The Elegiac Sound of Cicadas 哀傷的蟬聲

Cicadas don’t sing on a cold day, but today I heard them chirping out in my backyard. They sounded like an elegy for September 11, 2001.

蟬不會在冷天氣裡獻聲。今天聽到在後院裡彼起彼落的蟬聲像是一首哀悼紐約九一一悲劇的挽歌。

Would you stop tickling me? 可不可以停止搔癢呢？

The sweet scent of peonies coiled with the fresh breeze coming from the Lake of Geneva, dancing around in and out of the garden. With the full hum life of bees in the background, I was in the garden and observed insects and plants–––one of my favorite things to do in the lazy Saturday afternoons. Again, I was in the mood to compose a Haiku, a Japanese poem...

Would you stop tickling me?

I am thirsty too,

This spring afternoon.


我在蜜蜂嗡嗡作響的花園裡觀察著昆蟲和植物， 這可是我每逢懶散的星期六下午最喜歡做的事情之一。牡丹花甜美的香氣夾帶著來自瑞士日內瓦湖的清新微風在花園裡舞進舞出，這時又想再做上一首日本俳句…

可不可以停止搔癢呢？

我也口渴呀，

在這春天的下午。

Like the Mischievous Smile of Stan March 像Stan March的頑皮笑容

It was around 2:30 am.

My hurrying footsteps were echoing around the empty platform, as I was making my way out of the subway station at SoHo stop. The air smelled like the breath of a drunkard–––sour, humid, and bitter. The unpleasant odor alerted me, and all of sudden I felt a bit uneasy. After all, the New York City subway is often naked in its danger, bewilderment, agitation.

The sound of my soles was absorbed by my increasing fear until I climbed up the stairs and saw the green subway lamp on Prince Street. Like Stan March in the cartoon South Park, it gave me a bright mischievous smile, and made me surprise into laugher. 

At the instant moment, the fear was gone with the fresh, cool autumn breeze...

The Raindrops 雨滴

Rain poured down on the entire day, only in the late afternoon it decided to take a break. I left my Mac and books behind a closed door and went for a walk to the garden in the East Village.

I remember my last visit here when the late spring sun bore through the gorgeous clouds. The pink sakura petals were falling...And now all the colors were being carried away by the fall wind.

On the bamboo fences and criss-cross hedges I saw tatters of spider webs; and where the threads were broken the raindrops hung on them like strings of white pearls. I was also delighted by watching the raindrops rolling down of their own accord from the plants where they had lain so heavily. 

There was something so enchanting in the sound and smell of the raindrops–––an invisible beauty with the lingering scent of true nature. What most impressed me was that they were not at all impressed.

Smelling Khublai Khan in New York 聞出忽必烈, 在紐約。

Portrait of Khublai 忽必烈 by Chinese court artist Liu Guandao(刘贯道), c. 1280

Painting of Kublai Khan on a hunting expedition, by Chinese court artist Liu Guandao(刘贯道)
The hunter in red hat and white fur robe on a black horse is Kublai Khan

I wondered for a while in the night, without knowing where I was. I listened to the wind, and felt the grass on my feet. Here and there, I smelled of a herbaceous scent, and realized that I was on a green prairie.

Suddenly I heard a thundering sound. The area I stood was swirling in wind so intense that it hid the stars from view. Before me it was a Mongolian horseman, with a peregrine falcon perched on his left shoulder, sitting astride an enormous black horse.

He wore a white fur robe and his familiar round face exuded a powerful yet friendly manner. His smile, glittered in the soft light of the stars, mingled with the scent of prairie... And all of sudden I recognized him––Khublai, the fifth Great Khan of the Mongol Empire (1260-1294) and the founder of the Yuan Dynasty in China...

Of course my sensory encounter with Khublai is just a dream. It reflects my personal experiences of the images, sounds, scents, and emotion from my visit to The World of Khublai Khan忽必烈的時代 at Metropolitan Museum of Art last night. If you happen to be in New York, don't miss out the opportunity to create your own sensory experience with the art during the great time of Khublai Khan.

The Festive Smell of Little Italy, New York 紐約小義大利區的節慶風味

In Little Italy the air is warm and rich with the festive scent of San Genarro. The festival comes in the wake of September wind, and it smells of amusement park; of tourists; of grilled meats and steamed seafood and frying batter.

At this moment, I'm at home with the silence of a book, and with the sound of traffic and music, interminable, outside.

My Visionary Noises of "Fashion's Night Out" in SoHo

It was the night for the "Fashion's Night Out" shopping event in New York. A cool September wind laded with the scents of cologne and parfum and cigar smoke and alcohol and cupcakes and hotdogs and powdery-sweet peanuts cooked on the hotplate by the sidewalks in SoHo. 

I was walking carefully through the beautiful, exhilarating crowds which were lining up to get into the fashion and beauty boutiques. For the moment, the febrile excitement in the crowds enhanced my sense of vision: I saw, I saw the noises.

My Eight Wonders in Goms, Switzerland–––The Suicidal Yodels in Ernen #7 / 瑞士Goms的八大驚奇–––恩能音樂村的自殺式嶽得爾歌 #7

The Suicidal Yodels in Ernen

Suicidal Yodels?

I wasn't sure what to expect from it, but I had in my mind's eye a vision of some Yodeling singers singing the folk ballads in a manner that suggested eccentric, whimsical, and fun. So I went to the concert, with a little wave of curiosity.

The singer Erika Stucky's voice was as clear as air in the Alps, a vibrant, strong, and untrained soprano. But her stage performance, interspersed with multi-media effects such as video, stand-up comedy, and acting, wasn't flattering her vocal chords. After all, the title suicidal yodels is referred as "music concert", not "musical show".

In fact, Stucky's voice is anything but suicidal. I look forward to seeing her purely vocal performance in Ernen, the music village in Wallis, known for its impressive architecture and finest music.

Shepard Fairey and His Wall 塗鴉藝術家Shepard Fairey和他的牆壁

The afternoon storm was stopped, and NoLiTa was filled with the fragrance of the plum blossoms and the cheer of springtime again.

I saw Shepard Fairey, with a bucket of glue and a long-handled brush, working tranquilly to the wall with the eye of a graffiti artist.

As I nibbled an apple ––– paid no attention to the emergency sirens and horn beeps from the heavy traffic on East Houston street, I thought of Tom Sawyer, the naughty protagonist in The Adventures of Tom Swayer, written by the American author and humorist Mark Twain.

See my favorite cartoon.

午後雷陣雨停了，紐約下城NoLiTa再次瀰漫著梅樹的芬芳和春天的喜樂。

看見提了一桶漿糊及長柄刷子的Shepard Fairey，心神恬定地以一種塗鴉藝術家的眼光在牆壁上創作。

不在乎East Houston街口傳來繁忙的警鈴及喇吧聲，我小口小口地咬著一粒蘋果，腦海中浮現的竟是湯姆莎耶–––美國文壇幽默大師馬克吐溫的著作<湯姆歷險記>中的那個淘氣小男孩。

看我喜愛的卡通。

Awesome Things That Are Beyond Words 難以用筆墨來形容的美好事物

There are awesome things that are beyond words:

True love;

The taste of fine dark chocolate;

The texture of velvet;

The smell of Sakaura blossoms lingering in the spring breeze.

Listen to this music…

有些美好的事物是難以用筆墨來形容的， 像是：

真愛；

精緻細膩的黑巧克力；

絲絨的觸感；

日本櫻花徘徊在春天裡的氣息。

聽聽這段音樂…

Lilacs With No Scent 沒有香氛的丁香

I'm kind of blue today.

My tooth, after ten days of treatment, is still hurting me slightly.

I just found out that, from the outdated New York Times, I missed the concert of Atoms for Peace, a side project that is led by Radiohead's main singer Thom Yorke.

Moreover, the French lilacs that I bought two days ago are still too shy to release their fragrance.

Oh well, according to popular wisdom, you can't have everything, and there's a good deal of truth in that, the balance of human lives is constantly swinging back and forth between what's gained and what's lost. 

Without the scent of lilacs, it's still nice to play Atoms for Peace's music and let Thom Yorke's beautiful voice fill my room.

今天有點憂鬱。

牙痛在將近十天療程之後還是隱隱作痛；

從過期的紐約時報中得知我竟然錯失了電台總司令的主唱Thom Yorke所領導的Atoms for Peace樂團的音樂會;

更可悲的事，兩天前買的法國丁香到現在還害羞的遲遲不肯綻放芬芳。

嗯， 就這樣囉。“你不能擁有一切”的致理名言在某些程度上來說還是有它的道理：平衡的人生經常是在得失之間搖擺的。

Fragrance of the Nordic Air

Bliss --- today is my first day out for a walk after I twisted my right ankle while doing a head stand. My foot had sent up a white flag, and I was therefore like a bird in a cage for the past two weeks.

It was – 17 degree Celsius (1.4  degree Fahrenheit) in the morning. Stepping out with my winter boots, I took a deep inhale and allowed fragrance of the Nordic air to enter and penetrate my Being. I stuffed my gloved hands in my pockets, curled my head to my chest, and set foot into the woods.

The solid crunch of my winter boots against the white snow filled the crisp air with a relaxing and chanting sound, which scratched a primal itch that reminded me of a delicious smell --- the aroma of Swiss dark chocolate waffles.

I slowly and deeply took an inhale: mmmmh, w-a-f-f-l-e. Then I crunched loud and crunched merry deep into the white Finnish woods.

Hear a Ginkgo Leaf Falling 聽到飄零的銀杏葉

I finished a design project. I had some time on my hands. I sat with my legs crossed, my eyes closed. I blocked out distractions, thoughts, and sensations. I concentrated on the sounds I heard. It was difficult to hear with focus at the first beginning. Gradually, I became aware of layers upon layers of overlapping noises.

The coo, hoot, twitter and chirp of birds from the back yard. The distant grind and groan of a car. The strident shouts, cries and chatter of children on the playground. The steady hum from the refrigerator in the kitchen. The pounding, heavy footsteps from the staircase in my walk-up apartment building. The unidentified snorts, laughter, bangs, honks, squeaks, creaks and whistles.

Twenty minutes latter, I opened my eyes. I stretched my body, and I heard a voice in my mind: more practice, and bigger ears, I could get to hear a ginkgo leaf falling on the sidewalk of Mott street in NoLiTa.

Do You Hear My Design? 你聽出了我的設計嗎？

It's known that music can respond and appeal directly to an artist's "internal element" and express spiritual values. On writing, the French poet Charles Baudelaire affirmed that "scents, colors and sounds answer one another". On painting, the Russian artist Wassily Kandinsky had this to say:

"Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the harmonies, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key then another to cause vibration in the soul. It is therefore evident that color harmony must rely only on a corresponding vibration in the human soul."

If scent is the music for our nose, color is the music for our eyes.

I don't have a good ear to listen, but I appreciate music. Music allows me a freedom of imagination, interpretation, and emotional response on my design. I especially feel attracted to Bach, whose works are greatly admired for their intellectual depth, technical command and artistic beauty.

While working, I like to play Bach's music. I often picture myself walking through fields of paper, touching it with my pencil as if I'm composing the most enchanting music. To me, the organic and geometric shapes that I draw on my sketchbook are like Bach's musical notes that tangle with my joy and happiness.

I was enthralled by Kandinsky's curious gift of colour-hearing (synaesthesia), which he successfully translated onto canvas as "visual music". His artistic ambition got me thinking that, as a designer without the capacity to see sound and hear color, how I can conjure a visual presentation of music that illustrates the affinities between shapes and colors?

Therefore, I crabbed my pencil and started my musical adventure: I drew circles, triangles, and squares, one by one, and filled them in colors. Then, I made them sing with all the intensity I could to create a perfect visual harmony...

My dear readers, this is the creative process of this poster design that I pay homage to Kandinsky. Before you leave let me ask you. Do you hear my design?