The other one, the one called Jade, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Taipei and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the swing in front of a home office and the fish pond carved out on the floor; I know of Jade from the mail and see her name on a list of students or among the end credits of an experimental short film. I like 40-years calendars, black and white movies, nineteenth-century sentiment, the taste of coffee and the novella of Jorge Luis Borges; she shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actress. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Jade may contrive her films, and her films justify me. It is no effort for me to confess that she has achieved some valid visuals, but those visuals cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to her, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in her. Little by little, I am giving over everything to her, though I am quite aware of her perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things. Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Jade, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but I recognize myself less in her films than in many others or in the passionate humming of a song. Years ago I tried to free myself from her and went from the thought experiments of the great philosophers to the games with words and poetry, but those games belong to Jade now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to her. I do not know which of us has spoken these words.
2020 SAL Spring Animation Festival - Official Selection
2020 紐約大學學生動畫影展 - 入選