Learn to Be a Tree
2022–2024
Mixed-media installation | Dimensions variable.
Iron, mechanical devices, live art
six-channel video: 4K, color
drawings, sculptures, artist books,
natural found objects
「耶和華神說：那人已經與我們相似，能知道善惡；
現在恐怕他伸手又摘生命樹的果子吃，就永遠活著。」
《學習成為一棵樹》是一場關於「圖像、身體與形象」的辯證場——以行為錄像為主軸，結合平面繪畫、藝術家書籍與自然現成物等媒材。作品從山林中的一次神性經驗出發，以「靜止」作為行動的起點，重新思考人如何繞經他物來重新遭遇自身的裂口與可能。
創作初期，我從觀察樹的身體開始——樹的姿態、風的參與與缺席、肌理的延展與隱沒。試圖以寫生記錄樹的運動，但愈描摹，愈感知那捕捉不到的永恆性：每一瞬都是萬古——想著人只要靜止不動，是不是就可以變成一棵樹了？
這件作品以一具立地式的機械裝置為行為基底。身體背部固定於裝置，配有風速感測元件，使行為者得以模仿樹的動作：風起時擺動，風止時靜止。在基隆的荖寮坑古道、海岸防風林、高樓林立的行道邊，我嘗試讓身體成為不同環境中的「一棵樹」，固定鏡位、長時間拍攝，以一整天的身體實踐向環境遞交一種存在的可能。
裝置如同19世紀攝影棚中的人體支架，將表演者限制於一種可顯影的靜止狀態，使其不僅成為樹的模擬，也成為影像的預演。這是一場從「行為」過渡至「顯影」的轉化過程。只不過這次不是面向鏡頭，而是面向風、向天空、向地形，成為一種風景內的肖像，任憑氣流與光線在身上留下時間。在學習成為一棵樹的同時，也在學習成為一張圖像——一個介於人與非人之間、能被自然顯影的軀體。
裝置不僅是支撐工具，也延續了技術對於身體的規訓脈絡——當主動選擇讓身體接受裝置，也是在主動成為可供觀看、可供轉化的主體——不是被拍攝，而是讓身體自己成為光與風的感光表面，成為一種儀式性影像生成。身體變成了一個對自然曝光的膠片，影像與存在在此交疊，而「靜止」變成了一個必要的、帶有時間與感知厚度的「生成節點」。
從寫生出發，經由撿拾、裝置建構、行為進行，最終成為一段影像。錄像跨越紀錄性質，踏入一種與空間、觀者、時間共享的形象張力。行為者的姿勢本身並不表演化，甚至顯得有些唐突，但並不導向戲謔，而是沈入極度安靜卻深層的集中狀態。當身體被裝置束縛在一個模擬樹的姿勢中，那種不動、持續、被環境包圍的樣貌，在「輕巧」與「受難」之間打開一條通道，彷彿一種微型的殉道；某種對永恆的凝視。
紀伯倫說：「樹是大地寫給天空的詩。」《學習成為一棵樹》以一種溫柔卻固執的勁道，試圖在「一隻手觸及地面，另一隻手奮力指向無限」之間尋找「形象」的存在。在展場中，我透過物質性的繪畫、雕塑作品與非物質性的行為錄像對照鋪陳——展出的是形象未竟的輪廓，是「成為」這個永遠未完成動詞的形體軌跡。而所有這些——風、身體、工具、靜止、時間、影像——終將在展場中匯聚成一種信念的殘影，一種無法複製的朝向。
「成為」是一次次模仿與偏離之間的顯現。當我在野外練習像一棵樹那樣站立，像一枝枝幹那樣延展，動作從模仿轉向逃逸、連結、共震，真正的「成為」是不斷面對自身無法成為的那一刻，而這恰恰是存在最深的明晰。「成為樹」，作為一種繞行，是從一個旁側進入：在模仿一棵植物的靜止、感覺、存在密度的過程裡，重新意識到自己是一種正在學習如何與世界遊戲的開放形式。一種更慢、更弱、更敞開的存在狀態。
現在恐怕他伸手又摘生命樹的果子吃，就永遠活著。」
《創世紀》3:22
《學習成為一棵樹》是一場關於「圖像、身體與形象」的辯證場——以行為錄像為主軸，結合平面繪畫、藝術家書籍與自然現成物等媒材。作品從山林中的一次神性經驗出發，以「靜止」作為行動的起點，重新思考人如何繞經他物來重新遭遇自身的裂口與可能。
創作初期，我從觀察樹的身體開始——樹的姿態、風的參與與缺席、肌理的延展與隱沒。試圖以寫生記錄樹的運動，但愈描摹，愈感知那捕捉不到的永恆性：每一瞬都是萬古——想著人只要靜止不動，是不是就可以變成一棵樹了？
這件作品以一具立地式的機械裝置為行為基底。身體背部固定於裝置，配有風速感測元件，使行為者得以模仿樹的動作：風起時擺動，風止時靜止。在基隆的荖寮坑古道、海岸防風林、高樓林立的行道邊，我嘗試讓身體成為不同環境中的「一棵樹」，固定鏡位、長時間拍攝，以一整天的身體實踐向環境遞交一種存在的可能。
裝置如同19世紀攝影棚中的人體支架，將表演者限制於一種可顯影的靜止狀態，使其不僅成為樹的模擬，也成為影像的預演。這是一場從「行為」過渡至「顯影」的轉化過程。只不過這次不是面向鏡頭，而是面向風、向天空、向地形，成為一種風景內的肖像，任憑氣流與光線在身上留下時間。在學習成為一棵樹的同時，也在學習成為一張圖像——一個介於人與非人之間、能被自然顯影的軀體。
裝置不僅是支撐工具，也延續了技術對於身體的規訓脈絡——當主動選擇讓身體接受裝置，也是在主動成為可供觀看、可供轉化的主體——不是被拍攝，而是讓身體自己成為光與風的感光表面，成為一種儀式性影像生成。身體變成了一個對自然曝光的膠片，影像與存在在此交疊，而「靜止」變成了一個必要的、帶有時間與感知厚度的「生成節點」。
從寫生出發，經由撿拾、裝置建構、行為進行，最終成為一段影像。錄像跨越紀錄性質，踏入一種與空間、觀者、時間共享的形象張力。行為者的姿勢本身並不表演化，甚至顯得有些唐突，但並不導向戲謔，而是沈入極度安靜卻深層的集中狀態。當身體被裝置束縛在一個模擬樹的姿勢中，那種不動、持續、被環境包圍的樣貌，在「輕巧」與「受難」之間打開一條通道，彷彿一種微型的殉道；某種對永恆的凝視。
紀伯倫說：「樹是大地寫給天空的詩。」《學習成為一棵樹》以一種溫柔卻固執的勁道，試圖在「一隻手觸及地面，另一隻手奮力指向無限」之間尋找「形象」的存在。在展場中，我透過物質性的繪畫、雕塑作品與非物質性的行為錄像對照鋪陳——展出的是形象未竟的輪廓，是「成為」這個永遠未完成動詞的形體軌跡。而所有這些——風、身體、工具、靜止、時間、影像——終將在展場中匯聚成一種信念的殘影，一種無法複製的朝向。
「成為」是一次次模仿與偏離之間的顯現。當我在野外練習像一棵樹那樣站立，像一枝枝幹那樣延展，動作從模仿轉向逃逸、連結、共震，真正的「成為」是不斷面對自身無法成為的那一刻，而這恰恰是存在最深的明晰。「成為樹」，作為一種繞行，是從一個旁側進入：在模仿一棵植物的靜止、感覺、存在密度的過程裡，重新意識到自己是一種正在學習如何與世界遊戲的開放形式。一種更慢、更弱、更敞開的存在狀態。
“The Lord God said, ‘Behold, the man has become like one of us in knowing good and evil. Now, lest he reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever—’”
—Genesis 3:22
Learn to Be a Tree is a site of dialectics between image, body, and figure—centered on performative video,supplemented by drawings, artist books, and natural found objects. Rooted in a moment of divine experience in the forest, the work begins with the act of “stillness,” rethinking how the human might encounter its own fracture and possibility through detour into the non-human.
The early phase of this project began with an attentive observation of the body of trees—their gestures, the presence or absence of wind, the unfolding and concealment of their textures. I attempted to sketch the movement of trees, only to become increasingly aware of an unattainable permanence: every fleeting instant seemed eternal. I wondered—if one simply remained motionless, could one become a tree?
At the core of this work is a freestanding mechanical apparatus. The performer’s back is fixed to the device, equipped with an anemometer to allow the body to mimic arboreal movement: swaying when the wind blows, standing still when it calms. In the mountain path of Laoliao Pit in Keelung, on coastal windbreaks, beside urban boulevards, I practiced becoming “a tree” within different environments—employing a fixed camera, filming long durations, offering the body to the surroundings as a proposition of presence.
The apparatus functions much like 19th-century portrait photography braces—constraining the performer into a state of visibility through stillness. The work thus becomes not only a simulation of a tree, but a rehearsal for becoming an image. This is a transition from “performance” to “exposure.” The body, subjected to long durations of visibility, returns to a photographic posture—not directed at a lens, but toward the wind, the sky, the terrain—becoming a “portrait within the landscape,” allowing air and light to impress time upon the body. In learning to be a tree, I was also learning to become an image—a body situated between the human and the non-human, rendered visible by the natural world.
The device is not merely a tool of support; it continues a lineage of technical discipline upon the body. To willingly submit the body to the device is to enter a state of imaged being, to become a subject for transformation—not passively captured, but actively exposing oneself to wind and light as if to photosensitive film. The body becomes a ritual surface of image-generation—exposed to nature, where image and being intertwine. Here, stillness becomes a generative threshold, thickened by time and sensation.
From sketching, to gathering natural matter, to constructing the device, to performing in the wild, the project ultimately unfolds into a video work. But the video does not merely document—it extends. It shares an image-tension with space, viewer, and time. The gestures are not theatrical, sometimes even awkward, yet they do not invite humor. Instead, they descend into a deep quiet concentration. When the body is bound into a tree-like posture, unmoving, enveloped by its environment, it opens a corridor between “lightness” and “suffering,” a miniature martyrdom, a gaze into eternity.
Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky.” Learn to Be a Tree moves with a tender yet stubborn force—seeking the presence of the figure between the gesture of touching the ground and the pointing toward the sky. In the exhibition space, I juxtapose material forms (drawings, sculptures) and immaterial video (performance documentation), presenting the unfinished contour of an image—the shape of “becoming,” a verb eternally in motion. All of these—wind, body, device, stillness, time, image—converge into a residual faith, an unrepeatable direction.
To become is to emerge through repetition and deviation. As I practiced standing like a tree, extending like a branch, the movements shifted from mimicry toward evasion, connection, and resonance. The truest “becoming” is to confront the very moment of impossibility—to become, precisely, what one cannot become. To “become a tree” is to take a sidelong path, to enter from the periphery: in imitating the stillness, sensation, and density of plant existence, I come to realize I am an open form learning to play with the world—a slower, softer, more porous state of being.
—Genesis 3:22
Learn to Be a Tree is a site of dialectics between image, body, and figure—centered on performative video,supplemented by drawings, artist books, and natural found objects. Rooted in a moment of divine experience in the forest, the work begins with the act of “stillness,” rethinking how the human might encounter its own fracture and possibility through detour into the non-human.
The early phase of this project began with an attentive observation of the body of trees—their gestures, the presence or absence of wind, the unfolding and concealment of their textures. I attempted to sketch the movement of trees, only to become increasingly aware of an unattainable permanence: every fleeting instant seemed eternal. I wondered—if one simply remained motionless, could one become a tree?
At the core of this work is a freestanding mechanical apparatus. The performer’s back is fixed to the device, equipped with an anemometer to allow the body to mimic arboreal movement: swaying when the wind blows, standing still when it calms. In the mountain path of Laoliao Pit in Keelung, on coastal windbreaks, beside urban boulevards, I practiced becoming “a tree” within different environments—employing a fixed camera, filming long durations, offering the body to the surroundings as a proposition of presence.
The apparatus functions much like 19th-century portrait photography braces—constraining the performer into a state of visibility through stillness. The work thus becomes not only a simulation of a tree, but a rehearsal for becoming an image. This is a transition from “performance” to “exposure.” The body, subjected to long durations of visibility, returns to a photographic posture—not directed at a lens, but toward the wind, the sky, the terrain—becoming a “portrait within the landscape,” allowing air and light to impress time upon the body. In learning to be a tree, I was also learning to become an image—a body situated between the human and the non-human, rendered visible by the natural world.
The device is not merely a tool of support; it continues a lineage of technical discipline upon the body. To willingly submit the body to the device is to enter a state of imaged being, to become a subject for transformation—not passively captured, but actively exposing oneself to wind and light as if to photosensitive film. The body becomes a ritual surface of image-generation—exposed to nature, where image and being intertwine. Here, stillness becomes a generative threshold, thickened by time and sensation.
From sketching, to gathering natural matter, to constructing the device, to performing in the wild, the project ultimately unfolds into a video work. But the video does not merely document—it extends. It shares an image-tension with space, viewer, and time. The gestures are not theatrical, sometimes even awkward, yet they do not invite humor. Instead, they descend into a deep quiet concentration. When the body is bound into a tree-like posture, unmoving, enveloped by its environment, it opens a corridor between “lightness” and “suffering,” a miniature martyrdom, a gaze into eternity.
Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky.” Learn to Be a Tree moves with a tender yet stubborn force—seeking the presence of the figure between the gesture of touching the ground and the pointing toward the sky. In the exhibition space, I juxtapose material forms (drawings, sculptures) and immaterial video (performance documentation), presenting the unfinished contour of an image—the shape of “becoming,” a verb eternally in motion. All of these—wind, body, device, stillness, time, image—converge into a residual faith, an unrepeatable direction.
To become is to emerge through repetition and deviation. As I practiced standing like a tree, extending like a branch, the movements shifted from mimicry toward evasion, connection, and resonance. The truest “becoming” is to confront the very moment of impossibility—to become, precisely, what one cannot become. To “become a tree” is to take a sidelong path, to enter from the periphery: in imitating the stillness, sensation, and density of plant existence, I come to realize I am an open form learning to play with the world—a slower, softer, more porous state of being.
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