my preliminary papers on Dürrenmatt also had a significant impact in the theater world. Soon after, I translated several more of Dürrenmatt's plays, all of which were staged on the Beijing stage. Meanwhile, several of my papers on Bertolt Brecht also attracted attention. As a result, one foot was firmly planted in the theater world: I was frequently invited to attend performances and give reviews. This certainly consumed a lot of my time, but it also rewarded me: it allowed me to see the complete form of the Muse in theater. Because theater must be completed on stage. This "eye pleasure" of watching many plays not only improved my appreciation of visual art but also broadened my artistic horizons, giving me some experience in theater aesthetics and a more comprehensive understanding of my research subjects in theater, such as Brecht and Dürrenmatt, who were both playwrights and stage practitioners. My aesthetic awareness in architecture developed later, after the reform and opening up when I went to Europe. I was struck by the grandeur and diversity of the buildings, feeling as if they were sculptures standing on the earth. I also heard that many buildings took decades, even centuries, to complete. At that time, I realized that people were not just completing a technical project but pursuing an artistic masterpiece. While our own wooden structures were indeed unique, they lacked the stylistic diversity of others, and our pursuit of art and theoretical construction was not as advanced. So, I criticized many shortcomings of Beijing's architectural in theory, proposing my own macro-concept, which was later published in the city's theoretical organ and reprinted in the "Beijing Evening News" in several installments, sparking widespread discussion. Soon after, I published two consecutive articles in the "People's Daily," emphasizing that "Architecture is Art" and "Please Let Architects Take the Bow," which resonated strongly in the architectural community, with several newspapers reprinting the latter. From then on, I frequently received invitations to attend conferences on architectural culture and aesthetics, marking the beginning of my "interludes" in the architectural world and becoming a council member of the Environmental Art Committee of the China Culture Association under the Ministry of Construction. I also co-initiated the "Architecture and Literature" writing sessions with the architectural community twice. With some speaking opportunities, I inevitably offered my opinions on some large-scale buildings already built or to be built in the country, as well as entire cities, trying to use the new knowledge and concepts I had gained from books and international visits to seek the Muse of architecture in my mind. Especially when it came to issues, I would argue and debate with others, regardless of their authority, because sometimes even authorities can fall behind. Therefore, the articles on architecture and cultural relics included in this book often carry a hint of "gunpowder."